fic: newBSG, Coming Clean

[lyssie]

Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: 18+, sex, language
Set: post-Rapture.
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
Length: 3,500
Notes: thanks to the fabulous lucyparavel for the beta AND the title. Any mistakes remaining are completely my own. (p.s. YES. I got it posted before the episode)

Coming Clean
by ALC Punk!

It was Hot Dog who tracked Sam down in the lower hangar bay. He found the ex-pyramid player making a list of the tactics he'd used on the algae planet. Not that Sam thought Adama would give a crap about the report, but it was something to do to pass the time. It was certainly better than wondering what his wife was doing.

"Sir?"

The voice pulled Sam from his thoughts and he looked up to find one of the pilots looking at him. "Yeah?" It wasn't that Sam was unfriendly. He was just tired of dealing with pilots. Sure, they'd helped save his ass, but a lot of them thought that meant he had to continually kiss theirs. It grated.

"We, ah, we could use your help, Mr. Anders."

"Call me Sam." It was automatic. He sighed. "What do you need my help with?"

"Starbuck."

Ah, his wife. Sam was already dreading the answer to his next question, "How do you need my help?"

"She, ah," the kid actually blushed, "She can't take a shower, and it's, ah..."

Yes. Sam was definitely dreading the answer. "The stench is disturbing your delicate senses of smell?" Sam inquired, tone mild.

"It's not just that, sir. Doc Cottle says she could get... problems."

Knowing the Doc, the man had probably used blunter language with his wife. Knowing Kara, she'd sulked into her bunk even more after that. Sam sighed. "And there's no one else?" After all, if Major Adama could cheat on his own wife with Kara, he could certainly give her a shower. Or was the In Sickness part of the vows something he figured Sam should handle?

"No, sir. Doc won't detail a nurse--not after the last time one tried to give her a sponge bath anyway--says Starbuck has a husband and countless nuggets who could help her. She's just bein' squeamish."

Grimly, Sam thought squeamish wasn't the word. "I take it she didn't ask you to come find me."

"No." Hot Dog looked down, "She didn't, sir. It was the rest of us. Thought you'd, ah, be good at getting her sorted out. I mean, sir, you did marry Starbuck."

"That I did." Feeling old, Sam stood, "Son, when you get married, try to find a wife who isn't insane."

"So, you're going to help?"

"You all owe me." said Sam, unwilling to let them get off without paying for it. "But, yeah. I suppose I will. Get everyone cleared from the showers and bunkroom. I'll be up in a few minutes. Then, once I've gotten her out, get her rack changed."

-=-


In her rack, Kara Thrace stared up at the bottom of the rack above her. This sucked. Cottle had grounded her for two months--and even then, he warned her she might not be getting right back into the cockpit. Not with the damage to her hands. The thought that she might never fly again wasn't one she cared to entertain. So she focused on other things--Cottle's being an ass, the stupid rooks who couldn't shut up so she could sleep, Helo, her stupid destiny. Gods, that she'd given any credence to Leoben's words showed she was frakked in the head even more than normal.

Even that didn't help.

Turning onto her side, she cursed her bandaged hands and glared at the pilots as Hot Dog suddenly appeared and emptied the room. He told them there was some meeting. When she would have gotten up, he called, "Not you, Starbuck."

When they were gone, she made some impressive slurs against their parentage.

A few minutes later, the hatch opened and Kara's husband walked in. Deciding he was a good enough target for her irritation, she glared at him, "What the frak do you want?"

Sam came towards her without answering. He had a satchel over his shoulder that he set down on the end of her bed before he moved to her locker and began rummaging in it.

Even more irritated, she sat up, "That's private, you idiot."

He turned, with a set of fresh clothing in his hands, "Yeah? Funny, there's no lock on the door."

"Oh, that's just great. What, now you're stealing my clothing?"

Sam shoved them into the bag and reached into her locker and pulled out her shower kit. "Something like that."

An unpleasant thought occurred to Kara, "Sam."

"Yeah, baby?"

She narrowed her eyes at him as he came towards her, "Sam, why are you here?"

"Aw, I can't be here just to see the woman I love?" His tone mocked her.

"No. Sammy, you're not here to drag me to the showers are you? Because I can't get my hands wet."

"The stench can be smelled out in the corridor, Kara. You're getting clean whether you like it or not."

"Oh, no, Sam--"

He leaned over her and caught her elbows, "C'mon. Up."

"No, Sam--" Glaring, but unable to resist his pull, Kara found herself on her feet. "Dammit."

Sam released her and grabbed the bag, catching her arm again before she could sit back down. "March, Captain."

"You don't give the orders around here," she snapped.

"Yeah? You want me to carry you over my shoulder?"

It was a threat, and a good one. Sure she could struggle, but he'd still get her up there. Then, struggling could be dangerous, if he dropped her on her head, for instance. "Fine. But I am NOT a gods-damn child, Sam."

"Oh, I'm very well aware of that," he muttered.

Attempting to ignore him, Kara stalked out of the bunkroom and headed for the head. Neither of them spoke until they were inside. Kara listened to the silence, and then snorted. "Afraid to be seen with me, Samuel?"

He didn't reply as he set down the bag and then turned to her. "Strip."

"Can't." She waved her bandaged hands at him cheerfully. "Guess you'll have to give up."

"Won't," he corrected her, moving closer, "Arms up, Kara."

"Oh, no."

"Yes." His hands closed on her shirts and he tugged them up. "Arms up."

Given the determined look in his eyes, Kara decided not to disobey for now. She lazily stretched her arms up and over her head, aware of the way it pulled the shirts against her breasts.

The material was yanked up and over her head, and then off. For a brief moment, Kara thought Sam would be distracted and kiss her. When he didn't, she decided she was not disappointed. After all, what was a kiss when the man was stripping her in a rather humiliating fashion? "No." She tried to grab his wrists when he went for her pants. "I'll do it."

"You said--"

"Shut up."

Glaring at him, Kara clumsily undid her pants and removed them, taking her underwear, too.

Sam moved away and stripped his own clothing off, then began pulling stuff from his bag.

Kicking off her boots and stepping out of her clothing, Kara stood there, very conscious of the fact she was naked and so was he. One glance at him proved he wasn't as unaffected as he seemed to be. Kara smirked a little, but didn't move to touch him.

"Now," Sam said, approaching her with a handful of plastic, "let's see if we can't make this possible."

Silently, Kara held her hands out for him, letting him wrap the plastic over the bandages and secure it with tape he must have swiped from Chief. She considered thanking him, but that might make him think she was speaking to him or something. Crankily, Kara decided that men sucked.

"Let's go test this out," He grabbed up the shower stuff and headed into the stalls, not even waiting to see if she'd follow.

It would serve him right if she left him there. Kara glanced at her bandaged and plastic-wrapped hands. Except if she did, she'd have to leave naked, since she couldn't manipulate anything now.

Grimly, Kara set off after Sam, determined to not enjoy herself one bit and to complain as much as she possibly could.

"It's too cold," she informed him before she even stuck a toe into the shower he'd turned on.

"Oh, sorry." Sam reached over and put his hand on the dial, "I'll just make it warmer, then."

Kara really wished she'd been paying attention to his voice, because she stepped into the spray and got greeted by ice-cold water. She yelped. "Sam!"

"I turned it the wrong way." He didn't sound apologetic at all.

She glared up at him as the water warmed and he joined her. "Why are you here?"

"To wash your back." Now his tone was one of long-suffering patience. "Turn around."

"Well, I don't want you to wash my back." Kara knew she was being childish. She didn't care.

"Then I'll have to do it the hard way."

Kara opened her mouth to ask him what the hard way was, then decided not to give him the satisfaction and just glared. For his part, Sam tipped his head back and closed his eyes, letting the water run down his face. Then he turned and got the wash rag sudsy.

For a moment, he eyed her, and then he pressed up against her, arms around her and began rubbing the cloth against her back. Given his greater height, Kara figured he at least had a good field of view. Even if the skin pressed against her was distracting, she was still irritated that she couldn't just do this herself. But since there wasn't anything she could do about it, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder and let him soap her back.

It pissed her off how vulnerable she felt. With her hands immobilized by bandages and plastic and tape, she'd be helpless if someone tried anything. She hated feeling like this. Sam didn't seem to notice--or care, which irritated her more.

He simply washed her back and then knelt to clean her legs, perfunctorily cleaning between them with little interest.

Well, mostly little. Kara stared down, again noting that he wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be. It gave her a smug little thrill to know that just her being naked could do that. Putting her hands on his shoulders--careful not to exert pressure, she balanced for him to clean one foot, then the other.

"Gonna do my front now, Sam?"

"In a moment," he stood and added more soap to the rag. "Turn around."

"Why?"

"So you can't kick me."

Good point. She could kick him. It occurred to her that she could do a fair amount of damage, just by kicking him. Still, it wouldn't be fair to test the theory. She rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she muttered and then she turned, facing away from him.

His hand touched her waist and then she heard a grunt and glanced back to find him standing again.

Then he proceeded to ignore her and soap his own arms and chest. Kara had to admit it was a little erotic, watching him swipe himself with the soap, which was stupid. Obviously, she needed to get laid. Not that she could do a damned thing with her hands.

Sam got the rag soapier and moved to stand behind her. His hands were gentle, the touch perfunctory as he washed her sides, then her belly and worked his way up and over her breasts. Her nipples were already hard, and the light friction he caused made her breath catch.

When he didn't do anything more to them, she tried hard not to arch her back in invitation. If her hands were free, she'd just do the job herself.

Even worse, a moment later, he finished with her chest and moved away to wash his legs.

"Sam," snapped Kara, finally irritated too much. "Stop pussy-footing around. I'm not going to break."

A snort of laughter came from behind her and he pressed against her back. His hands slid up her ribs and cupped her breasts, "Definitely know that, baby."

"I don't know why I let you get away with calling me that," she muttered, arching into his palms and wriggling her back against him. "Should kill you, y'know."

"Mmm." Sam's mouth drifted across her shoulders, "I know."

Kara started to turn, but Sam's hands stopped her. She stood while he kissed his way down her back, kneeling again behind her to spend time kissing her ass. She glanced back at him and snorted. "Sam, that's nice, but--"

"But what?"

She glared. If she had her hands, she'd turn and drag him to his feet by his hair. "But it's too little."

His eyebrows shot up and he smirked, "Too little?"

Kara turned as he stood, "Yeah. Too little."

"You're," he said, mouth drifting to her shoulder and nipping as his hands held her still, "just trying," he pulled her against him, where he was definitely not too little, "to piss me off."

Arching, Kara wound her arms around his neck. "Is it working?"

"Nah." He kissed her lips.

Kara sighed into the kiss, glad he'd finally stopped stalling. She moved a hand to slide her fingers into his hair, and her hand twinged in pain. Jerking her mouth from Sam's, she cursed.

"Hey." He kissed the side of her mouth, "Hold still, Kara."

"I don't want to, Sam," she snapped. "I want to touch you." Angered, she pounded her wrapped hand against his shoulder, and then winced.

"You can move the rest of you, Kara. Just not your hands," he pointed out, backing her against the soap shelf.

Kara shifted and bounced on her toes, "Yeah?" She leaned in and kissed his chest. Normally, she'd be dropping her hand to stroke him. Since she couldn't use her hand, she improvised, pressing closer and rubbing her belly against him.

A groan tore from him and his hands clamped down on her hips.

Then he was moving, lifting her as she spread her legs, wrapping them around his waist and pushing back against him when he thrust into her. The first thrusts were imperfect and too shallow and then she hooked her arms around his neck and lifted herself slightly. The movement brought her further against him, and they both gasped.

Sam kissed her, body and hands holding her in place, pressed against the tile. The shower was still going, but they were only getting some of the spray now.

His hands drifted over her skin as he moved, as she moved. And Kara wondered how she'd lucked into a guy who knew exactly how to drag this sort of response from her body. Her last thought before his thumb pressed against her clit, was that she couldn't move her hands, but the rest of her was fine.

Aftershocks brought her back down to Galactica, and she kissed Sam as he thrust harder, his own control dissolving as he shuddered against her.

The shower was the only sound, other than their breathing, for several minutes. Then Kara moved, wincing as she tried to use her hands. Her legs unlocked from around Sam's hips and she arched slightly, over-sensitive skin protesting the stimulation. "Down, Sam."

"Sorry," he mumbled into her neck, pulling back and letting her drop off the shelf. She held onto him, letting her legs get used to holding her up.

"I thought we were getting clean?" she asked, once she was sure she would be coherent.

A chuckle escaped him and he moved back under the shower, closing his eyes to let the water cover him.

For a moment, Kara looked at him, storing up the image of her husband, in a moment of complete vulnerability. She could kill him right then and no one would stop her. It was a little heady, and a comfort, too. Not that she wanted to kill Sam, of course.

Then she joined him under the spray, twisting and turning to get all of the soap rinsed off, as well as the bodily fluids.

Eventually, they were clean. Kara yawned as she walked back to the benches. Behind her, Sam gathered the shower stuff--some of it had been knocked to the floor during the sex--and followed her.

Kara grabbed a towel between her two hands and then glared at it before dropping it onto a bench and grabbing another. Then she sat on the first, draped the second over her legs, and tried to dry herself without putting pressure on her fingers or palms. She could tell the topical anesthetic was beginning to wear off again, from the way they hurt.

The thought came to her that, if her hands didn't heal properly, she might not fly again. A pilot needed to feel their control through their hands. The rest of the body played a part, but without the hand coordination, her skills would be shot.

Resolutely, Kara shoved that thought away, and growled when Sam suddenly began briskly toweling her back.

"Trying to air dry, baby?"

"Frak you."

"Hrm. You must be tired." He stopped and leaned over, to look at her face, then snorted, "If you try to hit me, I won't help you get your hands free again."

"I have teeth."

"No biting, either."

Kara almost chuckled at him, almost. She decided she was dry enough and held out her arms. "Unwrap me, dammit."

"So glad you haven't changed, Kara," he said mildly, moving to undo the plastic and tape. He almost took the bandages off, too, but succeeded in leaving them on. "Do these need to be changed?"

"Not until tomorrow." Making a face, she grabbed her shirts and pulled them over her head.

Sam moved away and dressed quickly, then came back to button her pants for her. When she glared, he simply shrugged as he shoved the rest of their stuff back into his bag. "Think that's everything."

"Yeah." Suddenly tired, Kara yawned and walked over to hook her arm around his waist.

For a moment, he stood there, looking down at her, then he put his arm around her shoulders and started walking her back to her rack.

Really. It was sweet of him. It was stupid to think that, but Kara was suddenly exhausted. She was allowed to think silly thoughts about her husband. She was sure she'd read that somewhere. It wasn't like she was going to start spouting them off, telling them to people.

-=-

The walk from the showers to the bunkroom produced no one, and Sam figured Hot Dog still had the area cleared. Smart boy.

"Sam," Kara was so sleepy she was leaning against him, her wet hair making his shoulder damp.

With a roll of his eyes, Sam sat her on a chair and checked that the nuggets had stripped her sheets and put on fresh. They had. "Yeah?"

"Doc Cottle says he's not sure I'll be able to fly again."

That brought his attention back to her, and he gauged the expression in her eyes before asking, "Kara, did he actually say that?"

"No, but he won't tell me when I'll be good to go again."

Fear flickered in her eyes, and Sam's gut clenched. Dammit. His wife wasn't supposed to be scared of anything. He reached out and took her bandaged hands, carefully, "Kara, you're the most determined woman I know. You'll fly again. He's just being cautious."

"Or he's just being an ass."

"That, too," Sam tugged her up off the chair. "You are too tired to be awake."

"Yep."

But she didn't move. Neither of them did as she looked up at him with several emotions flickering across her face. She gave a little sigh. "Don't go."

"Kara--"

"Please, Sam."

He wanted to say no and run. She already owned his heart, if she kept looking at him like that, she'd own his soul, too. Jean would mock the frak out of him for thinking shit like that, but Sam was a little afraid it was true. His hand came up to touch her cheek and he nodded. "All right."

"I'll kick you if you snore."

Ah. There she was. "You snore more than I do."

Kara moved away from him and poked her rack.

Following her, Sam climbed in, settling against the back on his side. Kara remained where she was, staring at him until Sam shifted. "Kara. My feet are getting cold."

"Wouldn't want that." She muttered before climbing in and putting her back to him.

Sam took the edge of the blanket she passed over and tucked it behind him. There was too much space between them, but he wasn't going to push. His wife might be willing to admit some things, but being physically close on a non-sexual level was apparently not on her agenda.

Pulling the curtain closed, Kara made a soft cranky noise. A moment later she wriggled until her back was against him. "Cold," she mumbled.

With care, Sam draped his arm over her waist. When she didn't immediately elbow him, he curved it and cuddled her closer, hand on her belly. "Warm now."

"Hrmph." Kara said.

With the smell of his wife's clean hair and fresh sheets in his nose, Sam drifted off to sleep, oddly content.

-f-