walk tight
Title: With Love Comes the Day
Characters: Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, Sam Anders, Cookie & Bandit the dogs
Time Period: 2020, Thrace-Anders house by the water in Perkinston
Summary: Kara gives Sam another piece of the puzzle.
Note: subject, title, and cut text are from "A Place Called Home" by PJ Harvey.
A loud bark woke Sam up. Kara wasn't in bed with him. Cookie sat by his knees, her shaggy black-and-white fur hanging in her face. She was gazing at him intently. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, she sat up and barked again. Thunder boomed loudly overhead and Cookie whined, then pawed at him. He patted the space next to his stomach. "C'mere, good girl." The dog wiggled closer and Sam closed his eyes again, listening to the rain pounding the skylight over the bedroom. Cracks of lightning punctuated the crashes and the sun stayed hidden, casting a gray pallor over the room.
After a while, he wasn't sure how long, Sam got up. Cookie had left the room. Kara's side of the bed was cold, though for once, she'd pulled up the bedding. He pulled on a pair of boxers and padded into the kitchen. There was a half-full pot of coffee on the counter next to a plate covered in burnt breadcrumbs. He smiled and flicked on the radio; Colonial Morning Edition quietly told him news of the worlds while he washed the dishes. During the week, he was too busy for most chores, but if he was home on weekends, he liked to tidy up. Kara's studio was near the kitchen; if he tilted his head to the side, he could see her shadow as she roamed around her space.
He dried his hands and poured some iced herbal tea from the pitcher in the fridge. Kara hadn't shut her door. He walked over and leaned against the door frame. Bandit smiled up at him from her nest of old towels in the corner, then flinched as thunder pealed loudly. Her skinny grayhound tail thumped against the floor. His wife's silhouette was highlighted in sharp relief as she stood looking out the window. She turned and looked at Sam, smiling at her husband. "Hey, honey," she said softly. She cradled her hands together by her stomach, lines of pain etched in the corners of her eyes and mouth.
As Sam stepped closer, he noticed that Kara's face was damp, her eyes red. He reached toward her, putting the mug of tea on the floor, and very gently touched her lips. "Baby? You okay?" He wrapped his arms around her protectively and she leaned into the embrace, her shoulders slumping under her thin t-shirt. He felt her pulse beating against his chest. She uncurled her hands and put them on his waist, hissing under her breath.
She rubbed her face on his shoulder. "Yeah, just... yeah." She sighed.
He kissed the top of her head. "I'll be right back, okay?" She didn't respond. "Okay?" he asked again, more insistently. She looked up at him and nodded.
Bandit followed Sam to the kitchen and headed to the food dish. Sam prepared two wet wash cloths, one cool, one warm but not hot, then returned to her studio with a glass of water in his other hand. Kara was sitting on the floor next to a pile of stretched canvases. He smiled and sat by her, placing the glass on the floor, offering the cloths. Kara took the warm one and wrapped it around her hands. A single tear slid down her cheek and she closed her eyes.
Sam waited. He knew he couldn't ask Kara to tell him what was wrong; she'd tell him, or she wouldn't, but she had to decide. The rain strummed the roof and Sam distracted himself by thinking about what herbs to plant for the coming season.
Kara's eyes opened again and she tipped over, sliding close, putting her head in his lap. She curled into herself. Sam ran his fingers through her blonde strands, one fingertip tracing the shell of her ear. She started speaking, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear over the drench.
"It's the anniversary of my mom's death. Her name was Socrata. I stopped talking to her when I finished at the Academy, and she died after Percy was born."
Sam squeezed her shoulder gently and listened. He wished he could see her face. She stiffened, then seemed to wilt.
"She smashed my fingers in a door. On purpose."
The rain stopped for a moment. Sam's breath caught and he bent down over Kara, trying--though he couldn't--to protect her, to stand between her and the world, between her and the story of her pain. He slid one hand under her shirt and rested his palm over her heart, the metal of her Fleet dogtag chain imprinting his skin.
She told him more, the words quiet, measured between the slow drip of tears. Eventually she turned to face him. He shifted and stretched his longer frame out next to hers, pressing her close. She drank from the glass of water he'd brought and dropped the now-cool towel on the floor.
Their tattoed arms linked to form a pair of wings, a perfect union. Stars under the same sky. Sam leaned in and lightly kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. "Thank you for telling me." He felt her tremble in response. Now he understood her flight-or-fight response, why she kicked in her sleep, why he'd learned to let her decide what to tell him. "Thank you, Kara." He paused and looked down, seeing her swollen hazel eyes, her salt-sticky skin. "You're safe now, and I will always love you the most."
She pulled him close and rested her face in the curve of his neck, her breathing ragged. He held her, drawing circles on her back, humming a wordless melody. Eventually she cleared her throat and sighed into his shoulder. "Thanks, Sammy. I love you the most."
Characters: Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, Sam Anders, Cookie & Bandit the dogs
Time Period: 2020, Thrace-Anders house by the water in Perkinston
Summary: Kara gives Sam another piece of the puzzle.
Note: subject, title, and cut text are from "A Place Called Home" by PJ Harvey.
A loud bark woke Sam up. Kara wasn't in bed with him. Cookie sat by his knees, her shaggy black-and-white fur hanging in her face. She was gazing at him intently. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, she sat up and barked again. Thunder boomed loudly overhead and Cookie whined, then pawed at him. He patted the space next to his stomach. "C'mere, good girl." The dog wiggled closer and Sam closed his eyes again, listening to the rain pounding the skylight over the bedroom. Cracks of lightning punctuated the crashes and the sun stayed hidden, casting a gray pallor over the room.
After a while, he wasn't sure how long, Sam got up. Cookie had left the room. Kara's side of the bed was cold, though for once, she'd pulled up the bedding. He pulled on a pair of boxers and padded into the kitchen. There was a half-full pot of coffee on the counter next to a plate covered in burnt breadcrumbs. He smiled and flicked on the radio; Colonial Morning Edition quietly told him news of the worlds while he washed the dishes. During the week, he was too busy for most chores, but if he was home on weekends, he liked to tidy up. Kara's studio was near the kitchen; if he tilted his head to the side, he could see her shadow as she roamed around her space.
He dried his hands and poured some iced herbal tea from the pitcher in the fridge. Kara hadn't shut her door. He walked over and leaned against the door frame. Bandit smiled up at him from her nest of old towels in the corner, then flinched as thunder pealed loudly. Her skinny grayhound tail thumped against the floor. His wife's silhouette was highlighted in sharp relief as she stood looking out the window. She turned and looked at Sam, smiling at her husband. "Hey, honey," she said softly. She cradled her hands together by her stomach, lines of pain etched in the corners of her eyes and mouth.
As Sam stepped closer, he noticed that Kara's face was damp, her eyes red. He reached toward her, putting the mug of tea on the floor, and very gently touched her lips. "Baby? You okay?" He wrapped his arms around her protectively and she leaned into the embrace, her shoulders slumping under her thin t-shirt. He felt her pulse beating against his chest. She uncurled her hands and put them on his waist, hissing under her breath.
She rubbed her face on his shoulder. "Yeah, just... yeah." She sighed.
He kissed the top of her head. "I'll be right back, okay?" She didn't respond. "Okay?" he asked again, more insistently. She looked up at him and nodded.
Bandit followed Sam to the kitchen and headed to the food dish. Sam prepared two wet wash cloths, one cool, one warm but not hot, then returned to her studio with a glass of water in his other hand. Kara was sitting on the floor next to a pile of stretched canvases. He smiled and sat by her, placing the glass on the floor, offering the cloths. Kara took the warm one and wrapped it around her hands. A single tear slid down her cheek and she closed her eyes.
Sam waited. He knew he couldn't ask Kara to tell him what was wrong; she'd tell him, or she wouldn't, but she had to decide. The rain strummed the roof and Sam distracted himself by thinking about what herbs to plant for the coming season.
Kara's eyes opened again and she tipped over, sliding close, putting her head in his lap. She curled into herself. Sam ran his fingers through her blonde strands, one fingertip tracing the shell of her ear. She started speaking, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear over the drench.
"It's the anniversary of my mom's death. Her name was Socrata. I stopped talking to her when I finished at the Academy, and she died after Percy was born."
Sam squeezed her shoulder gently and listened. He wished he could see her face. She stiffened, then seemed to wilt.
"She smashed my fingers in a door. On purpose."
The rain stopped for a moment. Sam's breath caught and he bent down over Kara, trying--though he couldn't--to protect her, to stand between her and the world, between her and the story of her pain. He slid one hand under her shirt and rested his palm over her heart, the metal of her Fleet dogtag chain imprinting his skin.
She told him more, the words quiet, measured between the slow drip of tears. Eventually she turned to face him. He shifted and stretched his longer frame out next to hers, pressing her close. She drank from the glass of water he'd brought and dropped the now-cool towel on the floor.
Their tattoed arms linked to form a pair of wings, a perfect union. Stars under the same sky. Sam leaned in and lightly kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. "Thank you for telling me." He felt her tremble in response. Now he understood her flight-or-fight response, why she kicked in her sleep, why he'd learned to let her decide what to tell him. "Thank you, Kara." He paused and looked down, seeing her swollen hazel eyes, her salt-sticky skin. "You're safe now, and I will always love you the most."
She pulled him close and rested her face in the curve of his neck, her breathing ragged. He held her, drawing circles on her back, humming a wordless melody. Eventually she cleared her throat and sighed into his shoulder. "Thanks, Sammy. I love you the most."