Chapter Two
Second chapter of my Kara/Lee/Kara/Leoben fic. I've never written anything as long as this is going to be, so I don't know what I'm doing. Basically. Unbeta'd; if you read and spot something that doesn't fly, please comment about it and I'll patch it up. Any reactions at all are welcome.
Title: In the Middle of a Dream (I hear you calling): Chp. 2/?
Rating: PG (I swear, it'll get a bit saucier. Not gross, though.)
Summary: Lee is spazzing, Kara is confused, and everything's still really frakked.
Spoilers: WARNING: IF YOU ARE A 'SPOILER VIRGIN', DO NOT START READING THIS. IT WILL GET SPOILERY, AND THEN YOU WILL HAVE TO STOP PART-WAY THROUGH, AND THAT WILL JUST SUCK.
Disclaimer: Every fangirl believes there is some alternate universe in which she *is* TPTB. It's how we sleep at night. Alas...
You can read the first chapter here.
(A/N): Yes, the timing is disjointed for a reason. Everything is in chronological order as time occurs to the character involved, and arranged such that events are placed in relative time (since it's moving at different rates for Kara and Lee).
~~
Leoben Conoy took a step toward her. Instinctively, Kara’s hand flew to the holster at her waist.
“Careful, Starbuck,” the Cylon said, stepping even closer into range. “We both know you’ve only got that one round.”
As much was true, she knew, and she’d already spent half of it blowing the bottom of the raider open. Her eyes dropped to the communicator in her other hand, and flashed back to Leoben’s face. “How long have you been watching me?” she asked, her voice hoarse, hand unmoving from the gun at her hip.
He frowned and smiled. “We,” he asked, making a circular, skyward gesture with his hands, “Or me?”
Kara shuddered to consider that she’d been under surveillance back aboard Galactica, but some part of her had already been forced to accept the fact. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “You,” she said. “Your copy, here, on this planet. How long have you been watching me?!”
He shrugged. “I watched you fall.”
“And I was…” she couldn’t continue, but she knew she hadn’t ejected when her plane exploded, and even if she had, she couldn’t have made it through the storm or survived the impact of the fall. And yet here she was, on firm ground, hands covered in filth and body sore enough that she knew she was alive. Which begged an obvious question.
“Asleep,” he told her with a smile. “You don’t remember, I’m sure. You landed five miles out. Some minor scrapes,” he said, indicating her ribs and shoulder, “but all easily repaired.”
She wanted to laugh-he spoke about her body as if it were a beat-up pair of boots-but suspected it would hurt to. But when she felt along her ribcage for soreness, she didn’t feel any; she ran her fingers along the bones, and found only the fractures she knew were there, the ones that always had been. She rolled her shoulders, twisted her neck-nothing. That was, no sharp pain-nothing outside of what one could sustain sleeping two nights on cold, hard rocks.
“I was gone by the time you woke up. You followed the wreck here,” he said, “like I knew you would. You searched the house, found the food stores, took the blankets from the bed.” He glanced at the nest of bedding. “But you didn’t drink the water.” It was clearly a question, and he looked at her for the answer.
“It smelled…” she sniffed as if remembering, “like Tylium.”
“Very good,” he said, and she pondered spitting in his face. He was close enough now that she could probably make the shot. “There’s a Basestar about a hundred miles from here.” She wondered why he’d tell her so, but he continued before she could interject.
“Purely auxiliary, still in its infancy, but when we laid the ground, we struck ore, which leached into the groundwater. The plumbing’s just for you,” he said, “Routed from a lake a few miles away. The water was contaminated three weeks ago.”
“Why give me water I can’t drink?” she asked, lifting her hand hesitantly from the gun to settle higher on her hip.
He laughed at her, and it was a mirthless, choreographed sound. His eyes locked with hers, and in spite of his twisted smile, she found them pained and breathless.
“I suppose I could ask you the same.”
She would have demanded how she was supposed to take that, but she suspected she already knew, and so bit her lip instead. So they stood, Kara staring at her own blessedly neutral feet, and Leoben’s eyes palpably fixed on the visible crescent of her cheek, until Kara couldn’t take it anymore.
“Doesn’t matter, really,” she said, toeing the soft, green ground. “I’m not thirsty.”
“You will be,” he assured her, venturing to touch her arm. Having anticipated his motion, she avoided much of the flinch and subsequent shiver, remaining motionless as his grip tightened above her elbow. “There’s clean water nearby.”
“I’m not thirsty,” she repeated, her voice hardening as she raised her face so that their eyes met. She tried to wrest her arm away, but only succeeded in pulled him closer. She inhaled, and hated that she noticed his smell-a peculiar clean, like melting ice and dryer sheets.
“Your lip is bleeding,” he told her, voice soft and cold in her ear. She felt dizzy, and was certain it wasn’t just the effects of proximity. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away, herself staggering backwards and into the raider’s crescent wing. Heaving, she stared at him.
“You’re not thirsty,” he echoed dryly. Under different circumstances, she would’ve hit him, but she was having enough trouble standing up. Pushing herself off the wing and towards him, she regained her balance, swallowing painfully.
“Why should I trust you?” She asked, giving him her sternest, greenest gaze. “You’re why I’m stuck here in the first place.”
He shook his head. “No. No, we are why you’re stuck here, Kara. I’m why you’re stuck here alive.” His words weren’t lighthearted anymore-she heard a little hurt in his voice as he went on. “How do you think you survived an aircraft explosion, made it through this planet’s atmosphere, and landed safely and softly after the subsequent five-mile fall?” He counted the impossibilities on his fingers as she tried to imagine them. She couldn’t.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
**
Apollo drummed his fingers on the surface of the clear table, watching as rickety viper figurines tottered and fell out of formation. Green lights flashed in his peripheral vision, and the fluid, single-frequency noise of CIC rang a little in his ears. He was thinking.
It’d been days since Kara had appeared to him, two weeks since she’d gone, and still he couldn’t process it, feel it. All he had in him was a little knot of dread, because he knew it was only a matter of time before… well, he wasn’t sure what, but he knew it would be conspicuous and mortifying and would leave him raw, cut open for everyone to stare into. To shake their heads at. To call crazy.
They all used to call her crazy.
So here Lee was, just standing and thinking, in what was possibly the most heavily trafficked twelve-foot space on the whole of Galactica-Gaeta darted back and forth carrying sheaves of important papers; sour, one-eyed Tigh leant against the table, his back to Lee, barking extraneous orders out of drunken boredom; a half-dozen fresh corporals scurried underfoot. Lee was thinking so wholly, it took the XO five tries to get his attention.
“LEE!” Tigh bellowed. It seemed he’d started with rank and worked his way down. Apollo started and looked over at the older man.
“Sorry, sir?”
“The Admiral called, said to report to his quarters at oh-five-hundred.” Tigh glanced at his wrist. “Which is in three minutes.”
Lee cocked an eyebrow and clenched his jaw. “Did he happen to mention why?” However much he’d tried to stop it, the impertinence leaked miserably into his voice.
“Didn’t ask. I’d run, boy,” Saul said. “It’s two minutes now.” With a sigh, Lee slowly turned to leave.
“Hurry!” Tigh shouted after him. Lee turned back.
“It’s my father,” he said.
“It’s the Admiral.”
“I know exactly what he’s going to say, and frankly, sir, I don’t want to get into it.”
“Did I ever ask?” Tigh growled. All of CIC dropped their tasks and turned to stare. “I believe I relayed an ORDER, Major Adama, so take your hands off my table and frakking do what you’re told!”
All of CIC was watching now. Lee pitched half his mouth up in a dangerous smile, then walked away, his stride intent.
Do what you’re told.
**
Title: In the Middle of a Dream (I hear you calling): Chp. 2/?
Rating: PG (I swear, it'll get a bit saucier. Not gross, though.)
Summary: Lee is spazzing, Kara is confused, and everything's still really frakked.
Spoilers: WARNING: IF YOU ARE A 'SPOILER VIRGIN', DO NOT START READING THIS. IT WILL GET SPOILERY, AND THEN YOU WILL HAVE TO STOP PART-WAY THROUGH, AND THAT WILL JUST SUCK.
Disclaimer: Every fangirl believes there is some alternate universe in which she *is* TPTB. It's how we sleep at night. Alas...
You can read the first chapter here.
(A/N): Yes, the timing is disjointed for a reason. Everything is in chronological order as time occurs to the character involved, and arranged such that events are placed in relative time (since it's moving at different rates for Kara and Lee).
~~
Leoben Conoy took a step toward her. Instinctively, Kara’s hand flew to the holster at her waist.
“Careful, Starbuck,” the Cylon said, stepping even closer into range. “We both know you’ve only got that one round.”
As much was true, she knew, and she’d already spent half of it blowing the bottom of the raider open. Her eyes dropped to the communicator in her other hand, and flashed back to Leoben’s face. “How long have you been watching me?” she asked, her voice hoarse, hand unmoving from the gun at her hip.
He frowned and smiled. “We,” he asked, making a circular, skyward gesture with his hands, “Or me?”
Kara shuddered to consider that she’d been under surveillance back aboard Galactica, but some part of her had already been forced to accept the fact. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “You,” she said. “Your copy, here, on this planet. How long have you been watching me?!”
He shrugged. “I watched you fall.”
“And I was…” she couldn’t continue, but she knew she hadn’t ejected when her plane exploded, and even if she had, she couldn’t have made it through the storm or survived the impact of the fall. And yet here she was, on firm ground, hands covered in filth and body sore enough that she knew she was alive. Which begged an obvious question.
“Asleep,” he told her with a smile. “You don’t remember, I’m sure. You landed five miles out. Some minor scrapes,” he said, indicating her ribs and shoulder, “but all easily repaired.”
She wanted to laugh-he spoke about her body as if it were a beat-up pair of boots-but suspected it would hurt to. But when she felt along her ribcage for soreness, she didn’t feel any; she ran her fingers along the bones, and found only the fractures she knew were there, the ones that always had been. She rolled her shoulders, twisted her neck-nothing. That was, no sharp pain-nothing outside of what one could sustain sleeping two nights on cold, hard rocks.
“I was gone by the time you woke up. You followed the wreck here,” he said, “like I knew you would. You searched the house, found the food stores, took the blankets from the bed.” He glanced at the nest of bedding. “But you didn’t drink the water.” It was clearly a question, and he looked at her for the answer.
“It smelled…” she sniffed as if remembering, “like Tylium.”
“Very good,” he said, and she pondered spitting in his face. He was close enough now that she could probably make the shot. “There’s a Basestar about a hundred miles from here.” She wondered why he’d tell her so, but he continued before she could interject.
“Purely auxiliary, still in its infancy, but when we laid the ground, we struck ore, which leached into the groundwater. The plumbing’s just for you,” he said, “Routed from a lake a few miles away. The water was contaminated three weeks ago.”
“Why give me water I can’t drink?” she asked, lifting her hand hesitantly from the gun to settle higher on her hip.
He laughed at her, and it was a mirthless, choreographed sound. His eyes locked with hers, and in spite of his twisted smile, she found them pained and breathless.
“I suppose I could ask you the same.”
She would have demanded how she was supposed to take that, but she suspected she already knew, and so bit her lip instead. So they stood, Kara staring at her own blessedly neutral feet, and Leoben’s eyes palpably fixed on the visible crescent of her cheek, until Kara couldn’t take it anymore.
“Doesn’t matter, really,” she said, toeing the soft, green ground. “I’m not thirsty.”
“You will be,” he assured her, venturing to touch her arm. Having anticipated his motion, she avoided much of the flinch and subsequent shiver, remaining motionless as his grip tightened above her elbow. “There’s clean water nearby.”
“I’m not thirsty,” she repeated, her voice hardening as she raised her face so that their eyes met. She tried to wrest her arm away, but only succeeded in pulled him closer. She inhaled, and hated that she noticed his smell-a peculiar clean, like melting ice and dryer sheets.
“Your lip is bleeding,” he told her, voice soft and cold in her ear. She felt dizzy, and was certain it wasn’t just the effects of proximity. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away, herself staggering backwards and into the raider’s crescent wing. Heaving, she stared at him.
“You’re not thirsty,” he echoed dryly. Under different circumstances, she would’ve hit him, but she was having enough trouble standing up. Pushing herself off the wing and towards him, she regained her balance, swallowing painfully.
“Why should I trust you?” She asked, giving him her sternest, greenest gaze. “You’re why I’m stuck here in the first place.”
He shook his head. “No. No, we are why you’re stuck here, Kara. I’m why you’re stuck here alive.” His words weren’t lighthearted anymore-she heard a little hurt in his voice as he went on. “How do you think you survived an aircraft explosion, made it through this planet’s atmosphere, and landed safely and softly after the subsequent five-mile fall?” He counted the impossibilities on his fingers as she tried to imagine them. She couldn’t.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
**
Apollo drummed his fingers on the surface of the clear table, watching as rickety viper figurines tottered and fell out of formation. Green lights flashed in his peripheral vision, and the fluid, single-frequency noise of CIC rang a little in his ears. He was thinking.
It’d been days since Kara had appeared to him, two weeks since she’d gone, and still he couldn’t process it, feel it. All he had in him was a little knot of dread, because he knew it was only a matter of time before… well, he wasn’t sure what, but he knew it would be conspicuous and mortifying and would leave him raw, cut open for everyone to stare into. To shake their heads at. To call crazy.
They all used to call her crazy.
So here Lee was, just standing and thinking, in what was possibly the most heavily trafficked twelve-foot space on the whole of Galactica-Gaeta darted back and forth carrying sheaves of important papers; sour, one-eyed Tigh leant against the table, his back to Lee, barking extraneous orders out of drunken boredom; a half-dozen fresh corporals scurried underfoot. Lee was thinking so wholly, it took the XO five tries to get his attention.
“LEE!” Tigh bellowed. It seemed he’d started with rank and worked his way down. Apollo started and looked over at the older man.
“Sorry, sir?”
“The Admiral called, said to report to his quarters at oh-five-hundred.” Tigh glanced at his wrist. “Which is in three minutes.”
Lee cocked an eyebrow and clenched his jaw. “Did he happen to mention why?” However much he’d tried to stop it, the impertinence leaked miserably into his voice.
“Didn’t ask. I’d run, boy,” Saul said. “It’s two minutes now.” With a sigh, Lee slowly turned to leave.
“Hurry!” Tigh shouted after him. Lee turned back.
“It’s my father,” he said.
“It’s the Admiral.”
“I know exactly what he’s going to say, and frankly, sir, I don’t want to get into it.”
“Did I ever ask?” Tigh growled. All of CIC dropped their tasks and turned to stare. “I believe I relayed an ORDER, Major Adama, so take your hands off my table and frakking do what you’re told!”
All of CIC was watching now. Lee pitched half his mouth up in a dangerous smile, then walked away, his stride intent.
Do what you’re told.
**