Moddy Post: Ship War
I'm throwing out the rules for the next couple of days, because I've been wanting to do this again for a while as it was so much fun last time. Now that the Pentathlon and most gift exchanges are over, it seemed like a good idea, and I thought it might liven up the quietness of LJ a little bit too.
We're gonna have another Ship WarThe winner will ( Read more... )
We're gonna have another Ship WarThe winner will ( Read more... )
Dozens of conversations want to come rushing back: Cottle examining her and failing to find anything out of the ordinary, Roslin and the Admiral unable to understand how she couldn't account for four whole months, Sam insisting that if she's a Cylon she's been one from the beginning. They all make even less sense now than they did before.
A crack of wood breaks the silence, and she looks past the fire to see Sam. Still bundled in his heavy coat, he glances down at the offending stray branch and then meets her eyes without saying a word.
Her husband the Cylon: wouldn't he be interested to know what she found today? There's a bitter taste in her mouth that she can't swallow away, and she doesn't budge from her seat on the ground.
For a few minutes he barely moves either, seemingly just soaking in the warmth from the flames.
She doesn't know what he's still doing down here, but that's the least of her concerns in light of everything else. "How long have you known?" she asks tonelessly.
"Since the day you came back. Right before you came back. I didn't even believe it until I hopped in my Viper. My frakking gun jammed -- I didn't know if it was a stupid mistake or something worse -- but one of the Raiders..." He shakes his head. "It had a clear shot, dead on, and it didn't take it. It hesitated and then it -- and all of them -- flew away. It's hard to say I ever believe I'm a Cylon, Kara," he admits, slowly taking a few steps toward her, but looking more at the sky or the ground than her. "But it's felt harder to argue since that moment." He hesitates, one hand on something tucked away in his pocket, something she can't quite make out. "It's harder to argue every day."
"You knew this whole time," she hears herself say, disbelief lining her throat. "When I was so worried that I was one. And when you came to see me in the brig. And every day we were on the Demetrius." Shaking her head, she trails off. "Gods, Sam." She's angry -- she's so angry she feels it like a knot in her chest -- but she feels like she should be even angrier.
As long as her body's burning, everything else will have to take a frakking back seat.
"I'm sorry." By now he's only feet away, his hands jammed in his pockets, that layer of easy confidence stripped away.
A reply hitches in her throat, but doesn't make it out of her mouth.
"I'm sorry I'm a Cylon," he goes on tiredly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought about it." He glances her way. "I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did, and I'm sorry that" -- he looks around them -- "this is what greeted us when we stepped off that Raptor. But Kara," he ventures quietly, "this place isn't your fault."
Her lips compress. The fire heats her face, and she shuts her eyes.
She could tell him what she found here, what she's burning. For one wild minute she's tempted; if everything he's saying is true -- and she's always thought Sam's triad face sucked -- who else would get her uncertainty so well? Who else would listen without needing to judge her or jump to conclusions? In the moment she's tempted to get up and pull him toward her, to kiss him until his eyes want to bug out, until he can't bear the fact that they're still wearing clothes. She wants to see what's so different about him, see if there was something she was missing every time she slipped her tongue into his mouth or shuddered around his fingers or guided him inside her.
She wants to see what's so different about herself.
The fire snaps and crackles. She bites the inside of her lip until she tastes copper, then opens her eyes and looks away. "Right."
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