Leaving the Door Open
Title: Leaving the Door Open
Author: pocketwitch
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Kara/Leoben
Written for: daera23
Prompt: cleansing
Rating: We'll say R just to be safe, but it may be more like PG-13
Spoilers: Season 3; semi-speculative for season 4 but no actual season 4 spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine. Thank the gods. I have no idea what I'd do with them.
Author's Note: Many thanks to nnaylime and runawaynun for beta-age!
Distribution: The bubbleficathon archive is welcome to it; anyone else please ask me (I'll probably say yes).
There had been dreams before. Far too many of them. His hands were firm and his breath was warm and the smell of paint was sharp in her nostrils. She would wake up breathless. She would wake up with the mandala bright behind her eyelids. She would wake up feeling tender where his hands had been, as though his dream touches had somehow left bruises on her waking body.
She would wake up wet, and that was what pissed her off the most.
There had been dreams before, and she had hated them, too; hated what they made her face. Hated what they made her want.
She would have begged to have them back when the next wave started.
She was submerged, and for a moment it was peaceful. She was submerged and there was quiet, quiet because this was how she could escape, this was the minute she could steal. This wasn’t Caprica but New Caprica, and she was in his home where everything around her felt hostile. This was a prison, a cell, and every piece of furniture, every painting, every dish was loathsome.
The tub was full, hot water splashing onto the floor and she was under, breath held, ears filled with the soft roar of submersion. Peace. In reality it had only ever lasted a few moments. In the dreams it was even shorter.
Because in dreams she couldn’t hold her breath as long, and the need for oxygen would creep up on her, immediate and harsh and she knew if she couldn’t take in a greedy gulp of air right frakking now that that would be it. Kara Thrace, done in by a tub of water.
Except it wasn’t water anymore. It was thicker somehow, viscous, and the sudden change in texture seemed to paralyze her, made her feel certain that she’d never see her next breath, that those few inches between her mouth and the surface were unnavigable, that this substance filling her nose and clinging to her skin was somehow sentient, somehow malicious.
But then she was up, up and breathing only it felt as though the air was forcing itself into her lungs; felt as though the act were beyond her control, as though her body were beyond her control - every involuntary function a non consensual act, this goo she was covered in turning her body into an enemy force.
And there he was, sitting on the toilet - because they were still in his bathroom somehow - sitting there and smiling. “Take deep breaths, Kara. You’re doing wonderfully.”
She would wake up wanting to scream, but her throat would feel clogged somehow, her cries muffled and choked.
~*-,._.,'-*~'`^`'~*-',.'_.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*~'`^`'~*-,._.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*
In reality he came into the bathroom once while she was in the tub. She rose from the water to see him there, but he wasn’t sitting on the toilet and he wasn’t smiling. He was standing in the doorway, leaning slightly, and though she immediately wanted to strike it from her thoughts and replace it with something far more vitriolic her brain’s first description of his expression was “reverent.”
She grabbed the first thing her fingers could close around and threw it at him. A bar of soap, which hit him clean on the forehead, causing him to step back, stumbling a bit, and raise a hand to his head. He laughed, laughed though that look didn’t leave his eyes, as desperately as she wished that it would. Anything would be better than that. Anger. Hatred. Lust. Anything.
“Get the hell out.”
“I’m sorry, Kara. You left the door open, I didn’t mean to - “
“I did not leave the door open you lying bastard.”
“You did. But it’s not worth an argument. Whatever you think I did wrong, I apologize. I’ll go.” He paused for just a second as he turned. “It doesn’t surprise me that you take comfort from the water.”
“If you say one damned word about swimming in the frakking stream I swear to the gods that I will find ways to kill you that will make you wish you could drown in it.”
His smile was a ghost, brief and transitory and containing none of the sarcasm that Kara would have hoped for; that would have fueled her fury. “Enjoy your bath, Kara.”
~*-,._.,'-*~'`^`'~*-',.'_.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*~'`^`'~*-,._.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*
Without warning, her dream changed once again. Just when she thought she’d started to accept the rhythm. Just when she thought her mind might be able to stand it, might have built up a resistance, might have found some shred of safety in the realm of the predictable.
He wasn’t sitting on the toilet this time. She raised her head from the mire of the tub and looked in the direction of the toilet, looked to where she was certain she’d find him and he wasn’t there. The corner of her eye caught the pale blue of his shirt and she turned, turned and saw him standing by the side of the tub.
He leaned down and held his hand out to her.
She stared at him, blankly, and while she knew somehow that the screams she could never push past her throat upon waking would resonate and roar from her throat in this dream world, she remained silent.
She stared and she saw something flickering in his eyes that she hadn’t ever seen before, something that she didn’t recognize. Suddenly she wasn’t certain who she was looking at.
Her hand reached out before she knew what she was doing, and though she was sure it would simply slide from his grip he curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her up easily. Lifted her until her legs were sturdy beneath her and her feet felt planted, felt entirely unlike feet should feel against damp porcelain. Felt like they were dug deep into something that would hold her. Like ground. Like dirt. Like Earth.
“You have a destiny, Kara,” he said, still gripping her hand, his other hand raising to swipe a trail of goo from her brow. “But it isn’t this.”
He reached down then, and her eyes didn’t follow his hand but her mind felt no surprise when the shower came on and then there was water, cool water, pure water, streaming onto her head and sliding down her body and wherever it touched her the muck fell away, dissolved, evaporated.
She was clean.
And now he was smiling. But this time she didn’t wish for anything other than what she saw in his face.
“Thank you.”
His smile quirked into a wry grin. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got a long way to go.”
He turned to go then and her arm shot out to take hold of his sleeve, but she faltered under his gaze, had no words.
“I know I left the door open.”
His laugh moved through her nerves with a quick, sharp tingle and she curled her toes, dug them further into the ground that she knew would disappear if she dared turn her gaze downward.
“It won’t be the last time.”
She woke up breathless. She woke up with the mandala bright behind her eyelids. She woke up with skin cool and damp. She woke up and knew that if she saw him again he would lead her either to destiny or madness.
If, in fact, there was a difference.
Author: pocketwitch
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Kara/Leoben
Written for: daera23
Prompt: cleansing
Rating: We'll say R just to be safe, but it may be more like PG-13
Spoilers: Season 3; semi-speculative for season 4 but no actual season 4 spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine. Thank the gods. I have no idea what I'd do with them.
Author's Note: Many thanks to nnaylime and runawaynun for beta-age!
Distribution: The bubbleficathon archive is welcome to it; anyone else please ask me (I'll probably say yes).
There had been dreams before. Far too many of them. His hands were firm and his breath was warm and the smell of paint was sharp in her nostrils. She would wake up breathless. She would wake up with the mandala bright behind her eyelids. She would wake up feeling tender where his hands had been, as though his dream touches had somehow left bruises on her waking body.
She would wake up wet, and that was what pissed her off the most.
There had been dreams before, and she had hated them, too; hated what they made her face. Hated what they made her want.
She would have begged to have them back when the next wave started.
She was submerged, and for a moment it was peaceful. She was submerged and there was quiet, quiet because this was how she could escape, this was the minute she could steal. This wasn’t Caprica but New Caprica, and she was in his home where everything around her felt hostile. This was a prison, a cell, and every piece of furniture, every painting, every dish was loathsome.
The tub was full, hot water splashing onto the floor and she was under, breath held, ears filled with the soft roar of submersion. Peace. In reality it had only ever lasted a few moments. In the dreams it was even shorter.
Because in dreams she couldn’t hold her breath as long, and the need for oxygen would creep up on her, immediate and harsh and she knew if she couldn’t take in a greedy gulp of air right frakking now that that would be it. Kara Thrace, done in by a tub of water.
Except it wasn’t water anymore. It was thicker somehow, viscous, and the sudden change in texture seemed to paralyze her, made her feel certain that she’d never see her next breath, that those few inches between her mouth and the surface were unnavigable, that this substance filling her nose and clinging to her skin was somehow sentient, somehow malicious.
But then she was up, up and breathing only it felt as though the air was forcing itself into her lungs; felt as though the act were beyond her control, as though her body were beyond her control - every involuntary function a non consensual act, this goo she was covered in turning her body into an enemy force.
And there he was, sitting on the toilet - because they were still in his bathroom somehow - sitting there and smiling. “Take deep breaths, Kara. You’re doing wonderfully.”
She would wake up wanting to scream, but her throat would feel clogged somehow, her cries muffled and choked.
~*-,._.,'-*~'`^`'~*-',.'_.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*~'`^`'~*-,._.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*
In reality he came into the bathroom once while she was in the tub. She rose from the water to see him there, but he wasn’t sitting on the toilet and he wasn’t smiling. He was standing in the doorway, leaning slightly, and though she immediately wanted to strike it from her thoughts and replace it with something far more vitriolic her brain’s first description of his expression was “reverent.”
She grabbed the first thing her fingers could close around and threw it at him. A bar of soap, which hit him clean on the forehead, causing him to step back, stumbling a bit, and raise a hand to his head. He laughed, laughed though that look didn’t leave his eyes, as desperately as she wished that it would. Anything would be better than that. Anger. Hatred. Lust. Anything.
“Get the hell out.”
“I’m sorry, Kara. You left the door open, I didn’t mean to - “
“I did not leave the door open you lying bastard.”
“You did. But it’s not worth an argument. Whatever you think I did wrong, I apologize. I’ll go.” He paused for just a second as he turned. “It doesn’t surprise me that you take comfort from the water.”
“If you say one damned word about swimming in the frakking stream I swear to the gods that I will find ways to kill you that will make you wish you could drown in it.”
His smile was a ghost, brief and transitory and containing none of the sarcasm that Kara would have hoped for; that would have fueled her fury. “Enjoy your bath, Kara.”
~*-,._.,'-*~'`^`'~*-',.'_.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*~'`^`'~*-,._.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*
Without warning, her dream changed once again. Just when she thought she’d started to accept the rhythm. Just when she thought her mind might be able to stand it, might have built up a resistance, might have found some shred of safety in the realm of the predictable.
He wasn’t sitting on the toilet this time. She raised her head from the mire of the tub and looked in the direction of the toilet, looked to where she was certain she’d find him and he wasn’t there. The corner of her eye caught the pale blue of his shirt and she turned, turned and saw him standing by the side of the tub.
He leaned down and held his hand out to her.
She stared at him, blankly, and while she knew somehow that the screams she could never push past her throat upon waking would resonate and roar from her throat in this dream world, she remained silent.
She stared and she saw something flickering in his eyes that she hadn’t ever seen before, something that she didn’t recognize. Suddenly she wasn’t certain who she was looking at.
Her hand reached out before she knew what she was doing, and though she was sure it would simply slide from his grip he curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her up easily. Lifted her until her legs were sturdy beneath her and her feet felt planted, felt entirely unlike feet should feel against damp porcelain. Felt like they were dug deep into something that would hold her. Like ground. Like dirt. Like Earth.
“You have a destiny, Kara,” he said, still gripping her hand, his other hand raising to swipe a trail of goo from her brow. “But it isn’t this.”
He reached down then, and her eyes didn’t follow his hand but her mind felt no surprise when the shower came on and then there was water, cool water, pure water, streaming onto her head and sliding down her body and wherever it touched her the muck fell away, dissolved, evaporated.
She was clean.
And now he was smiling. But this time she didn’t wish for anything other than what she saw in his face.
“Thank you.”
His smile quirked into a wry grin. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got a long way to go.”
He turned to go then and her arm shot out to take hold of his sleeve, but she faltered under his gaze, had no words.
“I know I left the door open.”
His laugh moved through her nerves with a quick, sharp tingle and she curled her toes, dug them further into the ground that she knew would disappear if she dared turn her gaze downward.
“It won’t be the last time.”
She woke up breathless. She woke up with the mandala bright behind her eyelids. She woke up with skin cool and damp. She woke up and knew that if she saw him again he would lead her either to destiny or madness.
If, in fact, there was a difference.