FIC: Stardust Memories (2/4)
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Chapter 2:
The cell door’s opening screech woke Laura. A hooded human entered. The collaborators were the only ones to hide their faces. She studied his hands; trying to memorize them. He--it was a man, slightly shorter than average height, pale skin--emptied her waste bucket into a larger bucket.
She said, “I’m cold. May I have a blanket?”
Blue eyes. Light blue eyes, looked through the ski mask’s eye openings. He did not speak, but he brought a bowl of gruel in, leaving it in the middle of the floor. No spoon.
Laura waited until he left and fell upon the bowl, slurping the watery mixture up. Sated, she returned to the corner that she’d decided was the warmest. The cold sunlight sat there, a perfect square of gray light.
The blank cell gave her a focus for reflection. There was no complexity in four walls. She had thought Bill Adama wasn’t complicated either; a soldier man; honor, loyalty, duty. Now she chided herself for an arrogant intellectual’s stereotype. He had been the most clever of military strategists, waiting for her to come out into the open, expose herself in her pursuit, and then when she was weakened by her chase, he moved in.
After she’d had the temerity not to die of cancer, their intimacy of touch had suddenly become self-conscious. Her friend, so close, took a step back. The hand that had always there to cradle her elbow or caress her trembling palm had withdrawn. The expressive face, tear-filled eyes that had witnessed her pain, was closed off with a polite half-smile.
She’d thought that he’d made a choice, and it was the right one. They both had to remain focused on their goal--finding Earth. No more patty-cake by her deathbed, no more kisses over military insignia--surely he wouldn’t have kissed Richard Adar if he’d still be president, a little voice whispered to her.
And yet somehow she found herself spending more and more time on Galactica. Discussions that could be conducted over the phone were now in his quarters, often stretching naturally into meals shared, wandered off into book swaps. Her body seemed to unfurl on the warm leather of his couch, shoes dropped off her feet on their own accord. Sometimes the half-smile would spread, the eyes drop, and his grin would escape and she’d revel in her victory, not realizing that it had all been part of his plan.
If he had been chasing her, he had pursued her like a twelve year old boy; so covert as to keep her rendered confused. She’d become obsessed with his margin doodles, searching for clues in their dark thick lines. Side by side at endless meetings, she drew flowers and twining leaves along the edges of her paper. She’d watch him draw arrows and missiles, like so many boys’ papers she’d collected while a teacher and now the obvious symbolism amused her in this very grown man. Then one day, she noticed the phalli starting to shift, from pointing inward at his careful notes, to pointing in her direction. Her vines began to twine up the side of the paper near him.
She had tried to get the truth out of him later, under the flickering lights of the half-empty Galactica, because it’s easy to ask these sorts of questions of a man when you’ve got his ball sac in your grip.
“You’re good, Bill, damn good,” she said, her mouth at his ear, their heads cradled on his pillow.
He shifted into her touch, trying to get her hand to go a bit higher. “Thanks,” he rasped.
“Just when did you start pursuing me?” she asked, her grip tightening slightly.
His eyes showed genuine confusion, and she nodded--good play, my Admiral. He said, “Did I need to chase you? You came up on the Raptor like always.”
“Not today. Before,” she said, biting at his stubbled jaw.
“Oh. I didn’t dare think--you took me completely by surprise,” he swore, stroking her arm, his eyes downcast.
“Bullshit,” she said.
“No, really,” he promised her cheek, his lips light on her skin. “I’m shy around women. Never can figure out when to make my first move.”
She pushed away, removing her hand and his mouth downturned. She tried to capture his gaze, but he evaded her, watching his fingers play across her peaking nipples. “Shy?” she said, “Kara Thrace told me that you’re quite the party animal when given the chance.”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Okay, I was shy with you.”
She crossed her arms, cutting off his access. “So these past months’ perfect gentleman thing has been what you call shyness?”
“I decided to leave the decision to you.” He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her with his warm skin and scent, almost overwhelming her.
Almost. “Oh, really?” she said, keeping her mouth turned away from his seeking lips. “So what was that crap the night of the Founders’ Day?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“What do I mean?” Her voice sounded a bit shrill. “I thought I was pretty obvious that night. And everyone else was getting laid that night--“
“Really?” he said, truly confused.
“Yes,” she said shortly. “Everyone but me. And you, of course.”
“I guess I just needed a clearer signal,” he said, his nose behind her ear; he already knew that was one of her erogenous spots.
Her voice hitched as she said, “But my next try got the point across?”
“Yeah,” he said, easing her arms apart, slipping his around her back, pulling them together again. “It certainly did.”
Laura rubbed one bare foot with her equally cold hands until it ached with pain. Yes, he would have had to have suffered her imagined war injury to ignore her next move. Her face was hot now, blushing still at the memory.
Kara had gotten a Raptor and an excuse and they’d been spacebound, with Laura’s heart thumping louder than the Galactica’s cannon fire.
The radio had crackled, scaring Laura to squeak.
Adama’s voice had buzzed at them. “Starbuck, what the hell are you doing up here?”
“Gotta keep my wings from getting rusty,” Kara said, flapping her hand at Laura, agitated and lurking beside her in the Raptor’s cockpit. “Thought I’d do a supply run.”
“You’ve tapped us out; we’ve got nothing left for you to pinch,” Adama said good-humoredly.
“I’ve got a list of items and where to find them-nothing you’ll need.”
He told her, “Come on over to the officers’ mess when you’re done-we’ll have a drink and catch up. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
Laura got out of the Raptor before Adama could get to the hanger deck, and made no eye contact with the few crew members still working. She scampered through the Galactica’s corridors, breathless, hoping no one confronted her, telling herself over and over that she’d lost her mind. There was literally no going back, with no way off the ship other than through Kara Thrace’s disgust at her cowardice.
Chapter 3 >>>