[True_Writers 13.2.A: "You handle this one"]
OOC: Please note, this response is AU!Kara. Sam is notmyfate and Leoben is Cylon_prophet.
A few weeks before her assignment as a flight instructor is set to begin, Kara goes out and gets roaring drunk with a few other pilots. She's been working hard the last few weeks; working on the house, on keeping the delicate balance between her and Sam and Leoben from spilling over into chaos, on preparing herself to be an instructor again. She's flown a few recon patrols, nothing too stressful, gone up a few times in the Viper just because she wanted to. It's like old times, before the war, when recons were just excuses to get drunk afterwards. One night she goes with Racetrack and Hot Dog to one of the makeshift bars down by the beach, throwing back shots and talking about the war, smoking cigars and laughing too much and too loudly. She doesn't care that she's getting teased about being in the middle of a Cylon sandwich, doesn't care that people are pointing at her and whispering, doesn't care about anything they're implying about her love life. Most of it's true, anyway.
She has too much to drink for the first time in a long time; Kara came back with Earth burning like a sickness and couldn't have gotten drunk if she'd tried, and then there was a war to fight for the home they'd finally found. When she'd been drinking too much because she'd thought Sam was dead, that'd been to cover up a grief so thick she'd thought it might choke her. There's grief now, of course, for those who fell in battle--but this is different. This is almost like freedom, celebrating something fought for and bought in blood, and she'll be damned if she can't enjoy it.
She enjoys it a little too much, though, and Racetrack has to help her home, but that's all right. Kara's singing something terrible and off-key when she comes in the door (they have a front door, but it doesn't have a lock; they don't need them yet, everyone is still getting along in the solidarity of survival, but she figures that will end soon enough), and she's surprised to see both Sam and Leoben are still awake. Waiting for her, maybe.
"Hi!" she says, giggling, tripping over something in her way. A chair? Stupid frakking place for a chair. "Oops." She catches herself with her hands on the back of the sofa. If there's tension in the room, she's too drunk to notice or care.
Kara makes her way to where Sam's sitting on the couch. She climbs in his lap, her arms around his neck. "Hi," she says again, her voice husky. Kara leans down and kisses him. She knows her mouth tastes like smoke, like ambrosia. The way he kisses her back makes her gasp against his mouth.
"Hey, baby," Sam says when he pulls away. His voice is low, amused, and makes her shiver. He puts his arms around her, smiles. "You're drunk."
"Nuh-uh," Kara says, and tries to punch him on the shoulder--she's drunk but she's still Kara, and her version of affection is usually tinged with some kind of conflict. She misses and punches the couch instead, knuckles hitting the wood beneath the cushions, and the motion pitches her off Sam's lap and she lilts sideways. "Why'd you move, sissy?" she asks him, rubbing her knuckles. "I wasn't gonna hit you tha' hard."
"I didn't move," Sam says, sounding amused. "You're going to be so sick in the morning, Thrace."
"Frak you," Kara says, pushing herself up, batting at Sam's hands when he tries to help her. It takes her a few seconds to right herself, and she manages to stand with a great deal of effort. She looks over at Leoben, who is watching her without much expression. Kara walks over to him, leans down, braces her hands on either side of his chair. "What?"
"I didn't say anything," Leoben says, and looks around her, over at Sam. "You want to handle this one, or should I?"
"Handle what?" Kara asks him, glaring. She's not comfortable touching Leoben, not casually, not yet. But she's drunk, so she doesn't care, and she traces her fingers over his perpetual stubble and grins at him. "Handle me?"
"Yes," he says, and smiles slightly. Leoben reaches out and puts his hands on her waist and stands, lifting her slightly as he does so. "Handle you."
"That's gonna take you both," she said, and then laughs. "I'm too much for just one of you."
Sometimes, being drunk makes her say things that are startlingly truthful. This would be one of those times.
"No argument here," Sam says, and then he's behind her with one hand on her waist, and Leoben's arm is around her shoulder. "You may be too much for the both of us."
Leoben laughs, and if Kara were sober, she may appreciate the bonding moment between him and Sam, even if it is at her expense. But she's not sober, not at all, and when they get her in her bedroom she tries to get them both to stay; but her hands are too clumsy when she tries to take off her clothes and her eyes are sliding closed, and when she falls on the bed she suddenly wants nothing more than to sleep. She can feel hands on her, tugging off her boots and her jeans, and she rolls on her stomach when they're finished and mumbles something that's a cross between thanks and get the frak out of my room.
She doesn't hear the door close behind her. But when she wakes up several hours later, there's a glass of water by her bed.
A few weeks before her assignment as a flight instructor is set to begin, Kara goes out and gets roaring drunk with a few other pilots. She's been working hard the last few weeks; working on the house, on keeping the delicate balance between her and Sam and Leoben from spilling over into chaos, on preparing herself to be an instructor again. She's flown a few recon patrols, nothing too stressful, gone up a few times in the Viper just because she wanted to. It's like old times, before the war, when recons were just excuses to get drunk afterwards. One night she goes with Racetrack and Hot Dog to one of the makeshift bars down by the beach, throwing back shots and talking about the war, smoking cigars and laughing too much and too loudly. She doesn't care that she's getting teased about being in the middle of a Cylon sandwich, doesn't care that people are pointing at her and whispering, doesn't care about anything they're implying about her love life. Most of it's true, anyway.
She has too much to drink for the first time in a long time; Kara came back with Earth burning like a sickness and couldn't have gotten drunk if she'd tried, and then there was a war to fight for the home they'd finally found. When she'd been drinking too much because she'd thought Sam was dead, that'd been to cover up a grief so thick she'd thought it might choke her. There's grief now, of course, for those who fell in battle--but this is different. This is almost like freedom, celebrating something fought for and bought in blood, and she'll be damned if she can't enjoy it.
She enjoys it a little too much, though, and Racetrack has to help her home, but that's all right. Kara's singing something terrible and off-key when she comes in the door (they have a front door, but it doesn't have a lock; they don't need them yet, everyone is still getting along in the solidarity of survival, but she figures that will end soon enough), and she's surprised to see both Sam and Leoben are still awake. Waiting for her, maybe.
"Hi!" she says, giggling, tripping over something in her way. A chair? Stupid frakking place for a chair. "Oops." She catches herself with her hands on the back of the sofa. If there's tension in the room, she's too drunk to notice or care.
Kara makes her way to where Sam's sitting on the couch. She climbs in his lap, her arms around his neck. "Hi," she says again, her voice husky. Kara leans down and kisses him. She knows her mouth tastes like smoke, like ambrosia. The way he kisses her back makes her gasp against his mouth.
"Hey, baby," Sam says when he pulls away. His voice is low, amused, and makes her shiver. He puts his arms around her, smiles. "You're drunk."
"Nuh-uh," Kara says, and tries to punch him on the shoulder--she's drunk but she's still Kara, and her version of affection is usually tinged with some kind of conflict. She misses and punches the couch instead, knuckles hitting the wood beneath the cushions, and the motion pitches her off Sam's lap and she lilts sideways. "Why'd you move, sissy?" she asks him, rubbing her knuckles. "I wasn't gonna hit you tha' hard."
"I didn't move," Sam says, sounding amused. "You're going to be so sick in the morning, Thrace."
"Frak you," Kara says, pushing herself up, batting at Sam's hands when he tries to help her. It takes her a few seconds to right herself, and she manages to stand with a great deal of effort. She looks over at Leoben, who is watching her without much expression. Kara walks over to him, leans down, braces her hands on either side of his chair. "What?"
"I didn't say anything," Leoben says, and looks around her, over at Sam. "You want to handle this one, or should I?"
"Handle what?" Kara asks him, glaring. She's not comfortable touching Leoben, not casually, not yet. But she's drunk, so she doesn't care, and she traces her fingers over his perpetual stubble and grins at him. "Handle me?"
"Yes," he says, and smiles slightly. Leoben reaches out and puts his hands on her waist and stands, lifting her slightly as he does so. "Handle you."
"That's gonna take you both," she said, and then laughs. "I'm too much for just one of you."
Sometimes, being drunk makes her say things that are startlingly truthful. This would be one of those times.
"No argument here," Sam says, and then he's behind her with one hand on her waist, and Leoben's arm is around her shoulder. "You may be too much for the both of us."
Leoben laughs, and if Kara were sober, she may appreciate the bonding moment between him and Sam, even if it is at her expense. But she's not sober, not at all, and when they get her in her bedroom she tries to get them both to stay; but her hands are too clumsy when she tries to take off her clothes and her eyes are sliding closed, and when she falls on the bed she suddenly wants nothing more than to sleep. She can feel hands on her, tugging off her boots and her jeans, and she rolls on her stomach when they're finished and mumbles something that's a cross between thanks and get the frak out of my room.
She doesn't hear the door close behind her. But when she wakes up several hours later, there's a glass of water by her bed.