BSG Fic - Proof - Starbuck/Kat
Title: Proof
Fandom: BSG
Pairing: Starbuck/Kat
Rating: Probably R.
Warning/Disclaimer: Not beta'd and not mine. Too bad. *sigh* Nope, they all belong to some incredibly brilliant people like David Eick.
A/N: I have recently become addicted to this Battlestar Galactica thing and now I know what all the fuss was about. While I’m not new to fanfiction, BSG is a new foray for my writing. I know how hardcore BSG fans can be so I’m a bit nervous about this one, almost as nervous as I was with my first Xena fic (and I was damn nervous then!).
A/N2: This takes place during the confrontation between Starbuck and Kat in “Scar.” That scene begged for something, so I’m pretending that Lee didn’t come in and interrupt them.
She drives me crazy, completely frakkin’ insane! Not that I’m far from that edge anyway. In fact, I’m damn close, so frakkin’ close I can taste the blood in my mouth, the blood from where she had punched me.
Godsdamn it, the girl had balls. Then it hit me. She’s me. She’s just like I was a few years ago, hell even a few hours ago - arrogant, reckless, and crazier than a cat in a room full of mice. If she’s that much like me, then she must be just as scared as me. Scared of this mad, mad world we’re trapped in, floating in a metal can through space chasing after or away from other metal cans, praying to the gods that we live to see another day. Grabbing any small piece of joy and humanity that we can. That’s what Lee was, what Sam was…proof that we were human and flawed, that we could love and hate, frak and kill, with equal purpose and intent. The toasters don’t understand losing yourself in laughter and sweat and moans and liquor, but humans do. We know the pain loss brings and the joy of finding comfort in another.
I told Lee that I couldn’t remember their names, but I can, every single one. Every single man I’ve lost, and I see the all too familiar challenging glare in Kat’s eyes and I realize that I don’t want to see her fly apart in pieces in the sky or end up laid out on a metal slab in the morgue. I don’t want her to be one of the many we lose, because if we lose her, I lose myself. I can’t have that. I can’t have another piece of my humanity yanked from me. These moments of joy are too fleeting and could end too soon, gone in a flash of gunfire in a matter of seconds.
Kat and I danced on this edge between joy and pain. Even the fighting proved we were alive.
A moment passes as my instincts kick in from the punch she delivered. The throbbing of my lip matched the pounding of my heart, the adrenaline in my body pushing me to do something, anything, but I couldn’t hit back. Because she’s me. It’s in this moment that two fighters, two soldiers in a war we didn’t ask for, fight not against each other but for each other, for a humanity that’s on the brink of destruction. The kiss I pull her into is a testiment to our humanity. It’s the one bond that a machine will never understand. They’ll never understand how passion, love, hate, and friendship can get so mixed up.
I strip her down and spread her legs, letting my tongue dance over scars she’s endured from battles won and lost. It’s a communion, a coming together of equals in a shared destiny. She gives me her body - compact and strong, stretched out over a desk - and I, in turn, give her my strength, my promise, my honor. As a soldier and a leader by her side. I vow to not let Kat be a name I’ll ever forget.