Fic
Title: The Cooling Year
Author: Cakes (cidercupcakes)
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Vague hints at Kara/Lee, Kara/Zak, Kara/Sam, and Kara/Leoben.
Notes: Title and section dividers are from the poem "The Death of the Bird", by A.D. Hope, which can be read here and which is so totally about Kara Thrace that it hurts.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Slight ones for "Unfinished Business", slightly larger ones for "Occupation".
Disclaimer: Moore, Universal, etc. No profit is being made off of this.
Words: 476
Summary:
the guiding spark of instinct winks and dies
All this time up against them, and the screech of raiders was still wholly alien. You couldn't hear a gods-damned thing in the cockpit, not of the other ships, and she thought the world must be ending, a little bit. A few times, on Caprica -- the real one, not this weak-ass namesake that didn't even deserve to be that -- a few times, then, but there was no getting used to it, not for her. It was shrill and eardrum-splitting, and it made her feel wrong in all kinds of ways, being able to hear it.
Her only thought then was 'Great, another frakking end of the world', and then 'well, at least it doesn't matter that Sam's sick'. That was pretty harsh, which she didn't have the end of the world -- any of them -- as an excuse for, but there you had it, ladies and gentlemen; Kara Thrace in a nutshell. At least she wouldn't have to worry about any of this domestic crap anymore, if said domicile and husband got blown to bits by the Cylons.
The thought that she might be the one to get blown to bits didn't really occur to her, not seriously, not as seriously anyway.
She thought maybe a year would've dulled the itchiness in her fingers when she thought of fighting, at least a little, but as far as she could tell, there was no difference.
So, another frakking end of the world it was.
a vanishing speck in those inane dominions
"Kara," Sharon yelled, and Starbuck punched her. She got hauled around by her arm and had a glimpse of bottle-blonde hair before someone punched her, which about evened it all out.
Sam was shouting, distantly -- everyone was shouting, but she heard Sam, she knew Sam, and that had to be worth something -- and a voice that must've been the bottle-blonde's. "Tell him we've got her."
aware of ghosts that haunt the heart's possession
She had a wild, panicked thought that Scar managed to get himself promoted to a shiny new bipedal body, and wondered if he'd listen to her when she told him Kat was the one who did it that last time.
She knew that wasn't it, really, she knew this wasn't about her flying or her fighting or anything that frakking simple.
When one of the metalheads opened the tent flap and his lanky form slipped under its arm, there was a smile on his stupid frakking face. Like they were old friends, like they were best frakking friends.
He smiled at her the way she didn't think she'd ever smiled at Sam since that night with Lee, the way she'd only smiled at Lee a couple of times and Zak a couple more.
Author: Cakes (cidercupcakes)
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Vague hints at Kara/Lee, Kara/Zak, Kara/Sam, and Kara/Leoben.
Notes: Title and section dividers are from the poem "The Death of the Bird", by A.D. Hope, which can be read here and which is so totally about Kara Thrace that it hurts.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Slight ones for "Unfinished Business", slightly larger ones for "Occupation".
Disclaimer: Moore, Universal, etc. No profit is being made off of this.
Words: 476
Summary:
the guiding spark of instinct winks and dies
All this time up against them, and the screech of raiders was still wholly alien. You couldn't hear a gods-damned thing in the cockpit, not of the other ships, and she thought the world must be ending, a little bit. A few times, on Caprica -- the real one, not this weak-ass namesake that didn't even deserve to be that -- a few times, then, but there was no getting used to it, not for her. It was shrill and eardrum-splitting, and it made her feel wrong in all kinds of ways, being able to hear it.
Her only thought then was 'Great, another frakking end of the world', and then 'well, at least it doesn't matter that Sam's sick'. That was pretty harsh, which she didn't have the end of the world -- any of them -- as an excuse for, but there you had it, ladies and gentlemen; Kara Thrace in a nutshell. At least she wouldn't have to worry about any of this domestic crap anymore, if said domicile and husband got blown to bits by the Cylons.
The thought that she might be the one to get blown to bits didn't really occur to her, not seriously, not as seriously anyway.
She thought maybe a year would've dulled the itchiness in her fingers when she thought of fighting, at least a little, but as far as she could tell, there was no difference.
So, another frakking end of the world it was.
a vanishing speck in those inane dominions
"Kara," Sharon yelled, and Starbuck punched her. She got hauled around by her arm and had a glimpse of bottle-blonde hair before someone punched her, which about evened it all out.
Sam was shouting, distantly -- everyone was shouting, but she heard Sam, she knew Sam, and that had to be worth something -- and a voice that must've been the bottle-blonde's. "Tell him we've got her."
aware of ghosts that haunt the heart's possession
She had a wild, panicked thought that Scar managed to get himself promoted to a shiny new bipedal body, and wondered if he'd listen to her when she told him Kat was the one who did it that last time.
She knew that wasn't it, really, she knew this wasn't about her flying or her fighting or anything that frakking simple.
When one of the metalheads opened the tent flap and his lanky form slipped under its arm, there was a smile on his stupid frakking face. Like they were old friends, like they were best frakking friends.
He smiled at her the way she didn't think she'd ever smiled at Sam since that night with Lee, the way she'd only smiled at Lee a couple of times and Zak a couple more.