BSG ficlet (Kara/Lee)
Written hastily for comment fic, posted here because it got away from me.
Lee passes the bottle, nearly spilling it he's so's drunk. It's not ambrosia but something truly, truly horrible, some rot-gut of the Chief's, but it's all they've got, and after today, Starbuck is Tyrol's hero and Lee's not too proud to mooch if it means escaping reality for a while.
"I still…cannot…believe…you are frakkin' crazy enough…to go out in that…'stealth' viper," he says, using air quotes for stealth, even though it nearly throws him off balance. He tries to pass off the weaving as a move to settle back into his chair, which he does, and then he promptly props his feet up in her lap.
She's not drunk, or at least not as drunk as he is. He knows it, and she has to know he knows it. But she still grins in that way she only does when she's hammered and takes a lazy swig from the bottle, grimacing as if to distract him from the way her hand falls on his leg and begins to work its way up under the hem of his pants, over his calf.
She says, "No, no, no. You just don't believe it flew."
"No, I don't."
"And you're mad you didn't take it out yourself."
"Yes, indeed, I am."
"You owe me 50."
"I know," he sighs. "I know, I know."
"Don't forget."
"You won't let me." Her hand is still on his calf, just lying there flat and warm. It's kind of…distracting? But nice, at the same time.
He says, "But what I don't get... I just don't know why you were being so…optimistic about it."
She shrugs. "Frak, Lee, I don't know. I'm not allowed to be optimistic once in a while?"
He just snorts.
She flips him off, and he sits up, head swimming, only long enough to snatch the bottle back.
She says, "Did you ever think that it was only because you were being such a bastard about it?"
"What?"
"You. I like being contrary, Lee. Thought you knew that."
"So… So you're saying if I'd been down there with the knuckle-draggers like you were, building that frakkin' monstrosity, you would have been mocking me?"
She laughs. "Probably. And you probably would have flown it, just to be a pain in my ass."
"How do you know I would?"
"Because… Well, you've been a pain in my ass since I met you."
For no reason, because it isn't anything she hasn't said a million times, he finds a giggle rising up out of his chest and threatening to roll him right off onto the floor. So instead he decides to be proactive. He pulls his legs off her lap and suddenly sits up, pulling himself up out of the chair and moving toward her purposefully, without any clue as to what he's going to do when he gets there. What he does is falls into her lap, straddling her thighs, his hands catching the sides of her face.
Her face contorts into a put-on grimace that doesn't even begin to hide a definite peal of laughter that's waiting, ready to burst out as soon as he can make her let her guard down. So he dips his head down (not hard to do, with the way everything for him is swaying right about now) and lets his lips fall against her neck just before he scrapes at it with the short, scratchy stubble on his chin.
"Gods," she squeals, neck rolling and hands digging into his ribs as she pushes him back, but not so far he falls off her lap. Not yet, anyway. She shakes her head, her eyes not leaving his for a second. "What in the name of the lords of Kobol has gotten into you?"
He plants a quick kiss on her forehead and then stumbles up and lets himself fall back into his own chair. When he can focus on her face again, she's shaking her head and handing him the bottle back.
They need this, to unwind, even if it takes enough booze to make them feel crazy and out of control. Life now requires such absolute letting go, if only to compensate for all the hours and days and weeks of keeping everything in check, whether they think they can endure I or not.
He says, "I don't know how we keep doing this."
A shadow passes over her face; it's fascinating and confusing.
"Keep doing what?" she says cautiously.
"All of this. Fighting to stay alive. It's crazy."
She lets out a long breath and takes up the bottle again. "I know. But it's what we got, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, I'm not frakkin' dying anytime soon. But if I do, it's not going to be in the frakkin' gun range, collapsing on top of Hot Dog, you know?"
"Yeah."
She sits up suddenly and reaches over to take the bottle back. "50 cubits, Adama."
"I don't have 50 cubits, Starbuck."
"I know."
"Maybe I can figure out some…other kind of payment?"
She waggles her eyebrows. "Oh?"
If he lets himself get any closer right now, close like he was just a moment ago, he'll do something stupid. That much, his drunken brain knows. That's something so ingrained even this rot-gut can't burn it out. So he just kicks his legs up into her lap again, and waits for her to laugh, because it's the best sound in the whole frakkin' fleet.
~
Lee passes the bottle, nearly spilling it he's so's drunk. It's not ambrosia but something truly, truly horrible, some rot-gut of the Chief's, but it's all they've got, and after today, Starbuck is Tyrol's hero and Lee's not too proud to mooch if it means escaping reality for a while.
"I still…cannot…believe…you are frakkin' crazy enough…to go out in that…'stealth' viper," he says, using air quotes for stealth, even though it nearly throws him off balance. He tries to pass off the weaving as a move to settle back into his chair, which he does, and then he promptly props his feet up in her lap.
She's not drunk, or at least not as drunk as he is. He knows it, and she has to know he knows it. But she still grins in that way she only does when she's hammered and takes a lazy swig from the bottle, grimacing as if to distract him from the way her hand falls on his leg and begins to work its way up under the hem of his pants, over his calf.
She says, "No, no, no. You just don't believe it flew."
"No, I don't."
"And you're mad you didn't take it out yourself."
"Yes, indeed, I am."
"You owe me 50."
"I know," he sighs. "I know, I know."
"Don't forget."
"You won't let me." Her hand is still on his calf, just lying there flat and warm. It's kind of…distracting? But nice, at the same time.
He says, "But what I don't get... I just don't know why you were being so…optimistic about it."
She shrugs. "Frak, Lee, I don't know. I'm not allowed to be optimistic once in a while?"
He just snorts.
She flips him off, and he sits up, head swimming, only long enough to snatch the bottle back.
She says, "Did you ever think that it was only because you were being such a bastard about it?"
"What?"
"You. I like being contrary, Lee. Thought you knew that."
"So… So you're saying if I'd been down there with the knuckle-draggers like you were, building that frakkin' monstrosity, you would have been mocking me?"
She laughs. "Probably. And you probably would have flown it, just to be a pain in my ass."
"How do you know I would?"
"Because… Well, you've been a pain in my ass since I met you."
For no reason, because it isn't anything she hasn't said a million times, he finds a giggle rising up out of his chest and threatening to roll him right off onto the floor. So instead he decides to be proactive. He pulls his legs off her lap and suddenly sits up, pulling himself up out of the chair and moving toward her purposefully, without any clue as to what he's going to do when he gets there. What he does is falls into her lap, straddling her thighs, his hands catching the sides of her face.
Her face contorts into a put-on grimace that doesn't even begin to hide a definite peal of laughter that's waiting, ready to burst out as soon as he can make her let her guard down. So he dips his head down (not hard to do, with the way everything for him is swaying right about now) and lets his lips fall against her neck just before he scrapes at it with the short, scratchy stubble on his chin.
"Gods," she squeals, neck rolling and hands digging into his ribs as she pushes him back, but not so far he falls off her lap. Not yet, anyway. She shakes her head, her eyes not leaving his for a second. "What in the name of the lords of Kobol has gotten into you?"
He plants a quick kiss on her forehead and then stumbles up and lets himself fall back into his own chair. When he can focus on her face again, she's shaking her head and handing him the bottle back.
They need this, to unwind, even if it takes enough booze to make them feel crazy and out of control. Life now requires such absolute letting go, if only to compensate for all the hours and days and weeks of keeping everything in check, whether they think they can endure I or not.
He says, "I don't know how we keep doing this."
A shadow passes over her face; it's fascinating and confusing.
"Keep doing what?" she says cautiously.
"All of this. Fighting to stay alive. It's crazy."
She lets out a long breath and takes up the bottle again. "I know. But it's what we got, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, I'm not frakkin' dying anytime soon. But if I do, it's not going to be in the frakkin' gun range, collapsing on top of Hot Dog, you know?"
"Yeah."
She sits up suddenly and reaches over to take the bottle back. "50 cubits, Adama."
"I don't have 50 cubits, Starbuck."
"I know."
"Maybe I can figure out some…other kind of payment?"
She waggles her eyebrows. "Oh?"
If he lets himself get any closer right now, close like he was just a moment ago, he'll do something stupid. That much, his drunken brain knows. That's something so ingrained even this rot-gut can't burn it out. So he just kicks his legs up into her lap again, and waits for her to laugh, because it's the best sound in the whole frakkin' fleet.
~