BSG Fic: The Sun
Title: The Sun
Written for badcliche challenge of "I was completely in love with one of your closest relatives/friends. But he/she died. I turned to you for comfort. Possible sex ensued, and we fell in love. Lots of angst and emotional baggage." I tried writing the "robot ordered us to have sex" one, honest, but couldn't.
Fandom: BSG
Pairing: K/L
Rating: PG
Note: I am very grateful to ancarett, a truly wonderful beta! Cross-posted all over the place.
Summary:She can notice him looking at her: ends of glances out of the corners of her eyes, beginnings of pauses where there should be none.
Once, when she was little, she stared too long at the sun, full of curiosity. How long can I hold out? When will I blink? When should I look away? She saw spots for hours afterwards and her mother punished her yet again, rather mechanically, for not behaving the way she should.
When she was older, she learned the myth of Icarus, the penalty for defying the sun. But it was Zak who fell for her mistake, a smear on the horizon, human mixed into the machine, splayed, gone. Lee held her, then, tight enough to hurt. She shook her angry sobs into his shoulder and did not have to look at his eyes. His hands were on her hair and she was falling apart. She remembers it now, with Caprica's sun only a memory in her blood.
She can notice him looking at her: ends of glances out of the corners of her eyes, beginnings of pauses where there should be none. She resists thinking of it, unwilling to follow through. When he stops her in one of the innumerable corridors, unremarkable in its Spartan sameness, she grins and says something uniquely Starbuck. His face is somewhat solemn and a bit too earnest. She takes comfort in the familiarity of it all. Something behind the surface of his eyes, the way they are slightly drawn, as if with fatigue or emotional strain, is less comfortable but familiar nonetheless. His mouth curves into a half-smile and he retorts something rather Apollo-like back. They pass.
She remembers fitting into Zak when they walked: the long custom of curves and angles fitting together: unconscious habit of lovers whose bodies remember even when they are apart. She catches a stray thought that she doesn’t fit into Lee, friendship or not, when they hug. She horrifies herself in thinking, Not yet.
She knows she is studying him in return. He is not the only one whose eyes stray where they shouldn’t. She recognizes his precise way of using words, or the way his speech gets clipped when he is angry. She recognizes the rare moments when he lets down his guard, and knows she is possessive of them. She becomes fond of the collar of his uniform. When she catches herself thinking of his hands, she stops. The curtain comes down and she talks to herself, her own task master. She remembers Zak, greatly loved, safely dead, impossible to hurt or disappoint.
When his eyes stray to her again, full of sentences he would never think to utter, she refuses to look back at him. She is cool, and friendly, and cracks jokes and she never thinks of him if she can help it. She knows that he is hurt and is glad of it and it bothers her that she is. It’s an inescapable circle but she is determined.
She does not stare at the sun too long any more. She has learned better since and measures her limits. Sometimes.
Written for badcliche challenge of "I was completely in love with one of your closest relatives/friends. But he/she died. I turned to you for comfort. Possible sex ensued, and we fell in love. Lots of angst and emotional baggage." I tried writing the "robot ordered us to have sex" one, honest, but couldn't.
Fandom: BSG
Pairing: K/L
Rating: PG
Note: I am very grateful to ancarett, a truly wonderful beta! Cross-posted all over the place.
Summary:She can notice him looking at her: ends of glances out of the corners of her eyes, beginnings of pauses where there should be none.
Once, when she was little, she stared too long at the sun, full of curiosity. How long can I hold out? When will I blink? When should I look away? She saw spots for hours afterwards and her mother punished her yet again, rather mechanically, for not behaving the way she should.
When she was older, she learned the myth of Icarus, the penalty for defying the sun. But it was Zak who fell for her mistake, a smear on the horizon, human mixed into the machine, splayed, gone. Lee held her, then, tight enough to hurt. She shook her angry sobs into his shoulder and did not have to look at his eyes. His hands were on her hair and she was falling apart. She remembers it now, with Caprica's sun only a memory in her blood.
She can notice him looking at her: ends of glances out of the corners of her eyes, beginnings of pauses where there should be none. She resists thinking of it, unwilling to follow through. When he stops her in one of the innumerable corridors, unremarkable in its Spartan sameness, she grins and says something uniquely Starbuck. His face is somewhat solemn and a bit too earnest. She takes comfort in the familiarity of it all. Something behind the surface of his eyes, the way they are slightly drawn, as if with fatigue or emotional strain, is less comfortable but familiar nonetheless. His mouth curves into a half-smile and he retorts something rather Apollo-like back. They pass.
She remembers fitting into Zak when they walked: the long custom of curves and angles fitting together: unconscious habit of lovers whose bodies remember even when they are apart. She catches a stray thought that she doesn’t fit into Lee, friendship or not, when they hug. She horrifies herself in thinking, Not yet.
She knows she is studying him in return. He is not the only one whose eyes stray where they shouldn’t. She recognizes his precise way of using words, or the way his speech gets clipped when he is angry. She recognizes the rare moments when he lets down his guard, and knows she is possessive of them. She becomes fond of the collar of his uniform. When she catches herself thinking of his hands, she stops. The curtain comes down and she talks to herself, her own task master. She remembers Zak, greatly loved, safely dead, impossible to hurt or disappoint.
When his eyes stray to her again, full of sentences he would never think to utter, she refuses to look back at him. She is cool, and friendly, and cracks jokes and she never thinks of him if she can help it. She knows that he is hurt and is glad of it and it bothers her that she is. It’s an inescapable circle but she is determined.
She does not stare at the sun too long any more. She has learned better since and measures her limits. Sometimes.