Redhanded
Redhanded
Kara woke, and Zak's eyes were on her, lost in dreamy contemplation. She knew, half-consciously, that his hand had just been withdrawn from her face, where one finger had traced a line from her forehead down the length of her nose.
"Oh, frak me," she murmured groggily, as she rolled on her back and yawned into her two hands, which tented over her mouth and pinched the inner corners of her eyes.
"Already did, sir," grinned Zak.
"Sorry," she breathed. "It's just kind of a creepy way to wake up, nugget."
"I was just wondering if I could draw you."
"Excuse me?" she demanded, turning her head to stare at him, almost all the way awake now.
"I'm taking this evening art class. And I need a model for a homework assignment. And I liked the way the light fell on your face."
She rolled her eyes at this last bit, and said, "You're an artist? You, Mr. All-My-Life-I-Have-Dreamed-Of-Being-A-Steely-Eyed-Viper-Jock Adama."
"Well, I mean, I've only taken a couple classes. I'm not that good," he said. "Why? You got a problem with art?"
"No, just with sensitive artistic types. They remind of my father. I hate my father."
"Oh come on. Who's so sensitive? I'm still the same blockhead nugget you took home last night," he said, propping himself up with one arm, and reaching for her face again with the other hand, "against your better judgment, I'm sure." She squirmed slightly under his touch, and he leaned in to kiss her, whispering, "I just happen to have a hobby."
She was laughing when their lips met, and she was the one who deepened the kiss, ran one hand down his chest and stomach and below, and hooked an ankle around his knee, drawing him closer. His hand still cupped her cheek and temple, and when their mouths broke apart for a moment he took the opportunity to brush the hair from her forehead and say, "Come on, let me draw you." She let out another laugh and kissed him again, but he pulled back and repeated, "Let me draw you."
"Now?" she asked, incredulous.
"Yes," he said, smiling. "You are so beautiful right now."
"What, and I won't be beautiful after we frak?"
"I didn't say that. I think you're always beautiful. Especially when you're angry," he said, dropping a quick peck on her forehead and then rolling out of the bed.
As he walked across the room, still naked, to rummage in the bag he had flung hastily in the corner upon entering the night before, she sat up and called after him, "I hope you haven't been frakking up your landings all week just because you like it when I'm pissed off."
"No," he said, "that's due to genuine lack of skill. Your little lectures are just what keep me from giving up and running off to pursue a career as a painter instead."
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be doing that?"
He stopped to look at her seriously, and said, "Is that what you really think? That I'm not going to cut it as a pilot and I need to find something else to do with my life? Because other people have told me that, but that's not what you've been telling me in training. And I didn't think you were the kind of person to not say what you really mean."
"No," she said, "of course not. You're coming along fine. A little slow, but... basically fine. But I see you getting frustrated, and I wonder if you might be happier doing something else, that's all."
"This is what I want to do, Kara." He paused. "Can I call you Kara, sir?" She shrugged, and he went on, "And it's a good thing too, because I'm a better pilot than I am an artist. Wait till I show you my sketchbook." And with the book in hand, he climbed back into the bed beside her. She took it from him, turned to the first page, and snorted with laughter.
"You're not kidding," she giggled. "Her lips look like they're made of bananas, and I think her shoulder blades are about to turn into wings and fly away -- I could do better than this."
Zak laughed right along with her and said, "Told you. But be fair, that was just a first attempt, from my first day of my first class. There's better stuff at the back."
He reached out for the book, intending to flip to the end, but Kara yelled, "No, I like this one," and a brief wrestling match ensued. She won, pinned him face down on the mattress, and with her free hand, opened the sketchbook to the first page again. "Reminds me of stuff I was doodling when I was about eleven," she said.
"Oooh, the truth comes out: the infamous Lt. Kara Thrace, sensitive artistic type," said Zak, half-smothered by the pillow.
"When I was eleven, idiot," she protested. She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, then let him up again. "I gave up drawing for Pyramid when I was about fourteen."
"But you did like art, once upon a time?" he asked.
"Doodling. That's all."
"You should come to my class," he said.
"What? No. No way," she said.
"Why not?" he asked. She grimaced, and again he said, "Seriously, why not?"
"I think I'm doing enough fraternizing with my subordinates against regulations already, don't you?" she said.
"Since when do you give a frak about regs? It's not about that at all, is it? I think you're just scared of losing your reputation -- think you can't be a hard-ass and an artist at the same time, right? Come on, Starbuck, I dare you."
"No, that's not it" she said, stern now. "It's just..." She paused. "Look, I will show you the absolute height of my artistic ability, OK?" She scrambled out of the bed and started digging hurriedly through Zak's bag. "You've got your supplies in here, right?"
"Yeah," he said, "back pocket."
"Ah, oils. Very nice."
"I just got those. I don't have any brushes and definitely no canvases with me. Why don't you try the colored pencils?"
"Nope," she said, "this is exactly what I want. Yellow... light blue... and red. Perfect."
She took a moment to pull on her oversized old green uniform jacket, and walked out of the room without another word.
"Kara, where are you going?" called Zak. He too got up, and struggled into his pants. "Kara!" he called again, on his way out the door.
She yelled back from the living room, "I've been thinking this place could use some color on the walls. It's a little too cold and impersonal, don't you think? Needs a bold statement, right when you come in the door."
Zak by now had entered the living room, and saw Kara standing at the foot of the stairs, squeezing a wormy blob of golden paint into her palm, with a dangerous look on her face.
He said, "Kara, what are you doing? Do you know how much nice oil paints cost?"
But she had already splatted her hand against the wall, and was intently smearing it into a circle of sunshine.
"Kara, did you hear me?"
She was wiping the last of the yellow off her hands and onto her jacket, and unscrewing the cap of the blue.
"Don't worry," she said, attacking the wall with handful after handful of sky-colored goop, "I'll buy you some new. I think I might need another tube of blue for myself anyway. This isn't gonna stretch quite far enough."
And sure enough the tube was soon empty, and the paint went on thin and patchy on the outer edges of the thick blue ring around the yellow center. But undeterred, Kara turned and pushed past Zak (who decided it was best to shut up and stay the frak out of her way), and grabbed a chair from the kitchen table, leaving bright blue hand prints on the back. She brought the chair back to her work in progress and climbed atop it to smear an outer ring of red, starting at the top and working her way down.
When she had finished, she stepped back, and sat down on the steps, staring up at her design, looking like she was on the verge of tears. Zak went and sat beside her.
"What is it?" he asked, gently.
"Just I pattern I liked. I used to draw it on everything when I was a kid."
"It's beautiful," he said.
She raised an eyebrow, skeptically. "Yeah, well, next time you come, bring some brushes. I want to touch up the blue, at least."
He said, "So there's going to be a next time?"
She grinned at him, and ran one painty finger in a red line from his forehead down to the tip of his nose.
"Yes," she said, then climbed into his lap, shrugged off her jacket again, and kissed him.
***
Kara woke, and Zak's eyes were on her, lost in dreamy contemplation. She knew, half-consciously, that his hand had just been withdrawn from her face, where one finger had traced a line from her forehead down the length of her nose.
"Oh, frak me," she murmured groggily, as she rolled on her back and yawned into her two hands, which tented over her mouth and pinched the inner corners of her eyes.
"Already did, sir," grinned Zak.
"Sorry," she breathed. "It's just kind of a creepy way to wake up, nugget."
"I was just wondering if I could draw you."
"Excuse me?" she demanded, turning her head to stare at him, almost all the way awake now.
"I'm taking this evening art class. And I need a model for a homework assignment. And I liked the way the light fell on your face."
She rolled her eyes at this last bit, and said, "You're an artist? You, Mr. All-My-Life-I-Have-Dreamed-Of-Being-A-Steely-Eyed-Viper-Jock Adama."
"Well, I mean, I've only taken a couple classes. I'm not that good," he said. "Why? You got a problem with art?"
"No, just with sensitive artistic types. They remind of my father. I hate my father."
"Oh come on. Who's so sensitive? I'm still the same blockhead nugget you took home last night," he said, propping himself up with one arm, and reaching for her face again with the other hand, "against your better judgment, I'm sure." She squirmed slightly under his touch, and he leaned in to kiss her, whispering, "I just happen to have a hobby."
She was laughing when their lips met, and she was the one who deepened the kiss, ran one hand down his chest and stomach and below, and hooked an ankle around his knee, drawing him closer. His hand still cupped her cheek and temple, and when their mouths broke apart for a moment he took the opportunity to brush the hair from her forehead and say, "Come on, let me draw you." She let out another laugh and kissed him again, but he pulled back and repeated, "Let me draw you."
"Now?" she asked, incredulous.
"Yes," he said, smiling. "You are so beautiful right now."
"What, and I won't be beautiful after we frak?"
"I didn't say that. I think you're always beautiful. Especially when you're angry," he said, dropping a quick peck on her forehead and then rolling out of the bed.
As he walked across the room, still naked, to rummage in the bag he had flung hastily in the corner upon entering the night before, she sat up and called after him, "I hope you haven't been frakking up your landings all week just because you like it when I'm pissed off."
"No," he said, "that's due to genuine lack of skill. Your little lectures are just what keep me from giving up and running off to pursue a career as a painter instead."
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be doing that?"
He stopped to look at her seriously, and said, "Is that what you really think? That I'm not going to cut it as a pilot and I need to find something else to do with my life? Because other people have told me that, but that's not what you've been telling me in training. And I didn't think you were the kind of person to not say what you really mean."
"No," she said, "of course not. You're coming along fine. A little slow, but... basically fine. But I see you getting frustrated, and I wonder if you might be happier doing something else, that's all."
"This is what I want to do, Kara." He paused. "Can I call you Kara, sir?" She shrugged, and he went on, "And it's a good thing too, because I'm a better pilot than I am an artist. Wait till I show you my sketchbook." And with the book in hand, he climbed back into the bed beside her. She took it from him, turned to the first page, and snorted with laughter.
"You're not kidding," she giggled. "Her lips look like they're made of bananas, and I think her shoulder blades are about to turn into wings and fly away -- I could do better than this."
Zak laughed right along with her and said, "Told you. But be fair, that was just a first attempt, from my first day of my first class. There's better stuff at the back."
He reached out for the book, intending to flip to the end, but Kara yelled, "No, I like this one," and a brief wrestling match ensued. She won, pinned him face down on the mattress, and with her free hand, opened the sketchbook to the first page again. "Reminds me of stuff I was doodling when I was about eleven," she said.
"Oooh, the truth comes out: the infamous Lt. Kara Thrace, sensitive artistic type," said Zak, half-smothered by the pillow.
"When I was eleven, idiot," she protested. She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, then let him up again. "I gave up drawing for Pyramid when I was about fourteen."
"But you did like art, once upon a time?" he asked.
"Doodling. That's all."
"You should come to my class," he said.
"What? No. No way," she said.
"Why not?" he asked. She grimaced, and again he said, "Seriously, why not?"
"I think I'm doing enough fraternizing with my subordinates against regulations already, don't you?" she said.
"Since when do you give a frak about regs? It's not about that at all, is it? I think you're just scared of losing your reputation -- think you can't be a hard-ass and an artist at the same time, right? Come on, Starbuck, I dare you."
"No, that's not it" she said, stern now. "It's just..." She paused. "Look, I will show you the absolute height of my artistic ability, OK?" She scrambled out of the bed and started digging hurriedly through Zak's bag. "You've got your supplies in here, right?"
"Yeah," he said, "back pocket."
"Ah, oils. Very nice."
"I just got those. I don't have any brushes and definitely no canvases with me. Why don't you try the colored pencils?"
"Nope," she said, "this is exactly what I want. Yellow... light blue... and red. Perfect."
She took a moment to pull on her oversized old green uniform jacket, and walked out of the room without another word.
"Kara, where are you going?" called Zak. He too got up, and struggled into his pants. "Kara!" he called again, on his way out the door.
She yelled back from the living room, "I've been thinking this place could use some color on the walls. It's a little too cold and impersonal, don't you think? Needs a bold statement, right when you come in the door."
Zak by now had entered the living room, and saw Kara standing at the foot of the stairs, squeezing a wormy blob of golden paint into her palm, with a dangerous look on her face.
He said, "Kara, what are you doing? Do you know how much nice oil paints cost?"
But she had already splatted her hand against the wall, and was intently smearing it into a circle of sunshine.
"Kara, did you hear me?"
She was wiping the last of the yellow off her hands and onto her jacket, and unscrewing the cap of the blue.
"Don't worry," she said, attacking the wall with handful after handful of sky-colored goop, "I'll buy you some new. I think I might need another tube of blue for myself anyway. This isn't gonna stretch quite far enough."
And sure enough the tube was soon empty, and the paint went on thin and patchy on the outer edges of the thick blue ring around the yellow center. But undeterred, Kara turned and pushed past Zak (who decided it was best to shut up and stay the frak out of her way), and grabbed a chair from the kitchen table, leaving bright blue hand prints on the back. She brought the chair back to her work in progress and climbed atop it to smear an outer ring of red, starting at the top and working her way down.
When she had finished, she stepped back, and sat down on the steps, staring up at her design, looking like she was on the verge of tears. Zak went and sat beside her.
"What is it?" he asked, gently.
"Just I pattern I liked. I used to draw it on everything when I was a kid."
"It's beautiful," he said.
She raised an eyebrow, skeptically. "Yeah, well, next time you come, bring some brushes. I want to touch up the blue, at least."
He said, "So there's going to be a next time?"
She grinned at him, and ran one painty finger in a red line from his forehead down to the tip of his nose.
"Yes," she said, then climbed into his lap, shrugged off her jacket again, and kissed him.
***