BSG littlebit.
.
BSG04.
Kara and Leoben
Spoilers up through 3.01
Light R
The first morning.
.
Dreams of Eggs
Mithrigil Galtirglin
Warm bread.
It’s been a while since she had a dream that involved smelling something. She’s never usually this lucid. Just go with it, she thinks, gets out of bed-it’s bigger than her apartment’s bed, much bigger, but in the place in it where a bed should be-and stumbles toward the smell. If it’s Zak again she’s going to wake up and kill someone. Also eggs, she thinks, eggs with butter. Sam’s going to hate her in the morning. She wonders if Sam ever dreams of eggs. She’d ask, if it wasn’t frakking weird. Even in the dream she’s definitely not awake, and the walls aren’t bright enough, and there’s a carpet. Her feet are sweating. It feels off that her hair is this long.
Dream-logic, though, that she knows the way to the kitchen without really looking for it. Follows her nose, maybe. Eggs and bread and thing that aren’t New Caprica.
“There are apricot preserves in the cabinet,” Leoben says. A count of two and the toast is done. “Spoons in the drawer near the sink. I inferred that you meant to keep them there, when they were clean.”
She wakes up.
He sets the bread on a plate and holds it out to her, smiling. “If you would prefer butter, I’ll bring some tonight.” His face lights up, just a little. “Hi.”
A switch goes off and she charges-but the light’s in her eyes and her back’s on the table and her wrists are in his hands before the plate hits the floor. It’s plastic. The toast scrapes a little. Her hair is in the eggs.
His body hovers over hers like he could- “Good morning,” he tells her very quietly, prompting, like some frakked up kindergarten teacher.
She catches her breath and glares.
He repeats it when she thrashes. When she kicks him. When she spits in his face. He says it gentler each time. The clock ticks and his shoes slide on the floor and a shadow passes through the blinds, past the command tower. The eggs squelch.
“They were over easy,” he says like it’s a joke.
“I like ‘em scrambled,” she snarls.
“You’re not dreaming.”
Her wrists ache. “Like hell.”
“Good morning, Kara.”
Another cloud passes.
He sighs, so close to her mouth that she can smell crumbs and tea on his breath. “I’m going to let you up,” he breathes, “and then we’re going to have breakfast. And talk.”
When she narrows her eyes, he does what he said. Slowly. Sliding off her like he’s Sam being courteous. She’s nauseous. She watches him. She gets her feet back on the ground and stands. Warm yolk drips down the back of her neck, sticks to her bra.
“Maybe you should shower,” Leoben says, right before she socks him in the jaw.
--
BSG04.
Kara and Leoben
Spoilers up through 3.01
Light R
The first morning.
.
Dreams of Eggs
Mithrigil Galtirglin
Warm bread.
It’s been a while since she had a dream that involved smelling something. She’s never usually this lucid. Just go with it, she thinks, gets out of bed-it’s bigger than her apartment’s bed, much bigger, but in the place in it where a bed should be-and stumbles toward the smell. If it’s Zak again she’s going to wake up and kill someone. Also eggs, she thinks, eggs with butter. Sam’s going to hate her in the morning. She wonders if Sam ever dreams of eggs. She’d ask, if it wasn’t frakking weird. Even in the dream she’s definitely not awake, and the walls aren’t bright enough, and there’s a carpet. Her feet are sweating. It feels off that her hair is this long.
Dream-logic, though, that she knows the way to the kitchen without really looking for it. Follows her nose, maybe. Eggs and bread and thing that aren’t New Caprica.
“There are apricot preserves in the cabinet,” Leoben says. A count of two and the toast is done. “Spoons in the drawer near the sink. I inferred that you meant to keep them there, when they were clean.”
She wakes up.
He sets the bread on a plate and holds it out to her, smiling. “If you would prefer butter, I’ll bring some tonight.” His face lights up, just a little. “Hi.”
A switch goes off and she charges-but the light’s in her eyes and her back’s on the table and her wrists are in his hands before the plate hits the floor. It’s plastic. The toast scrapes a little. Her hair is in the eggs.
His body hovers over hers like he could- “Good morning,” he tells her very quietly, prompting, like some frakked up kindergarten teacher.
She catches her breath and glares.
He repeats it when she thrashes. When she kicks him. When she spits in his face. He says it gentler each time. The clock ticks and his shoes slide on the floor and a shadow passes through the blinds, past the command tower. The eggs squelch.
“They were over easy,” he says like it’s a joke.
“I like ‘em scrambled,” she snarls.
“You’re not dreaming.”
Her wrists ache. “Like hell.”
“Good morning, Kara.”
Another cloud passes.
He sighs, so close to her mouth that she can smell crumbs and tea on his breath. “I’m going to let you up,” he breathes, “and then we’re going to have breakfast. And talk.”
When she narrows her eyes, he does what he said. Slowly. Sliding off her like he’s Sam being courteous. She’s nauseous. She watches him. She gets her feet back on the ground and stands. Warm yolk drips down the back of her neck, sticks to her bra.
“Maybe you should shower,” Leoben says, right before she socks him in the jaw.
--