[bsg] something you can't replace
Title: Something You Can't Replace
Spoilers: For The Farm
Rating: PG
Summary: Kara/Lee
Disclaimer: I don't own.
A/N: With thanks to pen and Carrie, and alanna for being a sounding board.
*
Something You Can't Replace
Kara had more lives than a cat, Lee thought, as he stood with his father in the Sick Bay and waited for Doc Cottle. It was starting to get ridiculous, and he no longer even attempted counting how many times she’d flirted with death because it always made him feel slightly sick. As it was, he spent a lot of time trying not to think about the day her luck would run out.
This particular incident had been one of the less original ways she’d managed to almost die; she’d been on CAP with Sidekick when the Cylons had shown up, and by the time the alert fighters had arrived, the eight Raiders were nothing but shrapnel, just like most of Kara’s wings and half her engine. Instead of ejecting like any sane person, she’d insisted on bringing in her Viper and had smashed into the deck so hard she left skid marks for meters.
She had been grinning when she got out of the cockpit. Lee, who had run all the way from the CIC, only just stopped himself from hitting her or kissing her or doing all sorts of other unCAG like things to her in the middle of the hanger bay. He had instead marched her away to Doc Cottle as soon as he’d ascertained she could walk, not even giving her the chance to say one gleeful thing to Tyrol, who had been surveying the wreckage with a look of dismay.
His father had arrived at the Sick Bay about ten minutes later; Lee thought there was something slightly funny about how this was becoming a routine, and they were discussing the lastest batch of nuggets when Doc Cottle finally emerged.
Lee stood immediately, his father slightly slower and Cottle looked faintly amused for a moment.
“How is she?”
“Better than she should be,” Doc Cottle answered gruffly, and Lee saw his father relax out of the corner of his eye. “She’s bruised and shaken up, but nothing that won’t fix itself in a couple of days.”
“That's good news," the Commander said, sounding relieved. "What’s the prognosis?”
“I’ll keep her here overnight, just to be careful, but she’ll be clear for flight in two days or so.”
“Good,” Lee said, and then noticed that Cottle was studying them both, looking almost worried. It was such a strange expression to see on his face that Lee looked at his father to see if he’d noticed it.
The Commander straightened slightly, and Lee knew he had. “Was there something else?”
There was a pause, as if Cottle was debating something within himself, and then the doctor slid two films out of an envelope and stuck them up. “I x-rayed her wrists, to make sure she hadn’t fractured anything bracing herself on landing. She’s fine, but I noticed something else. See those lines?” He traced out the path across Kara’s fingers. “And this one,” he said, pointing to one high up on Kara’s forearm.
“Yes. What are they?”
“Fractures.”
Lee shot a quick glance at his father. “But you said - “
“Oh, they’re old.” Cottle was studying the films, head tilted on one side. “Did she ever mention anything? Any accident she had when she was growing up?”
The Commander looked at Lee, who slowly shook his head. “No, she didn’t. Why?”
“I’ve seen fractures like this once before. Back on Picon.” The doctor paused, and Lee felt icy fingers of dread slide down his spine. “Child abuse case,” Cottle said finally. “A boy systematically beaten by his father.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Are you sure?” his father said, his voice calm, quiet. Too calm. Too quiet.
“There’s too many fractures here to be accidental. Look, she’s had every finger broken.” Lee flinched, and saw his father do the same. “Can you think of one accident that would cause that? And they’re old.”
“How old?”
“Childhood. Her arm later, as far as I can tell, but she could have got that falling out of a tree.”
Something beeped on a machine, and Cottle looked over at it. “I need to give Lieutenant Madison his medication.”
He left them alone, and Lee wrenched his eyes from the nine faint lines that indicated - he didn’t want to think about exactly what they meant. It was too much to process, too much.
“She ever say anything about her parents?” his father said finally, and Lee looked at his feet.
“Only her Dad. Once. When she was drunk.” Lee paused. “He left when she was seven.”
“Gods.” His father turned then, and his face was white. “Someone needs to talk to her.”
“You’re the one she thinks of as a father.”
“Which is why it might be better coming from you,” his father answered. “You’re her best friend. She might open up to you where she’ll only shut down with me.”
“Are we talking about the same person? Since when does Kara do the talking thing anyway?”
His father suddenly looked old and tired. “Just - talk to her, Lee. Please. I’ve got to know.”
*
Less than ten meters to her beside, and it took him over a minute to make it there. Lee paused outside the curtain, tried to breath, tried to shove the panic and dread away and put what he hoped was a realistic smile on his face. He slid the curtains open with a flourish.
Kara scowled at him. “Have you brought me chocolate?”
“No.”
“Flowers? Triad cards? A stogie?”
He rolled his eyes. “Kara, this is a sick bay.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” he said as he sat down on the bed beside her. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Please tell me you're here to tell me I can leave.”
“Nope. I’m here to check up on one of my pilots, who stupidly attempted to land her Viper with next to no engine power and half a wing.”
“I did not attempt to land it, thank you, Apollo. I did land it.”
“Yes, I think the deck’s going to have that souvenir for the rest of eternity.”
“It’ll give Tyrol something to remember me by,” she said, and he laughed, nudged her knee.
“Seriously, though. You feeling okay?”
She shrugged. “Been better,” she said. “A bit sore. But I’ll be fine.”
He paused, looked down at the bed sheets and traced one crease with a fingernail because he had no idea of what to say next, and he had a feeling his father was listening from the other side of the curtain.
“Lee? What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said, but he knew she wouldn’t buy it. She was always far too good at reading him.
And sure enough, Kara rolled her eyes. “You are a horrendous liar. Spit it out.” She studied him for a moment, and then the tiniest flash of fear crossed her face. “Is there something wrong? Cottle said my knee was okay - "
“No, you’re fine, it’s just - Cottle had to x-ray your wrists,” he said casually. “He said… he mentioned something about your hands.”
Please tell me it was an accident, he thought. Somehow, but then he looked at her and knew it wasn’t. She was staring at him, face ashen, hands clenched tightly together, all but trembling. Gods.
“It’s nothing, Lee,” she answered after a moment, but even her voice sounded wrong. “Pyramid accident, that’s all.”
“When you were a kid? Kara,” he said, reaching for her shoulder and she flinched back from him.
“I - he had no right!” she burst out. “He shouldn’t have told you. He had no right!”
“He was worried! Gods, Kara. We’re all worried.”
"I don't want to talk about it," she snapped at him, her shoulders hunching a little, and he forced himself to let go of where he'd fisted the sheet into his hands.
"Too bad," Lee retorted, and Kara's eyes glittered with anger.
“Pulling rank, Captain?” she said, and Lee shook his head.
“No. This has nothing to do with rank.”
“If you’ve seen the X-rays, Lee, you know what happened.”
“That doesn’t explain how,” he said softly, watching her twist her fingers together. He couldn’t stop seeing the shadowy lines of fractures along all eight of her fingers, couldn't stop hearing Cottle’s voice in his head.
She was silent and still, apart from the feverish movement of her fingers, for so long that he nudged her knee. “Kara?”
She raised her eyes to his then, and not since Zak’s funeral had he seen that look in them. “Not everyone has a family like yours. My mother - " She paused, swallowed. “She drank. And you know me, I’m always in trouble and - " Kara broke off, and Lee looked down at where she was clutching at the bedspread so tightly her knuckles were bloodless. “You should be able to guess the rest.”
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” he said, feeling sick.
“Who, Lee? I had no one, no one - Dad left me with her when I was seven and she was always so careful, never did anything to me that couldn’t be written off as one of poor Kara’s accidents - ”
“But your fingers - ”
She laughed. “One by one, different doctors every time. You want to know what I did?” Her voice took on a bitter edge that made Lee’s stomach churn even more. She held out her hands to him, flexed her index finger. “That, I think, was knocking over a vase and breaking it. This one - " Kara paused, bent her second finger back with the fingers of her other hand as far as it would go and Lee looked away, shut his eyes. “I burnt dinner once. I was eight.”
“Kara,” he said helplessly.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone but she - I was so scared. You - I - I didn’t know anything different. She told me things, that the Gods made me unlucky because I’d ruined her life. She told me that no one would care about me, no one would ever - "
She shuddered to a stop but Lee filled in the rest of the sentence for himself, and suddenly saw the bright, fierce Kara he knew as a terrified child, knowing she was unwanted and unloved, nursing bruises and breaks that no one else saw.
“So, there. You know,” she said finally, and he reached out and slid his hand over her knee.
“Kara,” he started and she lifted her head, eyes flashing.
“Don’t you dare pity me,” she spat. “Don’t treat me like I’m going to break.” She paused, then - “I’m not less because of what she did to me.”
Fighting words, but they had a rehearsed sound about them, as if Kara had said them many times over to herself and Lee caught the look of uncertainty in her eyes, and wondered if she had ever been able to believe it. She was watching him, studying his face for some reaction and he tried desperately to think of something, anything to say that wouldn’t sound like pity because he didn’t pity her. He was outraged, sick with anger but he had never respected her more.
But he took too long to speak, and Kara’s face fell; she looked down, fingers twisting together again.
“You’re not less,” he said finally, and she looked up at him, gave him a painfully fake smile.
“It’s okay, Lee. You don’t have to try and fix it. I’m fine.”
“Shh. Listen to me,” he said, grateful that for once she couldn’t just walk away.
“It’s fine - "
“Do I have to pull rank?”
She shut up, and he tried to work out all he wanted to say without sounding patronising, without making her feel even worse, without trivialising everything she’d just told him.
It was almost beyond his comprehension that any mother would do that, let their child think they were a curse and deliberately inflict pain, and all this to Kara; he remembered meeting her for the first time, blown away by the fire in her eyes, the way she held herself, head high, shoulders back. All but mesmerised by the raw untamed beauty about her - Zak would have laughed at him for that kind of description - and wishing, gods, wishing for a year that he’d met her first.
“I don’t think less of you,” he said. “I’ve always respected you - "
Her shoulders hunched a bit more, and he could tell he was losing her and panicked. “You’re beautiful,” he blurted out, and her eyes flew from the bedspread to his face.
“I - what?”
"You. You're beautiful," he said again, because she was looking at him again and then the faintest blush coloured her cheeks.
“Lee - " she said, and paused and then smiled as if she couldn’t help it, and he grinned because it seemed he’d finally done something right for a change and it had never mattered more.
Then her eyes dropped, smile falling from her face and he could almost see the shields slamming down all around her and his stomach clenched again. It always happened like this; he thought he finally got though to her and she disappeared into her callsign, all hard edges and bravado.
“Kara?” Her eyes flicked around at the curtain, as if wishing someone would walk though and interrupt them, and he fought the impulse to roll his eyes. “There’s no one else here,” he said. “Just me.”
"You know, if you've got things to do, you don't have to stay."
“There’s nothing.”
“You’re the CAG, Lee. There’s always something.”
“Not now.”
“Oh, come on. I don’t need coddling. I’m fine. Just - go and talk to some other lost cause, okay?”
“Frak that. The most important thing to me is you, Kara. Why can you never see that?”
Her eyes widened and he braced himself, waiting for the harsh retort or the brush off, or how she'd manage to make this into a joke, but it didn't come. She said nothing at all, just stared at him and her own words echoed in his head - “She told me no one would ever care about me, no one would ever - " and he finally understood why she never seemed to believe him, or anyone, when they said they cared about her. Realised just how deep Zak’s death must have cracked her, right where she was starting to heal.
“Kara,” he said softly, and her hands flexed, fingers twisting together again and without a thought he put his hands over hers, straightened out her fingers, pressed her palms gently between his. “I’m not saying that to make you feel better.”
She shrugged, but didn’t take her hands away and he traced a line around her thumb ring with the tip of his index finger.
“How can I prove that to you?” he asked, after a long moment, and she stared at him, biting her lip and he wondered for a while if she was going to answer him at all. Then her eyes dropped to their hands.
“Just - don’t take this the wrong way,” she started, sounding hesitant. “But you know me, I don’t do the talking thing. I’ve dealt with this for years. I don't need to discuss my feelings, or anything like that.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“But thank you.” She shrugged, looked slightly embarrassed. “For being here.”
He shook his head slightly, stunned by her gratitude over something he probably would have taken for granted. “You don’t have to thank me.”
She shrugged again.
“You realise you’re going to have to tell Dad, right?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Actually, I think I’m done with the deep and meaningful part of this year. How about you tell him?”
He smiled. “Nice try, but no.”
“Lee - "
“That tone of voice has never worked on me and you know it.”
“What if I pout?” she suggested, and he laughed, leaned forwards and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead before he talked himself out of it.
When he pulled back, she was smiling but she looked ever so slightly confused, like things had shifted and she didn’t know what to make of them. It was all he could do not to bend his head and kiss her, kiss her back into the pillows and not stop until they couldn’t breathe anymore, but with the ease born of long practice he blinked past the thought of her mouth underneath his and moved a little further away.
“Seriously, though,” he said. “You need to tell him. I’m surprised he’s not pacing the floor outside.”
“Who’s not pacing?” his father said, sticking his head in through the curtain and Kara laughed, actually laughed and Lee grinned, loosened his grip on her fingers reflexively and waited for her to take her hands away.
She didn’t. She didn’t exactly curl her fingers into his either, but that wouldn’t have been Kara and as he ran his thumb lightly over her knuckles, he thanked the gods he got that much of her at all.
“How are you doing?” his father asked, coming to a stop beside Lee.
“Fine, sir. A little bruised, but nothing I haven’t had before. When do I get out of here?”
“The Doc said he’s keeping you in here for at least another day.”
“What?” Lee and his father both laughed at the look of absolute dismay that crossed Kara’s face. “But I’m fine!”
The Commander waved a hand at her, and Lee grinned as Kara rolled her eyes. “Also, the Chief wants me to pass on that he doesn’t rate your landing particularly highly.”
“Oh, tell him to go - " Kara broke off, gave them both a sweet smile. “Tell him I’ll be sure keep that in mind next time I’m landing a Viper with one wing and one engine.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that on,” Lee said dryly. “So, when can I expect your slack ass back on CAP?”
She mock glared at him. “That’s all the thanks I get for once again saving the Fleet?”
“Yeah, yeah. You just couldn’t wait for the cavalry, could you?”
“I didn’t need the cavalry.”
His father snorted with laughter, then nudged Lee ever so slightly with his elbow and Lee knew it was his cue to leave.
“I have to go rearrange some rosters, thanks to you,” he said, and Kara smiled. “I’ll come see you later?”
“Bring me a stogie.”
“I don’t have a stogie.”
“Please. Like that’s an excuse.”
He grinned at her, squeezed her fingers. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, and after a beat there was the tiniest return of pressure back and he smiled, let go of her hands reluctantly and slid off the bed.
His father took his place, and Lee pulled aside the curtain and turned to say goodbye, just in time to see his father pull an unresisting Kara forward into his arms, tucking her up so she could barely move, and Lee felt his throat tighten again as Kara buried her face in his father’s shoulder.
He shut his mouth and pulled the curtains closed behind him, and warned Cottle not to let anyone in for at least a half hour.
It wouldn’t be long enough, he knew, but at least it would be a start.
*
Spoilers: For The Farm
Rating: PG
Summary: Kara/Lee
Disclaimer: I don't own.
A/N: With thanks to pen and Carrie, and alanna for being a sounding board.
*
Something You Can't Replace
Kara had more lives than a cat, Lee thought, as he stood with his father in the Sick Bay and waited for Doc Cottle. It was starting to get ridiculous, and he no longer even attempted counting how many times she’d flirted with death because it always made him feel slightly sick. As it was, he spent a lot of time trying not to think about the day her luck would run out.
This particular incident had been one of the less original ways she’d managed to almost die; she’d been on CAP with Sidekick when the Cylons had shown up, and by the time the alert fighters had arrived, the eight Raiders were nothing but shrapnel, just like most of Kara’s wings and half her engine. Instead of ejecting like any sane person, she’d insisted on bringing in her Viper and had smashed into the deck so hard she left skid marks for meters.
She had been grinning when she got out of the cockpit. Lee, who had run all the way from the CIC, only just stopped himself from hitting her or kissing her or doing all sorts of other unCAG like things to her in the middle of the hanger bay. He had instead marched her away to Doc Cottle as soon as he’d ascertained she could walk, not even giving her the chance to say one gleeful thing to Tyrol, who had been surveying the wreckage with a look of dismay.
His father had arrived at the Sick Bay about ten minutes later; Lee thought there was something slightly funny about how this was becoming a routine, and they were discussing the lastest batch of nuggets when Doc Cottle finally emerged.
Lee stood immediately, his father slightly slower and Cottle looked faintly amused for a moment.
“How is she?”
“Better than she should be,” Doc Cottle answered gruffly, and Lee saw his father relax out of the corner of his eye. “She’s bruised and shaken up, but nothing that won’t fix itself in a couple of days.”
“That's good news," the Commander said, sounding relieved. "What’s the prognosis?”
“I’ll keep her here overnight, just to be careful, but she’ll be clear for flight in two days or so.”
“Good,” Lee said, and then noticed that Cottle was studying them both, looking almost worried. It was such a strange expression to see on his face that Lee looked at his father to see if he’d noticed it.
The Commander straightened slightly, and Lee knew he had. “Was there something else?”
There was a pause, as if Cottle was debating something within himself, and then the doctor slid two films out of an envelope and stuck them up. “I x-rayed her wrists, to make sure she hadn’t fractured anything bracing herself on landing. She’s fine, but I noticed something else. See those lines?” He traced out the path across Kara’s fingers. “And this one,” he said, pointing to one high up on Kara’s forearm.
“Yes. What are they?”
“Fractures.”
Lee shot a quick glance at his father. “But you said - “
“Oh, they’re old.” Cottle was studying the films, head tilted on one side. “Did she ever mention anything? Any accident she had when she was growing up?”
The Commander looked at Lee, who slowly shook his head. “No, she didn’t. Why?”
“I’ve seen fractures like this once before. Back on Picon.” The doctor paused, and Lee felt icy fingers of dread slide down his spine. “Child abuse case,” Cottle said finally. “A boy systematically beaten by his father.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Are you sure?” his father said, his voice calm, quiet. Too calm. Too quiet.
“There’s too many fractures here to be accidental. Look, she’s had every finger broken.” Lee flinched, and saw his father do the same. “Can you think of one accident that would cause that? And they’re old.”
“How old?”
“Childhood. Her arm later, as far as I can tell, but she could have got that falling out of a tree.”
Something beeped on a machine, and Cottle looked over at it. “I need to give Lieutenant Madison his medication.”
He left them alone, and Lee wrenched his eyes from the nine faint lines that indicated - he didn’t want to think about exactly what they meant. It was too much to process, too much.
“She ever say anything about her parents?” his father said finally, and Lee looked at his feet.
“Only her Dad. Once. When she was drunk.” Lee paused. “He left when she was seven.”
“Gods.” His father turned then, and his face was white. “Someone needs to talk to her.”
“You’re the one she thinks of as a father.”
“Which is why it might be better coming from you,” his father answered. “You’re her best friend. She might open up to you where she’ll only shut down with me.”
“Are we talking about the same person? Since when does Kara do the talking thing anyway?”
His father suddenly looked old and tired. “Just - talk to her, Lee. Please. I’ve got to know.”
*
Less than ten meters to her beside, and it took him over a minute to make it there. Lee paused outside the curtain, tried to breath, tried to shove the panic and dread away and put what he hoped was a realistic smile on his face. He slid the curtains open with a flourish.
Kara scowled at him. “Have you brought me chocolate?”
“No.”
“Flowers? Triad cards? A stogie?”
He rolled his eyes. “Kara, this is a sick bay.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” he said as he sat down on the bed beside her. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Please tell me you're here to tell me I can leave.”
“Nope. I’m here to check up on one of my pilots, who stupidly attempted to land her Viper with next to no engine power and half a wing.”
“I did not attempt to land it, thank you, Apollo. I did land it.”
“Yes, I think the deck’s going to have that souvenir for the rest of eternity.”
“It’ll give Tyrol something to remember me by,” she said, and he laughed, nudged her knee.
“Seriously, though. You feeling okay?”
She shrugged. “Been better,” she said. “A bit sore. But I’ll be fine.”
He paused, looked down at the bed sheets and traced one crease with a fingernail because he had no idea of what to say next, and he had a feeling his father was listening from the other side of the curtain.
“Lee? What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said, but he knew she wouldn’t buy it. She was always far too good at reading him.
And sure enough, Kara rolled her eyes. “You are a horrendous liar. Spit it out.” She studied him for a moment, and then the tiniest flash of fear crossed her face. “Is there something wrong? Cottle said my knee was okay - "
“No, you’re fine, it’s just - Cottle had to x-ray your wrists,” he said casually. “He said… he mentioned something about your hands.”
Please tell me it was an accident, he thought. Somehow, but then he looked at her and knew it wasn’t. She was staring at him, face ashen, hands clenched tightly together, all but trembling. Gods.
“It’s nothing, Lee,” she answered after a moment, but even her voice sounded wrong. “Pyramid accident, that’s all.”
“When you were a kid? Kara,” he said, reaching for her shoulder and she flinched back from him.
“I - he had no right!” she burst out. “He shouldn’t have told you. He had no right!”
“He was worried! Gods, Kara. We’re all worried.”
"I don't want to talk about it," she snapped at him, her shoulders hunching a little, and he forced himself to let go of where he'd fisted the sheet into his hands.
"Too bad," Lee retorted, and Kara's eyes glittered with anger.
“Pulling rank, Captain?” she said, and Lee shook his head.
“No. This has nothing to do with rank.”
“If you’ve seen the X-rays, Lee, you know what happened.”
“That doesn’t explain how,” he said softly, watching her twist her fingers together. He couldn’t stop seeing the shadowy lines of fractures along all eight of her fingers, couldn't stop hearing Cottle’s voice in his head.
She was silent and still, apart from the feverish movement of her fingers, for so long that he nudged her knee. “Kara?”
She raised her eyes to his then, and not since Zak’s funeral had he seen that look in them. “Not everyone has a family like yours. My mother - " She paused, swallowed. “She drank. And you know me, I’m always in trouble and - " Kara broke off, and Lee looked down at where she was clutching at the bedspread so tightly her knuckles were bloodless. “You should be able to guess the rest.”
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” he said, feeling sick.
“Who, Lee? I had no one, no one - Dad left me with her when I was seven and she was always so careful, never did anything to me that couldn’t be written off as one of poor Kara’s accidents - ”
“But your fingers - ”
She laughed. “One by one, different doctors every time. You want to know what I did?” Her voice took on a bitter edge that made Lee’s stomach churn even more. She held out her hands to him, flexed her index finger. “That, I think, was knocking over a vase and breaking it. This one - " Kara paused, bent her second finger back with the fingers of her other hand as far as it would go and Lee looked away, shut his eyes. “I burnt dinner once. I was eight.”
“Kara,” he said helplessly.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone but she - I was so scared. You - I - I didn’t know anything different. She told me things, that the Gods made me unlucky because I’d ruined her life. She told me that no one would care about me, no one would ever - "
She shuddered to a stop but Lee filled in the rest of the sentence for himself, and suddenly saw the bright, fierce Kara he knew as a terrified child, knowing she was unwanted and unloved, nursing bruises and breaks that no one else saw.
“So, there. You know,” she said finally, and he reached out and slid his hand over her knee.
“Kara,” he started and she lifted her head, eyes flashing.
“Don’t you dare pity me,” she spat. “Don’t treat me like I’m going to break.” She paused, then - “I’m not less because of what she did to me.”
Fighting words, but they had a rehearsed sound about them, as if Kara had said them many times over to herself and Lee caught the look of uncertainty in her eyes, and wondered if she had ever been able to believe it. She was watching him, studying his face for some reaction and he tried desperately to think of something, anything to say that wouldn’t sound like pity because he didn’t pity her. He was outraged, sick with anger but he had never respected her more.
But he took too long to speak, and Kara’s face fell; she looked down, fingers twisting together again.
“You’re not less,” he said finally, and she looked up at him, gave him a painfully fake smile.
“It’s okay, Lee. You don’t have to try and fix it. I’m fine.”
“Shh. Listen to me,” he said, grateful that for once she couldn’t just walk away.
“It’s fine - "
“Do I have to pull rank?”
She shut up, and he tried to work out all he wanted to say without sounding patronising, without making her feel even worse, without trivialising everything she’d just told him.
It was almost beyond his comprehension that any mother would do that, let their child think they were a curse and deliberately inflict pain, and all this to Kara; he remembered meeting her for the first time, blown away by the fire in her eyes, the way she held herself, head high, shoulders back. All but mesmerised by the raw untamed beauty about her - Zak would have laughed at him for that kind of description - and wishing, gods, wishing for a year that he’d met her first.
“I don’t think less of you,” he said. “I’ve always respected you - "
Her shoulders hunched a bit more, and he could tell he was losing her and panicked. “You’re beautiful,” he blurted out, and her eyes flew from the bedspread to his face.
“I - what?”
"You. You're beautiful," he said again, because she was looking at him again and then the faintest blush coloured her cheeks.
“Lee - " she said, and paused and then smiled as if she couldn’t help it, and he grinned because it seemed he’d finally done something right for a change and it had never mattered more.
Then her eyes dropped, smile falling from her face and he could almost see the shields slamming down all around her and his stomach clenched again. It always happened like this; he thought he finally got though to her and she disappeared into her callsign, all hard edges and bravado.
“Kara?” Her eyes flicked around at the curtain, as if wishing someone would walk though and interrupt them, and he fought the impulse to roll his eyes. “There’s no one else here,” he said. “Just me.”
"You know, if you've got things to do, you don't have to stay."
“There’s nothing.”
“You’re the CAG, Lee. There’s always something.”
“Not now.”
“Oh, come on. I don’t need coddling. I’m fine. Just - go and talk to some other lost cause, okay?”
“Frak that. The most important thing to me is you, Kara. Why can you never see that?”
Her eyes widened and he braced himself, waiting for the harsh retort or the brush off, or how she'd manage to make this into a joke, but it didn't come. She said nothing at all, just stared at him and her own words echoed in his head - “She told me no one would ever care about me, no one would ever - " and he finally understood why she never seemed to believe him, or anyone, when they said they cared about her. Realised just how deep Zak’s death must have cracked her, right where she was starting to heal.
“Kara,” he said softly, and her hands flexed, fingers twisting together again and without a thought he put his hands over hers, straightened out her fingers, pressed her palms gently between his. “I’m not saying that to make you feel better.”
She shrugged, but didn’t take her hands away and he traced a line around her thumb ring with the tip of his index finger.
“How can I prove that to you?” he asked, after a long moment, and she stared at him, biting her lip and he wondered for a while if she was going to answer him at all. Then her eyes dropped to their hands.
“Just - don’t take this the wrong way,” she started, sounding hesitant. “But you know me, I don’t do the talking thing. I’ve dealt with this for years. I don't need to discuss my feelings, or anything like that.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“But thank you.” She shrugged, looked slightly embarrassed. “For being here.”
He shook his head slightly, stunned by her gratitude over something he probably would have taken for granted. “You don’t have to thank me.”
She shrugged again.
“You realise you’re going to have to tell Dad, right?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Actually, I think I’m done with the deep and meaningful part of this year. How about you tell him?”
He smiled. “Nice try, but no.”
“Lee - "
“That tone of voice has never worked on me and you know it.”
“What if I pout?” she suggested, and he laughed, leaned forwards and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead before he talked himself out of it.
When he pulled back, she was smiling but she looked ever so slightly confused, like things had shifted and she didn’t know what to make of them. It was all he could do not to bend his head and kiss her, kiss her back into the pillows and not stop until they couldn’t breathe anymore, but with the ease born of long practice he blinked past the thought of her mouth underneath his and moved a little further away.
“Seriously, though,” he said. “You need to tell him. I’m surprised he’s not pacing the floor outside.”
“Who’s not pacing?” his father said, sticking his head in through the curtain and Kara laughed, actually laughed and Lee grinned, loosened his grip on her fingers reflexively and waited for her to take her hands away.
She didn’t. She didn’t exactly curl her fingers into his either, but that wouldn’t have been Kara and as he ran his thumb lightly over her knuckles, he thanked the gods he got that much of her at all.
“How are you doing?” his father asked, coming to a stop beside Lee.
“Fine, sir. A little bruised, but nothing I haven’t had before. When do I get out of here?”
“The Doc said he’s keeping you in here for at least another day.”
“What?” Lee and his father both laughed at the look of absolute dismay that crossed Kara’s face. “But I’m fine!”
The Commander waved a hand at her, and Lee grinned as Kara rolled her eyes. “Also, the Chief wants me to pass on that he doesn’t rate your landing particularly highly.”
“Oh, tell him to go - " Kara broke off, gave them both a sweet smile. “Tell him I’ll be sure keep that in mind next time I’m landing a Viper with one wing and one engine.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that on,” Lee said dryly. “So, when can I expect your slack ass back on CAP?”
She mock glared at him. “That’s all the thanks I get for once again saving the Fleet?”
“Yeah, yeah. You just couldn’t wait for the cavalry, could you?”
“I didn’t need the cavalry.”
His father snorted with laughter, then nudged Lee ever so slightly with his elbow and Lee knew it was his cue to leave.
“I have to go rearrange some rosters, thanks to you,” he said, and Kara smiled. “I’ll come see you later?”
“Bring me a stogie.”
“I don’t have a stogie.”
“Please. Like that’s an excuse.”
He grinned at her, squeezed her fingers. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, and after a beat there was the tiniest return of pressure back and he smiled, let go of her hands reluctantly and slid off the bed.
His father took his place, and Lee pulled aside the curtain and turned to say goodbye, just in time to see his father pull an unresisting Kara forward into his arms, tucking her up so she could barely move, and Lee felt his throat tighten again as Kara buried her face in his father’s shoulder.
He shut his mouth and pulled the curtains closed behind him, and warned Cottle not to let anyone in for at least a half hour.
It wouldn’t be long enough, he knew, but at least it would be a start.
*