BSG Fic announcement: Fool's Gold 5/5
Title: Fool’s Gold
Author: Widget
Pairing: Kara/Anders; mentions of Lee/Dee, Helo/Sharon, Tyrol/Cally
Spoilers: LDYB pt 2, mild references to the webisodes, though nothing overtly spoilery
Summary: All she ever wanted was a bright shiny future of her own.
By the time Kara’s shift at the machine shop is over and she’s free to head home, “the stabbing” has gone from being an incident to an event of world shattering magnitude. The rumor mill has been working overtime and theories are running rampant. Kara thinks it’s only a matter of time before the accusations of defiling virgins and sucking the blood out of newborns start to make an appearance. Kara wants to know what’s going on and she knows exactly how to find out.
“Gaeta!”
Hunched into his coat, Gaeta looks up at her, startled. He looks haggard, the smudges beneath his eyes speaking of long hours and too little sleep. Kara offers him what she hopes is a warm smile. It must be convincing; Gaeta relaxes a little and even manages a small smile in return.
“Starbuck.”
She sidles up along side him as casually as possible. “I’ve been hearing a lot of stories about what happened last night. I figured you could give me the real deal.”
Gaeta looks about furtively…no fearfully, and Kara feels unease creep along her spine.
“Not here,” he says, his voice low and urgent. With a final cautious look around them, he scurries away. Kara has to quicken her pace to keep up.
They come to a stop behind one of the grain silos. It’s quiet here and the shadows of the building offer as much privacy as can be found anywhere these days. For a moment she wonders why they didn’t just head back to his tent, but with Baltar keeping him on a short leash, that’s probably the first place anyone would come looking.
“All right. Spill.” It’s not exactly gracious, but Gaeta is well versed in her curt manner. He gives her a flicker of a smile before leaning back against the corrugated metal wall.
“The stories are all wrong,” he says, running his hand through hair that’s no longer regulation length. “The Pegasus crew didn’t start it.”
“What happened?”
“A group of crewmen from Pegasus came planet side. Standard R and R. They were in one of the bars…Max’s place…” At Kara’s nod, he continues. “They were keeping pretty much to themselves. They were drinking, but they hadn’t been at it long enough to get pissed.”
“Okay. So what happened?”
“One of the guys from the lumber yard, Reyes, comes over and starts shooting his mouth off. The guy was wasted, but apparently he’s not the brightest signal light on the panel even when he’s sober, if you get the drift.”
Kara nods. She does indeed.
“Anyway, he starts in, typical stuff, how the ships in orbit are a waste, siphoning off valuable resources, sitting up there getting fat and lazy while down here everyone works their fingers to the bone.”
“What did the Pegasus crewmen do?”
“Nothing. Just ignored it, really. But Reyes kept at it, started getting really insulting, talking about how the military was nothing but a bunch of pampered princesses who didn’t know the meaning of an honest day’s labor. How anyone could fly a Viper and if maybe they’d been doing their jobs, they would have kicked the Cylons’ asses long ago. As you can imagine, his…observations…were not well received.”
Kara closes her eyes. She can easily imagine the response. She would have been out of her seat with her fist in that motherfrakker’s face before he could have gotten even half that garbage out of his mouth. “So, who pulled the knife?”
“Reyes did.”
“Wait…the guy who got stabbed?”
Gaeta nods. “Yep. There hadn’t even been any punches thrown. He just pulled it out and took a swing. One of the guys from Pegasus, Corporal Leonard, tried to disarm him. There was a scuffle and Reyes fell on his own knife.”
“Unfrakkin’ believable,” she says shaking her head. “What next?”
“The police came to sort it all out. Reyes was taken to the hospital tent, the crewmen from Pegasus were put on the first available Raptor back to their ship and we’ve been doing damage control ever since.”
She frowns, trying to make sense of all this. “If it was just a drunken scuffle, why hasn’t the press gotten wind of it? From the rumors going ‘round the camp, you’d think a military mob attacked somebody’s grandma in the middle of the Promenade.”
The look Gaeta shoots her is distinctly knowing. “Because the President wants it that way.”
And suddenly the pieces come together. “Baltar’s using this to fan anti-military sentiment,” she says, her eyes going wide with realization. “He wants the fleet disbanded and so far he’s had no luck. So he’s doing his best to whip the civilians into a frenzy to force the Quorum to demand the military to stand down.”
“Exactly.”
“Son of a bitch!” She stalks away from the silo, and paces back, furious. “I knew Baltar was a weasel but I never knew he was this insane.” Seeing Gaeta’s expression she offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
Gaeta just slumps against the silo and sighs. “Don’t be. You’re right. He’s a disaster. I’d hoped that maybe things would be different. He’s brilliant, you know, but it’s a nightmare.”
A terrible idea suddenly occurs to her. “Do you think Baltar could be behind the whole thing? That maybe he staged it?”
“No,” Gaeta replies, certainty in his voice. “That would require more effort than he’s willing to make. He’s happy to turn the situation to his advantage, but he wouldn’t have planned it.”
“What about Zarek?”
Gaeta frowns. “What about him?”
“He certainly has the means, and it’s right up his alley.”
He laughs. “No way. The last thing Zarek wants is the Old Man and his son around. The President he can handle, but Zarek doesn’t trust the Adamas at all.”
That actually makes sense. Baltar is weak and easy to manipulate. The Quorum have proven to be spineless and Roslin, for whatever reason, hasn’t dared to challenge Baltar. All of which means that Tom Zarek is in charge of New Caprica in all but name.
But with the Adamas on planet, the balance of power would shift away from him. For all the anti-military sentiment at present, the Old Man is still a figure to be reckoned with. He’s a real leader, right down to his bones, and Zarek wouldn’t appreciate the competition. And while Adama has never shown an interest in politics, Lee certainly has and he’s had no qualms about going toe to toe with Zarek in the past. Lee probably scares Zarek as much as his father does.
No, having the Adamas around is the last thing Zarek wants. She wonders why he hasn’t said something to the press himself but figures it’s just part of some deep game he’s playing. Zarek does love his games she thinks with no small degree of disdain.
“What a frakkin’ mess,” she mutters, fists curling in frustration.
“So say we all,” he replies wryly.
“So, what’s going to happen?”
Gaeta shrugs. “The President will use this to score as many points as he can. He’s already sent off a harshly worded message to both the Admiral and Commander Adama demanding that the men involved be punished. He’s also demanded an apology.”
Kara barks a sharp laugh. “Yeah, like that’ll happen.”
“I assume the Admiral will suspend all shore leave for the foreseeable future,” he continues, “at least until things blow over. No sense in risking another incident.”
She nods. It’s the logical course of action, but she has a niggling fear that this won’t blow over, not any time soon and certainly not without some kind of action. It was hard enough to get past the Gideon incident and back then, at least, Adama had had the full support of the President. But now, with the President openly opposing Adama, things will only get worse.
A lot worse.
Kara reaches out and gives Gaeta’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Thanks, Gaeta. I appreciate you telling me the truth.”
“You’ll be discreet?” he asks and Kara can see the flicker of fear in his eyes.
She nods. “Yeah.”
“I should go,” he says. “The President is probably wondering where I’ve gotten to.” Gaeta gives her a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before heading back in the direction they came, head bowed and shoulders hunched inward as he keeps to the shadows.
Kara remains there some time and wonders how things ever got this frakked up.
[][][]
“So, are you going to do something about this?”
“What would you have me do?”
Kara stares at Laura, dumbfounded. That isn’t the response she’d anticipated.
When she’d shown up at Laura Roslin’s tent, she’d been greeted cordially as always. Laura had invited Kara inside and offered her tea, listening attentively as Kara had recounted what Gaeta had told her about the stabbing and Baltar’s manipulation of events to advance his agenda of full disarmament.
“I’m a school teacher now, Kara,” Laura explains with the kind patience she probably shows to her students. “I’m not the president anymore. I hold no office, have no influence over either the President or the Quorum. These days they do as they please.”
Kara catches a note of frustration, even resignation in Laura’s voice, the first crack she’s encountered in the other woman’s impeccable façade. “I don’t understand how you can simply sit back and watch. You used to be the President of the Twelve Colonies, for frak’s sake!”
“’Used to be’ is the operative term, Kara. My opinion doesn’t carry the weight it once did.”
“If you’ll pardon the expression,” Kara shoots back, “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
Laura gives her a small, wry smile that vanishes almost at once. “Things have changed. People look at me and see the woman who wanted to lead them to Earth, but no one cares about Earth anymore. New Caprica is our home now and most people would rather look to the future than ruminate over aborted dreams. I’m a relic, an unwanted reminder of things left behind.”
It all sounds very reasonable, very noble, but Kara can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to the story, that Laura’s continuing retirement from public life has less to do with popular opinion and more to do with some unnamed concern. And as much as Kara wants to push her back into the public eye, Kara knows she has no right. How can she accuse Laura of turning her back on duty when Kara’s done the same?
Laura reaches over and pats her hand, the gesture unexpectedly maternal. “I wouldn’t worry about the Admiral, Kara. He’s a wily old bastard and more than a match for President Baltar. He’ll do what’s right.”
Kara nods, drawing some comfort from Laura’s words and her assessment of Adama. The man has survived two wars with the Cylons, the death of his son, an assassination plot and a shooting by a Cylon sleeper agent. Compared to all of that, Baltar’s an insignificant threat.
“It will be all right, Kara,” Laura says soothingly, as she accompanies Kara to the entrance of her tent. “It’ll be fine.”
Kara hold those words close and tries to ignore the flicker of pain she saw in the other woman’s eyes just before the flap of her tent slid closed.
[][][]
Once, years ago, Zak took Kara to Tauron for the Festival of Demeter. She can still remember the endless rolling hills stretching out before her in a brilliant patchwork of green and gold. She can remember the vibrant blue sky and the crisp autumn air that carried the scent of wood smoke and apples and fresh living things.
Kara had always been a city girl, more at home surrounded by steel and stone and sharp angles. But she’d found Tauron oddly inviting, the sense of joy surrounding the harvest almost contagious as she and Zak had joined the festivities, a pair of strangers welcomed into the fold. They’d gorged themselves on fried chicken and corn and pie and had gotten a little drunk on wheat berry beer before curling up together beneath an apple tree where they listened to the local chorus raise their voices in praise of Demeter. It had been a joyous occasion, almost magical.
This is nothing like it.
Kara shoves her hands more deeply into her jacket pockets listening disinterestedly as President Baltar addresses the crowd from beneath a sky that is heavy with the ever present threat of rain. His voice drones on as he praises the people of New Caprica for their hard work and sacrifice, the bounty of their first harvest that will sustain them through the coming season.
The thin wail of a baby interrupts the flow of his speech and Kara watches as the mother tries to soothe the fretful child bouncing it in her arms while making soft, cooing sounds. Baltar finishes his address, which is greeted with polite applause before the crowd breaks apart and shuffle towards their home. There’ll be no feast tonight, no wheat berry beer or apple pie. No celebration. She’d expected to feel some sort of satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment, but the entire thing seems oddly anti-climactic.
Kara feels the first drops of rain on her face and heads home as well.
[][][]
“Starbuck!”
Kara stops, surprised at the sound of someone yelling her call sign and turns in the direction from which it came. She smiles when she sees Duck and Jammer wave her over.
“C’mon,” she says to Sam and leads him to the table where her old shipmates are sitting.
“We were wondering when you’d show up,” Duck says grinning. “We figured you’d want to say hey to the newest citizen of New Caprica.”
Kara’s eyes dart to the unfamiliar face at the table - clean shaven, square jawed, hair close cropped, undeniably Fleet. It’s only belatedly that she can put a name to the face. She’d never liked Tripwire. Like most of the pilots aboard Pegasus, she’d found him arrogant and condescending and about as warm as a frakking iceberg. She’s surprised to see him here. He doesn’t seem the type for settling down, but then, the same could probably be said about her.
Kara gives him a cautious smile and his answering grin softens his face unexpectedly.
“So, Tripwire…”
“Ross.”
“What?”
“My name, it’s Ross,” he explains, shrugging a little self-consciously. “Not Tripwire anymore.”
“Right. Of course not,” she murmurs. “So, how do you like it so far?”
He shoots Duck a look. “Well, the booze is sure better.” That sets Duck to laughing. Jammer grabs the bottle of homebrew out of his hand before he can spill it.
“Wanna join us?”
Kara sends a questioning look to Sam who nods his assent. “Sure. More over Palladino.”
Joe grumbles but scoots aside, allowing Kara and Sam to squeeze into the narrow space between him and Digger while Jammer pours them all a round.
“We figured we’d have a few drinks and then maybe get a game of triad going. For old time’s sake.”
Kara’s eyes gleam. “Sounds like a plan.”
The booze flows freely and with it tales of terrifying battles and daring escapades, each tale wilder and more colorful than the last. By the time someone produces a triad deck, Kara’s feeling no pain, giddy on rotgut and nostalgia. She’s Starbuck again, queen of the skies, sovereign of the triad table. She cackles with glee as she wins another round, sweeping the pot into the growing pile in front of her. She smirks around the cigarette she’d won in an earlier hand and taunts the other players, daring them to try to depose her, knowing they can’t. She’s inexorable, unstoppable. A force to be reckoned with, the master of all she surveys.
Kara never notices when Sam leaves the bar and heads home.
[][][]
Kara slips inside the tent she shares with Sam, moving quietly through the dark, not wanting to disturb him. She can see the slope of his back, a silhouette of black on black, can almost feel the way his chest rises and falls with the slow, even cadence of sleep.
She undresses with as much haste as her clumsy fingers will allow. She hadn’t had that much to drink, after all. She drops her clothing heedlessly to the floor - it’s too dark to see and besides, a few wrinkles are hardly a cardinal sin - and slips under the covers, her body drawn to Sam’s warmth like a moth to a flame.
She leans into his strong, broad back and sighs in contentment. She closes her eyes and tries to sleep, but slumber eludes her. She’s exhausted, but she feels wired and giddy from too much rotgut and the buzz of a night of camaraderie. Gods, she’s missed that.
Kara presses her face into the back of Sam’s neck and breathes. He smells of metal and sawdust and sweat with the underlying scent of pure maleness. She brushes her lips across his nape, feeling his hair tickle her nose and begins to trail soft kisses down the side of his neck towards the juncture of his shoulder, pressing her body closer, molding herself to him calf to shoulder. Her hands slide around his waist, stealing beneath the hem of his tee shirt, feeling his muscles flutter beneath her touch. Boldly, her hand dips lower, insinuating itself beneath the elastic of his boxers, moving towards his cock. He’s half erect and she smiles in satisfaction at the thought of making him hard, of straddling his hips and taking him inside and riding him until they’re both gasping and spent.
“Sam,” she breathes against his neck. “Want you. Want you so frakkin’ much.”
Her fingers curl lightly around his cock but before she can begin, his voice rumbles in her ear, low and rough with sleep.
“Kara, don’t.”
She freezes, blinking in confusion. “Sam? I just wanted…”
“I’m tired, Kara.” She can hear the weariness in his tone. “Go to sleep, okay?”
She stares at him in the darkness, surprised and irritated and horny as hell. And underneath it all, there’s a note of disquiet that refuses to go away.
He’s never said no to her before. Never in all the months they’ve been married. For a moment she thinks about ignoring him; she knows how to make it good for him. She’ll jerk him off nice and slow, doing all the work for the both of them. Most guys would be ecstatic. Hell, most guys not only want that, they expect it.
But Sam isn’t most guys. Sam’s different. Isn’t that why she married him in the first place?
Sighing, Kara withdraws her hand. She closes her eyes and just breathes until sleep claims her at last.
[][][]
The line at the supply depot stretches endlessly by the time Kara arrives to retrieve her weekly rations. She waits as patiently as she can until it’s her turn.
“Anders,” she says to the man behind the counter, flashing her ID. He skims the manifest, checking off her name, before another man hands over her rations. Kara stares at them in suspicion.
“This is it?”
“Yep. Next.”
Kara feels the people jostling her from behind, eager to get their own rations, but Kara doesn’t budge. “But the harvest…”
The man makes a dismissive sound. “The harvest! We’ll be lucky to make it through the winter on what we produced.” He shakes his head. “That’s it. Next,” he repeats.
Kara glares at the man. All those hours they’d all spent - been forced, no, governmentally mandated, to spend - helping with the harvest and she’s still getting screwed over. Maybe she should have gotten a job on one of the farms rather than the machine shop. At least then she’d be able to eat.
“Fine,” she grumbles, snatching the rations and shoving them in her basket. She heads to the market where she hears the same story again and again. The harvest hadn’t lived up to expectations. Too much rain, too many crops that didn’t take. Potential food shortages. She doesn’t know how she and Sam are supposed to feed themselves. Their salary barely covers the other necessities and the black market isn’t cheap. She could maybe ask Charlie for another shift or two a week, but she’s already working her ass off, and so is Sam. Maybe she can convince Sam to take up knitting.
The image of her husband knitting a scarf or a pair of socks brings a smile to her face, but it vanishes moments later when she sees Sam standing in front of their tent talking to Jean. Of course. Kara eases back to stand behind a nearby tent and watches them unobtrusively, noting their relaxed postures and easy smiles. Sam reaches over and touches Jean’s shoulder, bringing a smile to Jean’s face and a frown to Kara’s. The gesture is fleeting, but there’s no mistaking the fact that it’s Sam who initiates it this time, not Jean. She watches as Jean’s fingers graze Sam’s arm and then she’s walking away. Sam watches her for a moment before slipping back inside the tent.
Kara remains where she is, a mixture of hurt and surprise holding her at bay. She tells herself it’s nothing, just like she has all the previous times. She’s imagining things, seeing signs of infidelity where none exist, but even knowing that, she can’t entirely erase the sense of disquiet, the gnawing belief that Sam will inevitably leave her. Everyone does sooner or later.
No, she’s not going to do that to herself. Drawing a deep breath, Kara raises her chin and heads home, to where her husband awaits her.
He’s sitting bare-chested on the bed when she enters. It’s not exactly an unappealing sight and she can feel a smile curving her lips.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” he says, tossing her a bright easy grin. “Any luck?”
She shrugs. “That depends,” she says as she heads over to the table and sets the basket down. “On whether you think getting completely hosed is good.”
Sam frowns. “That bad?”
“We may reduced to foraging for nuts and berries,” she says with a wry grin. She’s not entirely joking.
He makes a sound halfway between a grunt of acknowledgement and a laugh.
“What did you do today?”
“Not much. Worked my shift, helped Galen with the crib he’s building for the baby.”
Kara slants him a look. She’s not sure what she wants or expects to see on his face, but his expression is just as bland as his tone of voice. For reasons she can’t explain it sets her on edge.
“So,” she begins again as she starts to unpack her pitiful collection of provisions. “You didn’t see anyone in particular?”
“No, not really.”
“So…you didn’t see…oh, I don’t know, Jean?”
She’s watching him carefully out of the corner of her eye so she sees the way he stiffens in the midst of pulling on his sweater. It’s subtle, but Kara didn’t become a shark at the triad table without recognizing a tell when she sees it.
“I did, as a matter of fact. Ran into her just before you came home.”
“Really?” she says. “Funny, you didn’t mention her.”
He shrugs “Saw no reason to.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Sam frowns at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she replies innocently. “I just find it strange that you spend so much time with her is all.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “What are you talking about? I barely see her.”
“Really, ‘cause I keep seeing her with you.”
“She’s a friend, Kara nothing more.” The words are curt, almost snappish and Kara feels a strange sense of satisfaction in unbalancing him.
“Really,” she says drawling the word out, giving it an edge of mockery.
“What’s your problem with Jean?”
“I don’t have a problem with Jean,” she shoots back airily.
“Really,” he replies, his voice mimicking hers. “It almost sounds as if you’re jealous or something.”
Kara feels her expression harden even as her heart begins to pound in her chest. “That’s ridiculous.”
Something of her panic must show in her face because Sam’s eyes narrow. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Kara laughs and it’s a harsh brittle sound. “As if I would be jealous of her!”
“Then why are you acting like this, Kara?”
She slams her palm down on the table top. “Because you keep lying to me!”
Sam stares at her in confusion. “What?”
“I ask you if you’ve seen anyone, but you fail to mention her. And this isn’t the first time, Sam! I show up at Jake’s place and who do I find cozied up next to you but Jean! Everywhere I go, there she is!”
Kara glares hotly at Sam, demanding a response, but there’s only silence. As the seconds tick by, Kara feels some of her righteous anger fade away, giving way to uncertainty and finally fear.
“You think I’m cheating on you.”
The words are soft and measured, but there’s so much hurt in Sam’s eyes, that all Kara wants to do is fold him into her arms and apologize. Instead she stays frozen, watching with a growing sense of horror as his words sink in.
Sam’s voice is eerily calm as he continues to speak, his eyes never leaving hers for even a moment. “I have never cheated on you, Kara. I’ve been faithful every hour of every day. I’ve never once looked at another woman since I met you.”
Kara winces as a wave of guilt washes over her. She can’t say the same. She’s done far more than look. Sam was true to her and she betrayed him in thought as well as deed. She feels her stomach twisting with shame.
“I thought you trusted me, Kara.”
“I do!” she says, her voice quavering with fervor.
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
“Sam!” she steps forward, reaching for him. He pulls back, just out of reach.
Shaking his head, he takes another step back. “I need…I need some time to think.”
Kara nods, feeling the prickle of tears at the back of her eyes as Sam disappears through the tent flap.
Kara stares at the spot he’d occupied, dry eyed but trembling. She’d always known he’d leave her. She just hadn’t expected to be the one to open the door and push him through it.
[][][]
Hours pass and still Sam doesn’t return. It’s had to resist the temptation to go looking for him, to explain and apologize and beg his forgiveness, but she has that much dignity left. She’s already been a fool once today; she won’t compound her sins by making a public spectacle of herself. She’ll respect his wishes, just as he’s always respected hers, by giving him the space he needs. It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done, but he deserves that much from her at least.
Finally she accepts that he isn’t coming home any time soon. She undresses and climbs into their bed. It seems huge and cold without him and it occurs to her that this is the first time she’s slept alone since they were married. That nearly sparks another round of tears that she ruthlessly forces down. She did this; she doesn’t have the right to blubber like a baby, no matter how much she might want to.
She’s curled up on her side, facing away from the entrance flap when she hears the telltale rustle of canvas. Heart pounding madly, she doesn’t move, just waits, listening to the sound of her husband undressing and sliding into the bed. She feels the mattress dip beneath his weight, but he doesn’t touch her, not yet.
“We can’t keep doing this, Kara,” he says, the words hovering between them in the darkness. “I’m your husband. Either you trust me, or you don’t. There’s no middle ground here.”
He rests his palm between her shoulder blades and she trembles at his touch. Face turned away, she can’t see his expression, but she can imagine the look of hurt and disappointment etched into his features. She’s seen it before, so many times, but never before on Sam’s face. She never wanted to put that look on Sam’s face.
Kara knows she should turn and look at him, but she can’t. She can’t bring herself to look at him, can’t bear to see him gazing back at her with sad, wounded eyes, his lips thinned with disapproval, and worse, regret.
She can’t.
The silence stretches and then Sam’s hand withdraws from her back, leaving a chill in its wake.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into her pillow later. Sam’s slow, even breaths are the only response. “I’m so sorry.”
Dawn is a long time coming.
[][][]
They don’t speak about it.
They eat breakfast the next morning in a tense, awkward silence. Kara can feel Sam’s eyes on her, serious and intent, but she keeps her head down, hands clutching her mug of tea in a white knuckled grip. She shoots Sam wary glances out of the corner of her eye when he’s not looking.
She knows she should say something. She’s the one who questioned his trustworthiness, after all. She’s the one who more or less accused her husband of catting around. She knows she should apologize, but something, maybe guilt, maybe pride, stops her. An apology will only lead to questions and questions will lead to explanations she can’t bring herself to give.
What can she say? How can she possibly explain why she said the things she did, hurt him the way she did? She’s not entirely sure herself. She does trust Sam, she always has. He’s never given any her any reason not to. Logically, she knows that’s true, but her reaction had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with insecurity and perhaps her own guilty conscience. Bad enough that she made Lee pay for her sins; now, she’s projecting them on to Sam as well.
She really is a piece of work.
She should just come clean to Sam. Tell him the whole sordid life story of Kara Thrace-Anders. Confession, after all, is good for the soul, or so they say. Surely Sam of all people will understand. Sam will forgive her.
If he could even bear to look at her again.
No, Kara tells herself firmly. The past stays in the past where it belongs. She just needs to be better in the future, that’s all. Perhaps she can make something special for dinner tonight, maybe con Jake out of a bottle of that stuff that’s posing as wine…
“I’m going to be working late this evening.”
She looks up at the sound of Sam’s voice. “Oh?” she asks, keeping her voice neutral, hoping he can’t see the disappointment that must be writ on her face.
“A couple of the guys on the crew are sick. I said I’d take on some of their hours.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding slowly. “I can wait dinner.”
Sam shakes his head. He gives her a smile, but it seems wan and tired to her eyes. “Don’t bother. I’ll just grab something if I get hungry.”
Kara nods numbly and watches as Sam rises from the table. He brushes a quick kiss across her brow and leaves before she can say a word.
[][][]
They don’t see each other for the rest of the day. Kara waits up for him that night. She sits on their bed and curls her arms around her knees, making her body as small as possible as she stares at the entrance flap of their tent as if willing him to return. She stays like that until her eyes begin to droop with fatigue then slides under the blankets and waits some more until sleep claims her at last.
Sam offers a vague apology the next morning, something about trading war stories with Ten Point and Riley and the other members of the resistance over a bottle of rotgut. Kara nods, careful not to ask if Jean was there as well. She smiles weakly when Sam kisses her brow again. She’d once found it sweet, but now it feels oddly reserved, a world away from the heated embraces they’d shared in days past. She tells herself it’s nothing, but she can feel the distance between them and it pains her knowing that she’s the one who caused it.
She makes the stew Sam likes for dinner, not even bothering to water down the broth to make the food stretch a little farther. On an impulse, she splurges and buys some honest to Gods coffee at the market. It’s a luxury and it doesn’t come cheap, but the thought of Sam’s delight is enough to justify the expense and she hands over the cubits without even flinching.
Kara almost leaps to her feet when Sam enters the tent. He looks tired and pale and she feels a pang of guilt but she offers him her best smile and coaxes him to sit at the table while she gets their food.
They manage to hold a conversation, mostly minor, inconsequential things. He tells her about fitting plumbing fixtures all day; she tells him about her lunch with Laura and Maya. Sam smiles when she mentions Isis, his eyes lighting up when she recounts the baby’s stubborn, but ultimately failed attempts to stand.
“She’s growing up fast,” he says, a sad, wistful note in his voice that sets Kara on edge. “She’ll be walking before you know it.”
Kara nods and tries to steer the conversation away from Isis and children. Those are treacherous waters at the best of times and right now they’re downright dangerous. Unfortunately, she’s at a loss for a more neutral topic and a strained, uncomfortable silence descends upon them once more. So many things they need to talk about but Kara can’t bring herself to broach a single one of them.
She wonders when she became such a frakking coward. In her heart she knows she always was.
“More coffee?” she asks, wincing at the note of desperation in her voice.
Sam shakes his head. “No thanks. Ten Point and the guys are waiting for me. I promised them a rematch.”
“Oh,” she says, making no effort to hide her disappointment. “I thought we could spend the evening together.”
“I promised. You could come along,” he suggests. A compromise.
Kara shakes her head. “No, you go on. I know how hard you’ve been working. Go have some fun.”
“You sure?”
No, she wants to say. I want you to stay here with me. But she can’t. If he stays, he’ll want to talk and she’s still not ready for that. Maybe in a couple of days, once she’s had a chance to sort things out. But not now. Not yet.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Have fun.”
He kisses her on the cheek before leaving which is, she supposes, a little better than yet another fraternal kiss on her brow.
She does the washing up and carefully stores the plates. She finishes the pot of coffee - frak if she’s going to waste it - and stares at the canvas walls until she feels like they’ll close in on her and smother her. That might be a mercy, she thinks bleakly.
Finally, she has enough. Grabbing her jacket, she heads out. She hears the sound of muffled cheers and heads in the opposite direction, away from the pyramid court, the throng of happy onlookers. Sam.
She has no real destination in mind, but she’s not really surprised when her feet lead her away from the camp towards the woods and the little clearing where she and Sam used to come to watch the stars. It seems a lifetime ago. She lowers herself to the ground and stretches out, pillowing her head on her arms as she stares up at the sky.
The night is uncharacteristically clear and the stars sparkle like gemstones against the velvety black of space. Unconsciously, her eyes begin to trace the fantastical constellations Sam had invented for her entertainment. Her gaze skims over the Hydra and the Cup of Dionysus, past the Fountain of Ambrosia and the Celestial Pyramid Court. She feels her eyes prickle when she spots Artemis’ Bow, named for her patron goddess. Named for her. She stares at sky until the patterns blur through the sheen of tears.
For once, Kara lets them fall.
[][][]
“Hey, Starbuck!”
Kara turns at the hail to find Duck walking towards her, his girlfriend - Laura, Mary, something like that - beside him. His crop of red hair makes a rare splash of color amidst the drab grays and browns of the marketplace, but it’s nothing compared to the grin on his face.
Kara’s lips curl into a wistful smile. It’s been a long time since anyone called her that. “You seem exceptionally perky today, Duck.”
Duck’s face practically splits in two. “Got good reason to be. I asked Nora to marry me and she said yes.”
Nora’s grinning as well as she raises her hand and wriggles her fingers. Sure enough, there’s ring of twisted copper wire on her fourth finger.
Kara’s gaze flits back and forth between their beaming faces as Nora curls into Duck’s side. His arm steals around her waist and when he gazes at her his expression is so full of love he’s practically glowing. The sense of hope sparkling in their eyes is nearly blinding.
Kara knows she should be happy for them, but right then she just feels old. Old and worn in a way that has nothing to do with long shifts and inadequate sleep. That was her not so long ago; hell, by most people’s standards she and Sam are still newlyweds, but life on this rock has worn her down and stripped the shine from everything good. She feels aged beyond her years. For the first time she wonders if this is how her mother felt, disappointment and frustration turning to bitterness, souring her to the point where the sight of other people’s joy sparks only resentment.
Kara plasters on a smile that feels more like a grimace. Either she’s a better actress than she realizes or Duck and Nora are too caught up in their own happiness to notice; she’s pretty sure it’s the latter.
Duck finally manages to tear his eyes away from his betrothed and looks back at Kara, that same foolish grin on his face. “Hey! We’re going to celebrate tonight, let everybody toast our happiness,” he adds with a wink; angling for free rounds is, after all, a time honored tradition. “You and Sam should come.”
“Sure,” she says, nodding and smiling by rote, wondering how long it will last, how long until it bursts beneath the pressure of life on this godsforsaken rock before she turns away.
Kara doesn’t go to the bar that night. She pleads a headache but insists that Sam go. “You can tell Duck all about the joys of married life,” she tells him with a wink and a leer that sets Sam to laughing. He agrees, reluctantly, pressing a kiss to her brow before he leaves. She gives him a fond smile that vanishes entirely the moment the canvas flap drops behind him. She curls up on their bed and stares at the canvas wall and wonders how her bright shiny future turned to dross.
[][][]
Kara steps inside the Oasis, eyes scanning the crowd in search of her errant husband. She’d already checked the construction site thinking he’d been held up by work, but the day crew was long gone. There are only two places he’d be after work and she’d hoped this was the one. Apparently not. There’s no sign of Sam and a quick glance at the bar tells her Jake is conspicuously absent as well. Beth flashes her a grin and Kara bites back her irritation and heads over to where the other woman is filling glasses.
“Looking for Sam?” Beth asks needlessly.
Kara nods. “And since Jake’s not here, it’s not too hard to guess where he’s gotten his sorry ass to.”
Chuckling, Beth shakes her head. “You know how boys like to play. Don’t you love being a pyramid widow?”
“Yeah.” Kara says in a weary voice. She rubs at her temple trying to thwart the incipient headache. She knows it’s in vain. “Look, I’ll see ya later, ‘kay?”
“Sure, Kara. Take care of yourself.”
Nodding, Kara leaves the bar and heads towards the pyramid court.
It’s been raining all day, shifting at times between a fine mist and a steady shower. It’s drizzling at the moment and by the time Kara reaches her destination she can feel the damp cutting straight through her.
She pauses at the edge of the court, watching Sam and the other men play, oblivious to the rain, too caught up in their game to notice that they’re all soaked to the skin. Sam scores a point and he high-fives Jake. His face blossoms with a bright, cocky grin that might have amused her at another time but which only serves to piss her off in the here and now.
“Sam!”
Sam stiffens and turns, grin fading in the face of her obvious exasperation.
“Kara,” he replies offering her a cautious smile. She walks over to where he’s standing, ball still clutched in his grip, ignoring the way Jake and the others roll their eyes. Stupid motherfrakkers.
“What the hell are you doing here, Sam?”
“I was just playing a quick game…”
She cuts him off. “It’s your turn to cook dinner. Did you remember that? Or did you just decide you couldn’t be bothered? Maybe figured if you ignored it long enough, I’d do it for you. Again.”
“Kara…” his voice is placating but Kara’s having none of it.
“I am so sick of this,” she says, past caring that she has an audience, that she’s tearing into him in front of his friends. “I’m not your frakkin’ maid and I’m sick and tired of having to pull your weight as well as mine around the house.”
Sam nods his head sheepishly but she can see the flash of annoyance in his eyes. Good. Let him be pissed.
Sam pastes on a grin and tosses the ball to Ten Point. “Gotta go. Catch you guys later.”
Kara turns and starts walking back to their tent when she hears a cough and the not entirely muffled words “pussy whipped.” She whirls and glares at Dave - she knows it’s that pathetic frakker - satisfied to see his smug grin falter beneath her quelling look. She turns again and walks away, knowing that Sam is following, knowing also that his friends are going to have a good laugh at his expense. She doesn’t frakking care.
Sam doesn’t say a word until they’re back inside their tent.
“I can’t believe you did that!” He tears off his jacket and tosses it aside. It hits the floor with a wet, squelching sound.
She cocks an eyebrow at him. “Did what? Asked you to stop goofing around and start pulling your weight?”
“No, treating me like a frakkin’ child!”
“Well, maybe if you didn’t act like one I wouldn’t have to,” she shoots back, well and truly pissed.
“Gods, Kara, why do you have to turn everything into some drama? It was just one frakkin’ game. I was just blowing off some steam. It’s been a rough week at work.”
“And you think mine’s been a cakewalk? I work every bit as hard as you, buster, but I still manage to do my share of the cooking and cleaning and then some.”
Sam crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at her “Are you saying I’m lazy?”
Kara mirrors his stance, meeting him glare for glare. “No, I’m saying your acting like a selfish bastard!”
“That’s rich coming from you!”
Kara’s eyes narrow. “What the frak is that supposed to mean?”
Sam shrugs, lips curling into a smirk. “Nothing, just that when you need time away to be alone or hang out with your drunken pilot friends, it’s fine. But when I want to play the occasional game of pyramid, you ride my ass. And frankly I’m getting sick of it. Why can’t…”
Sam’s words are cut off by a cough.
“Oh great. Now you’ve gone and gotten sick. Smart move, Sam.”
“It’s nothing,” he says only to start coughing a moment later.
“Unfrakkin’ believable,” she mutters, throwing her arms in the air. “Get into bed, Sam.”
“I’m fine.” Another hacking cough, worse than the last.
“Right, that’s why you sound like you’re coughing up a hairball. Now get out of those wet clothes and into the frakkin’ bed!”
Heaving a loud sigh, Sam does as he’s instructed. Kara shakes her head and puts on a pot of water for tea. She hands Sam a steaming mug almost brusquely, cursing silently. She sets herself to making dinner but by the time she finishes, Sam’s fast asleep. His face seems flushed in the lantern light and his forehead is warm to the touch. Great, the idiot managed to get himself a cold.
Kara picks at her dinner, casting looks that alternated between concern and irritation at Sam’s sleeping form. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thinks over and over. She’s not entirely sure the epithet is aimed at her husband.
[][][]
After three days of bed rest, Sam seems like he’s mostly back to his old self. He still looks pale to her eyes, but his temperature is within normal parameters again. The cough lingers, but it’s not as bad as it was. Kara thinks he should give it a few more days, but she doesn’t protest much in the face of Sam’s insistence that he return to work. She knows he’s been bored out of his mind and given that she’s never been a particularly obedient patient herself she’s hardly in any position to press the issue. And truthfully, she feels a little relieved as well. After the forced intimacy of the past few days, she’s grateful for a little time to herself. It’s not that Sam was demanding - he slept a good part of the time - but his constant presence grated a little. Between work and taking care of Sam, she never had a moment just to herself and she’d felt…trapped in a way she never had before. It’s stupid and selfish, she knows, but she can’t help the way she feels
She starts running in the mornings again. She’d given it up months ago. Between the long hours in the shop and then the harvest as well as the hundred and one minor tasks she needed to deal with on a daily basis, she simply hadn’t had the time. Then it had been an indulgence she couldn’t afford; now it feels like a necessity she can’t live without.
That first morning she tells Sam she’s going for a run. She doesn’t invite him to accompany her; he doesn’t ask to come along. She should probably feel guilty or regretful, but all she feels is a mild sense of relief. Relief that she doesn’t have to match her stride to someone else; relief that she doesn’t need to hold back, be less than she is. She’s tired of settling, of accommodating everyone else. She misses being herself
She runs the camp’s perimeter, feeling muddy earth beneath the soles of her shoes as she jumps over rocks and tree roots like an impromptu obstacle course. She finishes her route, breathless and sweaty, feeling more alive that she’s felt in months. She makes another circuit.
Charlie grunts in greeting when she arrives fifteen minutes late for her shift but he doesn’t give her shit. She finds she doesn’t really give a frak one way or the other.
The days begin to get shorter, the temperatures colder. They’ve all settled into a routine of endless work shifts punctuated by hard drinking and blissful unconsciousness if they’re really lucky.
She feels like an automaton some days, going through the motions by rote. Going through her marriage by rote. They step up production in the machine shop and when Charlie offers her a later shift, Kara doesn’t hesitate to take it. She tells herself it’s because the change in schedule gives her time in the morning to run, to do errands before the crowds gather. The fact that it gives her a few more hours to herself, apart from Sam, is a downside, not an advantage.
She’s not entirely sure she believes that one either.
In the late afternoons while Kara works, Sam plays pyramid more often than not. She tries not to resent it, tries not to hate him because he still has his passion while she surrendered hers to be with him. When asked, she shrugs and smiles and says she’s gotten used to being a pyramid widow. She hasn’t.
She doesn’t tell Sam that some nights she slips out of their bed and heads to their clearing to look at the stars. She stares at the sky for hours, looking for the elusive flicker of light of a Raptor or Viper as it passes overhead on CAP. It hurts, like a knife twisting in her gut, but she can’t help herself. Like a moth to a flame, she always comes back. She welcomes the pain because it’s better than not feeling at all. If Sam knows about her nightly sojourns, he never utters a word.
There are good days, days when she can look at him and smile unreservedly, when she can sit beside him at the Oasis and laugh while he recounts some tale from his life on the Pyramid circuit. Days when the touch of his hand still sends a flare of warmth through her body. And then there are the bad days. Kara had expected both, accepted both as a matter of course. She just never expected the bad to outweigh the good quite so much. She’d never expected things to turn out this way.
Kara slips inside their tent, relieved to find that Sam isn’t there. Carefully, she unlocks the battered foot locker and retrieves the small box in which she safeguards her most prized possessions. She sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, the box propped on her knees and raises the lid to peer inside. It isn’t until she confirms that nothing’s missing that she can breathe again. Her fingers tremble slightly as she removes her treasures, taking them out and laying them on the bed beside her, carefully, reverently. She picks them up, one by one - a ring forged of silver, a flight pin plated in gold, and a single dog tag stamped in bronze - feeling the metal warm to her touch. She holds each one up to the light and turns them slowly in her hand, watching the way they sparkle and shine in the lamplight, glittering like true gold.
She sits there for a long time surrounded by the gleaming bits of metal, then just as carefully, just as reverently, she returns them to their box and hides them away once more.
Kara rises to her feet and goes in search of her husband. She struck a bargain and she’s determined to see it through. After all, even fool’s good still glitters as long as you don’t look too close.
Finis
Author Notes: I actually first started toying with this shortly after the season 2 finale. I had - and honestly still do have - a lot of issues regarding the whole “one year later” time leap the show took. While I understand Ron Moore’s decision to jump ahead right to the drama, I found myself frustrated that the logistics involved were just glossed over in one giant handwave. Maybe I’m a freak, but I find the idea of the practicalities involved in establishing New Caprica intriguing. How do you settle on an alien planet with a climate that while not precisely hostile, isn’t exactly hospitable, either with no long term study of plant and animal life, seasonal changes, no existing infrastructure and limited resources? How do you house 40,000 people (c’mon, no way did they have *that* much canvas left in the fleet!)? Feed them? What about sanitation? The settlement would involve a massive public works program, but first you’d have to train the people, give them the skills needed to make it happen. We, of course, see none of this. It’s there, we’re just supposed to take it on faith that all this happened. The thing is, there’s a story there, but it’s one we’ll never get to see on screen which I, for one, find frustrating.
I kept working on this story in part because of the relative dearth of missing year stories which surprises me. I’d expected tons of them; I was wrong. And so this story began to take shape. The core of the story is another tale that’s fairly crucial but exists more in implication than actuality, namely Kara’s marriage to Sam. And not just her marriage, but her repudiation of her old life in favor of a bright, shiny future that seems so at odds with her character. Kara undergoes a major transformation, setting aside everything she’s known and beginning anew. How did she adjust to married life, to being a civilian, to the loss of her identity, her independence, her family, her home, her passion for flying? My suspicion is not well. I suspect that much like the settlers, Kara had no idea what was in store for her and how hard this new life would be. There are hints that all is far from well in the scenes of that jump into the future: labor unrest, lack of basic medicines, a president who has completely abdicated any responsibility to the people as he drowns himself in booze and sex. New Caprica is less utopia and more dystopia and the sense of frustration and disillusionment is palpable.
So this story tracks the rise and eventual fall of both the settlement and Kara’s marriage, macrocosm and microcosm, as the glorious promise bottoms out and hope gives way to mundane reality, as the bright, shiny future tarnishes and starts to gather rust. Not exactly the most cheerful of outcomes but then, did we ever expect anything else from this show?
Author: Widget
Pairing: Kara/Anders; mentions of Lee/Dee, Helo/Sharon, Tyrol/Cally
Spoilers: LDYB pt 2, mild references to the webisodes, though nothing overtly spoilery
Summary: All she ever wanted was a bright shiny future of her own.
By the time Kara’s shift at the machine shop is over and she’s free to head home, “the stabbing” has gone from being an incident to an event of world shattering magnitude. The rumor mill has been working overtime and theories are running rampant. Kara thinks it’s only a matter of time before the accusations of defiling virgins and sucking the blood out of newborns start to make an appearance. Kara wants to know what’s going on and she knows exactly how to find out.
“Gaeta!”
Hunched into his coat, Gaeta looks up at her, startled. He looks haggard, the smudges beneath his eyes speaking of long hours and too little sleep. Kara offers him what she hopes is a warm smile. It must be convincing; Gaeta relaxes a little and even manages a small smile in return.
“Starbuck.”
She sidles up along side him as casually as possible. “I’ve been hearing a lot of stories about what happened last night. I figured you could give me the real deal.”
Gaeta looks about furtively…no fearfully, and Kara feels unease creep along her spine.
“Not here,” he says, his voice low and urgent. With a final cautious look around them, he scurries away. Kara has to quicken her pace to keep up.
They come to a stop behind one of the grain silos. It’s quiet here and the shadows of the building offer as much privacy as can be found anywhere these days. For a moment she wonders why they didn’t just head back to his tent, but with Baltar keeping him on a short leash, that’s probably the first place anyone would come looking.
“All right. Spill.” It’s not exactly gracious, but Gaeta is well versed in her curt manner. He gives her a flicker of a smile before leaning back against the corrugated metal wall.
“The stories are all wrong,” he says, running his hand through hair that’s no longer regulation length. “The Pegasus crew didn’t start it.”
“What happened?”
“A group of crewmen from Pegasus came planet side. Standard R and R. They were in one of the bars…Max’s place…” At Kara’s nod, he continues. “They were keeping pretty much to themselves. They were drinking, but they hadn’t been at it long enough to get pissed.”
“Okay. So what happened?”
“One of the guys from the lumber yard, Reyes, comes over and starts shooting his mouth off. The guy was wasted, but apparently he’s not the brightest signal light on the panel even when he’s sober, if you get the drift.”
Kara nods. She does indeed.
“Anyway, he starts in, typical stuff, how the ships in orbit are a waste, siphoning off valuable resources, sitting up there getting fat and lazy while down here everyone works their fingers to the bone.”
“What did the Pegasus crewmen do?”
“Nothing. Just ignored it, really. But Reyes kept at it, started getting really insulting, talking about how the military was nothing but a bunch of pampered princesses who didn’t know the meaning of an honest day’s labor. How anyone could fly a Viper and if maybe they’d been doing their jobs, they would have kicked the Cylons’ asses long ago. As you can imagine, his…observations…were not well received.”
Kara closes her eyes. She can easily imagine the response. She would have been out of her seat with her fist in that motherfrakker’s face before he could have gotten even half that garbage out of his mouth. “So, who pulled the knife?”
“Reyes did.”
“Wait…the guy who got stabbed?”
Gaeta nods. “Yep. There hadn’t even been any punches thrown. He just pulled it out and took a swing. One of the guys from Pegasus, Corporal Leonard, tried to disarm him. There was a scuffle and Reyes fell on his own knife.”
“Unfrakkin’ believable,” she says shaking her head. “What next?”
“The police came to sort it all out. Reyes was taken to the hospital tent, the crewmen from Pegasus were put on the first available Raptor back to their ship and we’ve been doing damage control ever since.”
She frowns, trying to make sense of all this. “If it was just a drunken scuffle, why hasn’t the press gotten wind of it? From the rumors going ‘round the camp, you’d think a military mob attacked somebody’s grandma in the middle of the Promenade.”
The look Gaeta shoots her is distinctly knowing. “Because the President wants it that way.”
And suddenly the pieces come together. “Baltar’s using this to fan anti-military sentiment,” she says, her eyes going wide with realization. “He wants the fleet disbanded and so far he’s had no luck. So he’s doing his best to whip the civilians into a frenzy to force the Quorum to demand the military to stand down.”
“Exactly.”
“Son of a bitch!” She stalks away from the silo, and paces back, furious. “I knew Baltar was a weasel but I never knew he was this insane.” Seeing Gaeta’s expression she offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
Gaeta just slumps against the silo and sighs. “Don’t be. You’re right. He’s a disaster. I’d hoped that maybe things would be different. He’s brilliant, you know, but it’s a nightmare.”
A terrible idea suddenly occurs to her. “Do you think Baltar could be behind the whole thing? That maybe he staged it?”
“No,” Gaeta replies, certainty in his voice. “That would require more effort than he’s willing to make. He’s happy to turn the situation to his advantage, but he wouldn’t have planned it.”
“What about Zarek?”
Gaeta frowns. “What about him?”
“He certainly has the means, and it’s right up his alley.”
He laughs. “No way. The last thing Zarek wants is the Old Man and his son around. The President he can handle, but Zarek doesn’t trust the Adamas at all.”
That actually makes sense. Baltar is weak and easy to manipulate. The Quorum have proven to be spineless and Roslin, for whatever reason, hasn’t dared to challenge Baltar. All of which means that Tom Zarek is in charge of New Caprica in all but name.
But with the Adamas on planet, the balance of power would shift away from him. For all the anti-military sentiment at present, the Old Man is still a figure to be reckoned with. He’s a real leader, right down to his bones, and Zarek wouldn’t appreciate the competition. And while Adama has never shown an interest in politics, Lee certainly has and he’s had no qualms about going toe to toe with Zarek in the past. Lee probably scares Zarek as much as his father does.
No, having the Adamas around is the last thing Zarek wants. She wonders why he hasn’t said something to the press himself but figures it’s just part of some deep game he’s playing. Zarek does love his games she thinks with no small degree of disdain.
“What a frakkin’ mess,” she mutters, fists curling in frustration.
“So say we all,” he replies wryly.
“So, what’s going to happen?”
Gaeta shrugs. “The President will use this to score as many points as he can. He’s already sent off a harshly worded message to both the Admiral and Commander Adama demanding that the men involved be punished. He’s also demanded an apology.”
Kara barks a sharp laugh. “Yeah, like that’ll happen.”
“I assume the Admiral will suspend all shore leave for the foreseeable future,” he continues, “at least until things blow over. No sense in risking another incident.”
She nods. It’s the logical course of action, but she has a niggling fear that this won’t blow over, not any time soon and certainly not without some kind of action. It was hard enough to get past the Gideon incident and back then, at least, Adama had had the full support of the President. But now, with the President openly opposing Adama, things will only get worse.
A lot worse.
Kara reaches out and gives Gaeta’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Thanks, Gaeta. I appreciate you telling me the truth.”
“You’ll be discreet?” he asks and Kara can see the flicker of fear in his eyes.
She nods. “Yeah.”
“I should go,” he says. “The President is probably wondering where I’ve gotten to.” Gaeta gives her a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before heading back in the direction they came, head bowed and shoulders hunched inward as he keeps to the shadows.
Kara remains there some time and wonders how things ever got this frakked up.
[][][]
“So, are you going to do something about this?”
“What would you have me do?”
Kara stares at Laura, dumbfounded. That isn’t the response she’d anticipated.
When she’d shown up at Laura Roslin’s tent, she’d been greeted cordially as always. Laura had invited Kara inside and offered her tea, listening attentively as Kara had recounted what Gaeta had told her about the stabbing and Baltar’s manipulation of events to advance his agenda of full disarmament.
“I’m a school teacher now, Kara,” Laura explains with the kind patience she probably shows to her students. “I’m not the president anymore. I hold no office, have no influence over either the President or the Quorum. These days they do as they please.”
Kara catches a note of frustration, even resignation in Laura’s voice, the first crack she’s encountered in the other woman’s impeccable façade. “I don’t understand how you can simply sit back and watch. You used to be the President of the Twelve Colonies, for frak’s sake!”
“’Used to be’ is the operative term, Kara. My opinion doesn’t carry the weight it once did.”
“If you’ll pardon the expression,” Kara shoots back, “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
Laura gives her a small, wry smile that vanishes almost at once. “Things have changed. People look at me and see the woman who wanted to lead them to Earth, but no one cares about Earth anymore. New Caprica is our home now and most people would rather look to the future than ruminate over aborted dreams. I’m a relic, an unwanted reminder of things left behind.”
It all sounds very reasonable, very noble, but Kara can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to the story, that Laura’s continuing retirement from public life has less to do with popular opinion and more to do with some unnamed concern. And as much as Kara wants to push her back into the public eye, Kara knows she has no right. How can she accuse Laura of turning her back on duty when Kara’s done the same?
Laura reaches over and pats her hand, the gesture unexpectedly maternal. “I wouldn’t worry about the Admiral, Kara. He’s a wily old bastard and more than a match for President Baltar. He’ll do what’s right.”
Kara nods, drawing some comfort from Laura’s words and her assessment of Adama. The man has survived two wars with the Cylons, the death of his son, an assassination plot and a shooting by a Cylon sleeper agent. Compared to all of that, Baltar’s an insignificant threat.
“It will be all right, Kara,” Laura says soothingly, as she accompanies Kara to the entrance of her tent. “It’ll be fine.”
Kara hold those words close and tries to ignore the flicker of pain she saw in the other woman’s eyes just before the flap of her tent slid closed.
[][][]
Once, years ago, Zak took Kara to Tauron for the Festival of Demeter. She can still remember the endless rolling hills stretching out before her in a brilliant patchwork of green and gold. She can remember the vibrant blue sky and the crisp autumn air that carried the scent of wood smoke and apples and fresh living things.
Kara had always been a city girl, more at home surrounded by steel and stone and sharp angles. But she’d found Tauron oddly inviting, the sense of joy surrounding the harvest almost contagious as she and Zak had joined the festivities, a pair of strangers welcomed into the fold. They’d gorged themselves on fried chicken and corn and pie and had gotten a little drunk on wheat berry beer before curling up together beneath an apple tree where they listened to the local chorus raise their voices in praise of Demeter. It had been a joyous occasion, almost magical.
This is nothing like it.
Kara shoves her hands more deeply into her jacket pockets listening disinterestedly as President Baltar addresses the crowd from beneath a sky that is heavy with the ever present threat of rain. His voice drones on as he praises the people of New Caprica for their hard work and sacrifice, the bounty of their first harvest that will sustain them through the coming season.
The thin wail of a baby interrupts the flow of his speech and Kara watches as the mother tries to soothe the fretful child bouncing it in her arms while making soft, cooing sounds. Baltar finishes his address, which is greeted with polite applause before the crowd breaks apart and shuffle towards their home. There’ll be no feast tonight, no wheat berry beer or apple pie. No celebration. She’d expected to feel some sort of satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment, but the entire thing seems oddly anti-climactic.
Kara feels the first drops of rain on her face and heads home as well.
[][][]
“Starbuck!”
Kara stops, surprised at the sound of someone yelling her call sign and turns in the direction from which it came. She smiles when she sees Duck and Jammer wave her over.
“C’mon,” she says to Sam and leads him to the table where her old shipmates are sitting.
“We were wondering when you’d show up,” Duck says grinning. “We figured you’d want to say hey to the newest citizen of New Caprica.”
Kara’s eyes dart to the unfamiliar face at the table - clean shaven, square jawed, hair close cropped, undeniably Fleet. It’s only belatedly that she can put a name to the face. She’d never liked Tripwire. Like most of the pilots aboard Pegasus, she’d found him arrogant and condescending and about as warm as a frakking iceberg. She’s surprised to see him here. He doesn’t seem the type for settling down, but then, the same could probably be said about her.
Kara gives him a cautious smile and his answering grin softens his face unexpectedly.
“So, Tripwire…”
“Ross.”
“What?”
“My name, it’s Ross,” he explains, shrugging a little self-consciously. “Not Tripwire anymore.”
“Right. Of course not,” she murmurs. “So, how do you like it so far?”
He shoots Duck a look. “Well, the booze is sure better.” That sets Duck to laughing. Jammer grabs the bottle of homebrew out of his hand before he can spill it.
“Wanna join us?”
Kara sends a questioning look to Sam who nods his assent. “Sure. More over Palladino.”
Joe grumbles but scoots aside, allowing Kara and Sam to squeeze into the narrow space between him and Digger while Jammer pours them all a round.
“We figured we’d have a few drinks and then maybe get a game of triad going. For old time’s sake.”
Kara’s eyes gleam. “Sounds like a plan.”
The booze flows freely and with it tales of terrifying battles and daring escapades, each tale wilder and more colorful than the last. By the time someone produces a triad deck, Kara’s feeling no pain, giddy on rotgut and nostalgia. She’s Starbuck again, queen of the skies, sovereign of the triad table. She cackles with glee as she wins another round, sweeping the pot into the growing pile in front of her. She smirks around the cigarette she’d won in an earlier hand and taunts the other players, daring them to try to depose her, knowing they can’t. She’s inexorable, unstoppable. A force to be reckoned with, the master of all she surveys.
Kara never notices when Sam leaves the bar and heads home.
[][][]
Kara slips inside the tent she shares with Sam, moving quietly through the dark, not wanting to disturb him. She can see the slope of his back, a silhouette of black on black, can almost feel the way his chest rises and falls with the slow, even cadence of sleep.
She undresses with as much haste as her clumsy fingers will allow. She hadn’t had that much to drink, after all. She drops her clothing heedlessly to the floor - it’s too dark to see and besides, a few wrinkles are hardly a cardinal sin - and slips under the covers, her body drawn to Sam’s warmth like a moth to a flame.
She leans into his strong, broad back and sighs in contentment. She closes her eyes and tries to sleep, but slumber eludes her. She’s exhausted, but she feels wired and giddy from too much rotgut and the buzz of a night of camaraderie. Gods, she’s missed that.
Kara presses her face into the back of Sam’s neck and breathes. He smells of metal and sawdust and sweat with the underlying scent of pure maleness. She brushes her lips across his nape, feeling his hair tickle her nose and begins to trail soft kisses down the side of his neck towards the juncture of his shoulder, pressing her body closer, molding herself to him calf to shoulder. Her hands slide around his waist, stealing beneath the hem of his tee shirt, feeling his muscles flutter beneath her touch. Boldly, her hand dips lower, insinuating itself beneath the elastic of his boxers, moving towards his cock. He’s half erect and she smiles in satisfaction at the thought of making him hard, of straddling his hips and taking him inside and riding him until they’re both gasping and spent.
“Sam,” she breathes against his neck. “Want you. Want you so frakkin’ much.”
Her fingers curl lightly around his cock but before she can begin, his voice rumbles in her ear, low and rough with sleep.
“Kara, don’t.”
She freezes, blinking in confusion. “Sam? I just wanted…”
“I’m tired, Kara.” She can hear the weariness in his tone. “Go to sleep, okay?”
She stares at him in the darkness, surprised and irritated and horny as hell. And underneath it all, there’s a note of disquiet that refuses to go away.
He’s never said no to her before. Never in all the months they’ve been married. For a moment she thinks about ignoring him; she knows how to make it good for him. She’ll jerk him off nice and slow, doing all the work for the both of them. Most guys would be ecstatic. Hell, most guys not only want that, they expect it.
But Sam isn’t most guys. Sam’s different. Isn’t that why she married him in the first place?
Sighing, Kara withdraws her hand. She closes her eyes and just breathes until sleep claims her at last.
[][][]
The line at the supply depot stretches endlessly by the time Kara arrives to retrieve her weekly rations. She waits as patiently as she can until it’s her turn.
“Anders,” she says to the man behind the counter, flashing her ID. He skims the manifest, checking off her name, before another man hands over her rations. Kara stares at them in suspicion.
“This is it?”
“Yep. Next.”
Kara feels the people jostling her from behind, eager to get their own rations, but Kara doesn’t budge. “But the harvest…”
The man makes a dismissive sound. “The harvest! We’ll be lucky to make it through the winter on what we produced.” He shakes his head. “That’s it. Next,” he repeats.
Kara glares at the man. All those hours they’d all spent - been forced, no, governmentally mandated, to spend - helping with the harvest and she’s still getting screwed over. Maybe she should have gotten a job on one of the farms rather than the machine shop. At least then she’d be able to eat.
“Fine,” she grumbles, snatching the rations and shoving them in her basket. She heads to the market where she hears the same story again and again. The harvest hadn’t lived up to expectations. Too much rain, too many crops that didn’t take. Potential food shortages. She doesn’t know how she and Sam are supposed to feed themselves. Their salary barely covers the other necessities and the black market isn’t cheap. She could maybe ask Charlie for another shift or two a week, but she’s already working her ass off, and so is Sam. Maybe she can convince Sam to take up knitting.
The image of her husband knitting a scarf or a pair of socks brings a smile to her face, but it vanishes moments later when she sees Sam standing in front of their tent talking to Jean. Of course. Kara eases back to stand behind a nearby tent and watches them unobtrusively, noting their relaxed postures and easy smiles. Sam reaches over and touches Jean’s shoulder, bringing a smile to Jean’s face and a frown to Kara’s. The gesture is fleeting, but there’s no mistaking the fact that it’s Sam who initiates it this time, not Jean. She watches as Jean’s fingers graze Sam’s arm and then she’s walking away. Sam watches her for a moment before slipping back inside the tent.
Kara remains where she is, a mixture of hurt and surprise holding her at bay. She tells herself it’s nothing, just like she has all the previous times. She’s imagining things, seeing signs of infidelity where none exist, but even knowing that, she can’t entirely erase the sense of disquiet, the gnawing belief that Sam will inevitably leave her. Everyone does sooner or later.
No, she’s not going to do that to herself. Drawing a deep breath, Kara raises her chin and heads home, to where her husband awaits her.
He’s sitting bare-chested on the bed when she enters. It’s not exactly an unappealing sight and she can feel a smile curving her lips.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” he says, tossing her a bright easy grin. “Any luck?”
She shrugs. “That depends,” she says as she heads over to the table and sets the basket down. “On whether you think getting completely hosed is good.”
Sam frowns. “That bad?”
“We may reduced to foraging for nuts and berries,” she says with a wry grin. She’s not entirely joking.
He makes a sound halfway between a grunt of acknowledgement and a laugh.
“What did you do today?”
“Not much. Worked my shift, helped Galen with the crib he’s building for the baby.”
Kara slants him a look. She’s not sure what she wants or expects to see on his face, but his expression is just as bland as his tone of voice. For reasons she can’t explain it sets her on edge.
“So,” she begins again as she starts to unpack her pitiful collection of provisions. “You didn’t see anyone in particular?”
“No, not really.”
“So…you didn’t see…oh, I don’t know, Jean?”
She’s watching him carefully out of the corner of her eye so she sees the way he stiffens in the midst of pulling on his sweater. It’s subtle, but Kara didn’t become a shark at the triad table without recognizing a tell when she sees it.
“I did, as a matter of fact. Ran into her just before you came home.”
“Really?” she says. “Funny, you didn’t mention her.”
He shrugs “Saw no reason to.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Sam frowns at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she replies innocently. “I just find it strange that you spend so much time with her is all.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “What are you talking about? I barely see her.”
“Really, ‘cause I keep seeing her with you.”
“She’s a friend, Kara nothing more.” The words are curt, almost snappish and Kara feels a strange sense of satisfaction in unbalancing him.
“Really,” she says drawling the word out, giving it an edge of mockery.
“What’s your problem with Jean?”
“I don’t have a problem with Jean,” she shoots back airily.
“Really,” he replies, his voice mimicking hers. “It almost sounds as if you’re jealous or something.”
Kara feels her expression harden even as her heart begins to pound in her chest. “That’s ridiculous.”
Something of her panic must show in her face because Sam’s eyes narrow. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Kara laughs and it’s a harsh brittle sound. “As if I would be jealous of her!”
“Then why are you acting like this, Kara?”
She slams her palm down on the table top. “Because you keep lying to me!”
Sam stares at her in confusion. “What?”
“I ask you if you’ve seen anyone, but you fail to mention her. And this isn’t the first time, Sam! I show up at Jake’s place and who do I find cozied up next to you but Jean! Everywhere I go, there she is!”
Kara glares hotly at Sam, demanding a response, but there’s only silence. As the seconds tick by, Kara feels some of her righteous anger fade away, giving way to uncertainty and finally fear.
“You think I’m cheating on you.”
The words are soft and measured, but there’s so much hurt in Sam’s eyes, that all Kara wants to do is fold him into her arms and apologize. Instead she stays frozen, watching with a growing sense of horror as his words sink in.
Sam’s voice is eerily calm as he continues to speak, his eyes never leaving hers for even a moment. “I have never cheated on you, Kara. I’ve been faithful every hour of every day. I’ve never once looked at another woman since I met you.”
Kara winces as a wave of guilt washes over her. She can’t say the same. She’s done far more than look. Sam was true to her and she betrayed him in thought as well as deed. She feels her stomach twisting with shame.
“I thought you trusted me, Kara.”
“I do!” she says, her voice quavering with fervor.
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
“Sam!” she steps forward, reaching for him. He pulls back, just out of reach.
Shaking his head, he takes another step back. “I need…I need some time to think.”
Kara nods, feeling the prickle of tears at the back of her eyes as Sam disappears through the tent flap.
Kara stares at the spot he’d occupied, dry eyed but trembling. She’d always known he’d leave her. She just hadn’t expected to be the one to open the door and push him through it.
[][][]
Hours pass and still Sam doesn’t return. It’s had to resist the temptation to go looking for him, to explain and apologize and beg his forgiveness, but she has that much dignity left. She’s already been a fool once today; she won’t compound her sins by making a public spectacle of herself. She’ll respect his wishes, just as he’s always respected hers, by giving him the space he needs. It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done, but he deserves that much from her at least.
Finally she accepts that he isn’t coming home any time soon. She undresses and climbs into their bed. It seems huge and cold without him and it occurs to her that this is the first time she’s slept alone since they were married. That nearly sparks another round of tears that she ruthlessly forces down. She did this; she doesn’t have the right to blubber like a baby, no matter how much she might want to.
She’s curled up on her side, facing away from the entrance flap when she hears the telltale rustle of canvas. Heart pounding madly, she doesn’t move, just waits, listening to the sound of her husband undressing and sliding into the bed. She feels the mattress dip beneath his weight, but he doesn’t touch her, not yet.
“We can’t keep doing this, Kara,” he says, the words hovering between them in the darkness. “I’m your husband. Either you trust me, or you don’t. There’s no middle ground here.”
He rests his palm between her shoulder blades and she trembles at his touch. Face turned away, she can’t see his expression, but she can imagine the look of hurt and disappointment etched into his features. She’s seen it before, so many times, but never before on Sam’s face. She never wanted to put that look on Sam’s face.
Kara knows she should turn and look at him, but she can’t. She can’t bring herself to look at him, can’t bear to see him gazing back at her with sad, wounded eyes, his lips thinned with disapproval, and worse, regret.
She can’t.
The silence stretches and then Sam’s hand withdraws from her back, leaving a chill in its wake.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into her pillow later. Sam’s slow, even breaths are the only response. “I’m so sorry.”
Dawn is a long time coming.
[][][]
They don’t speak about it.
They eat breakfast the next morning in a tense, awkward silence. Kara can feel Sam’s eyes on her, serious and intent, but she keeps her head down, hands clutching her mug of tea in a white knuckled grip. She shoots Sam wary glances out of the corner of her eye when he’s not looking.
She knows she should say something. She’s the one who questioned his trustworthiness, after all. She’s the one who more or less accused her husband of catting around. She knows she should apologize, but something, maybe guilt, maybe pride, stops her. An apology will only lead to questions and questions will lead to explanations she can’t bring herself to give.
What can she say? How can she possibly explain why she said the things she did, hurt him the way she did? She’s not entirely sure herself. She does trust Sam, she always has. He’s never given any her any reason not to. Logically, she knows that’s true, but her reaction had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with insecurity and perhaps her own guilty conscience. Bad enough that she made Lee pay for her sins; now, she’s projecting them on to Sam as well.
She really is a piece of work.
She should just come clean to Sam. Tell him the whole sordid life story of Kara Thrace-Anders. Confession, after all, is good for the soul, or so they say. Surely Sam of all people will understand. Sam will forgive her.
If he could even bear to look at her again.
No, Kara tells herself firmly. The past stays in the past where it belongs. She just needs to be better in the future, that’s all. Perhaps she can make something special for dinner tonight, maybe con Jake out of a bottle of that stuff that’s posing as wine…
“I’m going to be working late this evening.”
She looks up at the sound of Sam’s voice. “Oh?” she asks, keeping her voice neutral, hoping he can’t see the disappointment that must be writ on her face.
“A couple of the guys on the crew are sick. I said I’d take on some of their hours.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding slowly. “I can wait dinner.”
Sam shakes his head. He gives her a smile, but it seems wan and tired to her eyes. “Don’t bother. I’ll just grab something if I get hungry.”
Kara nods numbly and watches as Sam rises from the table. He brushes a quick kiss across her brow and leaves before she can say a word.
[][][]
They don’t see each other for the rest of the day. Kara waits up for him that night. She sits on their bed and curls her arms around her knees, making her body as small as possible as she stares at the entrance flap of their tent as if willing him to return. She stays like that until her eyes begin to droop with fatigue then slides under the blankets and waits some more until sleep claims her at last.
Sam offers a vague apology the next morning, something about trading war stories with Ten Point and Riley and the other members of the resistance over a bottle of rotgut. Kara nods, careful not to ask if Jean was there as well. She smiles weakly when Sam kisses her brow again. She’d once found it sweet, but now it feels oddly reserved, a world away from the heated embraces they’d shared in days past. She tells herself it’s nothing, but she can feel the distance between them and it pains her knowing that she’s the one who caused it.
She makes the stew Sam likes for dinner, not even bothering to water down the broth to make the food stretch a little farther. On an impulse, she splurges and buys some honest to Gods coffee at the market. It’s a luxury and it doesn’t come cheap, but the thought of Sam’s delight is enough to justify the expense and she hands over the cubits without even flinching.
Kara almost leaps to her feet when Sam enters the tent. He looks tired and pale and she feels a pang of guilt but she offers him her best smile and coaxes him to sit at the table while she gets their food.
They manage to hold a conversation, mostly minor, inconsequential things. He tells her about fitting plumbing fixtures all day; she tells him about her lunch with Laura and Maya. Sam smiles when she mentions Isis, his eyes lighting up when she recounts the baby’s stubborn, but ultimately failed attempts to stand.
“She’s growing up fast,” he says, a sad, wistful note in his voice that sets Kara on edge. “She’ll be walking before you know it.”
Kara nods and tries to steer the conversation away from Isis and children. Those are treacherous waters at the best of times and right now they’re downright dangerous. Unfortunately, she’s at a loss for a more neutral topic and a strained, uncomfortable silence descends upon them once more. So many things they need to talk about but Kara can’t bring herself to broach a single one of them.
She wonders when she became such a frakking coward. In her heart she knows she always was.
“More coffee?” she asks, wincing at the note of desperation in her voice.
Sam shakes his head. “No thanks. Ten Point and the guys are waiting for me. I promised them a rematch.”
“Oh,” she says, making no effort to hide her disappointment. “I thought we could spend the evening together.”
“I promised. You could come along,” he suggests. A compromise.
Kara shakes her head. “No, you go on. I know how hard you’ve been working. Go have some fun.”
“You sure?”
No, she wants to say. I want you to stay here with me. But she can’t. If he stays, he’ll want to talk and she’s still not ready for that. Maybe in a couple of days, once she’s had a chance to sort things out. But not now. Not yet.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Have fun.”
He kisses her on the cheek before leaving which is, she supposes, a little better than yet another fraternal kiss on her brow.
She does the washing up and carefully stores the plates. She finishes the pot of coffee - frak if she’s going to waste it - and stares at the canvas walls until she feels like they’ll close in on her and smother her. That might be a mercy, she thinks bleakly.
Finally, she has enough. Grabbing her jacket, she heads out. She hears the sound of muffled cheers and heads in the opposite direction, away from the pyramid court, the throng of happy onlookers. Sam.
She has no real destination in mind, but she’s not really surprised when her feet lead her away from the camp towards the woods and the little clearing where she and Sam used to come to watch the stars. It seems a lifetime ago. She lowers herself to the ground and stretches out, pillowing her head on her arms as she stares up at the sky.
The night is uncharacteristically clear and the stars sparkle like gemstones against the velvety black of space. Unconsciously, her eyes begin to trace the fantastical constellations Sam had invented for her entertainment. Her gaze skims over the Hydra and the Cup of Dionysus, past the Fountain of Ambrosia and the Celestial Pyramid Court. She feels her eyes prickle when she spots Artemis’ Bow, named for her patron goddess. Named for her. She stares at sky until the patterns blur through the sheen of tears.
For once, Kara lets them fall.
[][][]
“Hey, Starbuck!”
Kara turns at the hail to find Duck walking towards her, his girlfriend - Laura, Mary, something like that - beside him. His crop of red hair makes a rare splash of color amidst the drab grays and browns of the marketplace, but it’s nothing compared to the grin on his face.
Kara’s lips curl into a wistful smile. It’s been a long time since anyone called her that. “You seem exceptionally perky today, Duck.”
Duck’s face practically splits in two. “Got good reason to be. I asked Nora to marry me and she said yes.”
Nora’s grinning as well as she raises her hand and wriggles her fingers. Sure enough, there’s ring of twisted copper wire on her fourth finger.
Kara’s gaze flits back and forth between their beaming faces as Nora curls into Duck’s side. His arm steals around her waist and when he gazes at her his expression is so full of love he’s practically glowing. The sense of hope sparkling in their eyes is nearly blinding.
Kara knows she should be happy for them, but right then she just feels old. Old and worn in a way that has nothing to do with long shifts and inadequate sleep. That was her not so long ago; hell, by most people’s standards she and Sam are still newlyweds, but life on this rock has worn her down and stripped the shine from everything good. She feels aged beyond her years. For the first time she wonders if this is how her mother felt, disappointment and frustration turning to bitterness, souring her to the point where the sight of other people’s joy sparks only resentment.
Kara plasters on a smile that feels more like a grimace. Either she’s a better actress than she realizes or Duck and Nora are too caught up in their own happiness to notice; she’s pretty sure it’s the latter.
Duck finally manages to tear his eyes away from his betrothed and looks back at Kara, that same foolish grin on his face. “Hey! We’re going to celebrate tonight, let everybody toast our happiness,” he adds with a wink; angling for free rounds is, after all, a time honored tradition. “You and Sam should come.”
“Sure,” she says, nodding and smiling by rote, wondering how long it will last, how long until it bursts beneath the pressure of life on this godsforsaken rock before she turns away.
Kara doesn’t go to the bar that night. She pleads a headache but insists that Sam go. “You can tell Duck all about the joys of married life,” she tells him with a wink and a leer that sets Sam to laughing. He agrees, reluctantly, pressing a kiss to her brow before he leaves. She gives him a fond smile that vanishes entirely the moment the canvas flap drops behind him. She curls up on their bed and stares at the canvas wall and wonders how her bright shiny future turned to dross.
[][][]
Kara steps inside the Oasis, eyes scanning the crowd in search of her errant husband. She’d already checked the construction site thinking he’d been held up by work, but the day crew was long gone. There are only two places he’d be after work and she’d hoped this was the one. Apparently not. There’s no sign of Sam and a quick glance at the bar tells her Jake is conspicuously absent as well. Beth flashes her a grin and Kara bites back her irritation and heads over to where the other woman is filling glasses.
“Looking for Sam?” Beth asks needlessly.
Kara nods. “And since Jake’s not here, it’s not too hard to guess where he’s gotten his sorry ass to.”
Chuckling, Beth shakes her head. “You know how boys like to play. Don’t you love being a pyramid widow?”
“Yeah.” Kara says in a weary voice. She rubs at her temple trying to thwart the incipient headache. She knows it’s in vain. “Look, I’ll see ya later, ‘kay?”
“Sure, Kara. Take care of yourself.”
Nodding, Kara leaves the bar and heads towards the pyramid court.
It’s been raining all day, shifting at times between a fine mist and a steady shower. It’s drizzling at the moment and by the time Kara reaches her destination she can feel the damp cutting straight through her.
She pauses at the edge of the court, watching Sam and the other men play, oblivious to the rain, too caught up in their game to notice that they’re all soaked to the skin. Sam scores a point and he high-fives Jake. His face blossoms with a bright, cocky grin that might have amused her at another time but which only serves to piss her off in the here and now.
“Sam!”
Sam stiffens and turns, grin fading in the face of her obvious exasperation.
“Kara,” he replies offering her a cautious smile. She walks over to where he’s standing, ball still clutched in his grip, ignoring the way Jake and the others roll their eyes. Stupid motherfrakkers.
“What the hell are you doing here, Sam?”
“I was just playing a quick game…”
She cuts him off. “It’s your turn to cook dinner. Did you remember that? Or did you just decide you couldn’t be bothered? Maybe figured if you ignored it long enough, I’d do it for you. Again.”
“Kara…” his voice is placating but Kara’s having none of it.
“I am so sick of this,” she says, past caring that she has an audience, that she’s tearing into him in front of his friends. “I’m not your frakkin’ maid and I’m sick and tired of having to pull your weight as well as mine around the house.”
Sam nods his head sheepishly but she can see the flash of annoyance in his eyes. Good. Let him be pissed.
Sam pastes on a grin and tosses the ball to Ten Point. “Gotta go. Catch you guys later.”
Kara turns and starts walking back to their tent when she hears a cough and the not entirely muffled words “pussy whipped.” She whirls and glares at Dave - she knows it’s that pathetic frakker - satisfied to see his smug grin falter beneath her quelling look. She turns again and walks away, knowing that Sam is following, knowing also that his friends are going to have a good laugh at his expense. She doesn’t frakking care.
Sam doesn’t say a word until they’re back inside their tent.
“I can’t believe you did that!” He tears off his jacket and tosses it aside. It hits the floor with a wet, squelching sound.
She cocks an eyebrow at him. “Did what? Asked you to stop goofing around and start pulling your weight?”
“No, treating me like a frakkin’ child!”
“Well, maybe if you didn’t act like one I wouldn’t have to,” she shoots back, well and truly pissed.
“Gods, Kara, why do you have to turn everything into some drama? It was just one frakkin’ game. I was just blowing off some steam. It’s been a rough week at work.”
“And you think mine’s been a cakewalk? I work every bit as hard as you, buster, but I still manage to do my share of the cooking and cleaning and then some.”
Sam crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at her “Are you saying I’m lazy?”
Kara mirrors his stance, meeting him glare for glare. “No, I’m saying your acting like a selfish bastard!”
“That’s rich coming from you!”
Kara’s eyes narrow. “What the frak is that supposed to mean?”
Sam shrugs, lips curling into a smirk. “Nothing, just that when you need time away to be alone or hang out with your drunken pilot friends, it’s fine. But when I want to play the occasional game of pyramid, you ride my ass. And frankly I’m getting sick of it. Why can’t…”
Sam’s words are cut off by a cough.
“Oh great. Now you’ve gone and gotten sick. Smart move, Sam.”
“It’s nothing,” he says only to start coughing a moment later.
“Unfrakkin’ believable,” she mutters, throwing her arms in the air. “Get into bed, Sam.”
“I’m fine.” Another hacking cough, worse than the last.
“Right, that’s why you sound like you’re coughing up a hairball. Now get out of those wet clothes and into the frakkin’ bed!”
Heaving a loud sigh, Sam does as he’s instructed. Kara shakes her head and puts on a pot of water for tea. She hands Sam a steaming mug almost brusquely, cursing silently. She sets herself to making dinner but by the time she finishes, Sam’s fast asleep. His face seems flushed in the lantern light and his forehead is warm to the touch. Great, the idiot managed to get himself a cold.
Kara picks at her dinner, casting looks that alternated between concern and irritation at Sam’s sleeping form. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thinks over and over. She’s not entirely sure the epithet is aimed at her husband.
[][][]
After three days of bed rest, Sam seems like he’s mostly back to his old self. He still looks pale to her eyes, but his temperature is within normal parameters again. The cough lingers, but it’s not as bad as it was. Kara thinks he should give it a few more days, but she doesn’t protest much in the face of Sam’s insistence that he return to work. She knows he’s been bored out of his mind and given that she’s never been a particularly obedient patient herself she’s hardly in any position to press the issue. And truthfully, she feels a little relieved as well. After the forced intimacy of the past few days, she’s grateful for a little time to herself. It’s not that Sam was demanding - he slept a good part of the time - but his constant presence grated a little. Between work and taking care of Sam, she never had a moment just to herself and she’d felt…trapped in a way she never had before. It’s stupid and selfish, she knows, but she can’t help the way she feels
She starts running in the mornings again. She’d given it up months ago. Between the long hours in the shop and then the harvest as well as the hundred and one minor tasks she needed to deal with on a daily basis, she simply hadn’t had the time. Then it had been an indulgence she couldn’t afford; now it feels like a necessity she can’t live without.
That first morning she tells Sam she’s going for a run. She doesn’t invite him to accompany her; he doesn’t ask to come along. She should probably feel guilty or regretful, but all she feels is a mild sense of relief. Relief that she doesn’t have to match her stride to someone else; relief that she doesn’t need to hold back, be less than she is. She’s tired of settling, of accommodating everyone else. She misses being herself
She runs the camp’s perimeter, feeling muddy earth beneath the soles of her shoes as she jumps over rocks and tree roots like an impromptu obstacle course. She finishes her route, breathless and sweaty, feeling more alive that she’s felt in months. She makes another circuit.
Charlie grunts in greeting when she arrives fifteen minutes late for her shift but he doesn’t give her shit. She finds she doesn’t really give a frak one way or the other.
The days begin to get shorter, the temperatures colder. They’ve all settled into a routine of endless work shifts punctuated by hard drinking and blissful unconsciousness if they’re really lucky.
She feels like an automaton some days, going through the motions by rote. Going through her marriage by rote. They step up production in the machine shop and when Charlie offers her a later shift, Kara doesn’t hesitate to take it. She tells herself it’s because the change in schedule gives her time in the morning to run, to do errands before the crowds gather. The fact that it gives her a few more hours to herself, apart from Sam, is a downside, not an advantage.
She’s not entirely sure she believes that one either.
In the late afternoons while Kara works, Sam plays pyramid more often than not. She tries not to resent it, tries not to hate him because he still has his passion while she surrendered hers to be with him. When asked, she shrugs and smiles and says she’s gotten used to being a pyramid widow. She hasn’t.
She doesn’t tell Sam that some nights she slips out of their bed and heads to their clearing to look at the stars. She stares at the sky for hours, looking for the elusive flicker of light of a Raptor or Viper as it passes overhead on CAP. It hurts, like a knife twisting in her gut, but she can’t help herself. Like a moth to a flame, she always comes back. She welcomes the pain because it’s better than not feeling at all. If Sam knows about her nightly sojourns, he never utters a word.
There are good days, days when she can look at him and smile unreservedly, when she can sit beside him at the Oasis and laugh while he recounts some tale from his life on the Pyramid circuit. Days when the touch of his hand still sends a flare of warmth through her body. And then there are the bad days. Kara had expected both, accepted both as a matter of course. She just never expected the bad to outweigh the good quite so much. She’d never expected things to turn out this way.
Kara slips inside their tent, relieved to find that Sam isn’t there. Carefully, she unlocks the battered foot locker and retrieves the small box in which she safeguards her most prized possessions. She sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, the box propped on her knees and raises the lid to peer inside. It isn’t until she confirms that nothing’s missing that she can breathe again. Her fingers tremble slightly as she removes her treasures, taking them out and laying them on the bed beside her, carefully, reverently. She picks them up, one by one - a ring forged of silver, a flight pin plated in gold, and a single dog tag stamped in bronze - feeling the metal warm to her touch. She holds each one up to the light and turns them slowly in her hand, watching the way they sparkle and shine in the lamplight, glittering like true gold.
She sits there for a long time surrounded by the gleaming bits of metal, then just as carefully, just as reverently, she returns them to their box and hides them away once more.
Kara rises to her feet and goes in search of her husband. She struck a bargain and she’s determined to see it through. After all, even fool’s good still glitters as long as you don’t look too close.
Finis
Author Notes: I actually first started toying with this shortly after the season 2 finale. I had - and honestly still do have - a lot of issues regarding the whole “one year later” time leap the show took. While I understand Ron Moore’s decision to jump ahead right to the drama, I found myself frustrated that the logistics involved were just glossed over in one giant handwave. Maybe I’m a freak, but I find the idea of the practicalities involved in establishing New Caprica intriguing. How do you settle on an alien planet with a climate that while not precisely hostile, isn’t exactly hospitable, either with no long term study of plant and animal life, seasonal changes, no existing infrastructure and limited resources? How do you house 40,000 people (c’mon, no way did they have *that* much canvas left in the fleet!)? Feed them? What about sanitation? The settlement would involve a massive public works program, but first you’d have to train the people, give them the skills needed to make it happen. We, of course, see none of this. It’s there, we’re just supposed to take it on faith that all this happened. The thing is, there’s a story there, but it’s one we’ll never get to see on screen which I, for one, find frustrating.
I kept working on this story in part because of the relative dearth of missing year stories which surprises me. I’d expected tons of them; I was wrong. And so this story began to take shape. The core of the story is another tale that’s fairly crucial but exists more in implication than actuality, namely Kara’s marriage to Sam. And not just her marriage, but her repudiation of her old life in favor of a bright, shiny future that seems so at odds with her character. Kara undergoes a major transformation, setting aside everything she’s known and beginning anew. How did she adjust to married life, to being a civilian, to the loss of her identity, her independence, her family, her home, her passion for flying? My suspicion is not well. I suspect that much like the settlers, Kara had no idea what was in store for her and how hard this new life would be. There are hints that all is far from well in the scenes of that jump into the future: labor unrest, lack of basic medicines, a president who has completely abdicated any responsibility to the people as he drowns himself in booze and sex. New Caprica is less utopia and more dystopia and the sense of frustration and disillusionment is palpable.
So this story tracks the rise and eventual fall of both the settlement and Kara’s marriage, macrocosm and microcosm, as the glorious promise bottoms out and hope gives way to mundane reality, as the bright, shiny future tarnishes and starts to gather rust. Not exactly the most cheerful of outcomes but then, did we ever expect anything else from this show?