[Fic] Ink (BSG)
Title: Ink (The Union Remix)
Pairing: Kara/Sam, Helo/Sharon
Rating: PG-13
Summary: While still adjusting to his recent wedding, Sam gets pulled into helping another.
Note: A remix of lostinapapercup's very sweet Union
Sam woke in the middle of the night from some hazy, barely remembered Caprica nightmare. As he stretched a little bit and settled himself back into sleep, he realized that Kara was facing him, her arm above the sheets as if even the weight of that little cloth was too much to bear.
She had not gone to sleep that way. She’d gone to sleep on her left side, her back curled against him, like it didn’t hurt at all to press the skin of her left arm against the mattress. Which was total bullshit, he knew. Wasn’t his arm just as newly tattooed? Wasn’t he, too, anxiously anticipating the day when the black scabs on his arm healed and went back to just being skin? When he could finally sleep on his right side again? Wasn’t he anxiously anticipating the day when she realized she didn’t have to pretend to be tough around him?
She didn’t need to pretend.
But her sleeping self betrayed her, and she must have turned over, her left arm exposed to the chill New Caprican air, their feet tangled together. Sam entwined the fingers of his right hand with her left, and he went back to sleep.
***
When he woke again, in the morning, Kara was nowhere to be found, her side of the bed cold. He was just pulling himself to full wakefulness when she burst back into their tent, a communications paper in her hand. She grabbed a bag and began throwing clothes in it.
“Where are you going?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
“Galactica,” she replied, and for a second, his heart sunk. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep Captain Kara Thrace grounded forever, but he hadn’t expected she’d return to the sky so soon. But that feeling was interrupted with a bag hitting him in the face. “Hurry up. Raptor’s coming in an hour, and we still have to rustle up a priestess willing to marry a Cylon before then. Admiral’s letting Helo and Sharon get married.”
***
Spirits in the duty locker were high as Kara and Karl passed a flash of scotch between them for good measure. She polished his shoes while he pinned his rank insignia on his best uniform and they joked. Sam tried to contribute but most of the best jokes between Kara and Karl pre-dated Sam by a good ten years at least, a language they spoke between themselves that Sam had no claim to.
The mood darkened for reasons he didn’t get when Kara touched a locker and spun the wheel experimentally. “What’s the combination, Helo?” she asked.
“Starbuck,” Karl replied, his voice low in warning.
“What?” she asked. “I’m sure they didn’t auction it off, and no one else has taken the rack. Stuff should still be here, right?”
“She’s not Boomer,” Karl said, and it clicked for Sam what they were talking about, the other Sharon, the one he’d met in the bombed-out parking garage, the one who’d let him go.
“I know that,” Kara replied. “But it’ll fit her, won’t it? What’s the combination, unless you want your bride in a prisoner’s jumpsuit?”
Karl sighed. “Sixteen-twelve-three.”
“Thank you,” Kara said, spinning the wheel and popping the locker open. She dug through Boomer’s belongings, only coming up with two dresses: a slinky red dress that was hardly appropriate for a wedding, and a yellow shift. Sam wasn’t surprised, Kara had approximately as few feminine things herself, back at their tent. But he was surprised when she turned to him and held out the shift. “Gonna need you to take this to the brig.”
“Me?” Sam asked. “What about you?”
“Um, I’m the best man,” she said, taking a nip off the scotch flask for good measure. “One level down, starboard side. Can’t miss it.”
***
The errand had gotten more complicated, involving a stop at a duty locker a couple of hatches down to exchange a couple of Kara’s cigarettes with a female marine in exchange for the stub of an eyeliner pencil, some crumbling eyeshadow, and an assortment of concealers, since Sam couldn’t even begin to guess Sharon’s shade (“it’s just a rental,” the marine had warned him. “I’m not keeping it,” Sam had to promise).
If you’d asked him a couple of months ago if he’d ever attend the wedding of a Cylon, Sam would have said no. Not without a couple of homemade bombs, anyway. Much less her bridesman, taking the selection of makeup, the dress, and a hairbrush down to the brig. But all his hesitations evaporated when Sharon grinned as the bag was passed through the grate.
“Thanks Sam,” she said. “And Helo mentioned congratulations are in order for you, too?”
She stripped without shyness, the shift fitting her just as Kara had assumed it would. “After the groundbreaking ceremony,” he said.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” she replied, and caught his eye with a smile. Despite himself, Sam smiled back. It was hard to hate Sharon, an Eight to be sure, but one who had participated in two rescues. “Any tips?”
“About married life?” he asked.
“You do have a few days’ more experience,” she said.
“Experience is one way of phrasing it,” he replied. “Just know that the wedding is only the beginning.”
***
There were no flowers or attendants. There’d be no dancing after. In many ways, it reminded Sam of his own wedding, the simplicity of it all.
Sharon might be a Cylon, but there was no doubting that she could feel deeply as any human, as she blinked back happy tears during Karl’s vows. The priestess pronounced them man and wife, and Karl kissed his bride with such affection that it was impossible not to realize how much they meant to each other, how true and deep and inspirational their love. Sam threaded his hand in Kara’s, much as he had the night before in her sleep.
Kara glanced over to him, by her face clearly trying to mock him for his sappiness, but he knew her better than that. While the meager attendees were distracted by Helo and Sharon, Sam pulled Kara in close, and he saw the way her eyes caught in admiration on their wedding tattoos looking like one. All of the pain, all of the recent adjustments worth it as he delivered a kiss of his own to his bride.
She kissed back, hungry and passionate. They broke apart only for a quick goodbye to the happy newlyweds, clearly eager themselves for some alone time, and then Kara and Sam were stumbling through the halls of Galactica, tattoos joined as one image, mouths and hands providing other points of contact. She pulled him into the duty locker that had once been hers.
They frakked, man and wife, on the empty locker’s table, and Sam didn’t know how long this feeling would last, but as long as it did he knew he wouldn’t feel alone.
She pulled him into a tiny rack, and started to roll onto her left side, but he stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “I love you,” he whispered, tracing his thumb lightly against the unmarked skin on the edges of her ink.
“I love you, too,” she replied, pressing her forehead to his, and he could feel, rather than see, the curl of her lips into one of her rare smiles.
She fell asleep facing him.
Pairing: Kara/Sam, Helo/Sharon
Rating: PG-13
Summary: While still adjusting to his recent wedding, Sam gets pulled into helping another.
Note: A remix of lostinapapercup's very sweet Union
Sam woke in the middle of the night from some hazy, barely remembered Caprica nightmare. As he stretched a little bit and settled himself back into sleep, he realized that Kara was facing him, her arm above the sheets as if even the weight of that little cloth was too much to bear.
She had not gone to sleep that way. She’d gone to sleep on her left side, her back curled against him, like it didn’t hurt at all to press the skin of her left arm against the mattress. Which was total bullshit, he knew. Wasn’t his arm just as newly tattooed? Wasn’t he, too, anxiously anticipating the day when the black scabs on his arm healed and went back to just being skin? When he could finally sleep on his right side again? Wasn’t he anxiously anticipating the day when she realized she didn’t have to pretend to be tough around him?
She didn’t need to pretend.
But her sleeping self betrayed her, and she must have turned over, her left arm exposed to the chill New Caprican air, their feet tangled together. Sam entwined the fingers of his right hand with her left, and he went back to sleep.
***
When he woke again, in the morning, Kara was nowhere to be found, her side of the bed cold. He was just pulling himself to full wakefulness when she burst back into their tent, a communications paper in her hand. She grabbed a bag and began throwing clothes in it.
“Where are you going?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
“Galactica,” she replied, and for a second, his heart sunk. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep Captain Kara Thrace grounded forever, but he hadn’t expected she’d return to the sky so soon. But that feeling was interrupted with a bag hitting him in the face. “Hurry up. Raptor’s coming in an hour, and we still have to rustle up a priestess willing to marry a Cylon before then. Admiral’s letting Helo and Sharon get married.”
***
Spirits in the duty locker were high as Kara and Karl passed a flash of scotch between them for good measure. She polished his shoes while he pinned his rank insignia on his best uniform and they joked. Sam tried to contribute but most of the best jokes between Kara and Karl pre-dated Sam by a good ten years at least, a language they spoke between themselves that Sam had no claim to.
The mood darkened for reasons he didn’t get when Kara touched a locker and spun the wheel experimentally. “What’s the combination, Helo?” she asked.
“Starbuck,” Karl replied, his voice low in warning.
“What?” she asked. “I’m sure they didn’t auction it off, and no one else has taken the rack. Stuff should still be here, right?”
“She’s not Boomer,” Karl said, and it clicked for Sam what they were talking about, the other Sharon, the one he’d met in the bombed-out parking garage, the one who’d let him go.
“I know that,” Kara replied. “But it’ll fit her, won’t it? What’s the combination, unless you want your bride in a prisoner’s jumpsuit?”
Karl sighed. “Sixteen-twelve-three.”
“Thank you,” Kara said, spinning the wheel and popping the locker open. She dug through Boomer’s belongings, only coming up with two dresses: a slinky red dress that was hardly appropriate for a wedding, and a yellow shift. Sam wasn’t surprised, Kara had approximately as few feminine things herself, back at their tent. But he was surprised when she turned to him and held out the shift. “Gonna need you to take this to the brig.”
“Me?” Sam asked. “What about you?”
“Um, I’m the best man,” she said, taking a nip off the scotch flask for good measure. “One level down, starboard side. Can’t miss it.”
***
The errand had gotten more complicated, involving a stop at a duty locker a couple of hatches down to exchange a couple of Kara’s cigarettes with a female marine in exchange for the stub of an eyeliner pencil, some crumbling eyeshadow, and an assortment of concealers, since Sam couldn’t even begin to guess Sharon’s shade (“it’s just a rental,” the marine had warned him. “I’m not keeping it,” Sam had to promise).
If you’d asked him a couple of months ago if he’d ever attend the wedding of a Cylon, Sam would have said no. Not without a couple of homemade bombs, anyway. Much less her bridesman, taking the selection of makeup, the dress, and a hairbrush down to the brig. But all his hesitations evaporated when Sharon grinned as the bag was passed through the grate.
“Thanks Sam,” she said. “And Helo mentioned congratulations are in order for you, too?”
She stripped without shyness, the shift fitting her just as Kara had assumed it would. “After the groundbreaking ceremony,” he said.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” she replied, and caught his eye with a smile. Despite himself, Sam smiled back. It was hard to hate Sharon, an Eight to be sure, but one who had participated in two rescues. “Any tips?”
“About married life?” he asked.
“You do have a few days’ more experience,” she said.
“Experience is one way of phrasing it,” he replied. “Just know that the wedding is only the beginning.”
***
There were no flowers or attendants. There’d be no dancing after. In many ways, it reminded Sam of his own wedding, the simplicity of it all.
Sharon might be a Cylon, but there was no doubting that she could feel deeply as any human, as she blinked back happy tears during Karl’s vows. The priestess pronounced them man and wife, and Karl kissed his bride with such affection that it was impossible not to realize how much they meant to each other, how true and deep and inspirational their love. Sam threaded his hand in Kara’s, much as he had the night before in her sleep.
Kara glanced over to him, by her face clearly trying to mock him for his sappiness, but he knew her better than that. While the meager attendees were distracted by Helo and Sharon, Sam pulled Kara in close, and he saw the way her eyes caught in admiration on their wedding tattoos looking like one. All of the pain, all of the recent adjustments worth it as he delivered a kiss of his own to his bride.
She kissed back, hungry and passionate. They broke apart only for a quick goodbye to the happy newlyweds, clearly eager themselves for some alone time, and then Kara and Sam were stumbling through the halls of Galactica, tattoos joined as one image, mouths and hands providing other points of contact. She pulled him into the duty locker that had once been hers.
They frakked, man and wife, on the empty locker’s table, and Sam didn’t know how long this feeling would last, but as long as it did he knew he wouldn’t feel alone.
She pulled him into a tiny rack, and started to roll onto her left side, but he stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “I love you,” he whispered, tracing his thumb lightly against the unmarked skin on the edges of her ink.
“I love you, too,” she replied, pressing her forehead to his, and he could feel, rather than see, the curl of her lips into one of her rare smiles.
She fell asleep facing him.