Fic: BSG: you're a star in the face of the sky
Title: you're a star in the face of the sky
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Characters/Pairing: Kara Thrace and a surprise guest
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set pre-series, but I'm calling spoilers through everything current just in case, since I clearly wrote this with the You Will Know the Truth promos and Blood on the Scales in mind.
Summary: For fluff_friday. Kara learns to play a musical instrument. Could I vague that up for you? Yes. Yes, I could.
Disclaimers: I do not own anything or anyone mentioned in this fic. I am not profiting from the writing or posting of this fiction. All these characters belong to Ron D. Moore, David Eick, Sci Fi, NBC Universal and their various subsidiaries. The title is from Elton John; I don't own anything he's ever done, either.
A/N: Thanks to leiascully for crit, as per usual.
Kara woke to the sound of someone playing the piano. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes with her hands. Two things in particular were troublesome about the music drifting down the hallway. First, her mother would not allow anyone to touch the piano, because it had belonged to her father, and second, if a stranger was in their apartment, Socrata should have taken care of it by now. If her mother was dead, Kara promised herself, she would not cry.
She clenched her tiny fists and rolled quietly out of bed, sneaking over to the closet on tiptoe, where she unearthed a shotgun. It was fake, but it was metal and heavy, and it ought to do the job if she could just manage to swing it.
Kara padded down the hall, muscles straining against the weight of the gun. The music was soft and soothing and made her want to go back to sleep, but she made it to the living room with an effort. She put her back to the wall and slowly leaned around the corner, just the way she'd been taught.
There was a tall man with light brown hair sitting at the keys of her father's piano. The song that had woken her had been slow and steady, but he was playing quickly now, fingers rippling all up and down the keyboard, and the notes jumped off the piano like paratroopers, filling the room with sound. If she closed her eyes, she could see the song, and she suddenly felt warmer than she could remember. She let the gun drop to her side, and it crashed to the wooden floor.
"Kara?"
Her eyes snapped open. The man had stopped playing, and now he had turned away from the piano to stare at her. "Kara?" he repeated, and then a slow smile spread across his face. "It is you," he said, grinning. "They didn't tell me you would be here. I'm sorry if I woke you," he said, and stood up. "Do you know who I am?"
She edged around the corner and blinked at him for a moment, studying his face. She shouldn't be standing here, she knew. She shouldn't trust a strange man who was playing her father's piano in the middle of the night like he belonged there. But Kara trusted him anyway, because it just felt right. He had wide eyes and a lopsided smile, like the one she wore in the mirror when her mother was out and she could be alone. "Daddy?" she asked, voice trembling slightly.
He just beamed at her, and the room got a little brighter. "I'm sorry if I woke you," he said again.
"Where is she?" Kara asked, looking down the hall at her mother's open bedroom door.
He nodded at a piece of paper on the table, and she picked up the note. "Had to run a mission," it read. "Back later. Don't you dare skip school, or it'll mean trouble for you."
Kara let the note fall to the floor. "So you're what," she sniped, "my babysitter?"
He winced. "Not exactly," he said, and sat back down on the piano bench. "I'm not here for very long," he said apologetically. "I didn't know you were home. But I'm glad," he said, smiling at her again. "I'm so glad. I always wondered what you would look like, when you were older. When you were a baby, and I got to hold you, I knew that I had the prettiest daughter in the all the worlds. That will always be true, Kara."
She looked down at the ground, twisting her fingers together. "Why'd you leave, then?" she asked. "If you liked me so much."
"I couldn't help it, sweetheart," he promised, looking past her but not really focusing on anything. "It wasn't what I wanted. But there are some people who wanted to hurt me, and I didn't want them to hurt you, too."
"Whatever," she said, standing up straight and proud. "I can take care of myself," she told him. "Momma taught me."
He tried not to grimace. "So I see," he said sadly, and then seemed to shake himself out of his melancholy. "Hey. Tell you what, Kara. I'll teach you to play," he proclaimed, gesturing at the keyboard. "What do you say?"
She regarded him warily. "Momma says I'm gonna have better things to do than that," she said, hands on her hips. "She'll be frakking pissed if she finds out."
Her father grimaced, and she frowned, not liking the thought of upsetting him. "It's okay, Kara," he assured her, and offered her his hand to help her up onto the bench beside him. "I'll play. You can just listen."
"Maybe I don't care if she gets mad," Kara said, and clambered up on the bench. "She's always mad at me anyway."
He patted the back of her head, almost reverently, like he couldn't quite believe he was sitting next to his daughter. "It's up to you," he said, and put his hands on the keys.
"I wanna learn," she insisted, blinking up at him, her big blue eyes meeting his. "Teach me."
He grinned. "Okay," he said. "Your hands go on the keys like this," he gestured. "This one is Middle C," he told her, pressing down on that key with his right thumb. "You'll always know where you are if you start here, but you can go anywhere you'd like." He tapped a scale out slowly with his right hand. "It's easy. When you want to move up, you just tuck your thumb under like this," he said, shifting his hand up, "and you're there. You want to try?"
"Yeah," she said, and he moved his hands so she could reach up and place hers on the keys. She wrinkled her nose, concentrating, trying to make her fingers move the right way, and after a couple of false starts, she could play the scale like he showed her.
"You're a natural," he declared, patting her on the back.
"I messed up, though," she reminded him, biting her lower lip. "I should have done better."
"Your first time ever?" he shook his head. "I thought I broke the piano the first time I tried," he confided. "It sounded like this." His fingers made the bass clef rumble, and then he stepped down on the sustain pedal, and the clashing notes hung in the air for a minute, just big rainclouds of sound about to burst, until he let go of the pedal and there was a downpour of notes all around them.
Kara giggled. "You were awful," she said, and he laughed.
"I was," he agreed. "You know, though, I still make mistakes? Everybody makes mistakes, Kara. The important thing is that you don't let that keep you from trying."
She nodded slowly, trying to mesh this new bit of wisdom with seven year's worth of lectures from her mother. "Maybe," she said finally. "Can you teach me a song?"
"I think I have enough time to do that," he answered. "I'll teach you something we can both play." He reached over and played a simple melody with a few treble keys. "That's your part," he said, and then saw that she was frowning. "What's wrong?"
"You used the black keys," she stated, tilting her head to the side in some confusion. "The black keys are for sad songs."
"Sometimes that's true," he nodded, "but this is going to be a happy song, because I'm not sad when I'm with you." He played her notes again. "What do you think?"
"Okay," she said softly. "I can try."
"That's my girl," he said proudly, and they worked on it until she could play it with her eyes closed. "Now it's my turn," he told her, and put his hands on the bass notes. "I start the song, and I play this," he pounded out a jazzy bass rhythm, "three times, and then you go, okay?"
"Wilco," she grinned, and his mouth turned up at the edges.
They played the song through twice for practice, but on the third time through, he changed the rhythm and turned the song into a waltz, and then rock, and back to jazz again. She stumbled a little when the rhythms changed, but she kept playing, and his smile was huge when they finally finished. "You were great!" he praised her. "I can't put anything past you."
She yawned. "Can we learn another one?"
He shook his head. "I can't stay much longer," he said, "And I think you need to go to bed, sweetheart."
"Yeah," she mumbled, hanging her head down. "Sure. I know."
He put his fingers under her chin to tip her face back up. "You are my best girl, Kara Thrace," he said. "I'm sorry I can't stay with you this time. But I'll see you again, all right? I promise. And then I will teach you a new song."
Kara fidgeted for a minute before scooting over and throwing her arms around him. "I believe you," she sniffled into his jacket.
He scooped her up and carried her down the hall. "Hey there," he said, stroking her hair. "No tears. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be great." He put her down and slid the covers back so she could crawl into bed.
"When will you come back?" she asked sleepily as he pulled her blankets up and tucked her in.
"I wish I knew," he said. "I do know that I will never stop thinking about you. And I will never play our song until I see you again."
"Meeither," she promised, struggling to keep her heavy eyelids from closing. "Love you," she mumbled blearily, and her eyes closed.
"I will love you 'til there's nothing left, kiddo," he whispered, and kissed her forehead. "Promise."
Kara woke to the sound of someone playing the piano. She sat up from the couch and rubbed her eyes with her hands. The clock radio across the room had started up, and her father's piano music was trickling out through the stereo. "Frakkin' dream again," she muttered, and swung her legs off the couch. She wandered over to the window and reached over to turn the music off, but stopped when her hand touched the button. "I still believe you," she said, with the barest hint of a smile, and let it play.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Characters/Pairing: Kara Thrace and a surprise guest
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set pre-series, but I'm calling spoilers through everything current just in case, since I clearly wrote this with the You Will Know the Truth promos and Blood on the Scales in mind.
Summary: For fluff_friday. Kara learns to play a musical instrument. Could I vague that up for you? Yes. Yes, I could.
Disclaimers: I do not own anything or anyone mentioned in this fic. I am not profiting from the writing or posting of this fiction. All these characters belong to Ron D. Moore, David Eick, Sci Fi, NBC Universal and their various subsidiaries. The title is from Elton John; I don't own anything he's ever done, either.
A/N: Thanks to leiascully for crit, as per usual.
Kara woke to the sound of someone playing the piano. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes with her hands. Two things in particular were troublesome about the music drifting down the hallway. First, her mother would not allow anyone to touch the piano, because it had belonged to her father, and second, if a stranger was in their apartment, Socrata should have taken care of it by now. If her mother was dead, Kara promised herself, she would not cry.
She clenched her tiny fists and rolled quietly out of bed, sneaking over to the closet on tiptoe, where she unearthed a shotgun. It was fake, but it was metal and heavy, and it ought to do the job if she could just manage to swing it.
Kara padded down the hall, muscles straining against the weight of the gun. The music was soft and soothing and made her want to go back to sleep, but she made it to the living room with an effort. She put her back to the wall and slowly leaned around the corner, just the way she'd been taught.
There was a tall man with light brown hair sitting at the keys of her father's piano. The song that had woken her had been slow and steady, but he was playing quickly now, fingers rippling all up and down the keyboard, and the notes jumped off the piano like paratroopers, filling the room with sound. If she closed her eyes, she could see the song, and she suddenly felt warmer than she could remember. She let the gun drop to her side, and it crashed to the wooden floor.
"Kara?"
Her eyes snapped open. The man had stopped playing, and now he had turned away from the piano to stare at her. "Kara?" he repeated, and then a slow smile spread across his face. "It is you," he said, grinning. "They didn't tell me you would be here. I'm sorry if I woke you," he said, and stood up. "Do you know who I am?"
She edged around the corner and blinked at him for a moment, studying his face. She shouldn't be standing here, she knew. She shouldn't trust a strange man who was playing her father's piano in the middle of the night like he belonged there. But Kara trusted him anyway, because it just felt right. He had wide eyes and a lopsided smile, like the one she wore in the mirror when her mother was out and she could be alone. "Daddy?" she asked, voice trembling slightly.
He just beamed at her, and the room got a little brighter. "I'm sorry if I woke you," he said again.
"Where is she?" Kara asked, looking down the hall at her mother's open bedroom door.
He nodded at a piece of paper on the table, and she picked up the note. "Had to run a mission," it read. "Back later. Don't you dare skip school, or it'll mean trouble for you."
Kara let the note fall to the floor. "So you're what," she sniped, "my babysitter?"
He winced. "Not exactly," he said, and sat back down on the piano bench. "I'm not here for very long," he said apologetically. "I didn't know you were home. But I'm glad," he said, smiling at her again. "I'm so glad. I always wondered what you would look like, when you were older. When you were a baby, and I got to hold you, I knew that I had the prettiest daughter in the all the worlds. That will always be true, Kara."
She looked down at the ground, twisting her fingers together. "Why'd you leave, then?" she asked. "If you liked me so much."
"I couldn't help it, sweetheart," he promised, looking past her but not really focusing on anything. "It wasn't what I wanted. But there are some people who wanted to hurt me, and I didn't want them to hurt you, too."
"Whatever," she said, standing up straight and proud. "I can take care of myself," she told him. "Momma taught me."
He tried not to grimace. "So I see," he said sadly, and then seemed to shake himself out of his melancholy. "Hey. Tell you what, Kara. I'll teach you to play," he proclaimed, gesturing at the keyboard. "What do you say?"
She regarded him warily. "Momma says I'm gonna have better things to do than that," she said, hands on her hips. "She'll be frakking pissed if she finds out."
Her father grimaced, and she frowned, not liking the thought of upsetting him. "It's okay, Kara," he assured her, and offered her his hand to help her up onto the bench beside him. "I'll play. You can just listen."
"Maybe I don't care if she gets mad," Kara said, and clambered up on the bench. "She's always mad at me anyway."
He patted the back of her head, almost reverently, like he couldn't quite believe he was sitting next to his daughter. "It's up to you," he said, and put his hands on the keys.
"I wanna learn," she insisted, blinking up at him, her big blue eyes meeting his. "Teach me."
He grinned. "Okay," he said. "Your hands go on the keys like this," he gestured. "This one is Middle C," he told her, pressing down on that key with his right thumb. "You'll always know where you are if you start here, but you can go anywhere you'd like." He tapped a scale out slowly with his right hand. "It's easy. When you want to move up, you just tuck your thumb under like this," he said, shifting his hand up, "and you're there. You want to try?"
"Yeah," she said, and he moved his hands so she could reach up and place hers on the keys. She wrinkled her nose, concentrating, trying to make her fingers move the right way, and after a couple of false starts, she could play the scale like he showed her.
"You're a natural," he declared, patting her on the back.
"I messed up, though," she reminded him, biting her lower lip. "I should have done better."
"Your first time ever?" he shook his head. "I thought I broke the piano the first time I tried," he confided. "It sounded like this." His fingers made the bass clef rumble, and then he stepped down on the sustain pedal, and the clashing notes hung in the air for a minute, just big rainclouds of sound about to burst, until he let go of the pedal and there was a downpour of notes all around them.
Kara giggled. "You were awful," she said, and he laughed.
"I was," he agreed. "You know, though, I still make mistakes? Everybody makes mistakes, Kara. The important thing is that you don't let that keep you from trying."
She nodded slowly, trying to mesh this new bit of wisdom with seven year's worth of lectures from her mother. "Maybe," she said finally. "Can you teach me a song?"
"I think I have enough time to do that," he answered. "I'll teach you something we can both play." He reached over and played a simple melody with a few treble keys. "That's your part," he said, and then saw that she was frowning. "What's wrong?"
"You used the black keys," she stated, tilting her head to the side in some confusion. "The black keys are for sad songs."
"Sometimes that's true," he nodded, "but this is going to be a happy song, because I'm not sad when I'm with you." He played her notes again. "What do you think?"
"Okay," she said softly. "I can try."
"That's my girl," he said proudly, and they worked on it until she could play it with her eyes closed. "Now it's my turn," he told her, and put his hands on the bass notes. "I start the song, and I play this," he pounded out a jazzy bass rhythm, "three times, and then you go, okay?"
"Wilco," she grinned, and his mouth turned up at the edges.
They played the song through twice for practice, but on the third time through, he changed the rhythm and turned the song into a waltz, and then rock, and back to jazz again. She stumbled a little when the rhythms changed, but she kept playing, and his smile was huge when they finally finished. "You were great!" he praised her. "I can't put anything past you."
She yawned. "Can we learn another one?"
He shook his head. "I can't stay much longer," he said, "And I think you need to go to bed, sweetheart."
"Yeah," she mumbled, hanging her head down. "Sure. I know."
He put his fingers under her chin to tip her face back up. "You are my best girl, Kara Thrace," he said. "I'm sorry I can't stay with you this time. But I'll see you again, all right? I promise. And then I will teach you a new song."
Kara fidgeted for a minute before scooting over and throwing her arms around him. "I believe you," she sniffled into his jacket.
He scooped her up and carried her down the hall. "Hey there," he said, stroking her hair. "No tears. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be great." He put her down and slid the covers back so she could crawl into bed.
"When will you come back?" she asked sleepily as he pulled her blankets up and tucked her in.
"I wish I knew," he said. "I do know that I will never stop thinking about you. And I will never play our song until I see you again."
"Meeither," she promised, struggling to keep her heavy eyelids from closing. "Love you," she mumbled blearily, and her eyes closed.
"I will love you 'til there's nothing left, kiddo," he whispered, and kissed her forehead. "Promise."
Kara woke to the sound of someone playing the piano. She sat up from the couch and rubbed her eyes with her hands. The clock radio across the room had started up, and her father's piano music was trickling out through the stereo. "Frakkin' dream again," she muttered, and swung her legs off the couch. She wandered over to the window and reached over to turn the music off, but stopped when her hand touched the button. "I still believe you," she said, with the barest hint of a smile, and let it play.