Sloshed
Title: Sloshed
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Lee/Kara
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Scar
Summary: By the time she exhausts the gun cam footage, her mouth is cotton-dry, and the chairs in the ready room are moving all on their own.
Author's Note: For Bee, who has rage.
By the time she exhausts the gun cam footage, her mouth is cotton-dry, and the chairs in the ready room are moving all on their own. Kara pushes to her feet and stumbles slightly as the whole world lurches and spins; she thinks she might chuck. She doesn't.
As she makes her way along the corridors, everything is blurry and pitching, the world tipping and swirling and dark around the edges. She blinks hard to keep her eyes open and runs the fingertips of one hand against the wall the whole way back; it's the only thing that keeps her from falling.
When she makes it to quarters, it takes two tries to get the hatch open, and then she trips over the lip of the door and there's nothing to break her fall. Her bum knee hits the floor hard, and she grunts at pain that would be a hell of a lot worse if she was sober. She could get up but... well... she maybe can't get up to be honest, not without a whole lot of effort and something to brace herself on and the hatch door is out of reach, so... She sits there for a second, watches the table bend and rotate and thinks of Lee, of what almost happened. She feels bile and booze rise and swallows them down hard. Nope. Nuh uh. Not tonight. If she's gonna hurl, she's not gonna do it in the bunk room and the head is just... far.
And then the table disappears, and maybe she drank herself blind because all she can see is grey. She realizes she's staring at sweats when she feels strong hands under her arms, pulling her up to her feet. She manages to settle her eyes on his face, and she's not sure if she expected angry or disappointed or annoyed, but she gets none of them. He just looks... Lee. Controlled, and careful and frakking... frakking... Lee.
She doesn't know what to say to him, and she still thinks she might vomit all over his tanks and Lee wouldn't appreciate that, so she just keeps her mouth shut. He doesn't talk either, so that's fine.
One of his hands slides around her back, curls firmly around her waist and she leans her weight into him as he helps her stumble the few feet to her rack. He props her against the ladder, cool metal against her back, and she closes her hands tightly around the rungs to keep herself upright as he squats to help her out of her boots. When he stands and begins to unbutton her pants, she squints to see his face. His mouth is set; he's not happy.
"Gonna... gonna take advantage of me now that I'm incap- incapactit- incap- incapcacit -- really drunk?" she manages, and she'd be laughing at herself if she wasn't so damned miserable.
All he says is, "No," quiet and flat as he tugs her zipper down and pushes her pants off for the second time tonight. It was more fun the last time, she thinks, kicking at the fabric as she tries to step out of it. It's caught, though, and she's useless, and when she kicks harder to no avail, Lee just sighs and barks quietly, "I got it, Kara. Just... stop."
He grabs her by the biceps and deposits her on her rack with a plop, then yanks the pants over her feet, folds them. Of course he frakking folds them. "Thanks," she mutters, and she really, really needs to lay down now, but she feels leaden and heavy, and she thinks maybe she'll just sit here for a second first and gather her strength.
"I'll get you some water," he tells her, and she shakes her head, then regrets it when she's pressing her lips together hard and battling back waves of nausea. "Kara, if you don't drink anything, you're going to feel like hell in the morning."
"If I drink another drop of anything," she slurs, "You'll be cleaning it up, Apollo."
Another long-suffering sigh and he relents, helping her onto her mattress instead. It takes some maneuvering, but they manage to get her under the covers, and before long she's sprawled on her belly, face toward the wall, and he's running a hand over her hair and moving away.
She doesn't want him gone, she realizes, so she flails an arm out to grope blindly at him. "Lee, wait."
His fingers lace with hers; the bed dips next to her. "Yeah?"
"Stay?"
"Yeah," he murmurs, and then his hand is on her back, rubbing slow, steady circles between her shoulder blades. It's the last thing she feels before sleep drowns her.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Lee/Kara
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Scar
Summary: By the time she exhausts the gun cam footage, her mouth is cotton-dry, and the chairs in the ready room are moving all on their own.
Author's Note: For Bee, who has rage.
By the time she exhausts the gun cam footage, her mouth is cotton-dry, and the chairs in the ready room are moving all on their own. Kara pushes to her feet and stumbles slightly as the whole world lurches and spins; she thinks she might chuck. She doesn't.
As she makes her way along the corridors, everything is blurry and pitching, the world tipping and swirling and dark around the edges. She blinks hard to keep her eyes open and runs the fingertips of one hand against the wall the whole way back; it's the only thing that keeps her from falling.
When she makes it to quarters, it takes two tries to get the hatch open, and then she trips over the lip of the door and there's nothing to break her fall. Her bum knee hits the floor hard, and she grunts at pain that would be a hell of a lot worse if she was sober. She could get up but... well... she maybe can't get up to be honest, not without a whole lot of effort and something to brace herself on and the hatch door is out of reach, so... She sits there for a second, watches the table bend and rotate and thinks of Lee, of what almost happened. She feels bile and booze rise and swallows them down hard. Nope. Nuh uh. Not tonight. If she's gonna hurl, she's not gonna do it in the bunk room and the head is just... far.
And then the table disappears, and maybe she drank herself blind because all she can see is grey. She realizes she's staring at sweats when she feels strong hands under her arms, pulling her up to her feet. She manages to settle her eyes on his face, and she's not sure if she expected angry or disappointed or annoyed, but she gets none of them. He just looks... Lee. Controlled, and careful and frakking... frakking... Lee.
She doesn't know what to say to him, and she still thinks she might vomit all over his tanks and Lee wouldn't appreciate that, so she just keeps her mouth shut. He doesn't talk either, so that's fine.
One of his hands slides around her back, curls firmly around her waist and she leans her weight into him as he helps her stumble the few feet to her rack. He props her against the ladder, cool metal against her back, and she closes her hands tightly around the rungs to keep herself upright as he squats to help her out of her boots. When he stands and begins to unbutton her pants, she squints to see his face. His mouth is set; he's not happy.
"Gonna... gonna take advantage of me now that I'm incap- incapactit- incap- incapcacit -- really drunk?" she manages, and she'd be laughing at herself if she wasn't so damned miserable.
All he says is, "No," quiet and flat as he tugs her zipper down and pushes her pants off for the second time tonight. It was more fun the last time, she thinks, kicking at the fabric as she tries to step out of it. It's caught, though, and she's useless, and when she kicks harder to no avail, Lee just sighs and barks quietly, "I got it, Kara. Just... stop."
He grabs her by the biceps and deposits her on her rack with a plop, then yanks the pants over her feet, folds them. Of course he frakking folds them. "Thanks," she mutters, and she really, really needs to lay down now, but she feels leaden and heavy, and she thinks maybe she'll just sit here for a second first and gather her strength.
"I'll get you some water," he tells her, and she shakes her head, then regrets it when she's pressing her lips together hard and battling back waves of nausea. "Kara, if you don't drink anything, you're going to feel like hell in the morning."
"If I drink another drop of anything," she slurs, "You'll be cleaning it up, Apollo."
Another long-suffering sigh and he relents, helping her onto her mattress instead. It takes some maneuvering, but they manage to get her under the covers, and before long she's sprawled on her belly, face toward the wall, and he's running a hand over her hair and moving away.
She doesn't want him gone, she realizes, so she flails an arm out to grope blindly at him. "Lee, wait."
His fingers lace with hers; the bed dips next to her. "Yeah?"
"Stay?"
"Yeah," he murmurs, and then his hand is on her back, rubbing slow, steady circles between her shoulder blades. It's the last thing she feels before sleep drowns her.