Holiday Request Ficlet #3: Getting Back
Title: Getting Back
Author: viciouswishes
For: thomasina75
Fandom: BSG
Pairing: Kara/Roslin
Rating: NC17
Setting: Post-"Torn"
Prompt: BSG: Kara and Roslin, darkness
Words: 1133
Summary: Kara thought it would make her feel like her old self.
The stars seem brighter than the sunshine on New Caprica. Kara thought it would make her feel like her old self to be out amongst them. But then she drains her fuel tank and holds back from punching Cally on the flight deck.
She expects to get it from the Old Man sooner or later. Kara thinks that yes, he's finally treating her like one of the family. She's been thrown out on her backward ass by the Adamas and rejected Anders (and frakking Leoben who still makes the blood curl in her throat and to kill, kill him far away from a Resurrection Ship).
What Kara doesn't expect is to be called in before Madam President. Kara even presses her goddamn uniform before going over to Colonial One with her fuel tank full. Roslin, queen non-elect, probably has another suicidal and even stupider mission than retrieving the Arrow of Apollo for her. Kara used to believe in Roslin before she met Cain and before she stabbed Leoben every night.
Kara barely nods at Tory as she passes into Roslin's office. The President seems to have gotten the stink of Baltar out of the drapes and upholstery. Kara has to give Roslin credit that she's efficient. She's already got the public singing her praises. Of course, since the destruction of the Twelve Colonies, they've only had two leaders and when one promises you Earth and the other gets your sorry assess occupied by Cylons, it's not a hard choice.
Shaking her head, Kara knows somewhere deep inside her that she's spent too many nights (afternoons/mornings) drinking with Tigh.
"Kara." Roslin smiles at her. She hasn't used Kara's title in a long while. "Please join me." Roslin's sitting on bench seat that's been converted into a couch. Kara doesn't remember it being there before. Maybe not all Baltar's redecorating was thrown out.
"I heard that you are having some problems aboard the Galactica," Roslin says. Of course, she knows. Roslin knows everything about the military since she has Adama wrapped around her pinkie. Kara wants to tell her to stop listening to rumors. But they both know that they aren't rumors.
"I understand that it might be hard to adjust back to life after everything that happened. I think-"
And what does Roslin know about what happened. The Cylons were content with trying to kill her or put her in a real detention cell, not like Kara and her "house" with Leoben sitting there with a meal in front of her and a knife just out of her reach. Leoben's blood sprayed all over her and she cut her meat.
"Perhaps you need a break. Take some time away from the fleet-"
Things changed when Kara got back. More than she'd ever expected. With the Pegasus destroyed, the commanded structure was frakked to hell. Kara couldn't even stand on top of a Viper and punch Kat in the face.
"Kara," Roslin says. She's has that look - the look a school teacher scorning her student for once again closing a desk on another's elbow. Roslin expects her to listen at the very least. Kara was yelling at Kat and Helo because they didn't understand, because they weren't down on the planet with the toasters. But Roslin was. Roslin had to chase the cold away from her bones and the nightmares of Centurion guns.
Kara wonders if it wasn't just Leoben that made her so frakked up. Roslin's sitting there like she's queen of the fleet again and Sam hasn't tried to see Kara again.
"I'm sorry," Kara whispers. She feels Roslin's hand on her back. She doesn't remember feeling the President touch her. Kara wants to sit in the back of the classroom and not raise her hand for a week.
"We all have things we need to work through." Roslin's hand's running over back.
Things. Kara's got a million things. Had a million before the Cylon destroyed the Twelve Colonies and she'd repressed and buried them, thank you very much, but the Toaster dead, dead on her carpet had to go bring them up again.
Then Kara's kissing Roslin. It seems like the thing to do. Roslin's a regal woman and it seems right to worship her. Kara's not thinking of Leoben or of Anders or of Adama or the night she got Lee drunk. She's enjoying soft lips and a hint of perfume, even though Kara doesn't think that Roslin wears perfume, but she just might.
"Kara," Roslin whispers when they part.
"You keep saying my name." But Roslin doesn't push her away when Kara kisses her again. She can't help but wonder if the President lost a little more on New Caprica than she's saying. But Roslin always did play her cards close to her chest.
They're stripping each other of their clothing, and no, Roslin's not going to let them frak on the couch. She's going to take Kara to her bed, because that's what civilized people with warm beds do. Kara doesn't say she'd rather be on the ground and get rug burn over her ass and thighs because she wants this. Wants whatever Roslin's going to give her.
Roslin puts Kara's hand on her cunt. No, this is not about foreplay or loving or falling in love. This is about being alive and being free. Free to do whatever she pleases. Kara doesn't think she's ever wanted someone to touch her this bad. Roslin's wet and beautiful and tastes like cinnamon.
Kara's bucking her hips against Roslin's hand. She barely had time to toe off her shoes and her pants are still on around her ankles. Kara wants to feel something to feel, something better than this. She can see a shadow of herself, happy, and she's trying to reach it.
Roslin comes easier than Kara expects. She moans Kara's name, snapping her to attention. Kara's only finally rid herself of her remaining clothing. Now she's got the reality of the pleasantly sedated President who's still rubbing her clit, still trying to get her off.
What the frak is Kara doing?
Kara pulls back, away from Roslin and off the bed. She's trying to dress, get her arms in the holes of her shirt and make sure her underwear isn't backwards.
Roslin's reaching for her robe. Who owns a robe? Seriously, who owns a frakking robe anymore? "You don't have to go."
Kara shakes her head. "Yeah, I do. This wasn't going to fix anything." If anything, this is worse. So much worse. "I gotta go."
Roslin nods. Figures. "By the way, I like your hair shorter." Roslin's once again the calm school teacher who's letting Kara deal with being Kara. But all Kara wants to do is scream and just maybe she will and just maybe she does.
Author: viciouswishes
For: thomasina75
Fandom: BSG
Pairing: Kara/Roslin
Rating: NC17
Setting: Post-"Torn"
Prompt: BSG: Kara and Roslin, darkness
Words: 1133
Summary: Kara thought it would make her feel like her old self.
The stars seem brighter than the sunshine on New Caprica. Kara thought it would make her feel like her old self to be out amongst them. But then she drains her fuel tank and holds back from punching Cally on the flight deck.
She expects to get it from the Old Man sooner or later. Kara thinks that yes, he's finally treating her like one of the family. She's been thrown out on her backward ass by the Adamas and rejected Anders (and frakking Leoben who still makes the blood curl in her throat and to kill, kill him far away from a Resurrection Ship).
What Kara doesn't expect is to be called in before Madam President. Kara even presses her goddamn uniform before going over to Colonial One with her fuel tank full. Roslin, queen non-elect, probably has another suicidal and even stupider mission than retrieving the Arrow of Apollo for her. Kara used to believe in Roslin before she met Cain and before she stabbed Leoben every night.
Kara barely nods at Tory as she passes into Roslin's office. The President seems to have gotten the stink of Baltar out of the drapes and upholstery. Kara has to give Roslin credit that she's efficient. She's already got the public singing her praises. Of course, since the destruction of the Twelve Colonies, they've only had two leaders and when one promises you Earth and the other gets your sorry assess occupied by Cylons, it's not a hard choice.
Shaking her head, Kara knows somewhere deep inside her that she's spent too many nights (afternoons/mornings) drinking with Tigh.
"Kara." Roslin smiles at her. She hasn't used Kara's title in a long while. "Please join me." Roslin's sitting on bench seat that's been converted into a couch. Kara doesn't remember it being there before. Maybe not all Baltar's redecorating was thrown out.
"I heard that you are having some problems aboard the Galactica," Roslin says. Of course, she knows. Roslin knows everything about the military since she has Adama wrapped around her pinkie. Kara wants to tell her to stop listening to rumors. But they both know that they aren't rumors.
"I understand that it might be hard to adjust back to life after everything that happened. I think-"
And what does Roslin know about what happened. The Cylons were content with trying to kill her or put her in a real detention cell, not like Kara and her "house" with Leoben sitting there with a meal in front of her and a knife just out of her reach. Leoben's blood sprayed all over her and she cut her meat.
"Perhaps you need a break. Take some time away from the fleet-"
Things changed when Kara got back. More than she'd ever expected. With the Pegasus destroyed, the commanded structure was frakked to hell. Kara couldn't even stand on top of a Viper and punch Kat in the face.
"Kara," Roslin says. She's has that look - the look a school teacher scorning her student for once again closing a desk on another's elbow. Roslin expects her to listen at the very least. Kara was yelling at Kat and Helo because they didn't understand, because they weren't down on the planet with the toasters. But Roslin was. Roslin had to chase the cold away from her bones and the nightmares of Centurion guns.
Kara wonders if it wasn't just Leoben that made her so frakked up. Roslin's sitting there like she's queen of the fleet again and Sam hasn't tried to see Kara again.
"I'm sorry," Kara whispers. She feels Roslin's hand on her back. She doesn't remember feeling the President touch her. Kara wants to sit in the back of the classroom and not raise her hand for a week.
"We all have things we need to work through." Roslin's hand's running over back.
Things. Kara's got a million things. Had a million before the Cylon destroyed the Twelve Colonies and she'd repressed and buried them, thank you very much, but the Toaster dead, dead on her carpet had to go bring them up again.
Then Kara's kissing Roslin. It seems like the thing to do. Roslin's a regal woman and it seems right to worship her. Kara's not thinking of Leoben or of Anders or of Adama or the night she got Lee drunk. She's enjoying soft lips and a hint of perfume, even though Kara doesn't think that Roslin wears perfume, but she just might.
"Kara," Roslin whispers when they part.
"You keep saying my name." But Roslin doesn't push her away when Kara kisses her again. She can't help but wonder if the President lost a little more on New Caprica than she's saying. But Roslin always did play her cards close to her chest.
They're stripping each other of their clothing, and no, Roslin's not going to let them frak on the couch. She's going to take Kara to her bed, because that's what civilized people with warm beds do. Kara doesn't say she'd rather be on the ground and get rug burn over her ass and thighs because she wants this. Wants whatever Roslin's going to give her.
Roslin puts Kara's hand on her cunt. No, this is not about foreplay or loving or falling in love. This is about being alive and being free. Free to do whatever she pleases. Kara doesn't think she's ever wanted someone to touch her this bad. Roslin's wet and beautiful and tastes like cinnamon.
Kara's bucking her hips against Roslin's hand. She barely had time to toe off her shoes and her pants are still on around her ankles. Kara wants to feel something to feel, something better than this. She can see a shadow of herself, happy, and she's trying to reach it.
Roslin comes easier than Kara expects. She moans Kara's name, snapping her to attention. Kara's only finally rid herself of her remaining clothing. Now she's got the reality of the pleasantly sedated President who's still rubbing her clit, still trying to get her off.
What the frak is Kara doing?
Kara pulls back, away from Roslin and off the bed. She's trying to dress, get her arms in the holes of her shirt and make sure her underwear isn't backwards.
Roslin's reaching for her robe. Who owns a robe? Seriously, who owns a frakking robe anymore? "You don't have to go."
Kara shakes her head. "Yeah, I do. This wasn't going to fix anything." If anything, this is worse. So much worse. "I gotta go."
Roslin nods. Figures. "By the way, I like your hair shorter." Roslin's once again the calm school teacher who's letting Kara deal with being Kara. But all Kara wants to do is scream and just maybe she will and just maybe she does.