A/N: A little (weirdo somewhat, as usual) drabble to break the silence.
As ever, the subtle transition of Lee Adama's and Dee's mutual appeal into a relationship compels me. It would appear, Lee started having flashbacks of Gianne (pregnant Caprica girlfriend) no sooner, than his attraction to Dee acquired palpable form. Incidentally, that was when his urge to run the other way stirred too. Oh well...
Set sometime in between 'Flight of the Phoenix' and the 'Pegasus' arc, season two.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points inherent to the show, belong to me.
Horizontally wakeful*
Asleep, he shifted quietly, stretching beneath the covers. It was barely dawn, timid yet Caprican sun just ever so peering into his apartment. He ventured a content sigh, exerting the ample fulfillment of the night all the way through his muscles and skin, and every cavity, his whole body tingling keenly in remembrance. His fuzzy mind stumbled instantly onto the ring he had stashed in the drawer. Hopefully, he'd got the size right.
His lips tugged upward into an amused grin on their own accord, as they so often would, lately. He wanted it happening. Trusted her to make it happen for real. To make it work. He was the happiest he'd ever could recall, and thoroughly stupefied by the latter, to say the least. He felt her stir by his side, snuggling deeper into his embrace in a supple, well-practiced move, as he kept smiling, allowing the heady ebb of elation and a kind of tranquility to lull him back to sleep. Asleep, he dreamt of drifting into early morning slumber, arms full of Anastasia Dualla…
Awake, he could all but smirk at his lack of bewilderment. And for the record, no, he'd never seen Dee completely naked, but his subconscious mind seemed to be making one Hades of an educated guess. Not that he was the one to complain. Otherwise, he could pride himself into having done a spectacular job rationalizing the blatant futility and downright atrocity of sparing a single stray moment of the busy CAG's schedule pondering whatever cryptic messages his twisted psyche was on to delivering. Right up to when Gianne made an appearance – front and center, hair ruffled by the soft gusts of wind, shimmering in the blazing Caprican afternoon, like a halo – as he was wide awake. Eyes trained on him, hurt, betrayal, disbelief overflowing by way of silent tears.
That was the first time he skipped the self-defense class. The first time he withdrew from falling in stride with Petty Officer Second Class Dualla in the hallway he'd somehow arrived at considering 'theirs' through the past months, whatever brand of sappy nonsense that was supposed to mean. The first time his mind supplied a coherent enough vow he was not going through that again. He wasn't living through having frakked up that completely. He wasn't taking that kind of gaze any more, witnessing his own reflection crumble to dust within the eyes prying too deep, disillusioned too irrevocably. He just wouldn't make it the second time around, as simple as that.
The looks Dee was endowing him with were curious for now. Mildly concerned, perhaps. Inquisitive at times. Glimmering at many others. But that was the first time he could picture her stares arriving, eventually, at what the apocalypse made him forget to be dreading most – raw, uninhibited horror at the callous, screwed-up jerk he had an undeniable knack of pulling. If, maybe, he could rule out dreaming, the welcoming, serene appeal of the route he envisioned them both taking to quite inevitable ground zero, wouldn't gnaw that sorely within his chest. If only he could rule out dreaming.
*Cf. 'The Daring Young Man on a Flying Trapeze' by W. Saroyan.