"Suffer The Child"

character: Kara Thrace

genre: angst

rating: PG-13, light R maybe.

setting: anywhere from the past three seasons.

summary: sometimes when Starbuck drinks, she remembers painful things.

discalimer: she's not mine.

thanks to lj user"Starbuck042786" for the beta on this one.

lj-cut text" A Thrace Family Portrait"

She had left the pilot's rec earlier that evening and found an abandoned storeroom. She just knew it was going to be one of those nights: a night she needed to be away from everyone. She took a swig of Tyrol's rotgut, leaned her head against the bulkhead and sank to the floor as tears welled in her eyes. Tonight was going to be a night where long-suffering memories resurface.

She remembers the first time her mother had ever hit her. Not just spanked her, but actually struck her with force. She couldn't have been more than four or five years old. Her crime? Spilling some of her finger paints on the carpet after tripping over her mother's shoe. Her mom had looked down at her and just shook her head.

"I'm sorry Mommy. I tripped. It was an accident." She says, very honestly and apologetically. Then the world had exploded in pain.

Once, twice, three times she'd been backhanded or slapped. Over washable paint that wouldn't have left much of a stain at all.

The worst part was that her mother never did that when her father was there. He had left for one of the other Colonies on a brief tour, performing with his group in some clubs. Her mom wouldn't hit her when he was home. But when he was gone, it would start. And it only got worse as time went on. Especially after her father left them. He couldn't handle the marriage anymore. She was left with her mother and bore the brunt of the woman's frustrations.

Taking another swig, she sees her hand is trembling. That was a favorite target after a while, too. Not when she was little though. Her mom hadn't started with her hands until about the time she was eleven. The tears trickle from her eyes and run down her cheek as another memory surfaces.

"Give me your hand, Kara."

"No, Mama. Please not that. I'm sorry Mama, I'm sorry. That hurts so bad, please don't. I'll stay out of your closet. I promise."

" Give. Me. Your. Hand. Now !"

"Yes ma'am." Her mother takes her by the wrist and begins to twist her middle finger. She bites her lip and whimpers.

"Be quiet, Kara. It'll hurt worse if you make noise, I /i promise i you. /i "

Her finger is twisted to the point of searing pain, and the tears flow freely from her eyes as she continues to stifle back a scream. "Please, Mama, please. I've learned my lesson. You don't have to do th-" Her finger is pushed all the way back and then jerked forward and down. The bone snaps like a twig and Kara passes out from the pain.

She sets the jar down and hugs her arms around her shoulders. The tips of her fingers touch her back. Her eyes shut tight and she shakes her head, trying to fight as another glimpse of her past rises to the top of her mind.

The sound of the air being parted by a fast moving object is followed by the sickening slap of skin being struck. A searing pain travels through her body as she sinks to her knees, grabbing the coffee table in the center of the living room.

"This is for your own good Kara. You'll learn that when I say be home by ten, you had damned well better be coming through that door by nine fifty." Her mother slurs.

Her mother had woken her up by dragging her out of bed. She then proceeded to rip Kara's shirt off leaving her naked from the waste up. Another searing pain shoots through her as the strap comes down across her back again. She doesn't scream, doesn't cry, but only breathes in hitched little gasps and waits for the next lash.

When her mother is finished with her twenty minutes later she crawls back into her room and pulls herself up on the bed. All her strength is gone. She can't think or see straight because her body is a riot of pain and agony. Only now, when she's in her room and her mother has stumbled off to go to sleep does she cry. The next morning she can't even put a shirt on over her back which is a parade of bruises and angry, swollen welts.

When Kara comes back to herself she's tilting the jar back and swallowing down the rest of the liquor. The burn as it slides down her throat is comforting and familiar. She slams the empty container down and lets out a gasp. As she shakes her head to shrug off the swimming sensation she smacks the side of her head into the hard metal of the door and curses. Now a slow, incesent throb begins to beat in her temples. A throb that isn't unfamiliar.

Someone is saying her name gently as she opens her eyes. She nearly screams from the pain of the light invading her corneas. Her head pounds and beats a steady tattoo with her heart beat, making her temples throb. In front of her she sees a doctor. It's him who's talking to her.

"Kara? Kara, can you hear me?" He asks as he looks at her. His face is a mask of concentration. But underneath it there's anger. Though it's been a while, this isn't the first time she's been here, nor is it the first time that she's been his patient. "Kara Thrace, can you hear me?"

" Yes." She croaks out, not quite finding her voice. "Yeah, I can hear you. My head hurts."

"I know. Do you remember what happened?" Dr Relsnik asks.

She remembers. She'd burned dinner. Her mother hadn't said anything through out the meal. When they were cleaning up her mom had picked up a pan and told her to turn around. Then nothing.

"No. I don't remember." She answers finally, looking away from his steady gaze.

"Are you sure Kara? Your mother said you fell and hit your head on the coffee table. Do you remember now?" Something in his voice sounds skeptical. "Do you remember what you were doing, how you fell?"

"No. I'm tired, I don't want to talk. My head hurts. I'm tired." She knows better than to answer questions. Accident. That's what it was. Always an accident. " I'm tired. Please leave me alone and let me sleep. My head hurts." She notices movement in the corner of the room and focuses in that direction. It's her mom, giving her a subtle, warning glare.

" There, see. She doesn't remember. Like I told you she was going to take a shower and tripped over my purse. Will you let my daughter sleep now?" She looks at Kara and smiles lovingly. " It's ok honey, go to sleep. They'll leave you alone."

She closes her eyes and sinks back into blackness.

She wakes up a couple hours later, finding herself curled up on the floor. Her body is screaming in protest at being forced to sleep on the metal deck of a warship. She stands stiffly and tries to stretch out some of the cramps. Opening the hatch she steps out of the storage compartment; the world around her spins slightly as she staggers to the bunkroom. Everyone's asleep so she must have been sleeping longer than she thought. Too tired to shower or even undress, she kicks off her boots and half falls, half lays down in her rack.

She wipes her face, trying to erase the last traces of the tears she has cried tonight and quietly whispers the ghost of her pain: "You can't hurt me anymore. I got away from you. You can never hurt me again."

Shortly after, sleep settles over her and she spends the rest of the night in a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

The End