Fissures
"Shotgun!" the younger of the two brothers quickly called out.
"Frak, Stephen, you can't call shotgun," Craig, the older one, protested with a shake of his red head. "No way the pilot's gonna let either of us up front."
"You don't know that. And just in case, I called it first," Stephen said, thumb tapping his chest in emphasis.
"Whatever. Just grab your stuff and come on before they change their minds," the tall youth said as he slung his own small bag of belongs over his shoulder.
Sam watched with a grin as the pair strode away. They'd been part of the Resistance on New Caprica and he'd often envied their closeness, wishing that he'd had a brother to jest, hassle and just hang with. It was good seeing the teenagers again, he thought, smile widening as Craig nudged his brother onward when the younger boy stopped to chat up a pretty girl along the way.
Still grinning, Sam turned back toward the massed group of people that occupied what was being dubbed Camp Oilslick…and his mood slipped as the his gaze roamed over the crowded hold again. Cots formed rows and lined the walls as the battlestar provided temporary refuge for those displaced after the Exodus from New Caprica. Here and there, ropes had been strung and blankets hung to provide a modicum of privacy against the press of humanity.
Since taking a berth over a week ago on the manufacturing ship Salpica, Sam had become use to the sharp tang of overheating machinery and, as the smell of so many people in close confines wafted over him, he had to push down the reflexive urge to cover his nose, not wanting to offend any of the unfortunate residences of the shelter. And it wasn't like he hadn't dealt with the pungent odor of unwashed bodies before: Pyramid was a sweaty sport, and they hadn't exactly had proper bathing units on Caprica—or New Caprica either, but Sam had always been especially sensitive to smells and apparently, despite Galactica's facilities, maintaining basic hygiene in these overcrowded conditions was a challenge.
With a resigned shrug to himself, Sam started down one of the narrow aisles, eyes flicking left and right with an evaluating look. His line-boss, knowing of Sam's connections on Galactica, had sent him over to find candidates to add to the crew of the Salpica from among the evacuees. The manufacturing vessel was shorthanded as the demands for the ship's wares increased after the Exodus.
Making his way among the rows, the murmur of the many voices rebounded from the metal plating and made a discordant sound-drop for his search. He knew he'd been lucky coming across the Hannen brothers. Most of the others huddled here appeared to be too young, old or otherwise infirmed to handle the rigors of a production line. But he'd promised his boss to try so he continued along.
Then a flash of blonde caught his eye.
Two rows over and there she was.
He jerked to a surprised stop.
He hadn't expected her here.
And, where seconds ago he'd been eager to leave, Sam's feet were welded to the metal plating as he recognized Kara where she sat with a young woman and child amidst the grid of cots. Her hair was cropped short, even more so than when he'd first met her on Caprica, and she wore dress blues instead of the casual BDUs she'd slouched in since returning to Galactica.
The changes meant something.
He was sure of it.
Sam hadn't seen her since their showdown about The Circle. With a new berth and job on the Salpica, this was his first sortie back to the battlestar since, though his thoughts had constantly strayed to the great ship's occupants—or to one in particular, at least. His gaze reluctantly shifted to the bold traces of his marriage tattoo; the visible proof that his and Kara's souls were bound together. Scored into their skin, the mirrored pattern had been a promise that nothing short of death would strip them from each other.
Who knew that four months and a psychotic Cylon was all it would take to flay the meaning from the mark?
The memory of Leoben was enough to bring Sam's hands to his side in clenched fists. He might not be consumed by the rage he'd seen slowing gnawing its way through Kara, but he'd certainly itched for a chance to make the Two cough blood for the fissures he'd rent.
Noticing a shawl-wrapped woman a few feet away, a scowl on her creased face as she watched him, Sam forced taut muscles to release with a visible shudder.
"Um, nice morning, ma'am," he offered, putting forth a smile for the elder woman's benefit and then quickly moving past.
Stepping around a trio-mix of two boys and an older girl where they were playing a game of cards, partially blocking the aisle, Sam's eyes returned to the figure of his wife as he wove his way forward. At a distance of ten feet he halted again.
What the hell am I doing?
Hadn't Kara made it abundantly clear that she didn't want him anymore. Eventually even a dumb jock like him could take a hint when his own wife refused to let him touch her, he grimly thought. Yet…the way she'd kissed him after he'd returned her dog tag…
It was more than just goodbye.
He'd swear it.
And he'd walked away when maybe he should've stayed and fought it out with her. Realizing now that he'd been a fool to let her push him away, a queasy feeling in his gut reminded Sam of the last moments of the pyramid finals four years ago when he'd missed an easy shot and his team had lost. It had been right there. All his hopes. All within his grasp. And then it was over. The ball glancing off the edge as the buzzer rang…and a Cylon dragged his wife off to a hell she wouldn't even talk about and he hadn't tried hard enough to make her.
Well, he was here now, and maybe it wasn't too late.
Straightening, he sidled closer, taking care not to draw her attention yet, wanting just a few more moments to just watch her. Not that she was likely to notice him, Sam realized, taking in the way Kara was leaning forward, voice too low to hear the words she spoke to a blonde little girl.
As he abruptly realized why the child looked familiar, Sam stiffened, blue eyes narrowing in speculation as he recognized the girl as the one from New Caprica…the kid Kara had called her daughter. He had tried to broach the subject once and had been cut him off with such vehemence that he hadn't asked again. Hadn't pushed. Maybe it was time to start. What was the worst she'd do—leave him?
Watching the two blonde heads bent close together, Sam saw that they were holding a rag doll between them. As Kara pretended to tickle the toy, a giggle burst forth from the smaller of the pair, and he felt a responding smile tug at his own lips.
She's a damned cute kid.
Even as he thought it, a part of Sam spasmed, remembering a brief—very brief—discussion he and Kara had had not long after moving down to New Caprica. He'd brought up the subject of having children. With all the radiation he'd been exposed to on Caprica, Sam pretty sure he couldn't father any and had wanted to be up front with Kara about it. With a grimace, he recalled her reaction, the adamant way she'd terminated his hesitant suggestion that it might be possible for her to get pregnant another way.
She'd laid him out with one hellava punch to the face.
It was the one and only time Kara had ever hit him. Sure, they'd argued. A lot. His wife wasn't known for her easy going ways. Yet, in all their months together, a push or bumped shoulder were the extent of their physical strikes against the other.
Except this once.
Sam remembered laying on the floor of their tent, blinking up through stinging eyes and with one hand trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose as Kara stood over him. Both of her hands were clenched in raised fists. As his vision cleared, he'd seen a bitter anger—and maybe…fear?—swirling the depths of her green eyes as she'd glared down at him.
"No kids. No frakkin' kids, Sam. Won't do this," she shook one white-knuckled fist as an explanation, "to some other poor brat," she'd said, then stormed out and hadn't returned for two days. The subject hadn't been brought up again.
And yet…here she was. Kara Thrace playing with a doll with a blonde tyke that looked enough like her to pass as her own.
Sam shook his head in bewilderment, wondering what had really happened on that damned planet.
His attention sharpened as Kara gave the little girl a tight hug, apparently getting ready to leave, and even from the back, the hunger in her embrace was obvious to Sam's knowing gaze; as was the reluctance as she released the child back to the watching mother.
Staying still, he waited until Kara rose and turned. He saw that it took her a moment to actually see him through eyes blinded by unshed tears. When she did, she surprised him by moving into his chest and wrapping shaking arms around him in a tight clasp. Sam fervently returned the hug, feeling the shuddering breaths against his jacket and knowing that Kara was fighting to control the emotions that had leaked to the surface. Part of him wished she'd just let go, release the torrent she was holding back. He wanted the chance to prove that he wouldn't let her drown. Wouldn't bail on her as others had. As he had before.
But, as he saw the inquisitive stares of the child's mother and several neighboring people, he knew this wasn't the place. Trouble was, being only vaguely familiar with the battlestar, he had no clue where they could find a private spot.
With head bent to her ear, "Kara, is there someplace we can go?" he murmured. Feeling her draw a shaky breath and drop her arms, he eased his own hold, shifting his hands to her shoulders, afraid to completely release her, sure that she'd bolt if he did.
"Sam, I—"
"Look, we need to talk," he cut in, trying not to sound like he was pleading.
The down-tilted head moved side-to-side in rejection.
Frustration rising to the surface now, he gave the shoulders within his grip a slight shake, wishing for the umpteenth time that it were possible to jar some sense into her obstinate head. And, while he doubted that he'd actually succeeded, he did hear Kara sigh and feel the resignation in the droop of her shoulders.
"Fine," was all she said, then brusquely shrugged his hands off and brushed by to lead the way from the busy area without a glance back at the mother and child.
Trailing so closely on her heels that he risked literally stepping on them, Sam maintained his presence within Kara's personal space, feeling like she'd just disappear if he turned away for even a moment. He followed her into a storage room that he vaguely remembered it from a quickie they'd snuck prior to settling on New Caprica. As the distant memory stirred his arousal, he was aware—chafingly so—that he hadn't been with anyone since the Cylons' return; he'd held to his vows while Kara had been missing and they hadn't shared more than a deep kiss since the rescue.
Raising his thoughts from his lower extremities by force of will, Sam scrutinized his wife as she turned, arms crossed defensively in front.
He felt his hopes shrink as he recognized the pose, one he knew far too well. She was trying to keep him out and hold herself together all in one. Just like the times she'd let slip some comment about her past, only to clam up when he'd probed further. And it hurt like hell to see.
Gods, Kara, why can't you just let me in?
Though he didn't say it outloud, he saw her eyes twitch away before coming back to confront his again.
"So, Sammy, whatcha want to talk about that so damned important," she bit out, going on the offensive—true to form.
He sensed a narrow window here, and it only opened to the scene he'd just witnessed. He'd take what he could, just as he always had.
"Who was that little girl? Who's…who's Kacey?" he asked, dredging up the name from the moment weeks ago by the Raptor when the mother had reclaimed her child with fervent gratitude.
As Kara's shoulders hunched, he started forward, only to be halted when she lifted her hand, palm out. Watching her blink back tears again, Sam ground his teeth in frustration.
"Who's Kacey?" he repeated, holding his tone neutral, knowing how she'd respond if he came on too strong.
"You met her." He saw the effort it cost her to restrain more as she bit down on her lower lip.
"Kara, come on. You said she was your daughter?"
Sam watched as she jerked into motion then, choppy strides taking her in a circle around the confined space. After two circuits, she faced him again.
"You remember Caprica."
It was rhetorical but he gave a nod anyways.
Green eyes flitted around the room, refusing to meet his. As the silence stretched out, Sam debated asking again, but decided that if Kara was going to tell him anything, he'd have to let her do it in her own way. So, instead, he kept himself still while watching the woman he loved struggle.
His patience finally paid off as she took a breath and finally met his gaze.
"At the…the Farm they took—" Kara broke off, scrubbing at her face. When she looked up again, her expression was angrily vulnerable. "They frakkin' stole one of my ovaries. Used it to… Leoben—" Again she faltered and Sam took a step, only to stop as she jerked her head no. Taking a breath, she continued, "He said they'd made Kacey with it. Claimed he was the father. The frakkin' father," she said with a harsh laugh.
"And you believed him?" Sam asked, unable to keep the incredulous note from his voice. At her glare, he clamped his mouth shut.
"No, not at first." As a quiver wavered the bitter set of her lips, Sam wondered what could have happened to convince her. He didn't get the chance to ask, though, as she went on, "But then I did. Thought she was mine. And it was weird, you know. Never wanted a kid, yet here was this perfect little rugrat and…and she was mine and it was different. I was different," she finished, face averted as she swiped away a tear that had shaken loose from damp lashes.
"She's too old, Kara." He ducked his head, trying to catch her downcast eyes. "I don't get how you could have believed anything that whackjob told you."
As her gaze jerked up, emerald shards pinned him and she snapped out, "Frak you." Then, just as abruptly, she turned away, sullenly adding,"Like I know kids. How the frak was I to know that?"
"Kara, I didn't mean it that way," hastily he said, hands raised outwards. "I just don't understand how'd he ever convinced you, is all."
"Four frakkin' months!" her hissed reply was layered with so many implications: the words strung out as a bitter accusation, brow furrowed by hurt, and hunched shoulder weighted down with despair. They'd abandoned her, hadn't they? The battlestars had jumped away and the Resistance—Sam—had left her to the mercy of the Cylons. She'd been forsaken, probably thought even be forgotten, for four long months.
Sam understood all that. It was the hint of shame—and longing?—that tightened his jaw in confusion. He shook his head like a boxer that had taken too many blows.
"Gods, Kara, I jus—"
She cut him off by abruptly stepping in to grab his face and pull it down to hers, lips meeting in a hard kiss and, as her need surged through him, Sam met it with his own, opening to her demanding tongue and tasting that which was uniquely Kara. Hands fumbled at his belt and Sam let his own work at the buttons of her jacket. Moments later, he had it opened and slid roughened palms under her double-tanks, splaying them up the smooth skin of her stomach to the sports bra she always wore.
As Kara's hand cupped him, he stiffened, nearly losing it right then. Determined not to mess this up, not now that he had finally got her back in his arms, Sam focused his concentration outward and reluctantly pulled his hands from beneath her tanks. Kara was forced to withdrawal her own as Sam pushed the jacket from her shoulders and then lifted the bra and tops all in one to toss them aside.
With their embrace broken, he met Kara's eyes and saw a tempest in their vulnerable depths. As his fingers brushed her face, she stilled. Sam moved his hand to mold to her jaw and neck, only to have it struck away as Kara backed from his grasp with a sharp, "Don't!"
Sam let his hands drop, watching in bewilderment as Kara protectively crossed her arms over her bare midriff.
"Kara?" he softly questioned.
"I—" She started, breaking off with a headshake. Then she moved close again, still crossed arms held between them as she leaned into his chest, face pressing into crook of his neck. Instinctively wrapping his own around her, he felt slight tremors shake her frame as he drew her in tight.
They stayed like that, Sam just holding her close, fearing to break the moment with words. He twitched when her tongue stroked the skin of his neck, then loosened his embrace just enough to allow his hands to slide along the bare surface of her back. As he felt the tense muscles beneath his circling palms relax, he eased back slightly.
"Tell me," he said quietly, leaving it open to her to interpret what he was asking.
Through bangs that had fallen across her forehead, green eyes peeked up at him before flitting away. Still silent, her arms unfolded and she began to tug at his shirt until he relented with a sigh and helped pull it over his head to join the bundle in the corner. He shivered with the return of desire as Kara's breasts press against him. Lips teased at his throat again before he captured her chin, raising it to seek the full mouth in a hungry kiss. It was his turn to probe for entry and she returned his fervor, teeth tapping lightly against the other's as they each fought for dominance.
Sam's hands returned to her back and wandered lower to slip beneath her waistband. He pulled her closer, feeling the constriction of cloth grow uncomfortable with the pressure of his need.
"This what you want?" Kara abruptly taunted, nipping at his lower lip as her hands worked inside his pants again.
"Gods, Kara!" He inhaled sharply, then demanded, "How about you? Is this what you want?"
"Just want to frak. Frak and forget." Her challenging gaze met his. "Think you can handle that, Sammy," she jeered, the conflicting desires to maim and seek oblivion both tainting her voice.
The mocking words remind him of her warning that she just wanted to hurt someone. Was he willing to be that person? Kara's artistic skill wasn't limited to the canvas, as she'd so adeptly demonstrated in the past during their more fierce exchanges, using words to sketch scars on his soul. Was he willing to lay himself bare before her muse again?
Within her grasp, Sam moaned as physical pleasure overrode his sense of self-preservation. Maybe…maybe this was the way he could reconnect with her, he told himself. Maybe afterwards she'd be able to talk to him. Explain the meaning of the desolation in her eyes.
With a groan of defeat, Sam fumbled at the fly of Kara's dress trousers, shoving them from the curve of her hips as his mouth fell to capture hers. Boots were toed off and two pairs of pants sloughed to the metal decking. Both naked now, except for socks and a single set of dog tags, Sam lifted Kara, moving forward until she was perched on the edge of one of the plastic crates that lined the room.
They slid together with practiced ease, the rhythm both familiar and reassuring that, at least in this, they were still a paired set.
Their passion, quickly ignited, was as swiftly consumed. And afterwards, as Sam lay still sheathed within her, enjoying the moment of peace they'd always found together right after making love, he let a sigh of relief waft a few tendrils of blonde hair away from his nose. Then a hand pushing at his shoulder made him pull out and rise to support himself on elbows braced either side of her. As he lowered his head to kiss her swollen lips, Kara turned her face aside and shoved him off with renewed intent. Nearly stumbling, Sam caught his balance and gave her a hurt look.
"What?" he demanded.
Kara kept her gaze averted as she slid from the crate and bent to gather her clothes. With hands at his side, Sam silently watched as she donned underthings and tanks then shimmied into her trousers, tucking her tops in even as she tucked her vulnerability away. He still stood clad only in black socks when Kara picked up both sets of boots and finally turned to him. Reflexively, he caught his pair as she tossed them.
"Might want to put on more than that before going out, Sammy." Kara's smirk was a wasteland as she skirted by him, not delaying even long enough to slip on her own boots before bolting.
Sam didn't turn as the hatch clanged shut behind him.
Staring down at his shoes, he choked out a harsh laugh.
She'd given him the boot again.