Title: Poetic License
Author: Sentra Aquila
Pairings: Lee/Kara, Lee/Cally, minor Cally/Crashdown
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "At night, he changes his wife's brown hair to blonde." Lee angst.
Author's Note: This was inspired by banthafodder's wonderful "the last poem I write." Please forgive any errors in grammar and canon. This is my first in the Battlestar Galactica fandom and my first piece after months of writer's block.
Poetic License
During the day, Lee Adama is Galactica's no nonsense CAG, son to the Commander, and as of recent, husband to Specialist Cally.
However, as the clock in their quarters nears the twilight hours, he discards his role as a married man and reinvents his reality.
At night, he changes his wife's brown hair to blonde.
Their legs entangle as the sheet falls to the side. Warmth from synthetic cotton is no longer a necessity. Heat emanates from their glistening bodies fighting for control, until he rises as the victor. Straddling his partner, he lovingly collides with her in slow pace. Her muffled moans and whimpers dissolve into shortened staccato notes. Unfortunately, his sonorous voice sings out to a different tune.
"Kara."
Oblivious to his mistake, he continues to thrust before collapsing next to his wife. For the second time on their "honeymoon," Cally suffocates her tears into a pillow.
After their week-long stay on Cloud Nine, the atmosphere in the landing bay shifts from peaceful calm to a stagnant awkwardness. When making his rounds on deck, the clanging of wrenches and Tyrol's berating shouts fade into hushed silence.
Lee reassures himself that their stares are not directed towards him and continues on his way.
"So, Lee. I just heard that Boomer's set up a game of Triad in the rec. Care to watch me get lucky tonight?" says Kara seductively from her perch on the sink. "Who knows you might just get lucky, too."
Rewarding her with a lopsided grin, he responds, "Sure. Just let me grab my stash of ambrosia."
"You mean soon to be my stash."
"Who says I'm going to lose?"
When he shows up late and empty-handed for the weekly family dinner with the Commander, Lee informs a throughly annoyed Cally that he had spilt the bottle on his last clean uniform. Yet, for some unknown reason, she doesn't seem to buy it. Perhaps, it has something to do with stench of alcohol on his breath.
Immediately, following Cally's transparent, "I think I'm going to turn in early, darling," his father pushes his last son into the nearest chair.
"Son, what has it been? Four? Five months since-"
"Six months." His interjection is curt and slices the air like a knife.
"Yes. Six months," he repeats as his hands knead his weary eyes, "It wasn't your fault."
It was supposed to be routine. Patrol the fleet. Listen to Cat panic over her Viper controls. And shoot any visible raiders from the sky.
Then why did the consequences vary this time.
Lee was on his second loop around Colonial One when "it" appeared on his dradis. A lone Cylon scout.
"Cat. Hot Dog. Incoming at 11 o'clock."
He was the first to respond. Sending his Viper into a 180 spin, he hurtled towards the raider, gunning it down with a trademark Starbuck war cry. He didn't have time or sufficient rational thought to question the lack of return fire.
It finally dawned on him when it rained dog tags and debris on his cockpit window.
That's exactly how his world works.
"You reacted like a soldier. You acted on your instincts. You-"
"I killed her!"
His outburst is reactionary, fueled by the anger towards his father for making him the perfect soldier. Towards, Kara and her failed comm system. Towards, Cally for not being enough.
But mostly he hears the criticism of his own voice poisoning his mind with the truth.
Defensive Adama continues, "I'm just saying that while I loved Kara, her loss does not interfere with my personal life on a daily basis. Maybe, you should try to do the same."
His words of wisdom fall on deaf ears.
Five months and two weeks into their strained marriage, Cally decides she will no longer serve as a replacement.
"How am I supposed to compete with the dead, Lee? How can I remain faithful to a man who continually imagines he's sleeping with someone other than his wife?"
Two days, later, Lee is returning from patrol when he notices the flight crew is breaking out smuggled bottles of ambrosia. In the center of the makeshift celebration, stands Cally and Crashdown.
He's supposed to feel jealous at the sight of a sparkling gold band.
Instead, he is numb inside.
At night, Lee wastes his off-duty hours with a certain spectral Viper pilot. Yet, his only visible companions are an empty bottle of whiskey and a slowly dying cigar.
No one disturbs him anymore. After all he has lost, it's about time for some poetic license.