Sorry to all for the delay on this; I've been somewhat sidetracked in real life and by a couple other works. The next chapter is not far off, either; I am working on it now.
Many thanks also to my reviewers: Ammonite, Nytel, yannik, MirethGuilbain, starbuckjade, Ash234, BeethovenFA03, Choosing Sarah, Cat in a box, silver-midnite: most appreciated. I'm sorry if I haven't responded personally to you all. Life has included little spare time in the schedule just lately. Please accept a health dose of pilots and flirtation as a form of apology. I'm glad you're all enjoying it; if, like me, the lack of pilot interaction on the show is currently frustrating you, then perhaps this will help.
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Chapter 9:
Lee hadn't thought a great deal about what he was doing there; he'd planned just one thing - call Starbuck before he left the Orion - and that had fallen through. Too busy, too nervous... okay, he admitted, too frakking scared: five months was a long time to not make a phone call in, especially when he was now standing on the same planet - on the same military base - as her, and hoping like hell he could convince her to see him. It didn't just look bad, it was bad. He was flying out in the morning, and how, for the love of Aphrodite, was he supposed to make this seem like he wasn't just stopping by, hoping to get laid?
Of course, he was. Hoping, that was. But that wasn't the only reason he was there: he'd missed her, impossibly so, given the circumstances. She was a high point in a very low time, and the one thing that made the idea of the coming few days bearable. Still, one should hardly tell a woman one could so easily fall for that the only reason he was on the same planet was not actually her, but his old man's retirement party. No matter which way he explained, it would sound like opportunism. 'Just passing through, you know? Figured I would look you up' was an approach that might work within a few weeks of their last meeting, but Lee figured half a lunar year was pushing it.
It would have been so much easier if he'd done this from his ship, he realized, staring at the 'phone in the officer's locker of the main hangar, Sparta Base. The timing had been screwed up by things out of his control, problems on the flight deck, a troublemaker in his squadron; he'd fallen asleep at long last after smoothing everything out and woken up with a bare half hour to spare before launch. No time to eat, let alone make interstellar personal calls. If he'd had a chance, Lee knew he could have explained it - he had a little time, a layover on a long flight, would she have a couple hours free? - without it sounding like a proposition. But if he picked up that comm right now, called her and told her he was there, it was treating her like a convenience. Which she wasn't: Kara Thrace was anything but convenient.
Damned inconvenient, as a matter of simple fact. He'd had no plans to get himself entangled, either emotionally or physically, with anyone; not this year, not for any longer than it took to create a little mutual pleasure, at any rate. And seeing there'd been absolutely no intentions on either side beyond that, the strength of his interest in a repeat arrangement both angered and baffled him, but there it was: he wanted more of Kara. Even after he found out she was Starbuck. Even after he'd learned more about her reputation for getting into, and out of, trouble. Even after it became obvious that she was as blindsided by the effects of their liaison as he was. What 'more' might eventually mean, he wasn't yet willing to consider, but if it meant more of her company, both in and out of bed, he wouldn't be sorry at all.
The 'phone wasn't moving, and he wasn't moving, and he realised he had fourteen hours only before he had to be back in the Hangar, suited up, to fly out and face his old man. The thought wasn't pleasant; if he didn't see her, then he'd just spend the night in temporary quarters, staring at the ceiling. If he did see her, and even if things didn't progress to a bed for different reasons - Lee had a healthy dose of masculine optimism in that regard, but he wasn't stupid - then at least he'd have something else to think about.
He picked up the handset, mentally discarded the three digit planetary code, punched in the numbers as he'd imagined doing a thousand times a month since the last time he saw Kara. Waited, his blood pounding furiously in his temples, as it rang. Two rings. Three. Four - she wasn't there? it was an office number, of course, she'd probably have gone back to -
"Thrace."
The voice was unmistakable, and Lee found the anxiety in his gut loosening, all at once, being replaced by anticipation. "Hey, Kara."
She said nothing for a second, then he heard her exhale, could almost picture her smile. "Lee. I was just thinking about you."
He grinned. "And what did you decide on, an airlock, or were you just going to land a Raptor on me?"
Kara laughed, and it sent a new thrill rippling down his spine; he felt a hint of arousal and had to gulp cool air. "Too humane, both of those," she told him. "I had something a little more tortuous in mind."
Five months, and it might have been yesterday: the repartee, and its effect on his body, the lightness of soul, the way everything else seemed suddenly quite distant. "Is it too twisted of me to admit that I'm somehow intrigued?"
"Probably," she shot back, "but I'll tell you anyway, next time your ass is in the vicinity."
Ahh, about that... Lee winced inwardly. "Funny you should mention it..."
There was a silence, and when Kara spoke again, a drawl of sarcasm tainted the good humor. "Long way to come for a booty call, Captain."
"Worth every mile, though, Kara." Levity was worth a shot, especially with flattery into the bargain. "Look, I'm not here for long, and I'll understand if you can't -"
"No," she interrupted, "I can. Where are you?"
"The main hangar, in the officer's rack. I need to wash up, but maybe we could get something to eat?" It wasn't just courtesy; he was starving. He'd stand in even more need of sustenance if he somehow managed to get back in Kara's good graces, if he was lucky.
"I could stand something other than mess cuisine," she agreed. " And Merrick's makes a good burger. I'll meet you outside the Hangar in twenty, okay?"
"That's great," Lee heard himself answer, followed swiftly by the buzz of signal failure, which meant she'd hung up. He looked at the droning handset and wondered at which point precisely this whole idea had drifted out of his control. But with nineteen minutes until Kara showed up - and he seriously doubted she'd wait if he wasn't already on the pavement when she showed - he didn't have time to consider it.
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One got accustomed to surpressing one's vanity, in the military, not that Kara had ever been overendowed with appreciation for her own appearance; looking at herself in the foggy bathroom mirror, Kara thought ruefully that she had no reasons for vanity. At least, not so far as looks were concerned. Good skin, wide eyes, and a certain elfin charm did not equate to big breasts, long legs and hair, or magazine-cover features. Her own lines were too marked, too strong, for fashion; her mouth was too wide, her expressions too dramatic. Sex appeal was one thing she knew she didn't lack, but for the first time in quite a while, Kara Thrace wasn't simply concerned with finding someone to frak for a while.
She'd never really been any good at the dating thing. What was the point? Easier not to deal with the whole issue. But with Lee, she found herself wanting to be pretty, wanting to make him wish he'd called her sooner, and the realization left a sour taste in her throat. Frak that, she hissed at her reflection. I don't dress up for this. It's not a date. She hesitated over jeans and a halter, then tossed them aside and reached for her undress khakis. If he was going to call her up without warning and want to see her, then he could deal with the no-frills version. Her uniform was comfortable, and it cut through the crap: no misunderstandings this time. If they ended up frakking, it would be her turn to decide if it went further, and she wasn't going to play-act to make things more comfortable for him.
Five minutes. Kara laced her boots halfway and tied them off, and went looking for her car keys, glad that she'd tidied the place up a few days ago. The worst of the mess was confined to her office, where her usual stacks of files looked like slightly drunken sentinels on a fairly crowded post. She had clean sheets, even, on her neatly-made bed, although being glad about fresh bedding seemed uncomfortably close to surrender, under the circumstances. Who are you kidding, Starbuck? her conscience asked. If you hadn't given in already, you wouldn't have come back here for a shower and clean skivvies, would you?
Maybe not, her pride answered on the way out the door. But at least I can make him work for it.
The car - a military sell-off lightly armored vehicle, with all-wheel drive and a motor fit for a tank, perfectly suited to her reputation and habits - rumbled to life and she refused to gun it as she pulled onto the main concourse. The hangar was on the opposite side of base to the domestic quarters, though nowhere in Sparta could escape the hum of Vipers in atmo, and the long, straight, well-lit military street was bare of traffic; she didn't need to speed to make it on time. Right on time. Twelve seconds before twenty minutes ticked around, she pulled up precisely in front of the Hangar, and there he was, Lee, stepping out of the marine-guarded main doors in BDU's just like hers. Crisp and precise, his short hair damp in the light of the security lamps, his skin still flushed with warmth from the shower, or the flight, or both. Or maybe even her.
Gods, she thought, the impact of seeing him again like a blow to the solar plexus, please let it be me. Then her ego mentally retched over her pathetic eagerness, and she pulled herself together. "Captain," she said politely.
He opened her passenger door and smiled at her uneasily. "Lieutenant," he said, eventually, and climbed in. The marines saluted, and almost before he had himself buckled in, Kara planted a foot on the gas. He seemed to be searching for words, and rather than help him along, she accellerated down the concourse, headed for the main gate to Sparta City. Over the roar of the motor, he found something to say. "How've you been, Kara?"
"Busy," she answered, threw him a glance. He wasn't acting like an ass, at least, and some of her pique melted a little at the edges. "Cadets are worse than schoolkids, you know; if there's something they shouldn't do, it's the first thing they want to try. I guess I should be glad that what they try only gets them killed in the simulators and not for real."
"But you like it? Like teaching?"
Was he just asking a polite question? Did it matter? "Yes, and no. I don't get to fly enough, at least, not for real. I spend more time in the sims than a cockpit, most weeks." They passed the gates, and the two marines, their duty tunics looking black rather than blue in the yellow glare of headlights, saluted her. She slowed marginally, waved acknowledgement. "It's not really a job for the ambitious, either. If you're good enough to be pegged for an Instructor role, you're going to stay pegged. I'll have a compulsory term to serve in another year, one tour on a Battlestar, but after that, unless I get a promotion for some reason, I'll be back here pushing papers and babysitting."
"Then why stay?"
The question was curiously intent, and she risked a glance at him. "The pay's decent, the hours are better than regular duty, and I have a boss that takes rules and regs with a grain or two of salt. If Deak gets kicked upstairs, I'd probably buck for a space posting tomorrow."
"Yeah? But you could get paid a helluva lot more flying Civilian craft, you know. Better perks."
That was true, as far as it went, but unless you made it as a contractor test-pilot - which was still, at least according to the paperwork, a military role - you weren't really flying. Those transports, shuttles and oversized inter-planetary 'buses didn't count. Not to anyone who'd flown a viper; surely he knew that. "Flying what, though?"
His face slid into a wry grin, she saw it in the flash of illumination as they pulled into Merrick's parking-lot. "You have a point."
Seats were scarce - it was a steak house five minutes from a military base, midweek or no midweek, it was crowded - but Kara knew people. The bouncer grinned and waved her on through; the crowd at the bar, more than half of them third-year cadets who greeted her with a chorus of sir's and Starbuck's were swiftly bypassed as Jacey Merrick herself came out to find them a table. Lee was looking faintly stunned at the ease of it: a table on the patio outside, lit with the regular skeins of colored lights, in a relatively quiet corner, menus and a jug of icewater garnished with lemon and mint, all in moments. He poured them both a tumblerful, leaned back in his seat and stared at her, slowly shaking his head.
"One of the perks of being an instructor?" he inquired.
It was a nice, if hot and somewhat steamy, night; the water pitcher was already dewed with condensation, and in between the party lights and the bar signs and the city's omnipresent glow, she could see him well enough. It was almost a surprise to realise she hadn't exaggerated his attractions in her own mind. Kara felt herself relax at the bemusement in his face. "Not really. Jace's kids are both cadets."
"Oh. An apple for teacher, then?" Lee's attempts not to smile made him look more than a little wicked.
"If you like. But it's not as crooked as it sounds. The officers on base at Sparta have a standing arrangement with the house here: there's always one or two tables available for us on weeknights. The apple, if you want to call it that, was the personal service."
"I see." The colored lights meant she couldn't quite make out how blue his eyes were - her memory of them seemed almost unlikely, but she knew it wasn't - but she could tell the expression in them. "It's good to see you, Kara."
The remainder of her pique evaporated, and she smiled at him, then, not quite caring if it was pathetic to admit she felt likewise. He smiled back. His hands were on the table, fingertips a moment away from hers, and moving. Reaching out, she could see him doing it.
The waiter, a tall, willowy girl with an expression of appreciative interest for her companion, appeared by the table. "What can I get you?"
Kara wanted to tell her to get lost. "I'll have the number three burger," she said, trying not to sound like a bitch. "With fries."
Lee flicked a glance over the menu. "Steak roll, no onion" he said, after a moment. "Fries and bacon."
"Great choice!" the girl probably would have said the same thing if he'd ordered raw liver, to go, but she wrote it down. "Beer?"
"No thanks." Kara began, and caught Lee's surprised glance. "I'm flying in the morning."
"Me, too," he agreed. "Citrus bitters for me."
"Make that two."
The waitress sidled off, her hips an exaggerated swing, but Lee wasn't looking; Kara suppressed a triumphant grin and the immediate mental backlash: when in the name of Hades had she become such a damned adolescent?
They made smalltalk again over their meals, talked about their experiences in flight-school, and every successive minute, Kara found herself wishing she hadn't been so by-the-book about this. Noticing he ignored the waitress with the suddenly obvious cleavage, and watching him eat, his obvious appreciation for non-reconstituted foods combined with his appetite, only served to whet hungers of her own. He sucked steak sauce off his fingers. He licked his lips. He looked at her.
Kara pushed her plate away, the scant remains of her meal suddenly nowhere near as inviting as finding somewhere to explain to him just what that look was doing to her. Lee's glanced down at it, back up at her, his eyes suddenly penetrating. "Too much, if you're flying tomorrow?"
Her ego bristled, momentarily displacing her longing. "I'll have you know I have a cast-iron stomach, Apollo."
His polite grin held a teasing hint of disbelief. Kara laughed. "Don't believe me, flyboy? You do know I have keys to the academy's sim suite, don't you?"
He got up, tossed enough credit notes on the table to cover both meals and a tip for the overenthusiastic waitress - a small tip, Kara was glad to note - and held out a hand. "Starbuck, that sounds a hell of a lot like a challenge to me."
Maybe so, she agreed, silently; but as they walked out of Merricks with their palms pressed together, she thought the bigger challenge was going to be keeping her mind on the sim, instead of on her opponent.
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