Risk
It was messy, dirty - nothing he hadn't seen before many times. It was thin, fine and silky as always but there were traces of red imbedded in it, as though someone had artlessly thrown a wad of paint in her direction and it had landed unawares on her head.
Before he was even aware of having the thought, his hand had snaked out and touched her hair - white blonde with streaks of pinkish red in it. Blood. There was blood in her hair. He wondered if it was hers and if so, if she'd allow him to see the wound that had produced it. He doubted it - Kara Thrace was the most self-sufficient, annoyingly stubborn human being he'd ever known.
"What are you doing?" she said, irritation forming creases in her forehead.
"There's blood in your hair," he said softly, answering a different question than the one she'd asked.
"Yeah, so?" she said idly, shaking her head.
Every muscle in his had body tensed as the urge to pull out the ponytail holder and run his fingers through her hair became almost impossible to resist.
Resistance was futile.
Surprisingly, she'd let him. He'd been prepared for the punch he knew she'd level at him - perhaps at his stomach, perhaps his face. But she hadn't moved. He hadn't even been sure she was even breathing she'd stood so still.
"Let me wash it out for you," he whispered. She acquiesced.
Later he pondered it, surprised at his own boldness. Touching Kara without her permission - offering to do something she was fully capable of for her ... it was like walking into a lion's den and offering his head up on a platter.
Who ever said Apollo wasn't a risk-taker?