Archive: Please ask.
Notes: Inspired by the following:
:"Seeing Lee's well sculpted-body had made her want to throw him on the floor and bang his brains out"
... why do I suddenly have the image of Kara banging Lee's head against the floor until we have a mess of grey matter:
And encouraged by Myalchod. Sigh. (also? I should not be listening to 'Return to Innocence' while editing this...)
How Things Could Have Gone
by ALC Punk!
Kara's halfway out the door, when her temper breaks. The old Starbuck, the one who didn't die with her squadron because she'd been thrown in the brig, would have been on him already. This new version of herself is still becoming used to being human, fallible.
But that was one insult too many, and she can't let it pass.
Hobbling across the locker room shouldn't be this silent, and she wonders why he hasn't done more than smirk at her once again, as if unaware that she's angry (and maybe he is, he never has been very good at reading her).
The first punch catches him by surprise, with his shirt still half-on and his hands tangled in the material.
And she would have been fair about this, but her leg still hurts from its earlier treatment.
The second rocks him back on his heels, and now he's got his hands up, trying to defend himself, his mouth opening to ask her.
"Frak you, Lee." Third, fourth, and she steps into him, shoving and watching as he falls.
Her knuckles are beginning to dull from the pain hitting him causes.
Her knee slams into his gut, and he loses the ability to do more than gasp as her fists pummel. Jaw, chest, gut--and now his arms come up again in an attempt to stop her.
She smashes an elbow into his nose, watches the blood spurt, then pulls back half-smiling.
"Sorry, Lee. They're not here right now."
Kara's hands close on either side of his skull, jerk up, and slam back. The deck echoes with the sick cracking sound.
The fourth time, she notices her fingers are slippery.
Sweat is dripping into her eyes, and she pauses to wipe her arm across them.
Lee is staring at her, eyes wide with shock. There's something glassy and vacant about the look, and Kara can't quite bring herself to identify it.
She crawls off of him and crouches, panting, her chest aching, her knee protesting. She strained it again. Doc won't give her more drugs. Damn him.
The blood is tacky on her fingers, tacky and slimy, and Kara wipes them on Lee's still half-on shirt, then looks at his face. "Bad joke, Lee." And, suddenly, she's not sure what she's talking about.
One finger reaches out to trace the line of swiftly-cooling sculpted bicep, and she half-laughs.
"Well, Lee..." She laughs completely, this time, unable to contain her mirth (wrongwrongwrong). "I suppose I have a new hobby." She breathes in and it hurts, her chest is tight and she wants to claw her skin off, suddenly.
"Guess what it is," she whispers as she stands.
One step, two, and he no longer looks quite so unnatural. A fallen god stretched out in style, his pants unbuttoned, his shirt half-on.
"Killing Adama's children."
Now she feels as unnatural as she sounds.
"Great hobby, huh?" Another crack of laughter, edging towards hysteria, and her chest still hurts. "Think I should apply to join the Cylons now, or after they toss me out an airlock?"
And Kara's breath catches as the smell of fresh blood smashes into her, and her knee spasms. She's falling, sliding down the wall, staring and staring forever at her handiwork. "I really am a screw-up, Lee. I thought you'd remember that."
He's not going to answer.
The reality clashes with what she wants.
"I hope it's quick."