When his fist smashes into her lips it's the kiss she's been waiting well over a year for.

The familiar sight and sting of Lee Adama sending her endorphins into overdrive, manipulating her pheromones into hammers, as she knocks him back with her own kiss.

He landed the first punch but is hesitant to try again so quickly. Instead he just circles her, sizing her up with anger filled frak me eyes. She swings and he dodges, and she screams against her mouth guard in frustration. It's been too long since she's touched him, talked to him, been near him without sizzling innuendo or jaw clenched threats.

He lands two more punches and she stumbles a little, before quickly regaining her balance, her body poised, coiled, and screaming 'thank you sir may I have another.' She swings again, makes contact, and knocks the confidence right out of his legs and smiles widely as he stumbles.

Bastard, she thinks. Frakking bastard for making her feel this way. For making her remember that night every time she's seen him since they escaped New Caprica. It's easier to be mad at him. To hate him for the way he looked at her, for the way he screamed to the skies. The way he used to get inside without even trying and wouldn't let go until she'd kicked and screamed enough to shake him loose.

She hits him good enough to send his head spinning.

His eye is still red, raw, and dripping and it's easy to imagine her insides look the same.

They swing, and hit and miss. And the burning bridge between them rekindles and is blazing so bright and hot. In her head she calls him baby, and punches harder for such unwanted affection toward him because in her heart she knows it will just keep burning them both.

A year, she thinks again.

A whole frakking year of nothing.

No letters, no messages, no calls at all until Sam was sick and she almost had to beg.

Yes they'd gone longer with out seeing each other. They've been farther apart in both the figurative and the literal. But this time, this time, it felt like forever.

She thinks about nights down in that tent when Sam was already asleep and she'd walk down the causeway, looking up at the stars thinking she could see him up there.

She hits him harder, swinging one two three, and Lee falls back and she's all smiles again until he drops her.

It feels like her nose is broken, the warm sensation of her blood running in and around her mouth.

This is how it works, she thinks. For him. For them.

Never saying a word until the tension boils over and physical contact (violence) just has to be made.

She kicks his feet out from under him, sending him sprawling.

They start again but it's slower. The anger is fading and her arms are heavy, the fatigue slowly settling in.

She's dizzy and punch drunk on the love and hate of Lee Adama.

They gravitate toward each other; she sees the same fading energy in his eyes, and collapse into a hug filled with tired breaths. There's comfort is his arms that moments ago only wanted to cause her pain, and she knows that once she's here she's not going to let him go.

They rock back and forth, the crowd nearly forgotten, almost dancing to some imagined tune.

Frakking bastard, she thinks again. Do you get it? Do you finally see? I'm poison and bitterness and I love you. I'm in love with you and it's going to get you killed.

She tastes the skin of his shoulder and it's so familiar.


Gods has she missed him, and when she tells him so he says it back.

He forgives her, he always does, and it's a gift she's never been sure what to do with.

She smiles against him and takes it anyway.


Doc Cottle takes one look at them when they stumble into sick bay and mutters something about Lee not taking medical advice and walks right past, leaving them to fend for themselves.

Lee sits her down and starts wiping the blood away. When she closes her eyes she can still feel the beat of his heart against hers. She can still taste the salty sweat of his skin and she feels herself drifting forward to….


The pressure of the disinfected cotton swab against her all but broken nose snaps her out of such recent memory. Her eyes refocus into his and she's a little surprised at what she sees. The rage between them has all but faded with their breathless confession, and what has replaced it is nothing short of blinding intensity.

He isn't being gentle. He isn't being kind.

She wants to kiss him with swollen lips and taste that intensity leaking red out of both of them.

She lifts a hand to his face, beaten and bruised into a metaphor of their relationship, and smiles.

He stops dabbing at her nose and looks at her as if he can read her mind and for a minute they stay that way.

Just looking.


The air is electric between them.

They never say a word.


It's been two weeks since the ring.

She watches Lee behind the podium in the briefing room, running through some notes on the last CAP, pointing out where certain pilots could use improvement. It's funny to her, watching all her fellow viper and raptor jockeys exchange wondering glances at the CAG's fresh black eye. Covering her smirk with a red knuckled hand she wonders how long it will be until they all put two and two together.

She can't help the chuckle that escapes her mouth, causing Kat to look back at her with a raised eyebrow. Kara shrugs and Kat looks back to Lee, her head slightly tilted. She's always had a knack for cutting straight through the bullshit, and Kara isn't surprised when she looks back again.

That's one, Kara thinks.

When Lee says dismissed, she sits back in her seat as everyone files out, and as they pass they give her the same look they've been giving Apollo.

Interesting, she didn't think the gash on her cheek was that bad.


What they do, it technically isn't cheating.

But when they're seen sneaking off to unknown corners of the ship, on a pretty regular basis, everyone in the crew can only assume.

When it comes to rumors she's always found it easy to ignore them. Let people think what they want, because the details never seem important. The truth never seems to be a factor. And even if anyone did know the truth they couldn't possibly understand.

It's physical yes.

It's skin, and sweat, and low shuttering gasps.

It's hidden in shadows, far from prying eyes.

When they kiss it's with fists.

When they frak it's with cuts, bruises, and blood.

Lee gives her nothing she wants, but everything she needs.

Sex could never be so cathartic.


Sam frowns when she lets her vac suit hit the floor, his eyes tracing every inch of her, taking in all the new body art painted in black and blue.

She grabs for her sweatshirt and pants quickly, suddenly shy in front of him, hating the way it makes her feel. He reaches for her before she can get the clothes on, and she flinches away. His eyes drop in disappointment and he gets up from the rack.

He opens his mouth to ask what the hell she thinks she's doing, she can see that much in his face, but he stalls, and snaps it shut suddenly thinking the better of it. She stands there, clothes still in hand, wondering just when he starting being afraid of asking her the hard questions.

Maybe domestication had been a bad idea. Maybe she really was growing tired of it.

Maybe Sam is realizing she really is the bad person she always warned him about.

He walks to the hatch and pulls it open, stops, and turns back to look at her. He tells her it's sick what she's doing, what they're doing to each other.

She looks down at her ribs, sees the faintest outline of Lee's familiar hand, and tells Sam not to forget his boots.


Tucked away in the recesses of the unused hangar bay Lee presses Kara against the hull, his knee placed firmly between her legs, making sure she stays put.

It was bound to happen, she thinks. You can't be together so often, touch each other so much, and whisper vicious little nothings into each others ears without wanting more.

His breath is hot against her neck and she bunches his shirt in her fists, pulling him closer. They struggle against each other, never giving the hint of reluctance, or backing away. She pushes on him with such force he stumbles backward, falling flat on the cold hangar floor.

She laughs at the surprise on his face, and he's just waiting for it to start all over again.

When she strattles him it's slow and gentle and reminiscent of a night she still thinks about. She isn't fooling him at all but he still waits for her to make the first move. She leans in close, traces the outline of his still black eye with her finger, and enjoys seeing him wince the slightest bit.

She smiles, causing her lip to split back open, and feels the faint trickle of blood running down her chin.

When she kisses him it's warm and coppery sweet and it may be wrong, it may be discouraged in other people's eyes, but what they share in pain is stronger than a quick frak ever could be.

Their relationship has always been an open wound, and now they embrace that fact in the most literal sense, no smiles and heartfelt talks and hugs with tears and apologies. They've simply giving up trying to heal and take that fact for all it's worth.

He is nothing she wants and everything she needs.

When she reaches back her fist and knocks his head against that cold floor, he knows she's saying I love you.

When he splits her lip even more, she knows he's saying I love you too.