Disclaimer: not mine.
Rating: PG, vague sexual innuendo, naked people.
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
Warnings: het, cuteness, holidays.
Length: 2,000 words
Set: during the year on New Caprica.
Notes: This was inspired by another Kara/Anders christmas card at the Skiffy board. And despite my personal thoughts on BSG vs. Holidays, I couldn't help writing this. sigh. (the card in question was signed "From Mr. and Mrs. Thrace"). Also, no, I don't think Kara and Sam would actually send cards. Kara wouldn't care, and Sam wouldn't see the point unless he was being mean to Lee. y'know.

Uninterrupted Routine
by ALC Punk!

It was the snickering that finally clued Sam in. He finished his shift, pretending he couldn't hear them laughing behind his back. Not because he was macho, but because he had a pretty good idea where the source of their amusement came from. His wife. Starbuck, to the people she mocked. Kara Thrace, to him (though at times like this, it was definitely Starbuck). He loved her, but there were times that she did things that just made his head hurt. Or his pride.

Although he had to admit that he could return the favor, and had on occasion. He grinned to himself, remembering the look on her face when the 'announcement' of their marriage had been posted all over the settlement. He hadn't heard the end of that for two weeks, and there'd been a distinct lack of sex for two days (it would have lasted longer, but Kara liked sex, and thought it was unfair to deprive herself).

Heading for the wash-stand to scrub his hands clean, he nodded at Frank. "Hey, man."

Frank gave him a deer-caught-in-headlights look and then hastily tried to shove the paper he was holding in his pocket.

To himself, Sam smirked. Outwardly, he showed no sign that he thought his luck was in, gifting him with Frank Pryce to interrogate. The man would fold faster than Hot Dog when sober. "Going to enjoy the holiday?"

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I am. Thanks." Frank pasted a sickly smile on his lips and started to back away.

"Oh, hey--" Sam dried his hands and held one out, "You want me to hold that while you clean up?"

"Uh, no, no, that's--"

"C'mon, man. You know Mary hates it when your hands are dirty." Most women (and men) would. The work they were doing was exhausting and filthy, but it was vital to the continuation of the new colony.

Something resigned appeared in Frank's eyes, and he nodded, "All right, man." He held out the piece of folded cardboard that Sam recognized as one of the mass-produced, cheap, holiday cards that Baltar had distributed to the people as a sign of 'good will'.

While Frank washed his hands, Sam turned it over and read the brief inscription on the front before flipping it open and discovering the source of his crew's amusement. A grunt escaped him, followed by the suspicious tugging at his lips that, if Kara had seen, would have sent her running--if she were the type to run. A glint entered Sam's eyes, and he handed the card back to Frank without saying more than a brief goodbye.

It had rained again while he'd been working, and the mud stuck to his boots and squelched as he walked back to their tent. Sam had more than enough time to hide any evidence that he'd seen the card by the time he got there. Pushing his way inside, he spotted his wife sitting cross-legged on their bed, hands busy with the complicated puzzle of the machinery Tyrol was having her construct. He couldn't decide if it was clockwork, or something else.

"Hey, baby," he called as he hung his jacket on the hook that'd been sunk into their tent pole.

She grunted absently at him, eyes filled with the twisting pieces of metal before her.

Taking that as a hello, Sam wandered over to the stove and started working on reconstituting something vaguely appetizing for their dinner. He'd lucked into a small rack of spices the week before, in trade for some manual labor, and he added a careful amount of the pepper and oregano to the slowly heating mass of unidentifiable vegetables and meat. It almost smelled good, once it was heated a bit more.

A curse from the bed caught his attention, and he glanced over to find Kara pulling apart the work she'd been doing. "Something wrong?" he asked mildly.

"Chief was right." She cursed again and tossed a handful of extruded wire on the floor, "This isn't going to work. The tension and length are all wrong." She growled and got up, restless.

"Should I mark this day down in history?"

"Frak you."

"Before or after dinner, baby?" Sam asked, eyes glinting.

She paused in mid-step and looked at him, really noticing him for the first time. A grin crossed her lips as something indefinable slid through her eyes. Sometimes, Sam thought she was endlessly surprised that he kept coming back. Bouncing over to him, she got into his personal space, "I don't know, Sammy. You're kinda slow outta the gate. Dinner might burn."

"Or get cold," he agreed. He hooked his fingers into her waistband and tugged her closer, "But then, where's the fun in being boring, Mrs. Anders?"

"Dinner burning is not boring. Dinner burning is a travesty, Sam."

He agreed, really. Though he wasn't sure burning wouldn't improve the flavor. "So. After dinner, then. Unless you wanna take the risk that you might take too long to get off."

She hooted with laughter, "Me? Sammy, I can get off anytime, anywhere."



Grinning, almost forgetting his original plan for revenge, Sam leaned down to give her a loud, smacking kiss on the lips. Then he paused, mind reminding him that he was supposed to be irritated with his wife. Or something. Kara, apparently deciding he was taking too long with the whole kissing thing, reached up and tugged his mouth back to hers.

Sam had the vague presence of mind to reach around blindly and turn the power off on the stove before he let Kara tug him back towards the bed. The clatter of the copper wiring landing on the floor a few moments later didn't distract either of them.


Draped half on his half-naked wife, his arm hanging off the bed, Sam made a contented noise.

"You are so easy," Kara muttered. But she didn't move.

"I'm only easy for you, baby."

She snorted. "Did we burn dinner?"

"Nah." Sam shifted a little, but otherwise refused to get up. "I turned it off while you were groping the front of my pants."

"Hey. Maybe you can think with more than the brain down there."

"It's a talent."

"A small one."

He snickered, "You weren't complaining about size five minutes ago."

"Sammy. I was trying to be nice to your ego."

"Kara." He propped himself on his elbow and smirked down at her, "You know, if you're trying to get rid of me, marrying me was sort of the wrong way to go about it."

She rolled her eyes, "Ya think? Besides. Who says I wanna get rid of you? You can cook and clean."

Sam laughed, the sound filling the tent. After a moment, Kara joined him, giggling. It wasn't a sound he heard from her, often. Starbuck didn't giggle, after all. But it was nice to hear, it gave him the feeling that she might one day be at peace with living on New Caprica. With being stuck with only him, and the dirt and sky above them. Sometimes, she seemed so distant it made him want to drag her back to a raptor and consign her to Adama.

"Hey. I do more than cook and clean," he pointed out once he'd caught his breath again.

"Yeah. You do laundry, too."

He snickered and kissed her shoulder. "You hungry for dinner now, Mrs. Anders?"

Kara frowned at him, then her eyes widened, and she poked him, "Is that revenge?"

"Well. I kinda liked 'Starbuck and Anders'," he replied, kissing her finger before pulling himself free of her and pulling his pants up. Cooking without pants was a hazard, as some of his team-mates had discovered years before. Drunken bets were never a good thing.

"Yeah, but this way, I get to mock you more."

"I figured," he replied, chuckling. Turning the stove back on, he stirred the congealed mass.

Kara huffed, as though his mostly bored reaction were not what she had been looking for.

The clank of metal made Sam glance over at her. She'd rolled onto her stomach to clear the coper wiring up, and one of the gears had slipped under their bed. Unable to resist, Sam stuck the spoon in the pot and walked over to smack her still-naked bottom.

"Hey!" Kara was up and off the bed, glaring at him.

"It was there," suggested Sam, eyes wide.


"Dinner's almost ready."

She glared, but shrugged, "Good." Bending over, careful to keep certain portions of her anatomy not within his reach, she gathered the rest of the supplies Tyrol had given her and went to put them in the box they'd scrounged for storage. Then she made a token effort at modesty by putting one of his shirts on. Sam leered at her legs when she wandered over, but didn't comment.

"What is that thing going to be, anyway?" Sam asked her as he held out the bowl he'd filled. It was sort of a peace offering. He didn't think he needed one, but with Kara, sometimes he couldn't tell.

She grabbed it and moved to the bed, taking up more space than possible for a woman her size sitting up.

Obviously, not enough of an apology. Sam dished his own dinner and followed her over. He shoved her out of his way, dropped down, and pulled her back against his chest. She made a grumbly noise, but didn't remove herself, so he figure he was probably safe.

Mostly. With Kara, he could never be certain.

"I don't know what it is yet," she said after three mouthfuls of food.

"Oh." Sam groped her and caught the elbow headed towards his ribs with his hand. "I may work a double tomorrow. You'll be left to fend for yourself."

"Nah. Roslin drafted me for some secret project of hers."

Sam was a little surprised. Roslin usually meant the children in her school. Kara and children generally didn't mix. "Target practice?" he hazarded.

"Idiot." She succeeded in elbowing him, this time.

"Then what?"

"She wouldn't say." Kara shrugged, dismissing it. "I'll try to be here when you get home."

"Who says I'm coming back?" He returned, amused.

Kara shoved her spoon in her bowl and tilted her head up to look at him. "You plannin' to leave me, Sam?"

The flicker of something in her eyes changed his response. Not teasing, Sam stroked his hand from her shoulder down her arm, fingers covering the curves and lines of her tattoo. "Nope. Why. You wanna be rid of me?"

"Nah." She snuggled back against him. "I'd have to break in someone new, and that would take way too much effort."

"Good to know." He went back to his now-cold dinner.

If there was one thing he was learning about Kara Thrace it was that she was a complicated woman who could change her song in the blink of an eye. He was a little afraid that he prefered her that way. They both still woke from nightmares, though neither would talk about them. Sam, because he refused to believe he could be trapped back on Caprica, and Kara because she refused to need him. Maybe they were both using the same reason.

"Thinkin', Sam?"

"Wondering if this weather will ever break."

Kara snorted, but let the lie pass. "No it won't, and if it does, you can be sure we're on the wrong planet, honey."

Finishing his dinner, Sam leaned over and set his bowl on the ground, far enough away so that neither of them would step on it if they got up in the middle of the night. Then he wrapped his arms around her. "You look hot in my shirt, by the way."

"Of course I do." Kara replied smugly. She wriggled a little, then leaned over and dropped her bowl on his before stretching out on her side.

Sam did the same, spooning up against her. "Tired?"

In answer, she yawned before tugging the blanket off the floor and haphazardly tossed it over them.

Kissing the back of her neck, Sam tucked the blanket over himself and settled against the pillow. He wondered what would have happened if Kara had married a man who snored too loud, or if she'd snored too loud. It was a silly thought, really. But it chased itself around his brain until he drifted off into dreams of cats chasing dogs who snored through loud bullhorns.