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padmeonpaper2009-05-01 08:09 pm
padme_kenobi) wrote in padmeonpaper2009-05-01 08:09 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: "Transmutation" (Battlestar Galactica, Kara, 1/1)
Title: Transmutation
Author:padme_kenobi
Characters/Pairings: Kara Thrace, Saul Tigh, Bill Adama
Word Count: 781 words
Spoilers: Through S3's "Torn"
Rating: PG
Summary: Starbuck is encouraged to shape up by her commander.
Author's Notes: I originally wrote this for my application to![[info]](https://stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
quotable_muse as Kara, and liked it so much that I decided to use it here too, based on #047 Broken at fanfic50. Somehow I was just "in the zone" when I wrote this, I can't really explain it beyond that. I'm sure you've heard sports people talk about being in the zone, but it can happen to writers too, and it's just awesome when it does. I think this is one of the best pieces I've written, period, in any fandom.
She's lost her edge, and she knows it.
Usually she'd be sitting there playing cards, maybe sucking back some whisky, laughing with Lee and Kat and Hotdog, recounting her latest mission. Apollo getting digs in all the way and she returning them, because that's what Kara Thrace does. That's what Starbuck does.
That's what Starbuck used to do.
Now, she sits and stares into her drink. Colonel Tigh beside her. Tigh, whom she could not bear to look at without punching. But that was before New Caprica. Before they'd unexpectedly become allies, united against a common threat. No one understands how difficult it was for her down there. No one except the colonel, who boasts a patch over his right eye as testament to what he was forced to endure. They stick together because they walk the same dark road.
Kara keeps staring. She keeps staring as Adama walks into the room and orders everyone else out. Keeps staring as she thinks how they used to treat each other as father and daughter. Now, they may as well be strangers.
"Put your sidearms on the table," the Admiral says.
Kara looks at him in disbelief, a questioning smile cracking her facade. What the frak is he playing at? she asks in a glance at Tigh. But the latter only nods, and reaches for his pocket.
Grudgingly she draws out the sleek black weapon, slamming it onto the table. The safety's off; it could have detonated right there and killed them all. Kara isn't really shocked to find that she doesn't care. Death would be a relief. She wouldn't have to face her own thoughts. Wouldn't have to face the fact that she was so completely and utterly tricked. Wouldn't have to face the fact that against all of her instincts, she wanted Kacey. And it hurt to see her taken away.
Adama launches into one of his typical speeches, about how the both of them aren't themselves and he doesn't know them anymore and they can't continue acting as though they were the only ones to suffer during the New Caprica incident. Kara's barely listening. She doesn't need this crap, partly because she knows it already and partly because it would be just one more thing to feel guilty about. I've got enough frakking guilt. You could siphon it the frak off me, godsdammit.
A sudden motion in her peripheral vision makes her start. Adama's raised his fist and it's coming directly towards her and with a smack, it makes stinging contact. Her face is burning and the impact is enough to knock her off her chair and leave her sprawled on the floor. It hurts. But not nearly as much as what he says next.
"I used to love you like a daughter." His eyes are chips of cold steel. "Not anymore."
Kara blinks away the tears. She won't cry. She can't cry. She has endured far worse beatings at the hands of her mother. Physical pain, for Kara Thrace, does not exist.
Or she thought it didn't.
"Start acting like an officer or get off my ship," Adama says.
She isn't aware of getting to her feet, but she does. She isn't aware of walking down the companionway to the pilots' quarters, but she does. She isn't aware of picking up a cutting tool, but she does.
Kara stares at her long blond locks in the mirror. They are the most prescient reminder of her time on New Caprica, a time she will never be able to fully forget. That time took away so much. Her sense of dignity, her image of herself as invincible, her freedom. But she gained Kacey. Kacey, who is not her daughter, but is somehow still part of her life. The child looks up to her. Kara doesn't want to be a role model, especially not to a two-year-old, but she doesn't have a choice.
Snip.
A tangle of hair drops to the counter in front of her.
Snip.
More hair falls. She is beginning to recognize herself, recognize the Kara Thrace she was before leaving Galactica.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
She's cutting away New Caprica.
A half hour later, Kara walks toward the civilian section of the battlestar. She kneels as the child who might have been her daughter hands her a grubby stuffed animal. Kara hugs it, remembering suddenly what it was like to be young, and innocent.
She was young and innocent once.
Kacey flies into her arms. I don't frakking deserve this, Kara wants to say. I'm not your hero. I'm nobody's hero.
The child looks up at her, adoration in every inch of her face. Kara clutches her, eyes wet.
Tomorrow is another day.
Author:
padme_kenobiCharacters/Pairings: Kara Thrace, Saul Tigh, Bill Adama
Word Count: 781 words
Spoilers: Through S3's "Torn"
Rating: PG
Summary: Starbuck is encouraged to shape up by her commander.
Author's Notes: I originally wrote this for my application to
quotable_muse as Kara, and liked it so much that I decided to use it here too, based on #047 Broken at fanfic50. Somehow I was just "in the zone" when I wrote this, I can't really explain it beyond that. I'm sure you've heard sports people talk about being in the zone, but it can happen to writers too, and it's just awesome when it does. I think this is one of the best pieces I've written, period, in any fandom.She's lost her edge, and she knows it.
Usually she'd be sitting there playing cards, maybe sucking back some whisky, laughing with Lee and Kat and Hotdog, recounting her latest mission. Apollo getting digs in all the way and she returning them, because that's what Kara Thrace does. That's what Starbuck does.
That's what Starbuck used to do.
Now, she sits and stares into her drink. Colonel Tigh beside her. Tigh, whom she could not bear to look at without punching. But that was before New Caprica. Before they'd unexpectedly become allies, united against a common threat. No one understands how difficult it was for her down there. No one except the colonel, who boasts a patch over his right eye as testament to what he was forced to endure. They stick together because they walk the same dark road.
Kara keeps staring. She keeps staring as Adama walks into the room and orders everyone else out. Keeps staring as she thinks how they used to treat each other as father and daughter. Now, they may as well be strangers.
"Put your sidearms on the table," the Admiral says.
Kara looks at him in disbelief, a questioning smile cracking her facade. What the frak is he playing at? she asks in a glance at Tigh. But the latter only nods, and reaches for his pocket.
Grudgingly she draws out the sleek black weapon, slamming it onto the table. The safety's off; it could have detonated right there and killed them all. Kara isn't really shocked to find that she doesn't care. Death would be a relief. She wouldn't have to face her own thoughts. Wouldn't have to face the fact that she was so completely and utterly tricked. Wouldn't have to face the fact that against all of her instincts, she wanted Kacey. And it hurt to see her taken away.
Adama launches into one of his typical speeches, about how the both of them aren't themselves and he doesn't know them anymore and they can't continue acting as though they were the only ones to suffer during the New Caprica incident. Kara's barely listening. She doesn't need this crap, partly because she knows it already and partly because it would be just one more thing to feel guilty about. I've got enough frakking guilt. You could siphon it the frak off me, godsdammit.
A sudden motion in her peripheral vision makes her start. Adama's raised his fist and it's coming directly towards her and with a smack, it makes stinging contact. Her face is burning and the impact is enough to knock her off her chair and leave her sprawled on the floor. It hurts. But not nearly as much as what he says next.
"I used to love you like a daughter." His eyes are chips of cold steel. "Not anymore."
Kara blinks away the tears. She won't cry. She can't cry. She has endured far worse beatings at the hands of her mother. Physical pain, for Kara Thrace, does not exist.
Or she thought it didn't.
"Start acting like an officer or get off my ship," Adama says.
She isn't aware of getting to her feet, but she does. She isn't aware of walking down the companionway to the pilots' quarters, but she does. She isn't aware of picking up a cutting tool, but she does.
Kara stares at her long blond locks in the mirror. They are the most prescient reminder of her time on New Caprica, a time she will never be able to fully forget. That time took away so much. Her sense of dignity, her image of herself as invincible, her freedom. But she gained Kacey. Kacey, who is not her daughter, but is somehow still part of her life. The child looks up to her. Kara doesn't want to be a role model, especially not to a two-year-old, but she doesn't have a choice.
Snip.
A tangle of hair drops to the counter in front of her.
Snip.
More hair falls. She is beginning to recognize herself, recognize the Kara Thrace she was before leaving Galactica.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
She's cutting away New Caprica.
A half hour later, Kara walks toward the civilian section of the battlestar. She kneels as the child who might have been her daughter hands her a grubby stuffed animal. Kara hugs it, remembering suddenly what it was like to be young, and innocent.
She was young and innocent once.
Kacey flies into her arms. I don't frakking deserve this, Kara wants to say. I'm not your hero. I'm nobody's hero.
The child looks up at her, adoration in every inch of her face. Kara clutches her, eyes wet.
Tomorrow is another day.