DISCLAIMER: Battlestar Galactica is the property of Glen A. Larson, Sci-Fi Channel, R & D TV, Sky and NBC Universal.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SPOILERS: Resurrection Ship parts I & II.
The Lies We Tell
The Admiral always called her Thrace when they were in bed together, never Kara, or Starbuck, but Thrace. That was, when she wasn't using a host of derogatory names that sent shivers down Kara's spine, made her moan and mewl in almost subservient pleasure - even if subservient was exactly what it was.
Sometimes, she wondered when she'd lost control, or if she ever had it to begin with. Adama gave her room. Let her breathe. Let her be the stubborn wild child unburdened by rank, or responsibility. When she'd joined Cain's command, Kara knew her recklessness, her wild abandon had been what caught the Admiral's eye. Dangled a promotion and a mission and promises of returning to Caprica before Kara like a carrot. And, like the ass she was, Kara bit down. Bit down hard. Her rank became a yoke around her neck. One the Admiral pulled, and yanked, and tightened to keep Kara close because, now, Kara was no longer Adama's.
She was Cain's.
Their first time together had been hot, fast and wrong in all the ways that were totally right. Bent over the Admiral's desk, her uniform bunched around her ankles, the Admiral bent over her, her fingers inside her, filling her, hurting her, frakking her so hard, so fast, so frakkin' good Kara bit her lip until she tasted blood.
After that, it was always in the Admiral's quarters. It didn't matter when, or where, or what time of day. The Admiral would call and Kara would come.
The respect she so desperately craved dissipated like smoke in a side show carnival. They knew. They all knew. She could see it in their eyes. Eyes that spoke words they wouldn't have the balls to say to her face. Called her the Admiral's Whore when they thought she couldn't hear. But, Kara could hear and see.
She especially saw it in the eyes of her former family - the Galactica crew. It was the disappointment that stung the most. The almost fervent glare that screamed at her - it wasn't too late, she could still do it. Still squeeze her finger on the trigger and do what she couldn't before. Kill Admiral Cain.
But, she couldn't. The yoke was too tight. Her guilt too heavy. The Admiral had become her captor and her savior. Her penance and her damnation. So, she accepted their glares. Their hatred. Their disappointment. And in the tiny moments, allowed herself to think about her former comrades, her former family. Gaeta, Dee, Tigh, they all died in the assault on the Bridge along with Adama. Hotdog died in the ensuing dogfight. Racetrack ate her gun. And when the dust settled and the fight over, Tyrol and Helo finally received their executions. Which was better than what had happened to Kat. It was always best not to think about what happened, what was still happening, to Kat somewhere in the down below. Thinking about Kat made Kara think about Lee.
Lee. His punishment had been the worst of all. Because there really was no need for Cain to punish him. The damage had already been done. Nothing left but for his body to follow his heart. He kept his rank, his position on Kara's crew. And every day, Kara got to watch him die just a little more. All because she couldn't do what Adama had asked her.
But, how could she? How could she do what the Old Man had asked when she still had the Admiral's taste on her tongue? A taste imbued with promises of home, of freedom for the people still there, freedom from her guilt for leaving them behind.
She'd been in the Admiral's bed when it happened. Between the Admiral's legs when the phone rang and the Admiral growled in anger at the disruption. Pushed Kara aside as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stomping naked towards the ringing device and practically ripping it from the wall.
"It's done," she'd said.
"Adama's dead," she stated matter-of-factly as she began pulling on her uniform. "Along with the rest of the Command crew."
"You had them killed?"
"You're not going to rebel are you?" she asked with a slight upturn of her eyebrows.
Kara wanted to scream 'yes'. Jump up from the bed and wrap her hands around the Admiral's throat. Instead, she just sat there, stunned. Knowing if only she'd done what the old man had asked.
"Stay here," Cain leaned down, kissing Kara on the forehead. "This will be over soon. And I'm going to want to celebrate."
Kara watched her leave. Wrapped her arms around her knees. Told herself it would be okay. The Admiral would be lenient. This was best for the Galactica, for the fleet, for the Colonies. It would be hours before the Admiral returned. Lips upturned in a feral snarl of a smile. A smile of victory. Kept her word and celebrated with Kara's body, released her tension, her frustration on Kara's flesh, with sweat and skin, teeth and bone, until Kara was left raw, spent, bloodied and bruised. Satisfied and terrified.
She'd always wondered when she'd lost control. When she'd become so cowed as to believe the lie. Had come to the stark conclusion she'd never believed it.
Came to the conclusion that, in the end, the lies were the one thing, the only thing she had left.
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