Author’s Disclaimer: "Battlestar Galactica," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Ron Moore, David Eick, SciFi, R&D TV, Sky TV, and USA Cable Entertainment LLC. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Battlestar Galactica," SciFi, or any representatives of the actors whose characters are involved.
Author’s Notes: written for the lyric2lit open challenge. jasheffe sent me the lyrics to "Caring is Creepy" by The Shins. I had an immediate idea of a death-related fic, but no idea what fandom to work with. It took me forever to realize what I wanted to do with it. Hopefully it'll come out all right, particularly since this is my first BSG fic…and shatterpath's been on me to write this pairing for a while now…
Author's Notes II: This is intended to be stream of consciousness. I'm not quite sure that worked out.
Beta: None yet, as is the case with lyric wheels.
Dedication: To my muses, for never really going away, just going dormant on occasion. And to shatterpath, for being my biggest supporter when I'm feeling like my writing's crap…
by A. Magiluna Stormwriter
"I think I'll go home and mull this over before I cram it down my throat."
Saul Tigh uttered those words just before he wandered out of the memorial gathering, his harpy of a wife following him.
I couldn't agree with him more. Do you have any idea what this is like? Do you?
Do you know what it's like to see your face everywhere I look? To know that I'll never be able to watch you clowning around with your fellow pilots? With Billy? Never be able to watch you butt heads with Tigh over some point of protocol? Never see your face light up when you've proven your worth in Bill Adama's eyes?
Damn it, Kara. Why? Why?
I was supposed to be the one to die first, damn you! The cancer eating me from the inside out, ravaging my wasted body, was supposed to take me first. I never prepared to be the one left behind. Now what am I supposed to do?
You would have survived my death. All of you would have. You'd have mourned, and eventually you'd have turned to someone else for comfort. I'm guessing it would be Lee Adama, despite all of the frakked up baggage you two share. Or maybe because of that baggage. I don't think it would work out, particularly because of Zak.
Then again, who am I to dictate how relationships should proceed? It's not as if I've a stellar track record. Pointless, conflicted fumblings as a teenager, when I couldn't admit what I really wanted. And that one doomed experiment when I finally decided to see what the fuss was all about. The emotions were too messy, too unpredictable. I couldn't do my job and wrestle with those demons. I had to make a choice.
Is it any question as to what my decision was? I've always been so damned career-minded. I always wanted to prove I could be a good teacher. I never intended a career in politics. Adar certainly changed that, both in promoting me to Secretary of Education…and in dying.
That sounds so callous, doesn't it? One day I'll be wondering how I got so old… Oh, that's right. I won't be getting old, will I?
And I certainly won't be getting old with you by my side.
Bill Adama's in shock. Still sitting at the same table he'd started at, staring into the bottom of his glass. He finished that drink a long time ago, but it doesn't matter. I can see in his face that he's lost more than a damned fine pilot. He's lost a daughter. I think in many ways, he assuaged his loss over Zak through you. Not to mention the fact that he's been reliving his glory days through you. I know enough of his past to see the similarities in your flying styles, your attitude. You'd have made a wonderful leader one day, Kara. And I think he's mourning that loss just as much as anything else.
Lee, on the other hand, has chosen to deal with this by becoming a hard-assed bastard. All of the pilots have suffered greatly. You really were a great leveling force for him. It seems that Karl Agathon may well be stepping into your shoes as that steady presence to keep him from getting too serious. I hope that he'll ease off on the pilots soon, or there will be irreparable damage. We certainly don't need Lee Adama turning into another Saul Tigh.
Did you know that they allowed Sharon Valerii to come to the memorial? Bill and Saul Tigh fought quite a bit over that, especially when Bill consented to a shower, a change of clothes, and no manacles. She was leaning rather heavily on Karl's shoulder, but even I could see that it made her feel more human. Whatever that might mean…
Not to belittle your death, but there's already been talk about building another Blackbird. And if the rumors are true, this new ship will be called the Kara. I think it'll be a wonderful way to commemorate one of the best pilots in the fleet. And it'll be just what this crew needs to bolster their faith, deal with their loss. Chief Tyrol has been so upset. I'm not sure if he's more upset about losing you…or the Blackbird.
I suppose in a way it's fitting that you died in the Blackbird. In a sense, you died with me…well, with my namesake at least. And one day, I'll join you in death.
Perhaps then I'll have the courage to tell you how much I've enjoyed having you in my life. Why I chose you to retrieve that arrow. Why I was so upset by how you were treated in that Cylon hospital. Yet you bore it with such dignity, such inner strength. I have envied you that strength. You bore your demons far better than I bore mine. How long did I hide my cancer from everyone? Out of what? Fear? Contempt? Disappointment? Duty?
It doesn't matter anymore. They can know all they wish to know. Except for how I feel about you. Billy's the only one who has even guessed at that. Moreover, he's wisely keeping his silence, even from Dee. This tragedy has brought them closer together. They're talking about children. I suspect they have been for a while, but somehow death always brings the need for procreation closer to home.
Billy's been hovering all day, torn between comforting Dee and keeping an eye on me. I know he fears I'll do something drastic. As I said, he knows. Oh, I know I said he suspected. That was a frakking lie. He knows. He kept pushing me to say something to you. But I never did. And then it was too late. Now I'm stuck with these thoughts, these feelings, and you're gone, never to hear them. What a cruel irony. Sometimes I think we're nothing more than playthings for the Gods. Why should They take a vital, healthy young woman in her prime? Why not take me? I'm past childbearing years, past having the capacity to be more than a bitter old woman ravaged by cancer.
I think that's the withdrawals talking. I haven't had my chamalla since the battle that started all of this hell. I think I've hid the tremors, the vagueness. I don't know. It's not as if anyone's going to be watching me like a hawk, not when they're all mourning your loss. At least I hope not. I've seen Billy talking to Doc Cottle a few times now. They need to be more concerned with the pilots, the people who need to be more lucid for their jobs, so that there aren't any more of these senseless deaths.
I don't want to take the chamalla. I fear it will cause far more vivid dreams of you than I can handle. I don't want the visions that could come to me. Good or bad, I don't think I could handle it right now.
Perhaps I should talk to Doc Cottle after all. See if he has something that will drug me into a dreamless stupor until I can get a proper grip on my feelings.
Or perhaps I shouldn't bottle this up inside. You would have encouraged me to open up about it, confide in someone, wouldn't you? But if you were here, I wouldn't have to worry about this, would I? Wouldn't have to confide anything in anyone. I could simply live with my secret longings that nobody knew about, bask in your strength and your vitality. Live vicariously through you and your fellow pilots. And it's nothing against them, but they're not you. I can't do that as easily anymore.
They're not you, Kara. No one is. And I'm left alone with my regrets of never telling you any of this when you were alive.
Oh Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer. Take me, too. Take me soon. Let this frakking cancer devour its way through my diseased, wasted flesh. Take the visions. Take the dreams.
Take me to Kara.
Let me say in death what I couldn't say in life.
Lyrics I received are below. The lines in italics are what I used in the story.
Caring is Creepy - The Shins
I think I'll go home and mull this over
Before I cram it down my throat
At long last it's crashed, this colossal mass
Has broken up into bits in my moat.
lift the mattress off the floor
Walk the cramps off
Go meander in the cold
Hail to your dark skin
Hiding the fact you're dead again
Underneath the power lines seeking shade
Far above our heads are the icy heights that contain all reason
It's a luscious mix of words and tricks
That let us bet when you know we should fold
On rocks I dreamt of where we'd stepped
And all the whole mess of roads we're now on.
Hold your glass up, hold it in
Never betray the way you've always known it is.
One day I'll be wondering how
I got so old just wondering how
I never got cold wearing nothing in the snow.
This is way beyond my remote concern
Of being condescending
Oh these squawking birds won't quit.
Building nothing, laying bricks.