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Entry tags:
Numbed Depths
Title: Numbed Depths
Fandom: BSG
Challenge Fic: For 31_days (LATE I KNOW) from Apr. 11's prompt, On usefulness and the passage of time . Takes place before Lee visits Kara. I'm giving up on the fic and just want it up already, efforts to make sense be damned XD
Lips press against skin, softness scraping across the dry and cracked lines. Battle outside scratches against the twisting ship; the gravity generator throbbing against her fingers can’t distract a pilot from a ship spinning, twisting, floating away.
They are going the wrong way.
Her palm shifts, lips press against folded fingers, but the sensation remains missing— her face is slack and numb. She can’t feel, even as her lips inhale her hand, consuming her shrieks of helpless laughter. Trust Kara Thrace to laugh at the end of the world.
Galactica shudders, and Kara flips to slide her taunt belly across the plating, hands seeking the pulse of her single constant. Metal folded against itself, the ship’s beating heart, in and out, and Kara could imagine the ship alive, responding to her desperate touch.
With the guards missing, the ship is her only companion… and It Couldn’t Die.
Hands jerk away from the erratic beat, and Kara laughs, flipping back on her back, squirming against the heat. Only her face is numb— she is aware of her lips, can move them, but it is as if she senses only the barrier between the world and her flesh— a depth, not a touch.
She needs a drink. Captivity is turning her into even more of a headcase.
The laughter slowly fades against the metal box they keep her in, eyes stretching upwards. She’d died once before, couldn’t remember it, couldn’t believe it, but it is easy to imagine this brig the underworld, a torment of humid weight pressing against her skin, a presence she cannot ignore.
Time has no meaning here. She has no meaning. Which is why she’s wrapped up in imaginary things, but can’t feel reality at her lips. Only just its absence.
Just like his.
Gods. Humanity is dying and she is bleeding her heart over Lee Adama. This is unacceptable.
She rejects the feeling, sticky and docile, that stabs at her gut with every mention of his name. Rejecting it, rejecting him, she pushes away from that reality, burned raw by the heat of Galactica, pushing until her back is pressed in the corner of nowhere fast.
Numb. She can live with that. Better than going fracking crazy, waiting for the world to judge her real, waiting for the old man to wake up and listen. She’d found earth, and no one believed her.
Back against the wall, she waited. What else could she do?
Fandom: BSG
Challenge Fic: For 31_days (LATE I KNOW) from Apr. 11's prompt, On usefulness and the passage of time . Takes place before Lee visits Kara. I'm giving up on the fic and just want it up already, efforts to make sense be damned XD
Lips press against skin, softness scraping across the dry and cracked lines. Battle outside scratches against the twisting ship; the gravity generator throbbing against her fingers can’t distract a pilot from a ship spinning, twisting, floating away.
They are going the wrong way.
Her palm shifts, lips press against folded fingers, but the sensation remains missing— her face is slack and numb. She can’t feel, even as her lips inhale her hand, consuming her shrieks of helpless laughter. Trust Kara Thrace to laugh at the end of the world.
Galactica shudders, and Kara flips to slide her taunt belly across the plating, hands seeking the pulse of her single constant. Metal folded against itself, the ship’s beating heart, in and out, and Kara could imagine the ship alive, responding to her desperate touch.
With the guards missing, the ship is her only companion… and It Couldn’t Die.
Hands jerk away from the erratic beat, and Kara laughs, flipping back on her back, squirming against the heat. Only her face is numb— she is aware of her lips, can move them, but it is as if she senses only the barrier between the world and her flesh— a depth, not a touch.
She needs a drink. Captivity is turning her into even more of a headcase.
The laughter slowly fades against the metal box they keep her in, eyes stretching upwards. She’d died once before, couldn’t remember it, couldn’t believe it, but it is easy to imagine this brig the underworld, a torment of humid weight pressing against her skin, a presence she cannot ignore.
Time has no meaning here. She has no meaning. Which is why she’s wrapped up in imaginary things, but can’t feel reality at her lips. Only just its absence.
Just like his.
Gods. Humanity is dying and she is bleeding her heart over Lee Adama. This is unacceptable.
She rejects the feeling, sticky and docile, that stabs at her gut with every mention of his name. Rejecting it, rejecting him, she pushes away from that reality, burned raw by the heat of Galactica, pushing until her back is pressed in the corner of nowhere fast.
Numb. She can live with that. Better than going fracking crazy, waiting for the world to judge her real, waiting for the old man to wake up and listen. She’d found earth, and no one believed her.
Back against the wall, she waited. What else could she do?