Winter Prayer
"The seasons changed, sure; the weather turned mild with the arrival of spring and humid in the summertime, but all year long she felt the pull of winter." Lee/Kara, Battlestar Galactica
Summary: "Their third winter on Earth was the worst yet, the ice and sleet and snow unrelenting." Kara/Lee.
~*~*~
Years go by and I'm here still waiting
Withering where some snowman was
Mirror mirror where's the crystal palace
But I only can see myself
Skating around the truth who I am
But I know dad the ice is getting thin
Tori Amos
There was a certain sense of familiarity in winter's cold, icy winds. Their third winter on Earth was the worst yet, the ice and sleet and snow unrelenting. Kara didn't set much stock on dwelling of days past, but in wintertime she couldn't help but remember Delphi in the snow, the way the sun glinted off the ice-encrusted towers, reflecting light everywhere. Books and movies indicated that Earth boasted its own City of Lights, but she couldn't help but think that Paris was too…flashy. Paris looked like it tried too hard, and she had never had any patience for pretenders.
She'd never see Paris, she knew that. She'd never know if, up close, it truly paled in comparison to her memories of home. She very much doubted she'd ever leave this city, ever get the chance to explore this new and unfamiliar world. Our new home, she heard Adama say in her head, and though she scoffed at the sentiment she treasured the sound of his voice, an echo long since past. Home. Try again, Commander. Six months in a medical facility, in and out of labs, interrogation rooms, a chamber with a cot and four white walls that had her itching for her supplies, until the day she woke up and simply let herself forget that she was an artist. In the summer of the first year, the remainder of the fleet had been moved to a military compound that at least vaguely resembled a neighborhood, if she squinted her eyes and made herself forget about the armed guards just down the street. But this could never be home.
Sometimes Kara dreamed of her last night aboard Galactica. She never let herself think about it, because it made her want things she couldn't ever have again and wanting was counter-productive. But she'd never learned to control her dreams.
Laughter. Music blaring over the speakers on the hangar deck, Tyrol's booze flowing freely as pilots, deckhands, everyone that remained of Galactica's crew celebrated the end of the road, what they thought would be a new beginning. Tigh on the edge of a Raptor, a glass of water in his hand as he somberly fingered the insignia on his jacket. Kara in the thick of it all, laughing with Cally, letting Helo spin her around in a silly, crazy dance until entirely different arms caught her mid-spin. A hand she knew all too well spanned her waist, a voice whispering in her ear about finally and destiny and her heart was too full of joy to keep it all in. Turning in his arms, her hands tracing the curve of his jaw as she kissed him with abandon, ignoring the catcalls because this was destiny, and she was ready to stop fighting it.
You did it, Kara, he later said to her in the dark of the officer's quarters, his chest rumbling underneath her cheek as he spoke. We're here because of you. His hands ran down her spine, his fingers leaving little sparks of heat wherever they touched.
She never let herself think about it, because she missed the joy and the hope and the heat more than she could say. That night was the last time she ever truly felt warm.
They pulled Lee away from her not ten minutes after they set foot on Earth, and in that moment she knew.
They questioned her endlessly, listened without really listening as she explained the scriptures of Kobol, the founding of the twelve colonies, the much-debated myth of Earth, the lost thirteenth colony. The faith she'd clung to all her life, in her quieter moments when there was nothing but her and the cool metal of her idols, became something else entirely in the hands of those who stripped it, searching for a hidden agenda. They asked about Roslin, and Kara clenched her jaw, refusing to say a word. They didn't understand the role of the prophesied leader carrying the people to salvation, and Kara didn't understand how this was supposed to be salvation.
It was written. All of this has happened before, all of this will happen again. Someone here had to have known, she wanted to plead, but knew it would have no impact on these strangers with eyes that questioned, searched, saw everything and nothing. She saw only fear in their eyes. No understanding, no compassion, just unmitigated fear of the unknown.
Lords of Kobol…Laura, if you can hear me…there were signs and scriptures and we were so sure. We didn't come this far, survive this much to be treated like specimens in a jar, something to be scrutinized and questioned and tested upon. Destiny. This was supposed to be our destiny.
His face was pale and drawn the day he showed up at her door, two months after the fleet was moved onto the base. They'd held him longer for questioning, he said; she reached out and touched her fingertips to the cuts underneath his eye. Lee, she whispered, and then his arms were around her and her face was buried in his neck and they didn't say anything at all.
Fall became winter. The taunts faded into whispers, unintelligible but always there. The scared, distrustful looks never went away. Lee insisted on taking walks every night, pointing to the constellations of stars that she didn't want to recognize. She tried so hard to forget, but he'd never let it happen. She almost hated him sometimes.
But he was still able to look at the stars with wonder, and she loved him for that.
At night, she'd feel his cold feet against hers as he settled in next to her, pulled the blankets tightly around them. She moved this way and that, drawing her chilled body closer to him, seeking warmth. His breath brushed hotly against her neck, a small rush of heat in the bitter cold and she shivered, held him tighter.
Test us, break us, dehumanize us all you want, but Gods, you can't take this away.
On this Sunday, in her third winter on Earth, she slipped out of bed while he slept on, unaware. She bundled herself in her lumpy winter coat that was so much like her father's, like the one they took from her. She imagined it was locked up in some facility along with her idols, artifacts of another life, one as foreign to her now as this cold, unfeeling world once was. The seasons changed, sure; the weather turned mild with the arrival of spring and humid in the summertime, but all year long she felt the pull of winter. Spring, summer, fall, and what she felt most was the cold.
She nodded at the guard as he opened the gate, a distrustful look in his eyes. I am not your enemy, she wanted to scream. Same flesh, same blood, why is that not enough?
The church was two blocks away from the compound. The heavy oak doors loomed in front of her as she climbed the steps, grasped the large brass handle with her glove-encased hands. She took a seat in the back, unwilling to draw attention to herself, and listened as the man in front told a story that shouldn't have sounded so familiar. He spoke of Egypt and Israel, a people in exile, a promise from their God. He spoke of their leader, who perished without setting foot in the so-called Promised Land. She sat in the wooden pew long after the sermon was done, sending up unspoken prayers without really caring who received them.
Lee settled in next to her on the pew. Her eyes remained closed, but he radiated heat and she'd recognize that feeling even if she were deaf and blind. Without thinking she leaned her head on his shoulder. He gathered her hand in his, their fingers entwining, and when she finally looked at him his head was bowed, his eyes shut tight. She placed her other hand over their joined fingers.
So say we all.
end
Posted by Carrie on 05:37 PM