Title: Life out of Balance

Pairing: K/L

Rating: M

Disclaimer: Stole the title from the song Koyannisquati, by Philip Glass. Characters aren't mine.

Spoilers: Between "Someone to Watch Over me" to after "Islanded in a Stream of Stars."

Summary: She'd never aimed to be anything other than herself, which on her better days could be described as a tempestuous, arrogant shrew; but today, she felt different.

A/N: I might be completely butchering these characters, but at least I had a good time trying. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think.

.::. .::. .::.

"How's life?"

"Ah, you know, this and that," Lee's voice was tired. "Trying to keep everyone pleased while spending my free time thinking up ways to get over this relentless…"

Despair. The word hung between them as though it were coating every molecule in the dry, recycled air.

She nodded at him in agreement, for she didn't need words to see the utter fatigue and desolation written on his features. Though she wasn't known for her perceptive abilities, she was most certainly skilled at studying Lee Adama. A once favorite past time of hers, studying him to find the right buttons to push, now evolved into trying to find the ones to sooth into submission in order to break down the ever present guard he erected around himself.

"When's the last time you slept?"

He shrugged his shoulders and looked away. He thrust his hands into his trousers, one uniform replaced with another, only this one hand swanky pinstripes instead of mottled colors of faded green or grey.

"How's the Old Man?"

"Beat's me. I don't wander to the CIC unless it's absolutely necessary, and he spends the rest of his time with Roslin. So you've seen him as much as I have."

Their conversation was awkwardly stilted. Its rough, uneven edges were starting to poke at them, piecing them at odd intervals.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but was struggling with the words.

"How's Sam?"

He should have kept struggling and swallowed the words whole.

Kara shrugged noncommittally. He was about to be turned into a hybrid. Sam as she knew him was effectively no more. Gods it hurt. A flash of anger came over her features and she looked away, trying to reign in her feelings so she didn't alienate one of the few people still talking to her.

Except for the briefing earlier that day, she hadn't seen Lee in nearly three weeks. Three weeks of showers, CAG briefings, meetings with insipid, shadowed faces that could hardly break a smile if the best bottle of ambrosia were at stake. She didn't even bother to recall the last time she herself had smiled. The muscles probably didn't work anyway.

"I have to go. CAP soon. Will you be around later?" she asked, though she wasn't sure she actually wanted the answer.

"No. I'm heading back over at 8 with the next transport."

"Right."

She didn't know how to say goodbye to this man. She's spent the last three weeks holding onto the dying hope that another would wake up. Though she wasn't one for contemplation, there was nothing left in her for other musings.

Musings… yes, that's exactly what she'd call Lee at this point. There was no them. At a time when everyone was going through the motions, they certainly were not fit to be operating as anything other than ex-commander and pseudo CAG. Because she just stepped up to the plate really, everyone looked to her like she should. Might as well. Human or not.

.::. .::. .::.

She'd never aimed to be anything other than herself, which on her better days could be described as a tempestuous, arrogant shrew; but today, she felt different. Perhaps the warrior her mother intended her to be wasn't necessarily a physical warrior. Though she was very much so a physical being, one who tended to act out her feelings, or do her very best to beat her way out of them, she never considered the emotional strength she'd built up over the years. Her husband, or lack thereof, had been relocated a few hours ago at the behest of the other cylons. They claimed that he had a greater role, a greater purpose in all this than sitting in a vegetative state. She wasn't sure she could buy that, but the fact of the matter was that she was certain of her love for him and that she would always hold a place for him in her heart.

So she kissed him softly, quickly, so there would be no trace of her misery left on him when they dropped him in a vat of cylon goo.

She brushed the memory aside as stepped into the Ready Room. As she stood in front of the Pilots making the same tired old speech that she was pretty sure Hot Dog was lip-syncing, she stopped suddenly, watching as he went on for a second and then stopped. He didn't look up and she continued, watching him continue in his lip-syncing. In all her tiredness and stiff pretension as of late, she couldn't help but find this somewhat funny.

It switched on something in her, something that had gotten buried under weeks of grief and desperation. It was the innately human element in her that loved to screw with other people. She felt her lip quirk into something that was frighteningly similar to a smirk, one that she wore when Lee used to stand in that very position at the podium.

"... habitable rock, will get this fine oral hygiene product," habitable rock, will get this fine oral hygiene product. It is the last known- "Or, better yet, you'll win one night in the sack with Hot Dog."

Oh, the look on his face. She should try that more often.

.::. .::. .::.

Good hunting. Yes indeed. Good. She pondered the meaning of the word as she took her final lap around the creaking ship. It was pretense of course, the jogging. She simply wanted to know how lame the old girl was before they took her out back and shot her. Frowning with every footfall, she realized that they probably should have put Galactica down long before the decommissioning ceremony.

It was late. Far too late for her to be out roaming the halls, but they were blessedly devoid of cylons and humans alike, and for that she was grateful. In the first time since, well, since she could remember, she'd enjoyed herself out in the sea of stars. She wasn't lost. She wasn't drifting. She wasn't wandering aimlessly. She just was.

Earlier, when she'd settled into her cockpit and glanced over at Hot Dog, who also happened to be her wingman for CAP, she wondered if she could provoke a response out of him. Just for the hell of it. Nothing else to do these days. Not like anyone was warming up to her questionable existence.

Throwing him the best wicked smirk she could muster (a far cry from what it once was), she received a look of confusion, as though he were trying to remember who the woman was who used to have that smirk plastered to her features when she wasn't pissed. As recognition dawned, he nodded his head in acquiescence, though no smile followed. Like everyone else, he'd forgotten how.

When was the last time any of them had a good laugh? Or did anything other than shuffle through the halls with their heads bowed. It was like the entire fleet had gotten swallowed into the doldrums. It was only now that she had bothered to notice.

As the familiar tug exerted itself against her while the viper launched out of the tube, she took the opportunity to marvel at the fact that she was still flying. After all this time, everything she'd gone through, the only thing that remained steady was flight.

It encouraged her through the academy, it saved her after Zak, it nearly killed her after the end of the worlds, it enveloped her before Kobol, it wrestled with her before New Caprica, it welcomed her back after she returned from her own Hell, it killed her, enabled her to find earth, and now, it simply let her be.

After everything, after wondering who she was and what her purpose was, it never asked. Flight or having the skills to fly, having the ability to manipulate and control parameters to her own needs, flight was her one escape where she could simply exist. Letting out a battle cry, she turned into a barrel roll and shot forward. Just because she could.

Taking a deep breath of the O2 she ought to conserve, she glanced over to Hot Dog in his viper and turned on the ship-to-ship contact. She asked how he felt about learning a new maneuver or two. He said he doubted she knew anything he hadn't already seen before. Then they were off, like two children at the playground. Before they both knew it, laughter filled their cockpits as the foreign feeling of excitement rushed through their bodies.

"Starbuck?'

They were bringing it in. No tube of toothpaste for them.

"Yeah, nugget?" she couldn't help but hearken back to her days as God.

"Thanks," he switched over radio frequency as he brought his Viper in to land, and Kara remained for a few minutes more, lingering in the darkness as she clung to the fading remnants of flight.

.::. .::. .::.

After she'd let out a sting of acerbic remarks and a profanity or five, she left the hangar deck with many shaking their heads in her wake as they once did years ago. One or two knuckle-draggers managed the shadow of a grin, but the rest simply stared blankly and took the refreshing abuse. Because like it or not, all they'd gotten lately were bland orders that were echoed by the whale sounds of a failing ship.

Of course, she, the ultimate champion of getting up after she'd been knocked off her chariot, knew what needed to happen. She just knew that she wasn't the one to orchestrate it. People would never look to her for hope or guidance unless the disclaimer of possible insanity was tacked on. The Old Man was as good as useless; he'd given his heart to a dying teacher and his soul to a dying ship. She knew without a doubt only one other person could fill that role of the ever hopeful, stalwart leader.

When she saw him in the hallway earlier, she knew then and there where his destiny lay. That's right. Destiny. There, she thought it. It appeared that he was grappling with the possibility that his position would become more of a long-term job, not something to simply satisfy in the interim. He looked afraid and weary of the prospect, similar to the way he looked at her sometimes.

As she headed back to the Pilot's quarters, she caught sight of Helo walking down the hallway with his head bent. She wanted to chase after him, to sit in silence with him, to let him tackle her if necessary, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. His grief was still too fresh, to raw and even though she was awful at picking up on others feelings, she knew she'd understand the upheaval in his life wholeheartedly.

Though it was against regs, she hopped in the shower for a quick rinse and scrubbed off the daily grime, desperately wondering when she could remember having taken a shower for the mere pleasure of doing so. No, she never had. Didn't even bother trying with that one. She could recall the amorous activities she'd experienced in the showers, some in that very spot. Shaking her head, she shut off the water and quickly dried herself off.

She pulled her bra over her head and slipped into fresh underwear, her fingers lightly brushing the scars along her abdomen. No time for thinking. She had rosters and schedules to figure out.

.::. .::. .::.

If possible, Lee managed to look even more tired than when she saw him two days prior. Was it really only two days since she'd sat with Sam and plugged him into the ship again, chills running up and down her spine at the monotonous word soup that spewed forth? It was also the day Baltar unleashed her nature as a… well, she was still working on that. The best part was feeling eyes on her at all times, some openly gawking, others- stares full of doubt and disbelief with anger boiling just beneath the surface.

Today, she happened upon Lee in the Ready Room. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and was staring at some writing on the whiteboard. It was a flying maneuver she'd come up with in the shower a day earlier. She figured she'd at least teach some crazy ideas if she couldn't help Helo change the Old Man's mind. Other than planning and plucking away at stained ivory keys, she had nothing better to do.

Besides, one of the Sixes took phenomenal notes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Kara wanted a textbook for those who dared defy crazy. She was still thinking of a title. An obscenity should be included. Maybe a warning label as well, just so the reader knew what they were getting into. Something like, "Crazy-Ass Stunts to get you Killed or Close to it." Yeah, she liked the ring of that.

"Combining the Juggernaut with a Kayson-G? It has potential," said Lee as he crossed his chest with one arm and scrubbed his cheek with the other. She was still leaning against the threshold as she watched him scribble down an equation on the board. Ever the earnest student, his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he mentally calculated the centripetal force in his mind.

"It's actually Kayson's second degree, but close," she muttered as she walked over to the board. "Getting rusty, Apollo."

Rolling her eyes, she plucked the dying marker out of his hand. She shouldn't waste precious marker on over-achiever interest, but she'd done the math already and was in no mood to be second-guessed. Feeling his eyes on her as she finished the formula, she chanced a cautious smirk in his direction as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

Taking a step back she observed their work and noticed that he'd added another step to the formula. He tweaked her maneuver and added a counter-roll. It was beautiful.

"That's pretty risky. Don't know if the old birds can handle it."

"That's why you love it."

Shrugging in affirmation she glanced over at him and saw a faint grin on his face, it almost chased away the demons and wrinkles pervading his waking moments and sleepless nights. Unable to hold back the frown, she returned her gaze to the board and crossed her arms, reflecting for a moment on the maneuver as well as the man next to her.

He was losing hope.

It was seeping out of every pore. If he lost hope, then this fleet would surely die, because he was their compass. At least that was how she viewed his status nowadays. There needed to be something for him. Something for him to hold onto. Something to make him wake up each day and want to finish it.

If she'd had time, she'd frak him real quick, just to wake him up a little. But she knew that wasn't what he needed. Even though she sure could use it.

"Captain Thrace to the CIC, Captain Thrace to the CIC."

With shoulders sagging a bit, she tossed him the marker and picked up her notebook. Turning back to the door, she purposefully bumped his shoulder with hers and continued on her way.

"Lee?" she called from the hall. "Since the next shuttle doesn't come 'til 8, might as well crash in my bunk," she said from the doorway. "You look like death warmed over."

"Such a charmer," he huffed as she nearly swaggered away.

.::. .::. .::.

She later had CAP with a Six and one of two remaining nuggets in possibly the entire fleet that night until 2100. It had been interesting, to say the least. The nugget was 17, which hardly qualified, but he looked so hopeful she just told him to shut up and pay attention. He was lanky, but he still sounded like he swallowed gravel for breakfast and had the beginnings of a 'stache of glory. She mentally reminded herself that she'd have to tell him to shave that sucker before it thought it owned the place.

Overall, things went well, until the landing. Looked like he ripped a page out of Kat's book. What she wouldn't give to go up against that stim-junkie again. See who's Top –Gun now. Regardless, she'd already dubbed him Too-Hot. He took that as a compliment until a Six had to explain to him what it meant in regards to his landing abilities. His blush was bright enough to blind any pilots who were near. On top of everything else- he'd just gotten owned by a toaster.

With the remaining adrenaline she still had in her system, she peeled off her flight suit, changed quickly, and ran several circuits around the ship. She was putting off the inevitable paperwork and avoiding Helo who would be undoubtedly pummeling the boxing bag in the gym. Her mood only darkened at the thought of Hera, so she quickly pushed that thought out and continued onwards.

The repairs were nearly finished, at least as good as it could get. Her briefing earlier in the day consisted of the possibility for a solitary ship as a search party. She was pretty sure she knew what Adama was thinking, but she didn't want to put all of her cards on the table yet.

Her body was thrumming with the after effects of her run as she walked back to quarters. It was nearly 2230 and she had a good hour and a half of work to do before lights-out. The groan of monotony erupted from deep within. Yes, a shower was definitely the first order of business.

When she returned from the head, she finally realized that the curtain to her bunk was shut tight, and her first thought was that a stupid nugget had climbed in for some shut-eye. Idiots.

Before she could pull the nugget in question out of her bunk she heard a soft snort that could only belong to one man lying in one specific position. Disregarding the fact that she knew what position was required in order for him to emit the sound, she pulled the curtain back slightly a bit to see a properly ruffled and completely somnolent Lee Adama. In all his soporific, snorting glory.

Hair disheveled, arm crammed under his stomach, head buried in her pillow. Was that drool? Oh if he wanted to see the next habitable rock it had better not be. She sucked in a breath as she shut the curtain and pulled on her tattered pair of black sweats, throwing a clean tank over her sports bra as she headed out the hatch.

"A CAG's work is never done," his voice echoed in her mind as she headed to the office, a shambles of what it used to be. She was lucky there was still a desk and chair inside, the mutiny having sparked a kind of reckless kleptomania among those on board. As she settled in to do her work, her mind wandered in every direction.

If everything was so askew, so…out of balance, then why wasn't she comfortable? It was how she'd lived most of her life - a little off kilter, full-throttle, all signs pointing to uncertainty. She rearranged as she pondered, grabbing scraps of paper as other maneuvers and formulas filtered in through the haze. When all was said and done, no progress had truly been made, but she felt calmer. That was all that mattered.

.::. .::. .::.

"Stay," his scratchy voice called out as his warm hand clung sleepily to her wrist. She'd peaked in to make sure he was still alive, ended up pulling the blanket up to cover him, and now found him pulling her inside.

"Lee…" the look in his eyes silenced her as she sighed loudly at the man in her bunk. She didn't want to lay near him when she didn't feel all that secure and when she felt so sexually depraved. The two never meant for a happy ending.

He lifted the blanket up for her while she hesitatingly pushed her hand through her hair. Whatever. She climbed in quietly, not wanting to disturb the others. But she would keep her pants on damnit. She wasn't going to add more confusion to the madness by bringing sex into the picture. Release, they certainly needed. Just probably not with each other at the moment, because there was no way to avoid the ramifications anymore. No Dee. No Sam. Just them. The way it always was, if they were perfectly honest with themselves and each other.

Lee rolled back onto his right side as she situated herself, taking a deep breath of the scent of soap and stock shampoo mixed with a little bit of fatigue. Kara stubbornly remained on her back, perched close to the side, though inevitably touching in the close quarters.

Slowly, she drifted of to sleep with the sound of Lee's deep breathing filling up the dead space.

.::. .::. .::.

It was still early when he woke up, confused and disoriented. In one breath, he knew exactly where he was, who was with him, and recognized the calmness that settled over him. He'd never intended to stay this long. Just a nap.

Earlier, when he'd crawled into her bunk and turned over onto his back, he'd recognized the familiar lumpiness of the mattress, the stale air that wafted in through the open curtain, the increasingly frequent creaks and groans of the ship. He'd experienced a wholly uncalled for and completely surprising feeling of homesickness and couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

Never thought he'd see the day he'd be homesick for a grimy bunk. Of course, this wasn't any bunk. This was hers. Inhaling again, he caught the faint scent of sweat, soap, and cheap alcohol. It wasn't as smoky as it used to be, but it was all completely her.

It smelled like home.

He'd closed his eyes tightly as unbidden images flashed through his mind, opening them only when a viper explosion forced his lids apart. Maybe he shouldn't have come here to take a nap. Maybe he should've hovered in a receiving area and gone over the latest request to tear apart Galactica for O2 scrubbers and scrap metal. But as fatigue overcame him, he promised himself just a few minutes of shut-eye.

He'd be in-and-out and back on the transporter before she even returned.

His eyes opened again when he felt the faint rustling of a blanket being pulled over his body and the gleam of dirty blonde hair as it flashed in the dim light overhead. Grabbing her wrist he impulsively said the first thing on his mind, stay. He could see the hesitation in her eyes and the flicker of something else, then heard her acquiescence as she sighed and slid under the blanket with him.

The last thing he remembered was her shutting the curtain as his arm wrapped around her waist, his lips bent to her shoulder, breathing deeply the scent of her hair.

No, this was home.

But as he woke up much later in the early hours, confused and disoriented, breathing in smells of her and casting about for a location, he realized the only reason he'd woken up was because of the woman (or was she) next to him. There was a crack in the curtain and a soft glow filtered in from the dim light beside her bunk. Her hair, fanned about on the pillow, her skin glowing with a fine sheen of sweat. Though she seemed ethereal, she didn't appear at peace.

She was gripping the sheets tightly, struggling with some unknown force, and her breathing was rapid and frantic. Having some experience in the department of Kara Thrace, he merely scooted as far back to the wall as he could and propped himself up on his forearm, bracing his head with an open palm.

And just like that, her eyes shot open as she slammed her fists down on the puny mattress, choking in large amounts of air. She brought her hands up quickly and pushed them through her hair, as though she could rake away the fear and confusion.

Glancing to her left, she noticeably stiffened before relaxing again, clearly aghast at being caught having a nightmare.

"Why didn't you wake me?" her voice was tight, scratchy.

"I think the last time I did that, I received a black eye and you told me to 'frak off'."

She scrunched up her nose in confusion as she tried to recall that particular occurrence. Grinning slightly he could tell she felt that to be one of her better moments.

"Sure did know how to make a good first impression, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I was charmed from the get-go."

"Don't pretend you weren't, Lee Adama. I know how you flyboys are," she said with a wistfulness that reminded him of what she said the first time they'd met.

A handshake that bordered on something more, a slight nod of the head, a snub of the nose, and a motion to the vipers awaiting them was the best introduction she could give.

"Nice to meet you?"

"We'll see about that, Lee Adama."

"Is that right?"

"I know how you flyboys are," with a smile that captivated his heart, a swagger that captured his body, and a mischievous chuckle and explicative that summed her up and captured his mind - he followed her onward.

Later that night, both passed-out on Helo's floor after a night out celebrating, she gave him another token to remember her by.

He would have followed her anywhere.

Then.

Now.

"I remember the first time you chopped off your hair, said it bugged you when you had your helmet on."

"Yeah, sometimes I think about doing it again, but then I feel like that was me then, and this…"

She didn't finish as her hand seemed to find her hair on it's own accord, twisting a strand absentmindedly. He watched her for a moment longer, committing the moment to memory as he let himself slide back down slowly onto the mattress. Without thinking, he let his fingers comb through the hair falling across her shoulder. It was soft and light, so conflicting with her nature.

Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she worried it into submission. He wondered if she'd tell him about her dream. He wondered if she believed what he said the other day. He didn't care about anything other the fact that she was still here.

"I just want to feel again."

It was a whisper, soft and low.

His heart almost squeezed itself at the vulnerability in her voice. He tried not to over think what she was admitting, tried not to let his thoughts run away from him.

It was far too easy.

"Kara?"

.::. .::. .::.

She hesitated before turning to him, first with her head, then at the look in his eyes, she turned her full body onto her left side, facing him on his right. She curled her hands up under her chin and let out a slow breath as her eyes traveled up his body.

Reaching forward, she pushed her fingers through his hair, stopping when she met the back of his neck. Her hand slid down and around the column of his throat, watching him swallow as her nails glided along the skin. She stopped once she met the center of his chest, her hand resting above his heart.

Glancing up at his eyes, she could barely see anything in them but dark due to the dimness of her bunk. She could, however, feel the tension between them, the ever-present push-and-pull, much like a game of tag.

Except this time they both felt it and there was nowhere to go, no one else to tag.

She could feel the soft thrum of his heartbeat and wondered if hers did the same. If she even had the same equipment. She found that as the hours wore on, she started not to care either. Just like he said, she was here and so was he. That's all that mattered.

Or was it?

His hand somehow planted itself on her hip during her musings and she felt it slide slowly up her torso, over the curve of her breast, around her shoulder, resting on her cheek. His finger ran along her jaw line and back into her hair, and then came forward again, cupping her cheek with a tenderness that he'd always wanted to give her. He leaned forward and kissed her first on the forehead, then on the nose, on her cheek and finally on her lips.

It was soft at first, nothing like the last adrenaline-fueled one they last shared. She wasn't sure she could do this and pulled back slightly, her own hand finding his cheek in sorrow. She wanted this, wanted him. Though she wasn't so sure she could have it without damaging him.

As with times past, she cared more about him than she'd ever cared about herself, and knew that if she pushed through this, it might break him. Or break them both. Right now, that was not a possibility for either of them.

He seemed to understand her hesitation and slid his hand back down her side, though not without stubbornly sliding his hand beneath her tank. She nearly shivered at the contact, trying to remember the last time she was actually touched in any affectionate way.

He raked a nail up her side and she squirmed at the contact, her elbow clenching in automatically as a grin surfaced on his face. She pinched him on the side and smiled as he smacked her hand away. She went in again and he grasped her hand in midair. Before she knew it, he pinned her wrist down to the mattress and he was half way on top of her.

The corner of his lip quirked upwards at the turn of events, and he leaned down quickly, biting at the flesh along her collarbone. At the contact she could feel all of him against her and it was absolutely delicious. Maybe this was exactly what she needed. What they needed.

He pulled back again and pressed his forehead against hers, releasing her wrist as his fingers tangled in her hair. Nose-to nose, breaths exchanged, body heat shared and spreading, he hesitated. She pushed up into him this time and kissed him, hard with everything she had until they're both breathless and their chests are rubbing against each other.

His hand moved up beneath her shirt again, sliding over the tautness of her stomach, fluttering along as though her skin were the keys of a piano. Her mind shattered into a million pieces as she feet his hand on somehow all parts of her. He bit at her bottom lip as she worked at the buttons on his shirt, quickly pulling it around his shoulders and tossing it to their feet. Before she could pull him back down he paused above her, searching for her eyes in the darkness.

Her mind was falling into a sleepy sort of peace as he reached out to her, smiling against her lips. He teased her lips apart and plunged his tongue inside, running it along her teeth and the palate of her mouth. Her lips worked against his as she too claimed more flesh. Nibbling, touching, and oh, writhing.

She was suddenly reminded of both the past and the future at the same time and all she could think was that she was finally home. She wondered if that was cliché and trite, but in a universe where they were in the ass end of nowhere, perhaps this was where she was meant to be.

They tangled together and her tank got lost along the way. As she felt his lips kneading and pulling and tasting all along her neck, a soft shudder escaped her as he moved to her ear, licking her lobe.

"How's this working for ya?" his voice was raspy, like he was struggling to maintain control.

What?

"What?"

She wasn't doing much better. He laughed against her neck at her exasperation, and she could feel his smile. She bit her lip to hold back a moan.

"Can you feel this?"

He moved his lower body and a resounding and unceremonious cackle escaped her before he silenced her with his mouth.

"Yeah, I think you're doing an adequate job, " she whispered as he rubbed up against her again. He pushed up on both his forearms and looked down at her in disbelief. Rolling his eyes at her, he shut her up with a kiss that made her toes curl. She'd take cliché any day if it felt like this.

"Adequate? I'll have you know I'm more than adequate. I'm outstanding," he bit back into her ear. Then proceeded to shimmy her sweats down her hips as she pulled at the belt around his waist.

"I'll need proof on that one," she huffed out then bit his shoulder and swirled her tongue around.

He gave her proof. Twice.

She whispered into the dark as reveille started to chime.

"I'd say you're better than outstanding. Spectacular perhaps."

He pulled her tight against him, muffling his chuckle against her neck, wishing the day away. When she remained against him, not pushing him away or struggling in his grasp, he couldn't help but smile. He felt her relax in his grip, her breath soft against his neck as her fingers wrote against his shoulder. He tried to follow what she was scribing, but couldn't get further than the first letter. Her handwriting always was shoddy.

He told himself that if they made it through this alive, maybe not entirely unscathed, that he would do everything in his power to make her understand, for her to completely and wholly know, that who he had in his arms right then, was all he'd ever wanted.

.::. .::. .::.

Not broken, nearly whole she wrote on his deltoid as she felt her breath bouncing off his neck. She wondered if she was going to live another day, especially when she got the inevitable call of duty. She'd answer it. She always did. But would it be worth it? Would it be worth risking the tenuous balance between them?

She pushed closer and placed a soft kiss on his neck below his Adam's apple. The soft hum that moved up his throat let her know that yes it was worth it. Because if she made it out alive, she might be able to justify having him, having this, whatever it was.

Pulling back, she took a long look at his lips, his chin, his nose, and his eyes. Gods, those eyes. As they both looked at each other in the semi-dark they don't exchange words, because he was a thinker and she was a doer and neither was a talker.

None seemed fitting to describe what they meant to another. So they merely memorized the emotions reflected inside and kissed once more, long and hard for good measure, sealing their unspoken promise.

As he stepped aboard the transport shuttle, he heard word that the Admiral would be holding an assembly in six hours. There would be a mission. This was it.

This is it.

.::. Fin .::.