Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Nor would I want it to be, because I'm not qualified to handle such great responsibility.

A/N: This is my first BSG fic.It is what ran through my head after seeing the promo for 'Act of Contrition.' It's rated R for a reason; consider yourself forewarned. (And in case anyone is curious, no, I have no plans to continue with it.)

PENANCE

Harder, she tells him angrily. She tells them all. She's not even sure she remembers which of them is over her right now, and she won't open her eyes to find out. It isn't about him; it isn't about any of them.

He's not satisfying her. There's no aggression, and she can't understand that, given their circumstances. They are running for their lives. It's survival of the fittest, the strongest, the most savage. Just as she's about to take it upon herself, flip him and show him how she wants it, he releases. She almost groans in frustration, but that would show weakness. Amazing, he calls it, and Kara is disgusted by how trite and mundane a thing it is to say.

She says something cutting – not quite cruel, but calculated to let him know that this won't be happening again. He takes it better than some, dressing in angry silence and departing without a word. She stays, still naked, exposed, but no one is there to see it. She knows it is dangerous to be here, that there is a risk of getting caught. As much as she needs this, she cannot bear to bring them into her own bed. Storage bays and empty conferences rooms serve the purpose.

Lying there on a cold hard table, she counts the number she's been with in the past few weeks. It feels like half the men in the fleet, but it's only a dozen or so. She takes them with no warning, a sniper attack, pushing them into the nearest empty room. She avoids the pilots and flight crew, but anyone else is fair game, so long as they seem ready to fight. Harder, she tells them, because what she wants is their violence, their aggression, their disdain. And she'll do what she has to do to get it. She's not above inflicting pain to provoke the anger she wants them to take out on her.

She's tired – so tired – and she's not sure how much longer she can carry on. Sometimes she thinks about the way out, one quick shot to the head. Or maybe she'll be lucky enough to die in battle, a giant flash of light and all is done. These thoughts are comforting in comparison to the idea of what she might do, where her desperation might driver her. More than once, the thought has crossed her mind that there is one man aboard who hates her enough to truly enjoy giving her pain. The thought of his scotch-soured breath on her skin makes the bile rise in her throat and she prays to the Lords that this penance does not carry her to such extremes.

It's not that she normally likes it rough. With Zack, she was uninhibited, passionate, even playful. He was gentle and loving, and they were good together. No, she's no sadist. But this is the price she must pay; she deserves to feel this pain. She dresses and wonders whom she will find next, and when.

Yes, this is penance. This is what she must do to purge herself of the unwholesome need. It is the punishment she inflicts on herself for the uncontrollable desire she feels, she has always felt, for the brother of the man she loved – the brother of the man she killed. She had hoped she was free of it, but then she saw him again. In the first second, she knew that nothing had changed. She will carry her cross of self-abasement. He's here for the foreseeable future. Galactica is their home now, and nothing can be done.