Title: "The Weight is A Gift"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Kara, Kara/Lee, Kara/Sam
Spoiler: "Crossroads: Part II"
Length: Part III: A of III
Summary: Everyone has to grow up sometime, even Kara Thrace
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Author's Note, Part I: Oh my gods, it's been forever, hasn't it? I haven't abandoned this story, just had a major bout of disinterest that set in once the season ended. Not writer's block per say but more a mixture of the two. Either way I've found the time and commitment to see this fic through the way I wanted, and provide the proper sendoff for Starbuck and her boys. Bear in mind, I have no personal experience with pregnancy or motherhood, so please forgive any mistakes I make in my description of Kara's baby's birth. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy.
She remembers bits and pieces of those long minutes before her daughter makes her way into the world, snapshots of moments in time before the life she thought had already changed stopped being anything close to a world she recognizes.
She remembers the cold air blasting over her bare skin as Lee's feet pounded through the causeway, her blood seeping out at the same steady rhythm. She remembers spotting a spare towel out of the corner of her eye, and the bright red stains that stood out against the dingy white of the faded cotton. She remembers that she wanted to laugh, because that towel had previously clung to the contours of Lee's hips and she could see the way the nuggets' eyes widened as they rounded on their very naked former CAG sprinting through the halls with a fallen pilot in his arms, and she thinks she would have laughed if the blood marring the otherwise pristine fabric of that towel hadn't been her own.
More than anything else, she remembers the screaming, echoing off the cold metal walls of the causeway and catching in her hair and singeing her skin as Lee sprinted towards her one chance at salvation. She's waited too long for this moment, given too much and lost more of herself than she cares to admit, and she isn't ready for it to end. Not like this, not in a rush of blood and guts that spill across the sterile metal of Galactica like a river of regret. She knows, buried in the place where Starbuck still lives, that even if she never wanted it to happen in the first place she's come too far to lose it all.
The screams ring in her ears and Lee winces as his feet continue to storm the causeway, but they keep her going because they let her know, through the fog of pain and fear, that she cares where this story is heading. They let her know that she's Kara Thrace and she always chooses her own ending.
-----
Doc Cottle is primed and ready to go when Lee spills into the med-bay, the trail of sticky, coppery red an early alert that something, somewhere, was going wrong. His eyes roll skyward as beads of moisture drip from the former CAG's wet hair and pool at his feet, mixing with the blood, watering it down, cleaning the mess without even trying. Out of the corner of her eye Kara sees someone hand him a pair of scrubs and he's Lee and there to catch her when she falls, and he manages to slide them on without releasing his grip on her hand.
The blood continues to seep in a steady drip-drop to the beat of her heart, to the beat of both their hearts. The doc doesn't wait to find out what's wrong, because it's almost too late and life is too precious in what's left of their world. She sees the wink of a blade as Ishay slides a needle through the thin skin of her wrist, and she closes her eyes because she can't watch this part.
When Zak died, it felt like the weight of his viper was resting on her chest, a mass of guilt and regret and love that pressed against her lungs and corded through her veins and made her believe her sin was so great she'd never breathe easy again. Her only consolation was she didn't see it happen, never watched as his viper tore apart in the empty expanse of space, never saw the flames sear through muscle and bone and heart and soul and destroy the one person who loved her the way she never thought she should be loved. When she closed her eyes and her breath rasped through her lungs, pressed against the weight of the mistake resting on her chest, she imagined Zak breathed his last breath with a smile on his face and never knew the end was coming. As the doc slices through the weight of her belly and the thing inside fights to breathe its first breath, she keeps her eyes closed and lets the story play out on the blank canvas behind her eyelids.
In her mind, she chooses the ending she wants. In her mind, she'll breathe easy when this experience draws to a close. In her mind, Starbuck roams and Starbuck won't let go without a fight. In her mind, this story has a happy ending, the only happy ending she's ever known. It's what she wants and it's what she's going to get because she's Kara Thrace – she won't accept anything else.
-----
When she finally opens her eyes she blinks against the bright florescent glow of the lights, and squeezes one hand and then the other, just to see if Lee is still hanging on. He smiles at her as he brushes sweaty bangs from her forehead. "You're doing great," he says and his smile shakes, just the tiniest bit. He tries to hide it, but he's Lee and she knows his face as well as she knows her own, and she squeezes again to let him know that even though she's the one with a huge gaping hole in her belly, she's there for him too.
His eyes never leaves hers as the doc slices and dices, and he continues to murmur words of encouragement and progress, his fingers smoothing her hair with a gentle, tender touch. She keeps her fingers locked with his, holding on tight, refusing to let go. In the background she hears the doc calmly relaying instructions to Ishay and the steady beat of the heart monitors thumping through the room, but all she can feel is Lee's steady presence hovering around her, his voice crooning softly in her ear and his breath gliding through her sweaty hair.
She has a memory, fighting against the images she spins in the world behind her eyelids, of life before the pain, before the screams, before she knew what hell could be. She's five-years-old and she's riding her first bicycle and her daddy is running beside her, his feet falling into a steady rhythm to the whir of the wheels. They coast up a hill and he lets go and she's flying, coasting over the pavement while her braids soar in her wake, and she's scared and she isn't ready but she doesn't give up. She pedals the way he taught her and she holds on tight and she doesn't let go and when the wheels reach level ground she's laughing from the rush of it all. Her daddy grinds to a halt beside her, his breathing uneven and sweat beading at his temples, but right next to her, still there beside her. She smiles because she did it on her own, but it helped just knowing he was there.
When the first cry pierces the air, shrill and high-pitched and unlike anything she's ever heard before, she still feels like she's flying because the weight is lifted.
She can't see much, because her legs are still numb and there's sewing to be done and the doc is blocking her vision, but she can feel Lee behind her, his breathing uneven and moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes, but right next to her, still there beside her.
He bends down, warm lips pressing against the sweaty skin of her brow, "It's a girl."
She laughs, because she knew it would be along. Her mother's words play in her head, "the gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children," and she flexes her free hand involuntarily, the uneven joints cracking as they settle into place. The cries fill her, the empty parts of what's left of her, and she knows the story ended the right way.
She sees the little feet kicking as Ishay cleans her up, and it reminds her of that day at the beach, fighting to win the race while the cramp held her back, Lee by her side the entire way through. Nine months are gone and the race is over, but the cries filling the room tell her she's won the prize. Nine months she's given up what she wants to give what's left of her world what it needs. Nine months she's watched her life shift from the only thing she's ever known and change, reshape, mold into something she never knew she was missing. Nine months she's carried this living, breathing, feeling being below her heart, nurturing it and protecting it and keeping it safe. Nine months she's been on the verge and just like that, like a viper exploding in the darkest recesses of space, it's over.
She feels tears pricking the backs of her eyelids and Lee's cool fingers sliding over them as he brushes the tears away. She grip his other hand like a lifeline, doesn't let go. Nine months she's shouldered this burden alone, but it helped just knowing he was there.
-----
In the end, she's the first to hold humanity's latest addition. There are only four of them in the med-bay room, five including the wailing, flailing being in Ishay's arms, but the doc needs those hands to put Kara back together. Kara can just see that pair of kicking feet as the doc arranges his instruments, tiny heels moving beneath the hem of a thin hospital blanket. Galactica isn't prepped to deliver babies, and the doc mutters to himself as he prepares for the final step. Kara knows it's all a show because like everyone else in the narrow room, he can't take his eyes off the squirming form Ishay is trying to hand off to Lee. It's not very often that the future is within reach, warm and soft and minutes old, and they're all taken away by the beauty of it.
"No," Lee protests, his free hand pressing outwards, pushing away from the future he's sacrificed so much to see live. "I can't." But he also can't keep his fingers from flexing, stretching, aching to touch what might be his, and he stuffs them in his pocket before he goes too far.
"Come on, Major," the doc encourages as he finishes gathering his instruments. "We're on a schedule here."
Lee shakes his head. "It's not fair to Sam." Kara's eyes are closed, but she can feel his burning through her skin, what he isn't saying resonating through her thoughts – that it isn't fair to any of them, the one who saw her born or the one who finished last because she no longer belongs to any of them.
Isahy turns to Kara, but she keeps her eyes closed because she doesn't want to look into that little girl's eyes and see what's staring back; because she can't look at Lee and see her regrets mirrored in his eyes. Ishay turns to the doc helplessly, not knowing what to do.
He scowls, Kara can see it through the veil of her eyelids, and curses under his breath. "Enough of this. We have work to do. Mom can hold her."
Kara's eyes shoot open and she struggles to push onto her elbows, but she still can't feel anything below her waist and she can't drag the weight. She would laugh, if she wasn't so close to crying, because if there's one thing she's an expert at, beyond shooting cylons out of the sky and barrel rolling like her life depends on it, because it sometimes does, is carrying the weight. Nine months and the only thing she's wanted is the burden to be lifted and it's finally here and she can't make it happen.
"No," she says, and it's the first time she's spoken in hours and her throat is dry and her voice cracks, breaks, over the words. "No frakkin' way."
"Sometimes you pull the low card, Captain," the doc says, an edge to his voice. "Buck up. Grow up. I can't wait any longer."
She doesn't have a choice. Sometimes the low card wins all, but not this time. She sucks in a breath and it tastes like New Caprica, metal and cages and cylon catching in her mouth. Leoben smiles at her and she shudders, but she remembers, the crunch of flesh and bone twisting beneath her fist and the light leaving his eyes as the breath rushed out of him. She got through it, she survived. She's Kara Thrace – surviving is what she does.
Her breath rushes out of her as closes her eyes but opens her arms and Ishay slips something warm and soft and hers into the crook of her elbow.
Lee's hand is still gripping hers, holding tight and firm and strong, but she keeps her eyes firmly closed and concentrates on the calm orders the doc issues to Ishay. As soon as she's sewn up, put back together like it never happened in the first place, the sooner her life can return to the way she always planned.
"Kara," Lee whispers against her hair. "Kara look, she's smiling." She's too young, Kara knows these things, and she tells Lee that he's lying, but he won't let it go because he's Lee Adama and seeing things through is as much a part of him as breathing. "Kara, I mean it. She's smiling. She's smiling right at you."
Kara doesn't want to, but she's Kara Thrace and sometimes she's still Starbuck and she's never backed down from a challenge in her life, and she counts to one, to two, to three, and when she opens her eyes she sees herself staring back within a pair of dark blue eyes. She sees the curve of her jaw and the slope of her nose and a hint of mischief sparking in the light of the little girl's eyes. She isn't smiling, because Kara was right and Lee was lying after all, but she's watching her with those wide blue eyes and even when Kara blinks wetly she doesn't let go. She's nestled in the crook of Kara's elbow and her forearm easily bears the weight, but as she continues to stare at her Kara feels something tight and hot pressing down on her chest.
It's not like last time. There's no guilt. There's no regret. There's only love.
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Author's Note, Part II: This chapter was intended to cover much more than it actually did, but when I tried to add other sections it just seemed very odd to include anything other than the immediate aftermath of the birth. For those concerned, the story isn't over yet and Kara hasn't made her decision, as to what she's doing with the baby or the final role her men will play in her life. Also, it may, okay totally does, provide my explanation of Kara Thrace's very special destiny. For those who have held on, thank you for waiting. This was by far the hardest section of the story to write, and part of the reason it took me so long was I wanted to get things just right. I'm never entirely satisfied with my finished product, but I think this will do. Thank you again.
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