Galen Tyrol glanced around the mess hall as he chewed and swallowed what passed for dinner tonight. As he noticed Captain Adama and Lieutenant Thrace in an animated conversation at the adjoining table, he took a moment to study the pair. Starbuck was waving a mashed potato-loaded fork haphazardly in the air, emphasizing some point she was making about the flight schedule, while Apollo nodded, with just a hint of a grin twitching his mouth.
Even after months on the run from the Cylons, Galen still didn’t know what to make of the new CAG, but it was reassuring that he seemed able to handle the volatile woman. Way the Chief saw it, anyone that flew as well as the young officer did and had the patience to keep a room full of Viper pilots in check, was ok in his book.
As the Chief finagled some reluctant peas onto his own fork the square of yellow on his tray irresistibly drew his gaze. An honest-to-gods Lemon Bar. He silently thanked Cally for making him take a break from the construction of the prototype Viper and catch a sit-down meal in the mess for a change. Where the cook had scavenged the ingredients for the rare treat, he couldn’t guess, but the dessert was obviously a big hit by the pleased looks of the others seated around the room.
His eyes were drawn back to the Lieutenant when he heard her offer Apollo her own lemon bar.
“It’s yours, Kara,” Apollo said with a shake of his head.
Galen’s attention sharpened as Starbuck replied, “You might’s well eat it, Lee. I don’t really care for lemon anyways.” The orange-clad man watched, eyebrows raised in surprise as she held the square out to her tablemate.
Lieutenant Thrace was lying—and Galen knew it. Only a little over a week ago the Chief had come across Starbuck in a nearly deserted hanger bay late into the third shift. He’d been concerned to see her leaning against her Viper, staring at a well-creased paper. He knew she’d had some trouble sleeping since returning from that little jaunt to Caprica—who wouldn’t given what she’d probably seen? But there was a melancholiness to the way she was regarding the scrap that just seemed…wrong in relation to the mercurial woman.
Taking a hesitant step closer, he had given her a nod in greeting as she’d raised opaque eyes to meet his. Something had kept him quiet as her gaze dropped again, and—as the angle of her grip shifted—he was able to see that she held a sheet torn from some type of cookbook or magazine. Not exactly what he’d expected.
He remembered shifting, uncomfortable in the stretched silence, and jokingly asked if she was thinking of transferring to the kitchen.
She’d looked up then, a ghost of her usual smirk pulling at full lips but not reaching the gold-flecked eyes as she’d replied, “Naw, the Old Man doesn’t want half the crew down with food poisoning.”
He’d grinned and quipped, “What? Only half?”
Her smile had crept higher, but then retreated and her voice had gone flat. “It’s stupid. Billions of people dead. Our worlds destroyed. And you know what I miss?” She’d given him a glance, and he’d been surprised at the glimpse of vulnerability reflected in their green depths. “Lemons.” She’d huffed a hollow laugh, then added, “Lemon pies, tarts, pudding. Frak, even lemonade.”
She’d waved the sheet at him then, and Galen had finally seen what she’d been staring at, a recipe for a Lemon Chiffon pie. He’d been at a loss what to say—how to react to this new side to Starbuck.
“Pie’s good,” he’d said, then felt foolish.
“Yeah, it is.” She’d lightly stroked the picture. “My dad use to take me to this little diner few blocks from the place we had on Caprica. We’d split a piece of Lemon Meringue pie.” Another caress. “Every time he made it home from tour that one summer, we go. Just the two of us.” She had then carefully folded the keepsake and tucked it away into a breast pocket of her jacket. “Guess it just reminds me of some good times.”
Without another word, Kara Thrace had turned and strode away, leaving Galen to consider the snapshot of her life she’d shared with him.
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timeasmymeasure
Lemon Bars
Date: 2011-04-05 03:45 am (UTC)Even after months on the run from the Cylons, Galen still didn’t know what to make of the new CAG, but it was reassuring that he seemed able to handle the volatile woman. Way the Chief saw it, anyone that flew as well as the young officer did and had the patience to keep a room full of Viper pilots in check, was ok in his book.
As the Chief finagled some reluctant peas onto his own fork the square of yellow on his tray irresistibly drew his gaze. An honest-to-gods Lemon Bar. He silently thanked Cally for making him take a break from the construction of the prototype Viper and catch a sit-down meal in the mess for a change. Where the cook had scavenged the ingredients for the rare treat, he couldn’t guess, but the dessert was obviously a big hit by the pleased looks of the others seated around the room.
His eyes were drawn back to the Lieutenant when he heard her offer Apollo her own lemon bar.
“It’s yours, Kara,” Apollo said with a shake of his head.
Galen’s attention sharpened as Starbuck replied, “You might’s well eat it, Lee. I don’t really care for lemon anyways.” The orange-clad man watched, eyebrows raised in surprise as she held the square out to her tablemate.
Lieutenant Thrace was lying—and Galen knew it. Only a little over a week ago the Chief had come across Starbuck in a nearly deserted hanger bay late into the third shift. He’d been concerned to see her leaning against her Viper, staring at a well-creased paper. He knew she’d had some trouble sleeping since returning from that little jaunt to Caprica—who wouldn’t given what she’d probably seen? But there was a melancholiness to the way she was regarding the scrap that just seemed…wrong in relation to the mercurial woman.
Taking a hesitant step closer, he had given her a nod in greeting as she’d raised opaque eyes to meet his. Something had kept him quiet as her gaze dropped again, and—as the angle of her grip shifted—he was able to see that she held a sheet torn from some type of cookbook or magazine. Not exactly what he’d expected.
He remembered shifting, uncomfortable in the stretched silence, and jokingly asked if she was thinking of transferring to the kitchen.
She’d looked up then, a ghost of her usual smirk pulling at full lips but not reaching the gold-flecked eyes as she’d replied, “Naw, the Old Man doesn’t want half the crew down with food poisoning.”
He’d grinned and quipped, “What? Only half?”
Her smile had crept higher, but then retreated and her voice had gone flat. “It’s stupid. Billions of people dead. Our worlds destroyed. And you know what I miss?” She’d given him a glance, and he’d been surprised at the glimpse of vulnerability reflected in their green depths. “Lemons.” She’d huffed a hollow laugh, then added, “Lemon pies, tarts, pudding. Frak, even lemonade.”
She’d waved the sheet at him then, and Galen had finally seen what she’d been staring at, a recipe for a Lemon Chiffon pie. He’d been at a loss what to say—how to react to this new side to Starbuck.
“Pie’s good,” he’d said, then felt foolish.
“Yeah, it is.” She’d lightly stroked the picture. “My dad use to take me to this little diner few blocks from the place we had on Caprica. We’d split a piece of Lemon Meringue pie.” Another caress. “Every time he made it home from tour that one summer, we go. Just the two of us.” She had then carefully folded the keepsake and tucked it away into a breast pocket of her jacket. “Guess it just reminds me of some good times.”
Without another word, Kara Thrace had turned and strode away, leaving Galen to consider the snapshot of her life she’d shared with him.
Part 2 below: