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one drink to remember, another to forget

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If anybody but Thrace ever caught her with the needles, they'd think she was shooting up to forget, to find a moment's peace from things that no one should have to remember. She's not. It's Thrace who knows different, and it makes her uncomfortable, that this brash, irritating person can stroll into her life and into the galley and know her, but it's too late for the regrets that she wants to have. Regret is a luxury. Regret is for other people. Regret is not for razors. For Kendra, there's the drugs, the memories, and Kara Thrace: Kara Thrace, who is almost, almost as good as the drugs, Kara Thrace, the CAG, who she should absolutely not be frakking, Kara Thrace, the only person she's met since Helena Cain who's really impressed her.

She was high and Thrace was drunk, so she supposes it's anybody's guess as to who grabbed whom first, not that it matters. She knows for certain how it ended, with Thrace on top of her and inside her, pushing and stroking until Kendra couldn't remember her own godsdamn name. She has a hazy memory of something before that, of her shoving the CAG up against a bulkhead, Thrace's fingers winding around strands of her hair, dragging their mouths together. Kendra's kisses are hard and they always have been, but they're harder now, after the war, after everything she's seen and done, and Thrace is the only person who doesn't seem to mind the bite. She kicks back. Kendra has bruises now she can't explain away by saying that they've been sparring. She has fingerprints on her biceps, her hips, bitemarks on her shoulders, her neck, the smooth skin on the inside of her thighs.

If her new Commander is pissed that his XO is frakking the CAG, or more specifically, that anyone else is frakking Kara Thrace, he hasn't said anything yet, but then again, it's possible that he just doesn't know. He's too subsumed with the strange new intricacies of commanding a Battlestar. Kendra likes Adama well enough, but no one will ever be a better Commander than Cain, not for her: not after what they went through together, not after what she did for duty, for loyalty.

They're in the middle of a war, and Kendra doesn't have time to look for peace, but she comes back to Thrace, she comes back to the needles, every time, because if it's peace she's looking for then she wants to find it inside her memories, not around them. She wants to go through the pain and find that it was right. She wants peace in the memory of a warm gun and the slick metal of the trigger against her finger, and she pursues it like it's an order even though she knows that she'll never find it, that it doesn't matter what she tries. Whether it's the tired relief she feels when Thrace leaves her quarters, sweaty and bruised and unapologetic, or the sweet numbness that comes after she pushes the sharp point of the needle against her neck and drives it home, it is all only a temporary reprieve when what she wants most, even more than peace, even more than numbness, is absolution, is rest. She envies the dead, who have what she cannot, who are remembered but have no memories. She will rest when she is one of them. For now, there's duty to distract her from the madness and Thrace and the needles to remind her of who she is, who she has become.