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Fic: No Fate
blowup
winterda wrote in winterdfic
Title: No Fate
Rated: G
Summary: The way to Earth isn’t the only thing that Starbuck is remembering. BSG/Terminator
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Ron owns all things BSG. Fox and James own all things Terminator. I’m just playing with them.
AN: Just a little short that I couldn't stop thinking about. This is my first time really writting these two characters, so if they're OOC, I do apologize.

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Helo found her in her cabin working on the painting over her rack. He had known she was talented, he had seen the artwork in her apartment back on Caprica, but he was still surprised. Where had she even found paint to do something like that?

She hadn’t noticed him. In all honesty, Helo didn’t think she would even look at him if he called out her name. Once Starbuck set her mind to something, it was nearly impossible to change it. Right now, her mind was on her painting.

Star charts, surveillance photos, and maps were spread out all over the floor of the small cabin. Most of the systems they had already checked (twice), but she hadn’t put them away. He picked up a stack of photos that she had left sitting on the table and flipped through several them. Some had new marks on them, and Helo knew that they’d be checking them out again.

About halfway through the stack he found a piece of paper. Kara had scribbled notes all over it, most of which didn’t make any sense to Helo. In the corner of the paper, there was a drawing of a metallic-like skull with circular eyes and a matching arm with sockets and pistons instead of bones. Helo stared at it for a long moment. Was that how she thought Sharon was made?

She had also drawn a teenage girl with long dark hair, staring over her shoulder. If she had been real, she would have been pretty except for the coldness of her eyes. There didn’t seem to be a real life to them. They just seemed…blank.

The oddest thing by far was one line she had written repeatedly. The way it was written was like it was a motto or message. Helo frowned as he counted up at least four times she had written it.

“Kara.”

“Not now, Karl,” she said, not turning to face him.

He ignored her.

“What does this mean?”

“What?” she asked, not pausing.

Grabbing her shoulder (because she wouldn’t stop otherwise), he forced her to face him. For a moment and half, he thought that she might hit him, so he shoved the paper into her paint-covered hands. She held it like it was something foreign and odd instead of a piece of scrap paper she had scribbled some notes and doodles on.

Frowning, she handed it back to him. “I don’t know. It’s just something that I keep thinking about for some reason.”

“Really?” Helo held up the paper and read aloud, “‘The future is not set. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves.’ What does that mean?”

“Does it frakking matter? It’s just a couple of sentences, Helo. Not a prophesy from the gods.”

Helo continued to frown, but shook his head. Starbuck was right. It was just something she had scribbled down. That didn’t mean that it was a message that was going to save mankind or anything.

Looking around on the floor, she grabbed a surveillance photo from a section of space they had already searched three times. “What do you think about here?”

Sighing, Helo tucked the paper into his pocket and took the photo from her.

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