what some call insanity

Also! Birthday fic for tallulah2 and lostonbroadway :D

Title: Ceramic Fruit
Fandom: 24 - Martha/Aaron, of course!


It wasn’t that she didn’t like to cook. When she was sixteen and trying to prepare a dinner for her boyfriend’s birthday, the fish had burned and the cake collapsed down the middle like in a sitcom. After that Martha just decided that cooking wasn’t for her, and left it at that. In college it hadn’t mattered because her roommate was a twitchy sort of girl who lived off canned vegetables, and there was always a fast food place open, if not a 24 hour mini-mart where Martha could grab a frozen dinner and then exercise an extra twenty minutes the next day.

Thirty years later there were only three dishes that she cooked with any degree of proficiency, and that was out of necessity, because every now and then she had to entertain small groups of people. Her social life was fluid enough that she rarely had to feed the same people more than a couple of time, so the three meals offered her a little leeway. The easiest, and her favorite, was pasta with crabmeat, served with frozen fruit salad and red wine.

Martha would never admit it, not even to herself, but the one thing she missed about being First Lady was the unending supply of good food that she didn’t have to cook. A week into Meadowbrook and already she was stumbling. Living on her own had been a thrilling, if not terrifying, idea, but she was sure she could do it – how hard could it be? Standing in her tiny kitchen, surrounded by the various items in her pantry, she shook her head. It wasn’t as easy as it looked on television.

But she could do this. Okay, so she had – what, three apples and a banana? There was salad dressing. She could make fruit salad.

It wasn’t half bad.

--

When Aaron came to her apartment for the first time, he came bearing bags full of groceries and drapes hung over his arm. “Martha?” he called, trying to find his footing. She peered out of what he assumed was the bedroom, hair curlier than usual, and reading glasses on.

“Aaron, thank God it’s you – the attendants are driving me insane!” she laughed. “Here, give me one of those.” She took the biggest bag from his arms and shuffled over to the counter. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing all right,” he answered, trying to contain his surprise at seeing her so – he wasn’t sure. She wasn’t carefree, but she seemed far more human than he had ever seen her. Of course, in the past, she’d always been Mrs. Logan, the First Lady of the United States. Now she was Martha. “You look wonderful.” She’d lost weight, he noticed, but that was hardly surprising.

She shrugged, and then gave a short exclamation at the collection of goods in the bag she was digging through. “Oh, Aaron – this if fantastic, I’ve been living off fruit and stale bread these past few days. I guess now that I’m living on my own I’ll have to learn how to cook!” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “I’ve never really had to before, but then, I’ve never lived alone, either.”

“You’ve never lived alone?” He shouldn’t be surprised, because he knew she married young, but she’d always struck him as fiercely independent. Martha shrugged again, a bit embarrassedly, but shot him a brilliant smile as she opened a carton of strawberries and bit the tip off of one without bothering to wash it.

--

They talked over dinner – take out from Sid’s, an Italian place downtown that Martha loved - and she gave him the grand tour of the place. He promised to bring her a couple of cookbooks, the kind with easy recipes, because as it turned out he cooked. “It’s soothing,” he explained, turning red as she arched an eyebrow. “Come on – long days at the office, throwing myself in front of bullets, I need a hobby!” Her eyebrow twitched higher, and he gave up as the corner of her lip tightened in suppressed laughter.

“If you want a hobby, Agent Pierce,” she mocked lightly, “you could have come to me. I’m sure I could have…entertained you.” Moving forward, she placed a hand on his chest and bit back a giggle as he flushed redder. “In any case,” she breathed against his neck, “why don’t you come over next Saturday, and we can – cook a meal.”

He wondered how she managed to make that sound as exciting as it did.

--

Saturday came and Aaron showed up with the promised cookbooks and a collection of ceramic fruit.

“They’re jars,” he explained, “to hold sugar and things.” Martha wanted dearly to comment but he seemed so sincere that she just kissed his cheek and showed him the things she had laid out for dinner – it was one of her three recipes: grilled tilapia with asparagus and rice.

As the fish lay simmering on the stove, Martha turned her back to cut a lemon and saw Aaron shake something into the pan. She whipped back to face him. “What was that?” she asked accusingly.

“It’s – seasoning,” he stammered. “I bought it for you last week.” Martha eyed it suspiciously.

“I’ve never used it,” she said. “Just lemon juice.”

Rolling his eyes, Aaron put a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me on this,” he told her, and she did.

It was delicious.

--

Later that night, curled up in Martha’s new queen sized bed and the TV glowing in front of them, Aaron looked at her. “You do know that the ceramic fruit was a joke, right?” he asked.

Martha swallowed a sigh of relief. “Of course I do,” she smiled. “But I still get to keep it, right?” She winked at him, and he nodded.

He was pretty sure he would agreed to anything she said at that moment.



Title: Starry Starry Night
Fandom: BSG - Adama/Roslin (sick of 24! Hee.)


The stars hung in the air like holes in a black sheet. She thinks she should be sick of stars by now.

“Is this really it, Bill? Is this how we’re going to spend all the rest of our days?” Her voice, soft and resigned, cracked the comfortable silence. Adama glanced at her, and she didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Would that be so terrible?” He knows it would but they're facing a lifetime.

Laura shook her head sleepily. “Not this,” she murmured, twitching her hand to indicate their present condition. “No. But – everything. The wondering…waiting…jumping at every flash of light…” her voice trailed off, and she was quiet for several moments. “It’s not living. Not really.”

There was nothing to say to that – he didn’t have the convictions to dispute it. Instead he brushed her hand with his own and traced her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. Laura smiled slightly and intertwined their fingers.

The silence fell again, for what could have been minutes or maybe hours, all night, but the stars still hung above them when she finally spoke once more. “They’re looking for us,” she whispered, “but I don’t think it matters anymore. We could live another forty, fifty, even a hundred years in peace, but the whole time...” she didn’t finish, shifting slightly and nestling deeper into the blanket they were lying on.

Bill tucked an arm under his head. “Most people seem to think it’s over.”

“They do, don’t they?” Laura mused. “Gods…” Her voice was still soft but it was colored with a tinge of frustration.

She shivered. Bill turned his head to look at her. “You cold?” he asked, concerned. Laura smiled tightly.

“A little.” A short laugh escaped her lips. “I’m not quite used to the actual wind yet.” She rubbed her arms, pausing as Bill hesitantly moved closer and wrapped an arm around her, and stopping completely when he ran his own hand along the exposed skin. Smiling, she glanced up at him, meeting his eyes for a moment before settling against him, somehow much warmer.

The wind sped up around them, shaking leaves and rustling Laura’s wrap. “I’ve missed you,” Bill said quietly, and then looked slightly surprised, as though not aware that he had intended to say it out loud. Laura tilted her head up.

“Gods, I’ve missed you too,” she confessed. “Everything’s so different now. New Caprica…” she laughed bitterly. “Hardly. They’re trying to make this home, but it’s not. It’s never going to be.” The sigh that followed this statement was almost relieved – there was no one who she trusted enough to share this particular frustration with, not when everyone was so joyful to have air on their faces and grass beneath their feet. “I wish we’d never found this planet,” she continued softly. “That we could have – kept going. Found Earth.”

Bill’s fingers trailed higher up her arm, eventually reaching her hair and stroking it. “I know,” he said.

“Although I suppose while I’m wishing I might as well wish that the Cylons had never attacked in the first place,” Laura added humorlessly, anguish apparent in the lines of her face. “But there’s no point in wishing, is there.” It wasn’t a question.

Bill didn’t answer for several long seconds. “You’re always welcome on Galactica,” he offered, voice still several octaves lower than usual. “As a liaison or something.”

Smiling softly, Laura tucked her hand under her chin. “You know that Baltar will never go for that,” she said sadly. “And I can’t – I have a job to do here. There are about two hundred teachers and ten thousand kids who need an education. And it’s good to be teaching again. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.” Her voice was tapering off, getting slower and breathier, as though she was in a trance. “Just – I hate not knowing what’s going on.”

The unbidden plea for information wasn’t lost on him. “There’s nothing going on, Laura,” he told her honestly. “Nothing at all. No DRADIS contacts, no missing pilots, no reported Cylon models…nothing.”

A cynical smile tugged at her lips. “Somehow that doesn’t comfort me much.” Bill shook his head slightly.

“Me neither.”

The silence around them ebbed like ocean waves; moving in and out with a comfortable repetition. Some pauses lasted longer than others, but the night was long and hazy and it all came back around. The smoke lingering in the air danced around them.

Nestling closer to Bill, Laura closed her eyes and then blinked several times, trying not to fall asleep. “Maybe we should just enjoy this,” she murmured. The weed was settling over her quickly and she was warmer than she had been since arriving on New Caprica.

Bill looked down at her. “I am,” he told her. A smile twitched at her lips but she shook her head slightly, both agreeing with him and telling him that wasn’t what she meant.

“No,” she replied, “no, I mean enjoy this – this planet.” Stifling a yawn, she continued dreamily. “I mean, maybe the cylons come back, maybe they don’t, but for now – right now, we’ve got a break.” Her voice caught on itself – in wonder? Weariness? She wasn’t quite sure.

Bill gripped her tighter, unconsciously pulling her closer to him. “I’ve got people who want to get off the ship; move down here,” he said, and the resignation in his voice was almost crippling.

Moving her hand to lay on his chest, fingers splayed across the uniform, Laura nodded slightly and toyed with a button on his jacket. “Can you blame them?” she asked, keeping her words steady. “I mean, what are you going to do?” He was tense; she could tell that this had been eating away at him for awhile, and didn’t know what to say.

“I can’t just let them go,” Bill muttered, and she could detect a plea. He wanted her to understand. She did. Starbuck had come down a few weeks ago, and now Tigh – soon it would be Lee. This was the only family he had left, and Laura could understand not wanting to give them up for anything. Images of Billy, first at his desk, then lying gray on a metal table, flashed through her mind unbidden.

She gave a shuddering sigh. “You’re going to have to eventually.” This was what they did for each other; they were voices of reason, of inevitability. “You can’t keep them up there forever, Bill…not when they don’t want to be there.” Her fingers trailed higher, stroking his cheek, and he sighed as well.

“I know.” Laura shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to meet his eyes. “I know,” he repeated more quietly. They both knew he was trying to convince himself.

She gave a small, sad smile that he returned, and they both closed their eyes when she leaned down to kiss him. It was soft and sweet, like their only other kiss, but her hand on his face was hot and she was alive under the stars. When she finally broke away, several moments later, she offered another smile.

“Worry about it tomorrow,” she said sleepily as Bill pulled her closer, closing his eyes again. “For now, just…” she trailed off. “You’re here. With me.” The last of the smoke dissipated as she curled into him, and the ground weakened below.