Chapter Text
"It doesn't have to be like this, Kara".
She heard the words through the swirling mists of her suffering. Her whole body ached with grinding cramps at the contorted position she was held in. She had the worst headache she'd ever known.
D'Anna looked down at the human rebel. She'd been in the punishment stocks for a day and a night now, and the weather hadn't been kind. She was trembling; her body wracked with shivers. She coughed harshly.
"All you have to do is apologise, Kara. Say you're sorry, and that you've learnt your lesson. That isn't so hard, is it? And then you can go home.."
Kara coughed again. She felt the heat of fever in her throat; the only part of her that was warm. Until she felt the Cylon's hand on her back. It rubbed in circles, and she had to bite back a moan at the pain. The whipping had been a week ago, but the marks were still raw. The pain cut through her apathy, however, and brought back a small measure of her resistance.
***
It had all started a week ago. Well, really it started when the Cylons found them again, four months ago, but it had taken some time to get the resistance organised, once they'd had it confirmed that the concept of peaceful Cylon rule was a complete frakking joke. Still, it was easier to rouse the more passive people to join their resistance movement, once the first blow had been struck, the first executions carried out.
Also, although the Cylons had assumed her involvement almost from the very first, they'd had no proof. They'd contented themselves with watching her very closely, trying to catch her out. It had become harder and harder for Kara to get in touch with the others, and almost impossible for her to carry out any acts of insurrection. She'd chafed at the forced inactivity. Every time she left her tent, she found that one of the skinjobs, most often a Leoben or a D'Anna, sometimes both together, just so happened to be in the area. They affected surprise, initiated conversation, and she had no choice but to play along. Gods, it was infuriating!
A week ago, she'd snapped. Snuck out of her tent in the dead of night, leaving Sam snoring. She had to do *something, dammit! She figured she wouldn't endanger the others by trying to contact them. Even if she only took out one toaster, it'd be worth it.. would make the daily Cylon chitchat slightly more bearable. She grinned sourly.
There was an ammo dump by the river. Had she gone to the Chief or to Saul, they would have been able to tell her that they suspected the skinjobs had found it and were staking it out. Hell, what did it matter now anyway.
***
She grunted, her body trying once again desperately to straighten out, even while her brain knew it was pointless. The back of her neck came up firmly against the unyielding wood, and she bit back on a moan of suffering.
***
The Centurions had been waiting, red eyes muted to hide in the darkness. As soon as she ripped off the planks covering the pit, they clanked forwards, surrounding her. Blinding white light filled the night, forcing her to raise both hands to her eyes. She had no weapon, and even if she had, it would have been too late.
"Good evening, Captain. Nice night for a stroll, isn't it?"
***
She'd been hauled back to the encampment, almost frozen with fear and rage. Caught. Caught caught caught. D'Anna had walked besides her, smiling and talking rubbish about purpose, and God's plan, and the spirit of cooperation, and a whole load of other mumbo jumbo she tried her best to close her mind to.
Reaching the newly-constructed detention centre, she was unceremoniously ushered into a pitch black cell and left alone all night.
***
Morning came, and with it a beam of light from a window aperture high above her head. Too far to get anywhere near. She studied the door. Solid steel. Cylons didn't do things by halves. She sighed. She didn't really think that they would execute her, not for just attempting to access an ammo dump, but she wasn't sure. They might want to set an example, crush the resistance before it really got off the ground. Hell, she didn't know.
They didn't execute her. Waited until the sun, such as it was on New Caprica, was high, and the word had been passed among the people. *Public flogging, high noon, market square. Who? Captain Thrace, I hear.. No! They got Kara?
D'Anna administered the punishment personally. Kara was dragged to the square by the Centurions, kicking wildly. D'Anna could have had the guards hold her while her restraints were secured, but she preferred to use the prisoner's renewed defiance as an excuse to demonstrate to the crowd the consequences of disobedience. She converged on the pilot as the machines let her go, along with Leoben and Sharon. They surrounded her, giving her no chance to escape. The human did manage to get a few good blows in, but it wasted valuable time and energy in yelling insults and threats. D'Anna and the others remained implacable, virtually expressionless, slight smirks the only clue to their state of mind.
They beat her savagely to the ground, punching and slapping again and again until she stopped trying to get up. A kick to the gut finished things, and the prisoner curled up into a helpless ball, hacking harshly.
Things moved quickly then. D'Anna ordered her locked into the shackles dangling from the punishment structure in the middle of the square. Starbuck tried to regain some of her defiance, but it was hard. Gods, her face hurt.. She could sense a large crowd in attendance, but refused to look at them. She felt bizarrely ashamed of herself and her situation.
D'Anna was speaking again, to the crowd now, telling them of her crime and her sentence. Starbuck didn't even bother listening to the words. She swallowed. She knew what was coming. She'd seen it before.
Standing back, the Three model began to administer her very public flogging. The crowd was very quiet, and the sound of the whip very loud. Starbuck bit her lip. She was determined not to break, but of course it was only ever a matter of time.
***
D'Anna stepped back and passed the bloodied whip to one of the Dorals without taking her eyes off Starbuck. She was breathing slightly harder than usual, and her colour was heightened, but otherwise she showed no sign of the strenuous exercise of the last thirty minutes. She addressed the crowd.
"Thank you for coming, everyone". As if they'd had a choice. "I hope this spectacle serves to adequately demonstrate the consequences of acts of violence towards the Cylon. Let me be clear, retribution *will continue as long as is necessary. Thank you".
She turned and began making her way towards the main building. Starbuck swung limp and unconscious in her chains.
***
Her back was a bloody mess. Sam wept as he laid her gently on her front on their shared bed. No medical facility here. He'd just have to wait for the doctor, who, he'd been incredulously informed, was currently busy treating a Sharon for an infected finger. Saul had helped him carry Starbuck in, and their eyes met now in shared horror as the semi-conscious pilot moaned on the bed.
"Bastards.."
"Bastards".
"What can we do, Colonel?"
"Nothing. Right now. Just gotta help her as best we can".
Using cold water and old rags, they began gently cleaning the blood from her back. When it came to removing her tattered pants to tend to the wounds on her thighs and buttocks, Saul quietly left the tent, leaving Kara to her whimpers and Sam to his helpless anger.
***
If they'd thought it couldn't get any worse, they'd been so wrong. There was another beating two days later. Kara hadn't even left the tent, had had nothing to do with the attack ️on the Centurion patrol, and yet they came for her anyway. Sam had raged at them until they knocked him flat.
She was weaker this time. Struggling against the Centurions just hurt her back too much; the barely-healing lash marks breaking open almost immediately. So she lay still in their unbreakable grip, merely gasping as she tried to cope with the pain. She couldn't believe this was happening to her again - this time, when she palpably hadn't done anything to deserve the punishment. And she knew that the Cylons knew it too.
She was strung up once more from the structure, D'Anna circling her with predatory eyes, ready to preach once again to the surrounding crowd. All just the same as last time, except that this time her back was bloody, her face was bruised, her blonde head bowed. D'Anna stripped the loose shirt from her body.
"This is the result of the continuing violence against the Cylon government! Last night, two Centurions were ambushed outside the Western perimeter. Gunfire opened up, and these two loyal soldiers were destroyed! You were all warned, not two days ago, that attacks of this nature will, not, be tolerated!"
She held out her hand and the Chief saw with disbelieving eyes a Doral, probably the same one, pass her the bullwhip. A mutter went up from the crowd.
"Nobody has been caught for this crime! Nobody has been brought to justice! Now, I promise you that the perpetrator or perpetrators *will be found, and they *will be dealt with. However," she teased the head of the whip across Starbuck's shoulders, "until that time, we thought it best to provide a timely reminder to you all of the inadvisability of resistance. And I don't care..."
She stopped as the mutter and roar of the crowd grew louder. Her voice grew louder. "And I don't *care if this particular human carried out this offence, or not. She's been found guilty of planning a prior attack, which was stopped before it could take place, so she may as well be punished for this one".
The crowd was angry now, pushing against the barriers. D'Anna gestured, and the Centurions stepped forwards as one, their rifles rising to hip height. The crowd shrank back. D'Anna smiled, her voice at a lower pitch once more.
"Maybe the next one of you who finds themselves tempted to do something.. *foolish, might remember the consequences.. which might not always turn out to be exactly what you expect".
She turned in triumph now to the hanging pilot, who had raised her head during this speech and now faced the crowd, her jaw set. She fixed her eye on a crane across the way, stubbornly refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
"Poor Starbuck", she said softly now, the words only for her. "My poor little poster girl. You didn't know what you'd let yourself in for, do you? When you started all this?"
Starbuck didn't reply, standing mulish and proud even naked to the waist with the stripes on her back livid in the murky grey evening light.
"And you still don't. But believe me, Kara, you will. Oh, you will.."
***
It took a lot less time this time for the pilot first to break her stubborn silence, then to moan. Then to scream. D'Anna refused to stop until she begged. Begged, in front of all that crowd, all those people, some of whom were her friends, some she'd had disagreements with. They all knew her, even if only by sight and reputation. Captain Thrace, Top Gun, CAG, the best pilot in the Colonial Fleet. Starbuck, whose exploits both in and out of the cockpit were legendary. Kara, who was now hanging in chains, tears streaming down her face, begging the Cylon to stop, please stop, oh please Gods, I’ll do anything, but Lords won’t you please stop..