Blood On His Hands
Dad.
I'm sorry.
Gods, I'm so sorry.
Lee sits on the small, hard cot in his cell, staring blankly at his hands.
His blood-soaked hands.
He doesn't know how to feel, doesn't know what to think. Everything is in turmoil, his whirling thoughts and emotions making him feel physically sick, his body tense and shaky, his stomach churning.
Laura is in the adjoining cell, but she hasn't tried to talk to him in hours. He could barely answer her then, doesn't think he could manage any kind of coherent response now.
What have I done?
I can't fix this.
Dad, please.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
He hates himself for feeling this way. His father has never done anything for him – nothing except make him feel like he isn't good enough, that is.
I'm sorry I'm not the son you wanted.
Tears prick at his eyes and he squeezes them shut, resting his head in his hands.
You're doing it again.
Stop it.
Just because you're not good enough for him, doesn't mean you're not good enough for – for anybody.
He's never let himself admit to anyone that he feels this way, never has and he never will – not even to himself.
But every time his father pushes him away, treats him like he's not worth as much as anyone else, gives him that look that Lee knows so well – the one that says he's disappointed him again – the feeling returns, a little stronger each time: the overwhelming need to be loved, fully, unconditionally, the way parents loved their children in the books he'd read as a kid, the way his father had never seemed to love him.
Godsdammit, stop it!
So what if he doesn't love you?
You don't need him.
Even in his own head, his voice sounds small, unconvincing.
You don't need him…
He chokes back a sob, biting his lip so hard he tastes blood, desperately hoping Laura didn't hear him.
What if he dies?
What if he hates me for what I did?
What if I never get to talk to him again?
Then he becomes very still, breathless as a sudden thought hits him.
What good would it do if I could? I wouldn't apologize. I'm not sorry.
I'm sorry for disappointing you again, Dad.
But I'm not sorry for what I did.
Shivering, Lee swings his feet up onto the cot and rolls over onto his side, facing the wall. He can't make himself hold the tears back anymore. He hopes Laura and the guard at the desk outside the cells didn't see.
I wish I could be what you want me to be, Dad.
But I can't.
I can't be a good little soldier anymore, can't mindlessly follow orders like I'm supposed to. No matter how hard I try, my heart just gets in the way of my head, and everything goes wrong again.
A vivid memory flashes before his eyes, a huge shape silhouetted against the stars by the light of his Viper's guns, explosions lighting its bulk: the Olympic Carrier.
Their blood is on his hands.
That day, I did what you told me. I did what my head said was smart instead of what my heart said was right.
Maybe it was right.
Or maybe it was wrong.
No matter how many times I try to tell myself what would have happened if I hadn't done it, my heart still tells me I was wrong. I shouldn't have done it.
I won't do it again.
I can't.
And I'm sorry.
Tears are still streaming down his face, leaving him struggling not to make any noise in the silent room.
He still doesn't know how to feel or what to think.
I wish I could tell you that this wasn't about us, Dad. I didn't do it just to rebel against you. We've only just started to become a family again. I don't want to destroy that.
Why can't you see that?
Why do you think I don't want us to be close?
Don't you know I love you?
He presses his face into the cot's thin blanket, the emotions welling up inside him so intense that his stomach hurts. He's never lost control like this before, doesn't know what to do.
I've spent so long wondering if you love me.
I've never wondered if you know I love you.
For a long time, I didn't think I did. I tried not to. I wanted to hate you, because it made it easier to deal with what happened to Zak. I wanted to hate you for abandoning us, for leaving Zak and me with mom, for all the times she got drunk and yelled and screamed at us, or disappeared for days at a time. I wanted to hate you for not seeing how bad it really was.
But I can't.
I don't know why.
Maybe it's because you're all I have left.
Maybe I'm just too pathetic to give up on the hope that you could love me.
Or maybe you really do love me, and I'm just waiting for you to tell me.
Curling in on himself, Lee folds his arms tightly across his chest and breathes deeply, trying to calm himself, waiting for the tears to stop.
Whatever happens next, Dad, whatever I do… I love you. We're still family. I'm still your son.
Even if you don't want me to be.
Even if you hate me.
I won't hate you.
Please just hang on.
Don't die.
Don't leave me before I can tell you why I did what I did.
Don't leave me with your blood on my hands.
I can't stay here, can't wait to see if you're ever going to wake up. I think the president's trying to plan a way to escape. I'm going to help her.
I'm sorry for hurting you again.
But I'll never apologize for my actions, not when they're what I believe is right.
He's calm now, the tears drying on his face. He rolls onto his back, staring at the shadows that the cell's bars cast on the ceiling.
Please be okay, Dad.
If not for me, then for the fleet. They need you. I don't know what will happen to them, to any of us without you.
You can hate me if you want.
You can be disappointed in me.
It's what I'm used to.
But don't ever think that I did what I did just to hurt you. Don't ever degrade me like that. Don't ever think that's all I'm worth.
You know that's not who I am.
I'm Lee Adama.
I'm your son.
I'm not just a copy of you.
I'm so much more than that.
I'm my own person.
One day, I hope you can see that.