The first time he saw her, he thought she was overrated. The boys had been talking her up to be some hotshot supermodel with enough 'charm' to smack a superior officer in the ass and get away with it. She struck him, maybe, as the first and second descriptors, but not the middle. She was attractive, sure, even pretty in a boyish sort of way, but she wasn't a model by any stretch of the term.
He couldn't count how many times he'd seen her between then and now, but lying there, eyes closed and shivering slightly under the threadbare survival blanket, she was the most frakking beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
He'd never tell her, obviously. But there it was. He smiled a bit and shifted on the cold ground, trying to find some way to make peace with the inescapable sharp edges of rock beneath his bedroll. Hotdog's faint snoring was just audible over the crackle of the camp fire that Kat and Racetrack were tending. Lee watched them prod vacantly at the flames with gnarled sticks, their eyes scanning the surrounding forest of dead trunks, and sighed quietly. Week one of Basic Pilot Crash Survival Training was coming to a close. Only three more days to go before they could return to the ship and Lee could finally get the chance to beat whoever had come up with this frakking idea into a bulkhead.
Kara smiled faintly in her sleep and Lee wondered vaguely if she'd somehow heard his thought. Already halfway there, he let his eyes fall the rest of the way closed, and before he knew it, that half-smiling face was above his, grinning ruthlessly and holding a small, dripping bucket. He barely had time to get her name out in confusion before a load of frigid water was dumped on him.
"Morning, major," she said cheerfully, setting the bucket aside and crouching beside him. "Rise and shine!"
Spluttering and wiping water off his face, he sat up. "What in hell—"
"You overslept," she informed him, what he now saw as a cheery façade giving way to irritation. "The locals were getting restless. Come on, get dressed and let's move out."
Lee really was cute sometimes, she had to admit. When she dumped that water on him, for instance. Soaking wet and totally stunned, he reminded her so strongly of a floppy puppy that it was all she could do to stay annoyed and not laugh her brains out.
They'd already packed up most of their gear, and so while Lee pulled his uniform on, Kara lay their map down on the ground and sketched out their itinerary for the day. "Major," she said teasingly as he settled in next to her in their small circle, "how nice of you to finally join us. Had a good sleep, did you?"
The group chuckled and Lee rubbed the back of his neck, pointedly ignoring her comments. "So, we have a plan for today?"
"We keep heading for the plateau here," she said, setting a finger down on the map. "We should be able to reach it today. From there, we can get a big enough boost on a signal for them to pick it up."
"Sounds good," he agreed. "Everybody ready?" There was a collective affirmative reply. "Alright. Let's move out."
She watched him discreetly as they walked. She'd fallen back to bring up rear while he led the pack, giving her an easily disguised vantage point. He hiked on fearlessly, seemingly tirelessly, urging on the junior members of the team when they stumbled. It was no wonder he was CAG—she could think of no one better for the job, not even herself. Somehow, he managed to get that mix of militarism and kindness just right, that perfect combination that she'd never even come close to achieving.
He'd be head of the fleet someday, she knew it. And she was happy for him.
He paused at the top of a small ridge and glanced back down at the scraggly line of pilots trudging up after him. His eyes met hers and he quirked a half-smile. She found herself struggling to return it. He'd be head of the fleet someday… if he lived long enough. It was part of their lives, the constant danger. They'd both learned to live with it, as much as anyone can learn to live with it. Somewhere deep down, Kara knew she didn't truly believe she'd ever be killed. She didn't believe he'd ever be killed. He was Apollo, named after a god, for frak's sake, and she was Starbuck, invincible Starbuck. Some part of her brain told her they'd both live forever, because if she ever stopped thinking that, she'd be off her rocker faster than the launch tube could spit out her Viper.
She looked tired, he realized. Really tired. And it worried him, just like it worried him every time she made any indication of pain. He tried to send her some of his confidence with a warm smile, but she'd already dropped her eyes back to the ground and kept marching onwards.
Their goal, the plateau, wasn't far. By mid-afternoon, they'd reached the base of the almost-sheer cliff that climbed the final metres to their destination. They took a short break there while they set up their climbing harnesses and picks, and then Racetrack, their resident monkey, led the way up the rock face.
It was relatively easy going. Lee had never been much of a climber, but even he had to admit that this wasn't too hard. They moved quickly and surely, the jagged rocks providing footholds and handholds so sturdy that the picks were almost useless. That is, until they lost their strength.
"Break!" Racetrack's voice cried from above, "Everybody break now! Sideways! We got a landslide!"
The world blurred. Lee scrambled as fast as he could to the right, but it wasn't far enough to avoid the shower of rocks and dirt that poured down. He was caught and knocked off his feet, just barely catching hold of his picks that were firmly embedded in the cliff. A body, he couldn't see whose, tumbled past him. He kicked to regain his footing without success, and another cascade of dirt bore him down to the ground, where he landed hard on his front, and was promptly buried. The world went silent.
He struggled. It wasn't far to the surface, he knew it. It couldn't be far. He pushed and scratched and kicked and shoved debris out of his way until finally he saw light. The world exploded into noise. There was yelling. Kat, who'd still been on the ground when the cliff had fallen, was digging through the rubble. She'd found Hotdog, half-hidden beneath some soil and unconscious. A head broke through the rubble a little ways away and Racetrack gasped for air.
"Kara?" Lee called, crawling over the rocks and dirt. He swore but kept moving as something sharp bit into his hand. "Kara!" There was no answer. "Kara!" He pawed frantically at the debris.
"Lee?" The voice was small, muffled, and frightened. He froze, listening hard. "Is that you?"
"Yeah," he called back, "Kara, where are you? Keep talking, I'll find you and dig you out."
"I'm over here." It was coming from a pile of large rocks by what had been the base of the cliff. He rushed over and heaved one of the top ones out of the way, revealing a pale, bloodied hand.
"I've got you," he said, putting his own hand over hers to assure her. "Hold on, I'll get the rest of these rocks off."
"'Kay," she said. Gods, her voice was tiny. She sounded scared. "Lee?"
He grunted, straining to push another boulder out of the way.
"Lee, I can't—" there was a choked pause, "I can't—" He heard her moan and then a soft noise like a sigh filtered its way up to his ear, and then nothing.
Nothing.
"Kara?" he tried, worried. "Kara, stay with me. Kara!"
With renewed vigour, he sprang back into motion. Removing another rock revealed battered skin and a wisp of dirty blond hair. He pushed the other rubble away from her face and took it in his hands, gently tapping her cheek. "Come on, Kara," he begged. "Wake up." There was no response. He leaned down, his ear scant millimetres from her parted lips, listening. He nearly crumbled with relief; she was breathing.
Kat had freed Hotdog, who was now sitting up against a tree and holding a blood-stained gauze bandage to his head. She scrambled over, followed a moment later by Racetrack, who seemed a bit off-balance. The two helped him move the remainder of the rocks from Kara.
"Are either of your radios working?" he asked, crouching on a slab of stone next to Kara's still form. "Mine's gone—probably smashed to bits in the slide."
"Mine's good," said Racetrack, clumsily wiping a trickle of blood away from her eye. "Here."
He took it and flipped it on. "Galactica, Apollo," he tried. "Come in, Galactica."
There was a tense pause, and then, "Apollo, Galactica. Have you obtained your goal?"
"Negative," he replied, "We require immediate assistance. We got caught in a landslide."
There was another pause, and when the radio sparked back to life it was the admiral's voice instead of Dee's that came through. "Apollo, what is your status?"
"Cuts and bruises on all of us," he told him, "probable concussion on Hotdog and Racetrack. Captain Thrace is unconscious."
"Maintain position," Adama ordered. "We're sending a Raptor." And the connection went dead.
Racetrack chuckled. "I don' have a cuncusssion, Adama," she said, her words slurring together, "Don' be ridziculous… now, les get Starbuck ou'of that hole and see what we can do about tha'arm of hers..." She leant forwards, reaching out to grab Kara.
Lee lunged, knocking her outstretched hands out of the way. "No!" he barked. "If she has a spinal injury you'll just make it worse."
Racetrack rocked back on her heels, over-estimated her balance, and tumbled onto her rump. "Sorry, major…"
"Go join Hotdog," he said. "Stay put and see what you can scrounge out of the medkit."
Kat was looking at him oddly as the younger pilot stumbled away. "What makes you think she has a spinal injury?"
Lee looked down at Kara. Her face was pale, covered in pinkish blotches and streaks of dark blood. "She said something…" He peered closer at the unconscious woman. Those were tear-tracks on her cheeks. "That she couldn't… couldn't do something; she didn't get the rest out." He hesitated. She'd have his head when she woke up if she found out he'd told Kat she'd been afraid. If she woke up. He stamped down hard on that particular thought. "She sounded scared. It just made me think maybe—"
Kat's hand on his shoulder stopped him and he looked up at her. She offered him a small smile. "Okay. Better safe than sorry. Besides, not like we can make her any more comfortable up here than down there."
"Yeah," he agreed, returning her smile as best he could. His stomach was twisting itself into knots—he thought he might recognize a noose developing down there… he glanced back at Kara. Her eyelids looked so fragile, it was hard to image that they could keep those steely eyes of hers contained. And yet, if they somehow managed to do so permanently, he was fairly certain his stomach's noose would take his heart into its embrace.
Kat squeezed his shoulder and pushed herself to her feet, moving off. "Don't do anything drastic," she warned, only half-joking.
"Right," he replied, trying to sound as optimistic as possible. He stared at Kara, eyes travelling over her tattered clothing, the blood staining her tanks… her left wrist and hand were obviously broken, bent horribly to the side and already swollen and purple. Trails of deep red trickled slowly from cuts all over her, much like on the rest of them. So vulnerable… With painstaking care, he brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and pretended he could see her stirring.