The high was gone for Starbuck. The wild joy of flying had carried her until she could latch onto the bilious rush of telling that asshole Tigh where he could frakking shove his frakking apology. But now even that adrenaline had faded, and there was nothing to replace it and fill up the frozen hole in her gut.
She sucked on her second cigar of the night; the smoke was warm and the habit was calming. On the day she got her last promotion and raise, she had gone straight to her favorite shop in Caprica City. "No more of that cheap shit you pawn off as cigars, George," she'd told the proprietor, slamming a handful of cubits down on the counter. "Only the good stuff for me from now on." It was the proudest day of her life.
Her thoughts skidded back to the present when she choked on the smoke, something she hadn't done since her first week of flight school. Coughing, she stubbed out the cigar against the wall and started to flick the remainder into the trash, but she caught it before it left her fingers and placed it carefully on the shelf above her head. She couldn't afford to waste them now. The shop was gone. George was dead. The Lords only knew where a girl was going to be able to get a cigar anymore.
She lay back and stared up at the bottom of the empty bunk above her and willed her brain to be still. Closing her eyes, she recalled the purity of the fight, and the primal satisfaction of saving Apollo's stuffed-up ass so spectacularly. If she had to say so herself, she would – that had been a smooth piece of flying. Who else could have managed that? No one, that was who. And best of all, Lee had squeaked like a little girl when they landed.
Someone pounded on the hatch. She swore under her breath and put her arm over her eyes. The pounding paused, then resumed. Maybe they needed a less subtle hint that she wasn't interested in company. "Frak off!" she yelled.
"Kara?"
"Oh, shit." She jumped up, almost slamming her forehead on the upper edge of the bunk. "Hang on, Lee."
"Sorry," he said when she swung the hatch open to reveal him standing in the corridor holding his small travel bag. "Were you asleep?"
She laughed. "Yeah, right."
"Yeah." His eyes unfocused for a moment, as though he were watching something far away, then his attention snapped back to her. "I, uh, I guess I wasn't supposed to be here long enough to need somewhere to sleep. I found the quartermaster's office, but the girl in there just burst into tears when I came in."
"Probably Hannah. Her lover was in my squadron. Until today."
"Ah. Right. Well, I didn't think she needed to be bothered finding me a place to crash."
"Come on," she said, grabbing his arm and yanking him inside. "You can bunk here for the night. Tomorrow we'll find you somewhere more suitable for a high and mighty officer like yourself."
"Don't be a bitch tonight, Kara," he said tiredly, standing in the center of the cramped space. "Just tell me which bed I can have."
She followed his gaze from bunk to bunk, each neatly made, their owner's personal effects arranged more or less neatly on the shelves above it. "That was Angel's... Reaper... Cricket... Trapper... well, I guess you can have your pick. Nobody's going to mind."
"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, and she shrugged. He dropped his travel bag next to the bunk perpendicular to hers. "I ran into Colonel Tigh on my way down."
"Did you? How great for you." She matched his expression of forced good humor.
"Yeah. He had that sour look on his face, and I thought, ah! He must have been talking to Kara."
"He came by. Wanted to make nice with me, now that there's no way he can bust me out of the service."
He lowered himself onto the bunk, slow and cautious, as though every muscle hurt as much as hers, which they probably did. "You might try to be nicer to him. At least pretend. Bygones, and all of that."
"Is that an order? Sir?"
"No. But I heard about the cracks you made about his wife. It was way out of line, and you know it."
"He started it." She flopped back down on her bunk. Anger radiated out from the pit of her stomach, but it lacked the fortifying warmth of her righteous ire at Tigh. "Why is everything a frakking lecture with you, Lee?"
"His wife is dead now, Kara," he said, and her gorge rose and burned her throat. "She's dead, and he had a hell of a job in front of him now. You could cut him just a little break. But that's up to you."
"Oh, that's frakkin' rich," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm getting a sermon on forgiveness from Lee Frakking Adama."
"It's up to you," he said again, and fell silent.
She lay there, stiff and still, and stared at the bottom of the bunk over her. Fear and guilt, anxiety and embarrassment sparked up briefly before submersing under the magmatic flow of her anger. Through it all she heard the echo of Zak's voice, hollow in the holding cell of the academy brig. Of course you started it, Kara. You always start it.
Then he had sweet-talked them out of there and taken her home to his mother, who cleaned her up and fed her and taught her how to beat the Adama men at cards. But she was dead now, too – Zak's mom, Lee's mom, as dead her youngest son. As dead as everyone else who hadn't lucked into their rag-tag caravan.
"He'd be gone now anyway, you know," she blurted, and an excruciating moment passed before Lee answered.
"What?"
"Zak. If he hadn't been in that plane, if he flunked out like you wanted him to, he'd have been on Caprica today. And even if there never was an accident, he'd have been flying with the squadron here," she went on, voice thickening out of her control. "No one could have kept him out of the fight, but he wouldn't have lasted five minutes against those Cylon fighters."
"God, Kara." His voice shook. She sat up and twisted to look at him, but he rolled away from her to face the wall. "Shut up. Just shut up."
"I'm sorry," she said, her own voice raw and quavering just enough that she would have to kill the witnesses, if it were anyone other than Lee.
He didn't answer. She got up far enough to slam her hand across the light switch, dousing the tension with concealing darkness. In the silence, she lay with her eyes closed in a mimicry of sleep that became reality sometime in the passing hours. Vaguely she was aware of spinning slowly through space, cold and solitary. Far, far in front of her, tiny fires bloomed and died. She thought they were Vipers under attack, but she squinted and her vision cleared, and she saw that the fires were planets. Each lit up for just a moment in final glory, then were extinguished. Once she could see them, she could also hear them as if she were on their surface to share in the collective howl of terror. She clapped her hands over her ears; one by one the voices fell away until only one was left, and she knew who it was.
She awoke in the middle of the fire and noise. Shaking and gasping, she fought to rise, banged painfully against the wall and sank back down to her pillow. The room was dark and silent. Breathing was a struggle; she clasped her hands over her belly to stop their tremors.
The hand on her shoulder made her jerk. "What?" she said, hoping she didn't sound as panicky as she thought she did.
"You were crying." Lee was still in his own bunk, stretched out to reach her even after she shrugged him off.
"You were dreaming," she snarled. He withdrew, but she knew he was still awake. She stared blindly in his direction until she couldn't stand the threat of her dreams lurking in the silence. "Zak was screaming."
Lee said nothing for a while, and when he moved, she thought he was going to get up and leave. She barely had time to feel the pang when his hand closed over her clasped ones. "No, he wasn't," he said, low but vehement. "It was too fast. He never even knew. I read your report."
"Yeah." She nodded several times before realizing both that he couldn't see her and that she was still shivering. "So fast. Everything happened so fast."
"I know." It hung in the air between them until Lee stirred again. "Shove over, Starbuck."
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Just move your ass over, will you?"
To her own surprise, she did. Her shaking eased at Lee's living warmth pressed to her side, and when eventually she spoke again, her voice was steady and clear. "Did you ever talk to your father?"
"I was talking to him before the jump."
"You know what I mean." When he didn't answer, she elbowed him in the side. "You can't talk to me about Tigh if you're a frakking hypocrite."
"We didn't talk," he said, very softly. "But we – we had a start."
"Good," she said, trying not to sound surprised. "Good. Then I can mind my own damn business."
"I'll believe that when it happens." He slid his arm around her shoulders, and she turned to face him. The chain of his dogtags scraped against her face, and when she put her arm around him, she felt the trembling in his chest that matched her own. She squeezed him hard.
"Go back to sleep," he said when her grip started to relax.
"Are we going to have to talk about this in the morning?" she mumbled into his chest, feeling warm at last and heavy with exhaustion.
"Hell, no." His laughter puffed against the tip of her ear, the first laughter she had heard from anyone since that afternoon.
"Thank the Lords of Kobol," she said, and the first night passed.
END
She sucked on her second cigar of the night; the smoke was warm and the habit was calming. On the day she got her last promotion and raise, she had gone straight to her favorite shop in Caprica City. "No more of that cheap shit you pawn off as cigars, George," she'd told the proprietor, slamming a handful of cubits down on the counter. "Only the good stuff for me from now on." It was the proudest day of her life.
Her thoughts skidded back to the present when she choked on the smoke, something she hadn't done since her first week of flight school. Coughing, she stubbed out the cigar against the wall and started to flick the remainder into the trash, but she caught it before it left her fingers and placed it carefully on the shelf above her head. She couldn't afford to waste them now. The shop was gone. George was dead. The Lords only knew where a girl was going to be able to get a cigar anymore.
She lay back and stared up at the bottom of the empty bunk above her and willed her brain to be still. Closing her eyes, she recalled the purity of the fight, and the primal satisfaction of saving Apollo's stuffed-up ass so spectacularly. If she had to say so herself, she would – that had been a smooth piece of flying. Who else could have managed that? No one, that was who. And best of all, Lee had squeaked like a little girl when they landed.
Someone pounded on the hatch. She swore under her breath and put her arm over her eyes. The pounding paused, then resumed. Maybe they needed a less subtle hint that she wasn't interested in company. "Frak off!" she yelled.
"Kara?"
"Oh, shit." She jumped up, almost slamming her forehead on the upper edge of the bunk. "Hang on, Lee."
"Sorry," he said when she swung the hatch open to reveal him standing in the corridor holding his small travel bag. "Were you asleep?"
She laughed. "Yeah, right."
"Yeah." His eyes unfocused for a moment, as though he were watching something far away, then his attention snapped back to her. "I, uh, I guess I wasn't supposed to be here long enough to need somewhere to sleep. I found the quartermaster's office, but the girl in there just burst into tears when I came in."
"Probably Hannah. Her lover was in my squadron. Until today."
"Ah. Right. Well, I didn't think she needed to be bothered finding me a place to crash."
"Come on," she said, grabbing his arm and yanking him inside. "You can bunk here for the night. Tomorrow we'll find you somewhere more suitable for a high and mighty officer like yourself."
"Don't be a bitch tonight, Kara," he said tiredly, standing in the center of the cramped space. "Just tell me which bed I can have."
She followed his gaze from bunk to bunk, each neatly made, their owner's personal effects arranged more or less neatly on the shelves above it. "That was Angel's... Reaper... Cricket... Trapper... well, I guess you can have your pick. Nobody's going to mind."
"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, and she shrugged. He dropped his travel bag next to the bunk perpendicular to hers. "I ran into Colonel Tigh on my way down."
"Did you? How great for you." She matched his expression of forced good humor.
"Yeah. He had that sour look on his face, and I thought, ah! He must have been talking to Kara."
"He came by. Wanted to make nice with me, now that there's no way he can bust me out of the service."
He lowered himself onto the bunk, slow and cautious, as though every muscle hurt as much as hers, which they probably did. "You might try to be nicer to him. At least pretend. Bygones, and all of that."
"Is that an order? Sir?"
"No. But I heard about the cracks you made about his wife. It was way out of line, and you know it."
"He started it." She flopped back down on her bunk. Anger radiated out from the pit of her stomach, but it lacked the fortifying warmth of her righteous ire at Tigh. "Why is everything a frakking lecture with you, Lee?"
"His wife is dead now, Kara," he said, and her gorge rose and burned her throat. "She's dead, and he had a hell of a job in front of him now. You could cut him just a little break. But that's up to you."
"Oh, that's frakkin' rich," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm getting a sermon on forgiveness from Lee Frakking Adama."
"It's up to you," he said again, and fell silent.
She lay there, stiff and still, and stared at the bottom of the bunk over her. Fear and guilt, anxiety and embarrassment sparked up briefly before submersing under the magmatic flow of her anger. Through it all she heard the echo of Zak's voice, hollow in the holding cell of the academy brig. Of course you started it, Kara. You always start it.
Then he had sweet-talked them out of there and taken her home to his mother, who cleaned her up and fed her and taught her how to beat the Adama men at cards. But she was dead now, too – Zak's mom, Lee's mom, as dead her youngest son. As dead as everyone else who hadn't lucked into their rag-tag caravan.
"He'd be gone now anyway, you know," she blurted, and an excruciating moment passed before Lee answered.
"What?"
"Zak. If he hadn't been in that plane, if he flunked out like you wanted him to, he'd have been on Caprica today. And even if there never was an accident, he'd have been flying with the squadron here," she went on, voice thickening out of her control. "No one could have kept him out of the fight, but he wouldn't have lasted five minutes against those Cylon fighters."
"God, Kara." His voice shook. She sat up and twisted to look at him, but he rolled away from her to face the wall. "Shut up. Just shut up."
"I'm sorry," she said, her own voice raw and quavering just enough that she would have to kill the witnesses, if it were anyone other than Lee.
He didn't answer. She got up far enough to slam her hand across the light switch, dousing the tension with concealing darkness. In the silence, she lay with her eyes closed in a mimicry of sleep that became reality sometime in the passing hours. Vaguely she was aware of spinning slowly through space, cold and solitary. Far, far in front of her, tiny fires bloomed and died. She thought they were Vipers under attack, but she squinted and her vision cleared, and she saw that the fires were planets. Each lit up for just a moment in final glory, then were extinguished. Once she could see them, she could also hear them as if she were on their surface to share in the collective howl of terror. She clapped her hands over her ears; one by one the voices fell away until only one was left, and she knew who it was.
She awoke in the middle of the fire and noise. Shaking and gasping, she fought to rise, banged painfully against the wall and sank back down to her pillow. The room was dark and silent. Breathing was a struggle; she clasped her hands over her belly to stop their tremors.
The hand on her shoulder made her jerk. "What?" she said, hoping she didn't sound as panicky as she thought she did.
"You were crying." Lee was still in his own bunk, stretched out to reach her even after she shrugged him off.
"You were dreaming," she snarled. He withdrew, but she knew he was still awake. She stared blindly in his direction until she couldn't stand the threat of her dreams lurking in the silence. "Zak was screaming."
Lee said nothing for a while, and when he moved, she thought he was going to get up and leave. She barely had time to feel the pang when his hand closed over her clasped ones. "No, he wasn't," he said, low but vehement. "It was too fast. He never even knew. I read your report."
"Yeah." She nodded several times before realizing both that he couldn't see her and that she was still shivering. "So fast. Everything happened so fast."
"I know." It hung in the air between them until Lee stirred again. "Shove over, Starbuck."
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Just move your ass over, will you?"
To her own surprise, she did. Her shaking eased at Lee's living warmth pressed to her side, and when eventually she spoke again, her voice was steady and clear. "Did you ever talk to your father?"
"I was talking to him before the jump."
"You know what I mean." When he didn't answer, she elbowed him in the side. "You can't talk to me about Tigh if you're a frakking hypocrite."
"We didn't talk," he said, very softly. "But we – we had a start."
"Good," she said, trying not to sound surprised. "Good. Then I can mind my own damn business."
"I'll believe that when it happens." He slid his arm around her shoulders, and she turned to face him. The chain of his dogtags scraped against her face, and when she put her arm around him, she felt the trembling in his chest that matched her own. She squeezed him hard.
"Go back to sleep," he said when her grip started to relax.
"Are we going to have to talk about this in the morning?" she mumbled into his chest, feeling warm at last and heavy with exhaustion.
"Hell, no." His laughter puffed against the tip of her ear, the first laughter she had heard from anyone since that afternoon.
"Thank the Lords of Kobol," she said, and the first night passed.
END