A/N: This is a bit unexpected, but the 'it all has happened before, it all will happen again' mantra has always been instrumental to unwinding the BSG mythos, after all. Hence, it could only make sense certain haunting issues would transcend the eidetic memory of Colonials long after any mention of Galactica's odyssey was lost in history of Earth 2.0.
Lee Adama, for one, may finally get to rediscover certain peace over the tormenting 'why' of Dee's demise way back over a different Earth.
Set on Earth 2.0. Present day. Allusions to events in 'Resurrections Ship. Part 2', 'Taking a Break from All Your Worries', 'The Crossroads', season 3, 'Sometimes A Great Notion', 'Blood on the Scales', 'Daybreak' season 4. Starbuck gets to feature, in a way.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points, inherent to the show belong to me.
On a flying trapeze*
He remembered being in love with her even before she said anything, though fairly certain he'd never met the girl before. Something about the anchoring pull of a steady, luminous gaze, regarding him with patient expectation. Whence interest in her eyes got tinged with transcendent, quiet understanding he knew he couldn't have been wrong.
He'd heard and actually done some reading on déjà vu effect, of course. Out of sheer curiosity. Never spared the matter much credit. That would be something his sister was head over heels into – New Age spirituality, past lives, out of body experiences, apocalyptic prophecies, destinies carved in stone and gibberish akin to that. He'd rather busy his thoughts with social and cultural sources of European democracy. There would be occasions, however, when a word, or a random inflection would keep him wondering for hours. Days even, sometimes. He often dreamt of stars, too. Vast expanse of darkness, dotted with distant flickers. There was an urgency about dreams like that, a sense of hidden menace.
Stars were on his mind, as soon as she spoke. A flurry of light against the pitch-black backdrop, and a voice, reaching through the mesmerizing, languid silence. Calling him home. It felt so odd he blushed despite himself. She tilted her head and watched him for a moment longer, before smiling. It made him think of candlelight and had a way of soothing the brewing unease, all the while bringing his breath to hitch, if for the briefest of moments. It stirred a distant regret to have let go.
He offered a compromise on the last issue of National Geographic, left in the book-store, which got them into conversation, or tug-of-war, more like, to begin with. The park across the street appeared a sound enough idea to share the read. They never quite got around to that article on Mitochondrial Eve, however. She was an amazing listener and didn't seem to find him boring. Laughed at a couple of his quips, even. It's been a while since he remembered deeming it truly amusing to entertain a barely encountered girl with his oh so often lame jokes. It's been a while since he could recall experiencing such tranquil comfort around a girl either. He'd honed his classic languages through volumes of Aristotle, Herodotus and Tacitus – her name stood for 'resurrection' in ancient Greek**. He knew they'd be seeing each other again, soon, over coffee or a drink, or a walk around campus, to begin with. Something about that fulfilling assuredness felt faintly familiar as well.
He had an unsettling hunch Karen and Ana were not going to like each other. His sister never spared an opportunity to give him a world of grief over his taste in women, deeming the girlfriends she'd ever been introduced to either too prissy, too pompous or too dull. Never failing to point out in so many words that was exactly why they were a perfect match for him. Drove him insane with annoyance. Was one of the reasons he adored her so much, too. The other being - one doesn't really get to choose siblings.
Karen showed up at the Chinese place he favored, sporting a new tattoo and an uncharacteristically forlorn look. He'd been more than a tad apprehensive to expose Ana to his sister's typically tending on the side of crass demeanor, originally. Which luckily, wasn't to be the issue that time around, or so it would seem. He couldn't quite place why he felt compelled to go through with introductions this early in their thing with that particular girl. Could be for fear his little sis would up and vanish on one of her impromptu tours to India or Tibet. Could be for the building sensation of pacifying rightness, driving him plausibly predisposed to view Ana in his life for as long as the latter would take. Could be for the need to rely on Karen's pronounced intuition in verifying the apprehensive recognition, eschewing his more rational grasp.
The two young women considered each other with cautious detachment over the dinner; poised on Ana's part, a bit dismissive on Karen's. But that was to be expected, after all. What got him wondering was a snippet, overheard upon having to excuse himself from the table for a moment. 'Just don't ever give up… on him' – Karen's whisper vibrated with conviction met up by an astounding lack of surprise in Ana's gaze. Something about the rueful determination in her silent acknowledgement of those words evoked a sound of a metal door, clanking close with a forceful thud, ringing a wrenching toll through helpless anger, searing shame and stifling panic deep within his gut. Not that he'd been around that many metal doors in his lifetime, though.
Ana called him on being notably subdued by the end of the evening, as he walked her home upon bidding his sister good-bye. There was no way to ever conceal his darker moods from that woman. Could read right through the vestiges of his optimism. He gave it a shot, anyway, catching her by the waist and twirling slightly. It agreed with his excitement at all times that she was so diminutive. And perceptive. And his. She followed his stare up to the star-speckled sky, as he motioned to hug her closer, suddenly in need to confirm her proximity, suddenly anxious to break contact. A faint whiff of ash in the ruffling summer wind pried his look off the hesitant light of long forsaken stars and down to meet the rediscovered one, in her eyes. He couldn't be certain it wasn't apology, alongside promise, spelled there.
It all came back in a rush that night. He woke up to the memory of freezing hollowness and scorching sorrow, threatening to overwhelm him with devastation. He woke up to the memory of his screams, paralyzed by disbelief, unborn. He woke up to the sense of dim futility, obscuring the memory of joy. Glisten of tears in the concerned gaze she directed his way, propped on an elbow by his side, assured him she knew. His fingers clasped around her upper arms more tightly than he intended, as his eyes and lips roamed her face in search for a pained, anguished 'why?'.
She was quiet and calm again, clutched securely against his chest, as he finally let his mind tread onto the fuzzy premise of resurfaced memory. Loss of hope had a cunning way of leading into loss of faith to ever reclaim it. Into fear of what lack thereof could do to one's heart. He'd researched it happen to individuals and whole nations alike. And now recalled all too vividly the morbid horror of losing a prospect of happiness to it. It happened before, he mused with a soft sigh, as a far away echo of rifle-fire resonated against metal bulkheads. There was a chance to make sure it won't happen again, he allowed himself to believe, letting her heartbeat lull him to sleep. It felt not in the least unexpected, anymore, to remember looking forward to just that.
*Cf. 'The Daring Young Man On a Flying Trapeze' by W. Saroyan
** 'Anastasia' = 'resurrection' in Greek.