Author's Note: This is a fic about Lee's state of mind at the end of season 3 that's
been stewing in my head ever since I saw 'The Son Also Rises'. Please bear in mind when
reading that I haven't been able to rewatch the episodes or find
transcripts, so some of the show dialogue is put together from memory,
and may be slightly wrong.
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One
When Kara shot him, it didn't hurt at first. The shock of the impact was too great. It knocked him breathless, dazed him, and he didn't even realise he'd been shot until he looked down and saw the blood. It wasn't until then that the pain hit him.
----
For the same reason, the first few days after she dies are the easiest.
He doesn't really believe that it's happened, and so he's fine. He can deal with the tears in his father's eyes, the anguish in Helo's. He can comfort his stunned pilots and the distraught deck crew. He can watch Sam clearing out her locker. He can walk past the empty space where her viper should be without a qualm. He can make his speech at her memorial service without faltering once.
Because it's not real.
----
Then after the service he goes to the memorial wall. To pin her photo next to Kat's, just like she asked.
He pulls it out of his pocket. Takes a pin out of the wall. Lines the photo up neatly next to Kat's.
Stares at her smiling face.
She's not coming back.
And that's when he looks down and realises he's bleeding.
So much blood, draining out of him. He didn't realise he had so much to lose. Isn't sure if there'll be anything left.
He can't pin the photo up. Not yet.
----
He tries to patch the wound up, go on as normal. He's not allowed to fall apart. He gave up that right when he walked away from Kara and went back to Dee.
He'd already made the decision to live his life without her. He can't whine now it turns out that it's a life without her entirely.
He can't grieve for her openly. He won't hurt Dee any more than he already has.
----
Although it's obvious that everyone knows he's grieving anyway. The sudden hush when he enters a room, the looks of veiled curiosity and pity, as if they're just waiting for him to break.
Every word, every look makes him curl tighter into himself. Makes him hug his grief closer, bottle it deep inside. He doesn't want to share it; he wants to keep it to himself, the only remnant he has left of her.
He takes a harsh pleasure in the fact that none of the avid watchers seem to know quite what to say to him. He doesn't fit into one of their neat little boxes of grief, like Sam the Widower or Helo the Best Friend or Adama the Surrogate Father.
He and Kara were more than friends, not really family, never openly lovers…no-one seems to know how to define him or how to treat him, and part of him is glad of that, because he was never able to define his relationship with Kara himself, so why the hell should they?
All he ever knew for certain was that their relationship was messy and unpredictable and painful and all-consuming, defying all boundaries…
Well. All boundaries except this one.
----
It's easy keeping his guard up in public. He's had years of practice, after all. And it's a challenge, a battle to fight, to stay composed, to do his job efficiently. Try not to let them win by allowing them to see that every day, every patrol, is blurring into one.
That every time he gets into his viper he looks over at that empty space where hers used to be, expecting to see her grinning at him.
That every time he's out in space he sees her viper exploding, over and over again.
Trust me, Kara. I'll fly your wing.
He reduces the number of CAPs he flies as far as he can. No-one seems to notice, or if they do, they don't comment.
----
Keeping his guard up in private…isn't so easy. But he has to, because when he goes back to his quarters, Dee is there.
Ever since this happened, she's been the epitome of support. Caring and sympathetic and oh-so-considerate of his feelings.
Part of him wishes she wasn't. Part of him wishes she would scream at him, slap him, tell him he has no business even thinking about Kara, no right to shed even a single tear over a woman he nearly wrecked their marriage for.
But that's the irrational part of him talking, the part that led him into the affair with Kara in the first place, the part he's tried so hard to suppress since Dee took him back.
He should be grateful for her understanding, and he is. But it means that he has to repay her for it by playing the part she expects him to play; the husband who is obviously grieved by the death of his old flame, but dealing with it. Who is certainly not going to let his grief affect their marriage. Because he's happy with his wife.
After all, that's where he chose to be.
So he has to spend his evenings eating with her and talking about his day, and making plans for the next time they get a few days' leave. Reassuring her that this incident is no more than a blip in their happy ever after.
Sometimes he can't bear it, feels as if he's going to explode. Is desperate for just a few hours in which he can stop pretending, in which he can get drunk and stare at her photo, and just let everything flood out.
But he can't. He's not allowed to.
So he grits his teeth and keeps on pretending, and tells himself it will get easier, that one day the pretence will become reality.
----
But he can't control his thoughts when he's asleep. So every night he relives that final flight in his dreams, hears her last words to him over and over, watches her explode…
Fortunately he only wakes Dee up the first few nights, the ones where he starts up screaming. After that he knows what to expect, is able to muffle his distress so it doesn't disturb her.
He can't sleep again, afterwards. Doesn't want to. Needs to get out of the stifling cabin and the accusing presence of his wife sleeping peacefully beside him.
----
He'd go running, but that has too many memories attached. So he goes to the gym instead, works himself into exhaustion, so he can go back to bed and sleep dreamlessly, so that Dee never realises he was gone.
On the worst nights, he goes straight to the punching bag. Pounds out all his despair and anger. Pretends it's his own face under his fists.
He can't forgive himself. For encouraging her to go back out there, for telling her to trust him and then letting her down. It's all his fault that she's gone. If he'd just listened to her, grounded her, she'd still be here.
He just didn't understand. He thought it was only a case of the jitters, that she just needed to get her confidence back.
He didn't realise how far gone, how desperate she was. That she was disturbed enough to just throw her life away like that.
To kill herself.
At that point, it's her face he imagines punching, as all his fury with her comes pouring out. For just giving up like that.
It's not that he doesn't understand. Gods, he of all people understands how easy it is to just give up, how tempting…but this is her. Starbuck. She's not supposed to give up. Not ever.
Why couldn't she listen to him? Come back with him? He'd got through it, come back from that bleak place, even though he didn't want to. She could have done the same. He could have helped her.
What an idiotic delusion.
Of course he couldn't have helped her. Just like he couldn't pull her back on that flight. He's not enough.
He wasn't enough to pull her back, because he's never been enough for her, never been strong enough to save her from her demons, though he's been struggling to as long as he's known her. Why did he think that would change?
And now it's too late. Because she can't have her suicidal crisis quietly, can't just let go of a hole in her flightsuit and give them a chance to bring her back, to try again.
No, this is Kara, and she can never do anything by halves. No, she has to be so frakking thorough about it and blow herself into frakking pieces…
…and to top it all, she tells him to let her go.
He almost hates her for that. How the frak can she ask him that? To let her go? When their whole relationship is a testament to the fact that he never has been able to let her go. She can kill his brother, shoot him in the chest, break his heart, marry someone else, hurt him as no-one else ever has…and still he can't let her go. Why the hell does she think death will make any difference?
His hands are always bleeding by the time he leaves the gym, but no-one ever comments on the grazes on his knuckles. Not even Dee.
----
Bizarrely enough, he feels more comfortable with Sam than anyone else. Because Sam knows exactly how he felt about Kara, and so with him he doesn't have to pretend; because Sam feels her loss as much as he does. Gods, to think that he'd ever be grateful for Sam Anders.
So when Racetrack calls him to the hangar bay, he doesn't hesitate to climb up on that viper and try to talk Sam down. Maybe he can help Sam even if he can't help himself.
But he fails, and Sam falls. Just like Kara fell. What made him think he could help anyone?
As he helps Sam up, the other man's eyes lock desperately on his. "She's still alive, right?"
Lee wishes more than anything in the world that he could say yes. That he could comfort himself with the belief that somehow she survived, somehow she'll come back as she always has before.
But he can't, because she won't. He saw her viper explode with his own eyes.
"She's gone, Sam." He forces the words out, and as he says them, the reality of them finally sinks in.
She's gone. No changing that. He has to accept it. Find a way to move on, to live without her.