Summary: Just a little character study, re: Kara and the Adama boys. I'm still not perfectly thrilled with it, but with some goodadvice, I think I've improved it as much as I can.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, each episode would be the all-Kara-&-Lee hour.
A/N: Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain is not only a wonderful, thought-provoking writer (look her up!), but a wonderful, thought-provoking editor, too. I hope she finds this slightly improved. Twisted Bonds
Lee does not remind Kara of Zak – at all. Their connection, the shared experiences, sometimes cause her to remember Zak, but as to Lee himself, there is nothing about him that is reminiscent of his brother. They could not have been more different.
While Lee Adama would not lay claim to a happy childhood, neither would he call himself deprived. He had had a good home, a loving mother, and a father whom he could honestly say he admired – at least in some respects. William Adama was never very involved in Lee's life. Yet, his influence was subtly exerted – by his very absence, if nothing else. As a child, Lee knew he had to be a good little soldier so his father would be proud. Pride meant notice, notice meant love.
As Lee grew older, he realized it wasn't enough. No matter how good, how responsible, how disciplined he was, it didn't bring his father home. It didn't make him the type of father who showed up for your birthday, or showed you sympathy when you were feeling down. William Adama was a soldier. It wasn't his occupation; it was his approach to life. You soldier on.
So, Lee did. He soldiered on. He mastered self-control; his self-discipline was almost an art. Somewhere along the line, he became determined to out-soldier them all, the best of them, his father.
Kara understood his bitterness, but upon later knowing his father, could no longer excuse him for it. She saw in Commander Adama, though Lee would not, the love, tenderness, and regret of a father. She saw a man who had chosen to make a safer world for his son, realizing too late that his son did not feel safe unless they were together.
Zak Adama, in contrast, had all the carelessness of a cherished younger son. He was outgoing, boisterous, infectious. He called himself spoiled, and said since the Lords had always granted him everything he could possibly want, he could see no point in practicing self-denial. Sacrilegious, he would say, to go against the will of the Gods that way, and his wide smile left Kara feeling as though he were tempting fate. But Zak was who he was, a living force; she couldn't help lending to his belief. She let him believe, perhaps led him to believe, that he still had a charmed life. He believed she loved him wholeheartedly, and he believed he could fly.
Not that Kara didn't love him, she did. His enthusiasm, his warmth, his acceptance – these were everything to her. Zak was a healing balm to her wounds, a joyful hymn to a crushed spirit. He had a natural, easy faith in her, an inherent confidence that elevated to her to something she could never have been without him. Without Zak, Kara could never have conquered her own insecurities. While still has her demons, now she has the complete certainty that she can do anything. She owes that to him.
Yes, she loved Zak. But her affinity with Lee is something that defies explanation. From the first, Kara felt the connection, as though he is able to read her mind. No, as though he is a part of her mind. She knows it is difficult to see that she and Lee are alike; from the outside, they appear to be polar opposites. He clings to the rules with the same ferocity with which she breaks them, but the need that drives them is identical: respect.
Lee does everything the hard way, never cuts a corner, because he wants it made clear that he has earned everything he has. He has to be sure no one can ever justly accuse him of trading on his father's name. He wants to be respected for what he can do, not for who his father is.
Kara breaks every rule. She out-flies, out-drinks, out-fights, out-swears every pilot in the fleet, just to prove she's tough enough. Just to prove she can. She wants respect for what she can do, despite who she is. In this, they are alike.
Experience has shaped them differently, but at the core their motivations and perceptions are the same. Kara and Lee understand each other. Each knows how to motivate the other, how to soothe, when to push. They work in concert, two corresponding parts, two pieces of a whole. That is what scares her. Yet, even this fear, she knows he feels too.
Kara knew Lee accepted her feelings for Zak, even respected them. Not that she believed he would have fought it anyway – Lee had always felt that he possessed less in the way of charm and charisma than his brother, and he mirrored his father's incapacity to express his deeper emotions. At the same time, both knew that it was no deficiency on his part that kept Kara from him. They were, and are, essential to one another in a way that neither Kara nor Lee understood or were willing to risk. She couldn't be with him, because she needed him.
Kara didn't need to see him, or to speak to him. She didn't even need to know that he was nearby. Just to know that he was somewhere, still her missing piece, still of like kind, was enough.
In fact, it is harder now that they must see one another. The ties that bind them are twisted. They are bound by remorse, over Zak, who need not have died. If Kara could have given up Lee entirely, perhaps she would not have felt the guilt that led to her coddling Zak. If Lee had made a clean break, had not allowed her to read the jealousy in his eyes, perhaps she would have had that strength.
They are bound by conflict, their one real conflict, over the father they now share, and Kara's belief in Lee's need to make peace. She believes both father and son need this resolution more than they know, but Lee still hangs on to the bitterness of his youth as a shield against pain. Slowly, he feels himself allowing the shield to drop, if only to please Kara, but he is not yet ready to lay it down.
They are bound by duty, complicating matters even further. Now that Lee lives aboard Galactica and serves as Kara's commanding officer, they can neither be together, nor apart. Duty keeps them constantly in physical proximity, duty makes them unable to touch.
They are bound by anger: at the Cylons, at the universe, for all they have lost. Safety, security, home – all gone. They have lost the ability to sleep at night, lost the right to a clean conscience as they wonder about The Olympic Carrier, Leoben, lost comrades. They use one another as an outlet for this anger, trying not to cross the line, not to go too far.
They are bound by the need for sanctuary amid this chaos, the need to hold close those things most dear that remain. So little remains. They cling to what is familiar, what is loved. The fear of the damage they could do to one another is greater even than before.
No, Lee does not remind Kara of Zak. With Zak, she had a relatively uncomplicated happiness. With Lee, there is fear, joy, fury, and need.