Disclaimer: I am merely playing with the characters, settings and ideas created by Ron Moore and David Eick. I do not own them in any way.

Because I promised I would finish one today if it killed me. Shout out to Kristine, who gives my life stability in the most insane way.

Battlestar Galactica: Perpetual Motion

One of the components Lee Adama has always lacked in his life is stability. Things have never been simple, always changing, always difficult. More so since the end of the worlds. He feels like he's in perpetual motion, never frakking stopping to take a breath. Despite his continued efforts to keep everything in check, keep the scales even, something always manages to knock his life off-balance the moment he recovers from the last crisis. He's on a boat in the sea, careening back and forth in the waves, and every time he levels out, forces beyond him push and push until everything is sideways again.

The moment he hears Kara's surrender in his headset and watches her bird explode in front of him, the boat completely capsizes.

Lee's world stops spinning in that instant and all he can do is scream and cry and whisper her name over and over and ask the Gods he's never believed in why the hell they've taken her away from him. His life might as well end then and there because there's no way he can go through any more of it without her. But somehow, against Lee's better wishes, everything moves forward, always moving, and he finds himself swept up in routine even though he barely feels a thing. It's all right, though, because if there's one thing he needs to fall back on after the ground has dropped out from under his feet, it's routine. Following orders, flying CAP, making schedules and not thinking about how Starbuck's name isn't on them anymore.

In those few days of shellshock after her Viper shatters into a million pieces, Lee shoves away any and all emotion when others are around. He brushes off the concerned glances and sympathetic hands on his shoulder, but some friends still manage condolences. A couple reassure him it will get easier, and when they do Lee bites his tongue and clenches his fists against his sides. It takes all the strength he has to resist the urge to shout at them, list all the reasons it most certainly will not get any easier. Ever.

He's never had stability, but Kara's been the closest thing to a constant. Not always there, but always coming back to him.

It's different this time because she won't.

Alcohol helps a bit, lessens the ache that he starts to understand will never go away. The Chief's brew burns as it slides down his throat, and he feels alive, forgets that she isn't. But there's a line between blissful unawareness and sharp hallucinations. Hallucinations of her, always her, telling him to let her go like she did in the Gods damned storm and then screaming at him desperately once he finally does, telling him that it's his fault she's frakking dead. He stops drinking after that.

He works out in the Weight Room, attempts to beat some feeling back into himself through pain, but there's only so much he can do without a spotter and company is something he doesn't want or need right now. This kind of catharsis always worked for her. Lee doesn't ask him, but Helo hovers anxiously as he jabs at the punching bag until he can feel the unhealthy state his knuckles are in before he even removes the gloves. The presence of the taller man, Kara's oldest friend, the Cylon-lover who actually got everything in the end, strikes a nerve and Lee gives up on the Weight Room too, casting Karl an admonitory glance on his way out.

His knuckles bruise. Badly.

He tries joining a couple games of Triad in the Rec Room but they don't help because she isn't there and the rest of the pilots just look at him as if he might break if they do something wrong. He's running out of options. Nothing helps.

He just has to keep moving.

It takes a while, longer than it ever has with any other deaths because this is Kara, but suddenly there's a faint rhyme and a small reason to things. The boat begins to rock again, even though it's still upside down. He gets grounded and pulled off duty. Dee walks out on him. He joins Romo Lampkin on the defence in Baltar's trail. Lee is on autopilot, and even though quitting the military seems like the right thing to do, he still wonders what the hell pushed him to make the decision.

Before he knows it, two months have passed. Kara and Lee—he's just Lee now, because he doesn't have his wings and there's no way in hell there can be Apollo without Starbuck—have been apart for far longer before, but it's not just two months. It's forever, without ever seeing her again, because he put her in her Viper that day and she died and she's never coming back. Tomorrow is a big day and yet the weight of those sudden revelations has him tossing and turning all night, violently scrubbing the unbidden tears from his eyes with the palms of his hands.

Two months. Is it easier yet? It's easier to hide. Not easier to bear.

With this trial and all the drama with his father and the ever-present struggle to come to terms with the fact that Starbuck isn't here anymore, it's hard to focus. So hard to get a grip on anything so he just doesn't bother. His life spirals out of control the way it always has. He's still Lee, still the same person except for the utter lack of smiles. He's just lost.

When Lampkin calls him to the stand, he's not sure if the horror on his face is genuine or just automatic. Perhaps this is what he's been waiting for. Something to put him back on track. Something to break the cycle. It doesn't change the fact that Lee is furious with the lawyer for making such an assumption, for using a secret as leverage. He and his father may not agree on a great deal of things, especially not since . . . well, not in the last two months, but he would never testify against his father. He would not, will not.

But naturally, Romo gets him to stand up, even though he has to all but grab Lee and force his stubborn feet under him. As Lampkin ushers him towards the stand, Lee shoots daggers at the man with his eyes. He wonders with dismay, not for the first time, why the frak his father's death glare was not among the traits he inherited.

It takes all of ten seconds to cross the room, but the seconds distend to feel like an eternity. With every step, his head reels with thoughts. His hand lifts to his forehead and presses hard, as if it might mute some of the questions and anxieties being called out in his mind. What will his father say if Lee goes through with this? Will Adama even speak to him at all after this? If he testifies, will it even make a difference? Are Baltar's crimes really worth convicting when everyone else's have been swept under the rug? Is this justice? Does justice even exist anymore?

And, in spite of his current predicament, a small part of his brain drifts back to her, as it always has since that flight in the clouds. Kara. He scarcely lets himself say her name these days, save when he wakes up screaming it in terror, so just the ring of it in his head sends a pang of hurt and loss straight through his hollow chest.

Lee nervously rubs his clammy palms against his pants and tries to look impassive and thinks, This is how Kara felt, walking towards the Pegasus CIC with Admiral Cain's execution order. The day of his space walk. The day he gave up. He wasn't there for her, too busy letting himself die. She isn't here for him now, too busy being wholly dead. He almost laughs, but it's strangled even in his mind. What he wouldn't give to have her here with him, just for a minute.

His hand returns to his head, massaging hard, and he wishes someone would break the silence.

"Are you trying to drive a rut into your forehead, or do you think that actually makes it look like you're concentrating?"

. . . Or maybe the tense quiet as he walks is nice. Too late now.

These hallucinations aren't new. Thank the Gods, or he might have just leaped several feet into the air at the sudden interruption. The first came shortly after her Viper exploded, though he doesn't remember when, precisely. It was shocking at first. Then it was torture, having to listen to her voice and witness the colour of her eyes all the time and not be able to do a damn thing about it. Because she wasn't actually there. Trying to understand what was happening in his head made him feel as insane as . . . well, as crazy as Kara has always been.

But, like everything else in this echo of a life, he adapted. And now, while incredibly untimely and distracting, Kara's voice in his head is a welcome intrusion.

Nice to see you too, Kara, he thinks in response, though technically, he isn't seeing her; he's deliberately keeping his eyes straight ahead as the voice emanated from behind him. He's been around Kara Thrace so long, his hallucinations of her are dead on, and he just can't handle that right now. But this is kind of important, so if you don't have anything helpful to say, do you mind getting out of my head?

She clicks her tongue—Gods, why does he remember that sound so clearly? It's been two frakking months. "Wow. Someone got up on the wrong side of his fancy civvie bed today."

His imaginary Kara keeps talking over Lampkin and the court, and it's not especially difficult to drown out her voice because she isn't real. Lampkin asks him a question, presses him for an answer, and Lee replies frankly, glaring at his father in the silence.

The next question is harder. His answer could change the course of this prosecution. He absently notes that imaginary Kara has stopped speaking. But he knows his mind hasn't relented yet, as he can practically feel her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Don't leave, he tells her with his thoughts, because he needs this no matter how wrong it is. Glancing at his father, Lee becomes subjected to the death glare he'd yearned for earlier, and suddenly he's paralyzed with fear. There are one thousand things he could say here, and any of them could result in serious repercussions. He isn't ready for that yet, so he remains silent, returning his eyes to Lampkin.

"All I'm looking for is the truth here, Mr. Adama," Romo Lampkin says softly. "Let's have it." Lee holds his tongue. "I'm waiting. Answer the question."

Lee raises an eyebrow in challenge. He hears Kara laugh behind him, whispering something akin to, "That's my Apollo," sending shivers down his spine that aren't entirely unpleasant. Focus, Lee, he reminds himself.

After another long pause, Romo picks up again, his voice raising, his impatience growing, his anger visibly spiked. "You swore an oath, as an officer of the court. If you don't answer, you hold the entire system of justi—"

"What frakking system?" Lee roars, surprising even himself with the conviction and power in his voice. A bit of the old Lee Adama pouring through the dead mask he's been wearing since Kara hit the hard deck.

One of the judges calls him out, Lampkin apologizes for Lee's behaviour, of all things to do, and Lee falls back into his chair. His head races and he can't think straight at the same time and the noise of Kara breathing behind him isn't helping in the slightest.

What am I supposed to do? Lee wonders, forgetting for a moment that she's inside his head and will interpret that as a question directed at her.

"Just breathe, Apollo," she soothes, and Lee chokes down a laugh because it's been so long since anyone's called him that. "You can do this. Hell, you were born for talking. Got all those frakking lawyer genes in you anyway. Better use them for some good before everything goes to Hades again. Calm down and just . . . be you."

Me? Lee scoffs in his head. Who the frak is he these days? Not Apollo, not Major Adama, not the CAG, not the Commander, barely even Lee anymore. He's just an empty shell of the man he used to be. The man he was before Kara flipped his world upside down with her death. There are about two dozen different versions of me, Starbuck, and none of them exist anymore.

"Lee." Her voice is closer, so close. He swears he can feel her breath on the back of his neck. "Just be you. Be the person you've always been with me"

Right, because she's always been so helpful and why should now be any exception? Just once, he would have liked a non-cryptic response from her.

There's more arguing, more one word answers, and more objections. The prosecuting lawyer doesn't want him on the stand. Neither does one of the judges. Lee agrees with them; he shouldn't be here. But this time, it's his father who makes him stand up to the challenge. "I, for one, would like to hear this witness testify."

Lee can't believe his ears, and can't tear his eyes away from the older Adama.

"Mr. Adama?" Romo's voice.

"Lee." Kara's.

He looks back at the lawyer, feeling more lost than he's ever felt before. More lost than he's been since resigning from the military, since the beginning of this tribunal, since he was grounded because he can't fly without her, since she left him all alone in this cold, dark universe with only memories of a bright shiny future to hold on to.

Lampkin fixes him with a curious look. "Why do you believe that the defendant, Gaius Baltar, deserves to be acquitted?"

Lee wracks his brain for the proper answer, afraid to say anything that isn't explicitly depicted in his grandfather's hand-me-down law books. The easy, relaxed tone when he finally speaks almost frightens him. "Well, because the evidence does not support the charges."

Oh, and Romo sees right through it. "Busted," imaginary Kara whispers before letting loose a loud cackle at his expense. His fists clench under the table. He's not going to hit her because she isn't really here.

"Come on," Lampkin jeers, eyes narrowing in skepticism.

Something in the way he speaks strikes a nerve and Lee feels the words tumbling out of his mouth before he registers precisely what he's saying.

"Did the defendant make mistakes? Sure, he did." Baltar looks bored as Lee gestures towards him, as if he's had too many fingers pointed at him as of late to even care. "Serious mistakes. But did he actually commit any crimes—did he commit treason? No."

And the ball starts to roll.

The courtroom is more silent than the middle of space and Lee knows from experience how scary that quiet is. He doesn't want to think about his spacewalk or death or Kara right now, so he speaks up again. He keeps speaking, until the words are pouring out of his mouth like water from a dam. He talks about anything, everything relevant to this case. And when he runs out, he speaks about other things. About New Caprica. About cowardice, about shame, about hate. About just about every single questionable event that has bothered him since the end of the worlds. He talks about mistakes, those of Baltar and those of other high ranking members of the Colonial Fleet and those of himself. He lists several, knowing there are far too many to say within a limited time span. But even when he moves on from his list of faults—all of which were forgiven —he silently adds the things he did to hurt Kara Thrace.

"I'd say we're very forgiving of mistakes. We make our own laws now, our own justice. And we've been pretty creative at finding ways to let people off the hook for everything from theft to murder. And we've had to be."

He doesn't stop talking, doesn't stop because it feels so frakking good. For the first time since Kara left, Lee can feel the blood and adrenaline rushing through his body with having to tolerate any accompanying guilt. His words sound angry, piqued with contempt and emotions long hidden beneath the surface, now boiling up and exploding in a series of accusations against people and actions and ideals like true justice that simply don't exist anymore. But it isn't anger, not to him. It's passion, it's conviction. It's Lee Adama. It's being alive.

"No, not this time. Not for Gaius Baltar. No. You. You have to die. You have to die because—well, because we don't like you very much. Because you're arrogant. Because you're weak. Because you're a coward. And we, the mob, we want to throw you out the airlock because you didn't stand up to the Cylons and get yourself killed in the process! That's justice now!"

The courtroom finally chimes in with a collective murmur of assent, and he presses on, more resolute than ever. This is the real Lee Adama coming back. Lee Adama, who never does anything halfway. Who can't say no, but won't stand to hear it from anyone, either. Who always has the right words. Who is strong and stubborn and inspirational and passionate. Lee Adama, who loves Kara Thrace and doesn't care who frakking knows.

With every word, a little bit of himself comes back. He's felt dead for the past two months, on a wooden raft in the middle of the ocean instead of a real boat, just waiting for everything to finally blur and disappear as the waves continued their lulling motion below him. Now all he can feel is the energy pulsing through him in waves, the raw emotion colouring his voice as he practically shouts across the courtroom, the determination to ensure each person in this chamber and those listening to the live broadcast across the Fleet understand exactly where he stands on this case. That this case isn't legitimate, all things in the past three years considering.

"It's about the shame of those of us who ran away. Who ran away."

He looks at his father as he says this, though the Old Man is far from being the only person accountable.

The ghost sensation of Kara's hand on his shoulder reappears.

It has to be said, because that's what they did. Every last one of them. Baltar ran from his duty and honour, Lee and his father ran from the Cylons, and Kara ran from him. But running won't work this time. Life moves on, no matter what, and sooner or later, everyone's mistakes and fears and regrets catch up to them and there's no where left to run. And placing all the blame on one person won't do anything but bring their entire society closer to an edge they've been precariously close to for a very long time.

"That's not justice. Not to me. Not to me."

Lee sits back, hands interlocked on the podium, and takes a breath. It feels like the first real breath he's taken in a long time, though there's still a hollow spot in his chest. The deep-space silence fills the room again, and the air is so heavy Lee feels like he could cut through it with a knife. Everyone stares around nervously, mesmerized, shocked, as if unsure of where to look, what to do with their hands, whether or not to breathe.

Lampkin smirks. "No further questions."

Not guilty. After the trial, after the verdict is given and the initial chaos has rushed through, Lee finds himself in his quarters, waiting for the dusk to settle outside this small room. He's smiling, ever so slightly. Has been since Romo put down the cane and walked away unaided. He isn't happy—Kara's still dead, the Cylons are still coming for them and his father probably won't speak to him unless obligated to for a very long time—but for some reason, he can't stop the corners of his lips from turning up marginally. It's almost an expression of disbelief, and Lee continues to think, What just happened?

"Well done, Mr. Lawyer." Kara's voice rings clear off the bulkhead, originating from behind him again. Except it's in his head, so it really shouldn't be originating from anywhere at all. "I always knew you'd be able to talk an entire room into submission."

Lee breathes out once, sharply, and his eyes drift shut. It might be a laugh but he finds no mirth in her statement. "Thanks," is all he can manage. His response is verbal this time because there's no one around to look at him oddly for ostensibly speaking to himself. Plus, if he has to go crazy, he wants to do it with dignity.

"I am confused, though," she states, and Lee braces himself for her next words. He really just wants some peace and quiet. "When I told you to be the Lee you are with me, you thought that meant some ranting, loud-mouthed narcissist who loved the sound of his own voice so much he wouldn't stop talking for . . ." She pauses long enough to check her watch, presumably. "For the better part of six minutes?"

The description is so quintessentially that he actually chokes out a laugh this time. To hell with it all, he thinks. If he's going crazy he might as well enjoy the ride. He lets some more of the Lee Adama he was before she left him slip back and replies with a jibe to his voice. "I thought I was, you know, honest and passionate. Confident. Well-worded. Stuff like that." Kara's always been remarkably concise, delivering quick punch lines that were near impossible to rival. It's only natural that he would be the wordy one of the duo.

"Yeah, right," she drawls, and something that might be a knife strikes his chest sharply. She used to say it just like that. "Then again, you did win the case, so whatever you want."

Whatever I want? "I want you back."

The words slip out of his mouth before he can think any better of them. His eyes fly open, and for an instant he feels the reflex to turn around and look at her, gauge her reaction, but then he remembers she's just an illusion.

He knows this isn't the real Starbuck, because the real Starbuck would have laughed and cracked a joke and let him off the hook for yet another lapse in attention. Instead, she just inches forward, and how creepy is it that he can actually feel her moving? For one thing, she's behind him, and for another, She isn't frakking real!

He sighs. Does it even matter anymore?

"Why?" Kara whispers. Her voice is full of sadness and vulnerability and he wracks his brain for a time he would have heard her speak to him in that tone. It's so accurate and yet so un-Starbuck-like, he needs to find out. In a moment of clarity, it comes to him: Their night on New Caprica, before everything was shot to hell. The way she'd looked at him, her eyes full of tears, her lower lip trembling, her heart and soul open to him, all defences down. Why? Because of Zak?

Lee makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sign and a sob. Closer to the latter. He reminds himself that she isn't real, and if he completely fraks up right here, at least he can just make her go away and try again next time. She's a hallucination, a projection from his mind. There's no fear in admitting things to himself, right? "Because I miss you."

Suddenly, she's so close he can feel the warmth of her body reaching out and touching his. He lets out a shaky breath, staring at the wall. She doesn't response, so he just keeps breathing and hopes he hasn't actually scared an illusion away. Eight-and-a-half breaths later, her voice reaches his ears again.

"Why?"

Lee scoffs. "Why?" he asks incredulously. Once again, the words find themselves, string themselves together into sentences, and make his tongue work as they pour out.

"Because you're gone, Kara. I put you in that Viper two months ago and you died because of it and now I have to live the rest of my life without you. I miss you because I love you but I can't see you, Kara. I can't see the way you smile from ear to ear and I can't hear you make loud jokes at the expense of my reputation and I can't touch you just because it feels like the only thing to do sometimes. This . . . you're in my head, okay? This is a hallucination. This is me going crazy because I don't know what to do anymore, Kara."

He's breathing and she's breathing, and Gods, it's so real he can actually hear her breathing. He waits through the aftermath of all he's just said, waits for this new dust to settle. It's quiet, like in the courtroom after his speech.

And then there's movement. Kara is moving, moving around him to stand before him and his heart has already been broken enough for one day, so he closes his eyes, feeling the already-present sting of tears behind the lids. He doesn't have enough time, never enough time, before her breath is washing over his face and her fingers are brushing his jaw. It requires every bit of strength he possesses to keep his eyes closed. The sight of her will break him, unquestionably, and he needs to hold it together right now.

"You're frakked up," she murmurs lightly, and Lee can't suppress the sob that rises from his throat. Just then, a pair of warm, almost tangible lips brushes against his, only for an instant. "But you're going to be okay."

There it is again, that word. Okay. Nothing is ever going to be okay again, but for her he'll try.

"I miss you. So frakking much," he whispers.

Kara's voice sounds ghostly as she says, "I know." She's farther away. "Just be you." When he opens his eyes, she isn't there anymore, and he gets a strange sense he won't be seeing this hallucination Kara anymore.

Lee swallows around the lump in his throat, wipes his eyes with his sleeve and stands up. He's walking through the corridors aimlessly when a loud klaxon fires off, and Gaeta's voice fills the space, calling Action Stations. His heart begins to pound, dropping unceremoniously when he recalls that doesn't mean anything to him anymore. Pilots fly out of an open door that probably leads from the duty lockers or the Rec Room. Several brush by him, a couple even knocking his shoulder brutally in their rush. A wave of nostalgia washes over him, and he wishes he were among them. Back when he was still a pilot, flying was one of the only ways to feel alive. Being Apollo was great, but he's dead now.

Several things happen at once. He hears Kara's voice in his head, telling him to just be Lee, joking that he could have what he wanted since he won the court case. His mind flashes to a vision of his flight suit and helmet in his locker. His heartbeat picks up again, pumping a steady, exhilarating rhythm.

He finds himself following the pilots, turning left twice and entering his quarters. He grabs his flight suit, strewn haphazardly on the floor of his locker, and his helmet, perched on top. With practised ease he slid the heavy suit on, fastening zippers and buckles without looking.

No one notices him grab one of the empty Vipers, hook the collar around his neck, quickly check off everything on the Pre-flight Checklist and put on his helmet. The cockpit slides shut and soon he's in the tubes, giving the thumbs up for launch, feeling the intense G-forces as they press him back against the seat. The tube rushes past his vision and then he's flying, out in the skies where he belongs. With Kara, a part of his brain adds sadly, but Lee is too giddy to care. The throttle fits easily into his hand, and he allows himself a couple extra spins just for fun.

Here in space, with no gravity, it doesn't matter which way the boat inclines.

Reviews are lovely and motivating. Drop one if you have the time.

Love,

~Fishyicon