Father's Day

Bill Adama woke to the sound of two tiny pairs of feet in the hallway outside the bedroom. As the door quietly creaked open, he laid still, pretending to be asleep – until a raucous shout shattered the early morning silence in the room.

"Daddy!"

Less than a second later, the source of the shout came tumbling down on top of Bill, followed closely by another small form, slightly taller and lankier than the first. Bill chuckled, grabbing first three-year-old Zak and then five-year-old Lee as they bounced about excitedly on top of him.

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" Lee pronounced happily, Zak nodding along enthusiastically beside him.

Bill laughed and ruffled his hair affectionately, pulling both boys into a tight hug. It was his first day of shore leave in months and he was terribly tired, having arrived very late the night before, long after Lee and Zak had been put to bed. But no matter how exhausted he was, this early-morning greeting from his boys was more than worth a little lost sleep.


Three Years Later

Bill didn't make it home for Father's Day that year. At just eight years old, Lee was already watching the deterioration of his parents' relationship and wondering if his father had even tried to request shore leave for the day. Zak tried to insist that he must have at least made an attempt, that he had promised he would always come home to spend Father's Day with them. But Lee couldn't quite convince himself. He'd seen his father break promises before; it wouldn't be the first time.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Zak was sitting in one of the high dining room chairs, swinging his legs back and forth as he pressed the phone to his ear. Carolanne Adama stood behind her son, helping him place the call to his father's ship with a slight frown on her face.

"Daddy?" Zak asked excitedly as the call finally connected. "Happy Father's Day!"

At the far end of the table, Lee sat quietly looking at a book, trying not to listen to his little brother's conversation. Their father hadn't been home for a proper leave in months, and Lee missed him. At the same time, though, a new feeling was beginning to take hold in his eight-year-old heart: anger. It wasn't right that Dad hadn't come home for so many months. Why had he stopped coming? Why was he always gone so much in the first place? None of the other boys at school only saw their fathers every few months. Their fathers stayed at home all the time. So why couldn't Lee and Zak's?

"Lee?"

He looked up quickly, finally realizing that his mother had been trying to get his attention. She was holding the phone out to him.

"Do you want to talk to your father?"

He started to reach for the phone automatically – but then stopped. Part of him wanted to take the phone and tell his dad Happy Father's Day and hear the voice he missed so much. But part of him didn't. He didn't want to talk to his dad, didn't want to tell him what a great father he was – not when Lee was beginning to realize the terrible truth: that he really wasn't.

"Lee?" Carolanne asked softly, still holding out the phone. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing, Mom." He took the phone and held it to his ear.

"Lee, is that you?" There it was, the voice that Lee had waited months to hear suddenly making him sick to his stomach.

His own voice sounded small when he finally answered, devoid now of all the joy that had infused it in years past.

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy."


Five Years Later

"Hey, Lee!" Zak stuck his head out of the kitchen window, calling out to his brother in the backyard. "I'm gonna call Dad! Do you want to talk to him?"

Lee almost said yes. For one brief moment, he wanted so badly to say yes. But then he moved his arm, shifting to a more comfortable position in the grass, and the bruise on his shoulder began to ache again. His mother had been drunk the night before when she threw the empty bottle at him. But that didn't make it hurt any less. Zak didn't know about it, or about any of the other incidents that had occurred over the years, but that was because Lee had put enormous effort into hiding it from him. Their father didn't know either – but that was because he was never there to see it.

Holding his throbbing shoulder, Lee squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching in a sudden flare of anger. "No."

"What?" Zak called, unable to hear him from such a distance.

"No," Lee repeated firmly.

"But – "

"I said no, Zak! I don't want to talk to him!"

Zak didn't ask again. Later that day, he mentioned to Lee that their father had asked about him. Lee ignored him. He didn't want to know what his father had to say. It was too late for words to matter now.


Seven Years Later

Letting out a sigh of relief, Zak dropped the last box unceremoniously in the middle of the floor of his brother's new apartment. "Done! Thank the gods."

Lee rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby. You've got five times more crap than me. I almost strained my back helping you clean up your room last summer."

Zak stuck out his tongue and threw a pillow at him. "Yeah, right. Loser."

"Jerk," Lee retaliated, throwing the pillow right back.

Zak ducked, letting it sail over his head before following Lee into the apartment's small kitchen, gratefully accepting the drink he pulled out of the fridge. And then, watching for his brother's reaction out of the corner of his eye, he finally dared to bring up the topic he'd been trying to broach for most of the afternoon.

"So… yesterday was Father's Day."

Lee's features hardened instantly, all traces of laughter disappearing in the blink of an eye. "Yeah."

Zak shrugged, knowing full well that he was venturing into dangerous territory. "I don't know… I just thought maybe you might have decided to call Dad this year."

Lee stared at the glass in his hand, not looking at his brother. "No."

"Come on, man, it's Father's Day. If ever there was a time to talk to your dad – "

"Why would I ever want to talk to him?" Lee interrupted him bitterly. "I don't know why you do. He hasn't bothered with us for years. Father's Day is for fathers who actually deserve the title."

Zak didn't answer. He knew his brother. There was no talking to him when he was in this kind of mood. All he could do now was change the subject and let Lee leave the topic of their father behind.


Four Years Later

I miss you, Zak.

Lee quickly blinked back the tears that threatened, looking down at the photograph in his hands, surprised to realize that it had grown difficult to see in the darkness that now filled the room. He must have been sitting there for hours. He didn't want to move, didn't know what he would do if he did move anyway. His brother was dead. Zak was dead, and it was his own father's fault.

For the sixth time that evening, Lee started to reach for the phone that sat on the floor next to him. It was Father's Day, but Lee didn't have anything to say to his dad in that respect. He wanted to call him so he could yell and scream and rage at him the way he had done at the funeral. He wanted to tell him that it was all his fault, and ask him why he had done it, how he could have pushed his own son to his death, how he could live with himself and the knowledge that he had taken away the one person in the world that Lee had ever been truly close to.

But he didn't. Bill Adama hadn't had anything to say at the funeral. He wouldn't have anything to say now. He didn't care.

Burying his head in his arms, Lee choked back a few sobs, rocking slightly where he sat. He missed his brother. He couldn't talk to his father. His relationship with his mother was still strained. He felt so alone.

"Gods, I miss you, Zak."


Two Years Later

"And if it was me down there instead?" Lee had unconsciously held his breath after he asked the question. He hadn't meant to say it, wasn't quite sure where it had even come from. The words had simply tumbled out, and now all he could do was wait for an answer.

"You don't have to ask that."

"Are you sure?" Are you sure, Dad? Are you really sure I don't? We've barely talked, barely seen each other in years. It's been a long, long time since I ever dared to think that you loved me.

"If it were you… we'd never leave."

Bill was sitting at his desk doing paperwork when he heard the small, timid knock at his door. Gathering the files together and setting them aside, he called out, "Enter."

There was a brief pause, and then the door slowly swung open. Standing in the doorway was the last person Bill had expected to see.

"Do you need something, son?"

Lee didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't even entirely sure why he was there. All he knew was that what had happened to Zak hadn't been his father's fault. And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that his father really did love him after all.

Still standing uncertainly in the doorway, staring down at his shoes, Lee mumbled the first thing that came to mind.

"Happy Father's Day, Dad."

There was a long, heavy pause. And then Bill slowly got to his feet and crossed the room to stand in front of his son. Lee finally forced himself to look up at him, and two pairs of baby blues met for a brief moment – and then Bill Adama enveloped his son in his arms, eyes watering slightly as he felt Lee automatically tuck his face into his shoulder.

Maybe, Bill thought as he held his son a little tighter, there was a chance for the two of them after all.

"Thank you, Lee."