In the way of lifelong soldiers the worlds over, Bill Adama came instantly awake, still yet poised for action.
He looked down at the blonde head of his newest pilot, tucked under his chin. For the briefest moment, he was confused about what Kara Thrace was doing in his bed, but quickly enough he figured it out. She was crying. Silently, but he could feel the tears trickling down into the neck of the tank bunched up in her fingers.
Just a few weeks ago, he'd met her for the first time. She'd been putting up a good front, but underneath the mask, he'd seen the devastation wrought by his son's death - had felt a kindred spirit in her grief. It was part of what had made him invite her to take a berth on Galactica.
They'd talked about Zak after dinner earlier - reminiscing, swapping stories. He had no idea that Zak had loved to paint. Kara said maybe next time she went back to Caprica, she could bring back some of Zak's work.
Kara hadn't known that Zak had been born blond. She giggled helplessly over the exploits of Zak, the precocious blond boy.
"Bald? Really?" Kara laughed.
Bill nodded. "Boy had almost no hair when he was born - then when it did come in, it was blond. I thought for sure the stork had brought the wrong kid." He grinned. "The first time I saw him walking, I was home on leave, and this little raggedy-haired blond kid comes rumbling down the hall toward me. My first thought was 'what a cute little girl' and then he got close enough I recognized Zak and thought 'that boy needs a haircut ASAP.' During that leave, I took him to the barber for the first time." He wondered for a moment if Caroline had kept that lock of hair.
"You thought he was a girl? Oh, my gods! So how long was he blond? Because obviously it didn't stick."
"It got darker every time I saw him, but it didn't really get dark until he hit puberty." Bill raised a brow.
"Oh, my gods! Poor Zak. All his life, he's been a blond, and now at the worst time in his life, he's going dark." Kara laughed.
"He wrote me a couple of times, telling me how now that his hair wasn't blond any more, the girls were all flocking to Lee - he'd always been dark-haired, and what Zak called his "don't touch me" air attracted the girls like crazy." Bill was thoughtful for a moment. "It didn't last long. Zak's hair changed and his voice changed, but he didn't, and he was always more popular with the girls than Lee was. It was a point of pride for him. Of all the ways he looked up to Lee, wanted to be like him, he loved that Lee didn't always get the girls." He glanced over to see Kara's face twist. Wonder what that's about?
"It's one of the things that attracted me to Zak - that he was comfortable in his own skin. He was just so exuberant, and gods know I wanted some happy in my life."
They were each lost in their own thoughts for a long moment. Bill broke into the silence with an offer of more ambrosia.
Kara's "Yeah, thanks," was subdued. "Zak loved me. Nobody else ever loved me like that, and I couldn't say no to him."
Bill didn't know if she wanted a response or if she'd been talking mostly to herself, so he didn't say anything.
They'd gotten progressively more introspective, and at some point, he'd looked over to see her asleep, leaned against the arm of the sofa. He'd gotten a blanket off his rack and covered her with it, then gone back to his desk to finish up some more paperwork. She was still asleep when he was ready for rack-time, so he'd left the light in the head on, in case she woke in the middle of the night, and he'd gone ahead to sleep.
Now, here he was, curled on his side with his very young pilot - who was his daughter but for a technicality - cuddled weeping against his chest. He wondered if he was the first person to hold her after Zak's death. Where was her mother? He was momentarily overwhelmed with helplessness. Battlestar Commanders did not comfort grieving widows, and much as she and Zak hadn't been married yet, that's what she was.
He tightened his arm around her, and she stilled, so he affected a snore. Between his exhaustion and the warm body next to his, his pretense became reality again in short order. The next time he awoke, to the sound of reveille through his speaker, he was alone again. The blanket he'd tucked around her on the sofa was spread over him, and the bed next to him was cold.
It might have been his imagination that the next time he saw her, she was slightly more clear-eyed and slightly less care-worn. And maybe it was his imagination that holding her while she'd cried had loosened some of the tight knots in his own grief.