A/N: This is a 'what if' take on the scenario of Dee learning about Lee's stint with Kara on Groundbreaking night before their (Lee and Dualla's) wedding. Set somewhere at the beginning of the missing year on New Caprica. An AU of sorts, but hopefully, doesn't contradict all that dramatically the events, transpired in show canon. Echoes loosely the situation in ep. 3.13 'Taking a Break from All Your Worries.'*
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points etc., inherent to the show, belong to me.
Mirror, mirror…
Truth be told, he resented the idea from the get-go. There was a spare storage room, right there, on Pegasus, redesigned for religious purposes (where their own ceremony was scheduled the next day, for that matter), labeled pretentiously "the Temple" by his crew. No particular need to go planetside to deliver prenuptial offerings to a Saggitaron oracle. She argued that was something her mother would have had her do, were she around. He grudgingly complied, the idea of letting her off the DRADIS for the day somehow not sitting well with him.
Not that he had reasons to suspect she would dump him on their wedding eve and run off into the sunset with Gaeta, but still… He had to smirk, wondering where the Hades that one came from, and checked his watch for the umpteenth time in so many minutes. Sure enough, the last Raptor from New Caprica was due in less than a quarter of an hour and his XO-cum-fiancée hadn't reported back so far. The logical part of Commander Adama rationalized it was mere pre-wedding anxiety driving him up the bulkhead with unfounded worry and misplaced insecurity. Deep rooted structures of his overexerted mind hinted his own mixed motivations and long-standing commitment issues were, most likely, in charge of the aforementioned insecurity to begin with. The instinctive part, summoned into action for times his fingers quite sufficed to count, propelled him to the hangar deck the courier Raptor was approaching.
A stifled "Commander on deck" whisper snapped the scarce night-shift crew to attention. He waved them off with a half-hearted salute, focusing on the depressurizing craft. A young pilot, one of the few left in the air group assigned to Pegasus upon the Settlement, emerged on the wing only to spring to an apprehensive attention, weary of the Commander about to chastise his latest landing screw-up, no doubt. The Raptor was otherwise empty…
***
He didn't panic right away, no sir. It wasn't panic yet, that made his insides perform a twisting churn and sent an unnervingly numbing chill all the way to his fingertips. It still wasn't panic, of course, instrumental to the shaky stumble in his ever so casual inquiry:
- Whe… where is Lt. Dualla?
The hapless kid shifted from foot to foot, striving desperately to deduce from Commander's demeanor whether he would make it out of the brig before the next Colonial Day for missing the orders to pick Lt. Dualla up on that particular run.
- Sir, I don't know, sir. Sir, I had my orders to report back from the planet by 24.00. No specifics about Lt. Dualla, sir… Sir?
He nodded the boy 'at ease' absently, his mind already a whirlwind of plausible explanations, none of them, sure enough, instigated by anything akin to panic. She could have been late to catch the last errand flight for the day and would be back on board tomorrow morning. The rational part of him refused to concede she would knowingly go AWOL without as much as contacting her CO, fiancé notwithstanding, to report pending overnight absence. She could have picked up a shuttle to visit some friends on Galactica too. The rational part of him reminded promptly, that of the closest she had to friends lately, one was on Colonial One, planetside anyway, and the other was his very own self, worrying his wits out on the Pegasus hangar deck. He had to make a deliberate effort to shoo away the nauseatingly vivid images of her prone form, stabbed, strangled, violated, on the outskirts of the City-of-Muck, his underused irrational part was all too keen on supplying in abundance.
***
New Caprica City was a bustle of SAR activity at the most ungodsly hour, the landing-strip - a makeshift command center. Either dramatic imagination ran in the family, or transcendent panic actually managed to seep into the erratic phone talk with his father, but the Admiral was barking crisp orders, echoed by full-throttle-mean-XO-Tigh, briefing Galactica and Pegasus CAGs on coordinating a Raptor scout mission right upon dawn-break, a mere hour after it was figured out in between both Adamas that Dee eventually failed to report to either battlestar.
In the meantime, a visibly anguished Helo was collecting the incoming data from ground search parties. Former Chief Tyrol volunteered to lead an investigation into "Saggitaron-town". A Colonial officer fitting the description of Anastasia Daulla indeed was spotted, earlier in the day, by the oracle's tent, but that was it. A sleepy and annoyed Felix Gaeta admitted to have had a drink and chat with a fairly cheerful Dee sometime in the afternoon and to have bidden her good-bye shortly afterwards. A woozy President Baltar graced the SAR camp with a dispatched inquiry as to what the entire hullabaloo was about. The wireless cackled a city-wide announcement for either Lt. Dualla, or anyone who has sighted Lt. Dualla in the last 24 hours to report to the nearest comm-station asap. No joy there too, so far.
***
The rational part of him knew he should be assured by the comforting routine of the search. Their people were obviously determined to leave no stone unturned and the absence of news (or body) was also indicative she could still be all right, and found. His military-molded training dictated he ought to be at the core of the mission, relocating his father's tactical orders, verifying the logistics of the most efficient and cost-productive SAR. The irrational part of him was aware of the paralyzing horror, coiled tightly around his heart, metastasized deep into his guts, driving him barely conscious of the flurry around. The instincts, he wasn't quite used to trust unconditionally, stubbornly hinted he should be apprehensive the reasons for her disappearance into the blue might somehow be linked to his much disoriented self.
A familiar semi-coughing sound and an oddly hoarse "Lee" made him slip the full-defense mode in the moment it took to turn around. The last thing he needed right now was to indulge Starbuck's urge for wisecrackery, or whatever it was she showed up for. Taken aback he was, quite a deal, with a clearly uneasy, borderline timid, Kara Anders, facing him. Taking advantage of the gaping opening an attempt to factor "timid" and "Kara" into one sentence apparently left in his mind, she ventured further:
- Um… Dee's missing? I heard on the wireless… No luck yet?
- That's right. What's your concern? – he sounded hostile and meant it, the sour taste of their ultimate encounter and the dizzying frenzy of the last hours leaving him utterly uninclined to bother with any semblance of politeness.
The way Starbuck stiffened at his tone was not lost to him and understanding started to creep in, together with the freezing grip on his nearly choked heart.
- You have something to say, Kara, say it now.
- Ah… I… we met today… yesterday, actually. Dee and me…
- You met?
- Yeah, on the Main Street. And we talked, sort of…
- You talked? – he had to repeat things to stop the world from plunging into an uncontrollable spin. Somehow, the idea of Dee and Kara having a girly heart-to-heart didn't imply it was going to end well. – You talked about what?
- Well, I was pretty smashed, okay… I'm not sure what I was saying… Guess, it was pretty nasty. And I think I babbled about… well… us – on the Groundbreaking Day. How we… you know… that night…
***
Know he did. He knew right then panic was nowhere in the vicinity of what he underwent so far. Panic was the desolate, consuming void of his most cautiously guarded nightmare evoked to actuality – that Dee would learn what a worthless deceitful scumbag he truly was, what a far cry from the illustrious Apollo. Who was he, anyway, to believe, he was even remotely deserving of the fulfilling placid happiness she was eager to grace him with. He, who threw a stone that gods-damned night into a bubble of glass, erected around them both, and was only entitled to be crushed by the crumbling shatters of his own shelter.
He felt faint and wobbly, wavering on his feet, bruised mind partially tuning out semi-coherent, semi-defensive apologies Starbuck had to offer alongside her confession. To her credit, she did look quite genuinely upset, but he just wasn't there enough to appreciate her concern or gloat at her embarrassment, that time. He wasn't even sure he had it in him to fuel anger further. Kara did, what she did best, after all – acted first and reflected afterwards, regardless of who was hurt in the process.
The rational part of him set off an alarm that not everything was adding up neatly into the morbid pattern of his self-deprecation. Upon learning of his one-night-stand with Starbuck, immediately preceding their engagement, Dee could have stormed into his quarters on Pegasus, punched him, if she so pleased, shoved a transfer request into his face, called him on being a pathetic cheating frakwit, denounced the wedding… The obvious stuff… Why she would choose to discern into thin air of a chilly New Caprican night was something he wasn't quite ready to let his irrational part contemplate, if he were to keep faring on this side of sanity.
***
The way his countenance contorted with physically experienced suffering, apparently, instigated the Admiral to shift into full-tilt "parent" mode in a shorter half of a heartbeat. His father's concerned gaze was instantly level with his own eyes, hazed by slowly brewing tears.
- It's alright, son. We'll find her soon. She'll be alright.
A protest constrained in his throat, making him choke on an aborted sob. There were no words to even begin to explain how it wouldn't be alright once they find her. If they find her, that is. There was hardly any point now, too – he'd lost her already, either way.
The rational part of him scolded immediately it was his duty as a commanding officer to carry the search of a missing soldier in his charge to a satisfying outcome. The irrational part of him dreaded to embrace the hollow prospect of a lifetime without her, lost or found…
***
Dee was alive. That much was sure. Kat identified a visual on her, meditating unruffled by the spring in one of the nameless yet ravines, surrounding the Colonial settlement. His father piloted their Raptor to the spot on the bank clear enough of drifting lumber wreckage and eyed him questioningly:
- You want me to talk to her first?
He could barely summon the will to move by now, rendered numb by angst, exhaustion and relief combined, yet shook his head "no". It was his trial, and his alone. Whatever she had in store for him, he had to face and brace for the fallout. The rational part of him anticipated there would be precious little of him left to pick up in the aftermath.
There was no way the Raptor landing in such close proximity could have gone unnoticed, still she seemed unperturbed by the noise of his approaching steps on the loose pebbles. She was seated on a huge stone, composed and focused on something in the shallow waters by her feet. Her uniform, rumpled ever so slightly, the only indicator she spent the night in the open. The serene stillness of the site made each step he took pound as a nail, hammered into his own scaffold.
- Dee… - the scarcely audible address brought her head up, eyes clear and sad in the tentative morning light. If she had been crying, it didn't show.
The idea of her crying alone in the woods over him, though, was enough to make him sick. His knees all but buckled, bringing him eye-level with her, taking her in to conjure from memory in the years of bleak loneliness inevitably soon to follow.
– Dee… you gave us… me a Hades of a scare this night…
Her blush was clouded by a rueful smile.
- I know… I'm sorry… I'll report to the brig as of boarding Pegasus, Commander. I just had to think some things over…
- Dee! – his hushed voice was frantic, his gaze urgent and anguished by then, searching her face, pleading for the verdict.
Why do you want to marry me, Lee? – there was no catch in the way she stated her inquiry, no hidden implication, yet he had to blink twice before the meaning settled, threatening to stifle him with its shroud.
She was to his rescue, as ever, offering a prompt in the test he could feel his very life was at stake in:
- I'm not asking why you made up your mind to propose. All I need to know if there's truly a reason, other than spite and desire to avenge Starbuck, that makes you want to mean those vows. If so, I'll meet you at the altar today.
A single reason? And that's it? The rational part of him cooed it was his last chance at a clean way out of a commitment he wasn't too sure he would ever be ready for, was all too sure he didn't deserve. The rational part of him screamed he should grab the opportunity before the overwhelming generosity of her trust and affection weight a burden on his consciousness, sending him running the other way, hurting her beyond a chance of redemption.
The irrational part of him was weeping and burying his face in her open palms, seeking absolution. The irrational part of him still writhed and shivered from the wrenching memory of the horrific night he deemed her lost for good, either to hostile ambient or his own guilt.
The newly welcome irrational part of him whispered - It's a date, then - and searched for her lips.
*'I realize there's probably nothing I can say that can make this right. But there's something you need to know. I asked you to marry me because I was in love with you. Just like I'm in love with you now…' (Lee Adama, BSG2003, ep. 3.13)