As soon as his father walked into the war room with Kara in tow, Lee knew the plan that he and Tigh had come up with was going straight out the window. It was by the book, sure. But the book had to exist for a reason, right? Wrong, according to one Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace. For Kara, the book only existed until she could come up with something better. And somehow, it seemed that she always did. This mission was no exception. It took time, but gradually, a new plan was hammered out, and it had 'Starbuck' written all over it. Every time Lee ran over the details, he couldn't help coming up with a few choice words to describe them: 'crazy' came to mind, as did 'insane,' 'ludicrous,' and 'likely to get us all killed.' And yet, it was the best plan they had.

Lee was so distracted that when he finally looked up from the table in front of him, he was surprised to find that he and his father were alone in the room.

"Something on your mind, son?" Bill asked quietly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Lee laughed nervously. "I'm just glad I'm not the one who has to make this work." His father didn't respond. "I mean… Starbuck's plan, Starbuck's op… right?"

Bill slowly looked up at his son. "Starbuck won't be taking the lead on this one, Lee. You will."

Lee stared at him blankly. "But… you can't be serious! She's our best pilot, and we both know it. Dad, I'm the lead pilot and I'd rather have her in charge of this thing. Believe me, I'm more than okay with following her this time instead of the other way around."

"She won't be following you, Lee. Kara won't be flying at all."

Lee felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. He couldn't even think of an answer.

"She's not up for it yet," Bill continued. "Her knee still isn't a hundred percent, and with this mission, we can't afford to put forth any less."

There was silence for a long moment as Lee tried to wrap his head around the idea that he would be the one leading what was, in his opinion, little better than a suicide strike force on a suicide mission.

"You're my CAG," Bill said at last, the no-nonsense tone of command creeping back into his voice. "You can't agree to this and then lose your nerve later on. I need to know now whether or not you're all right with doing this." He moved to stand in front of Lee, looking his son in the eye, and asked slowly and firmly, "Are you up to this, Captain?"

Lee swallowed hard, hoping his father couldn't hear his heart pounding. "Yes, sir."

Lee took a deep, steadying breath and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that none of his pilots could see him in the darkness of the storage container that concealed their Vipers. Their radios were silenced for the time being, as the need to conceal their squadron until the last moment was paramount. But still, he didn't particularly want to them all to see him talking to himself.

"You can do this, Lee. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this, you can do this…" He took another deep breath. "They called you Apollo for a reason, right?" At least, he certainly hoped they had. Could the other nuggets in his class and the instructors at flight school really have seen so much in him that he couldn't see in himself? "You can do this, it's all on you, you can do this…" He wondered what would happen if he failed, and immediately his insides twisted with fear. Gods, no one would ever trust him with anything ever again. He'd be nothing but the CAG who couldn't measure up to his hotshot problem pilot, the son and officer who couldn't measure up to his father and commander.

"Sometimes it seems like the whole ship thinks Starbuck would do better."

"I don't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"'Cause you're my son."

"I hope you're right, Dad," Lee whispered softly in the darkness. But instantly, the doubt returned. What if his father wasn't right? What if Lee frakked it all up and disappointed him… again? Cut that out, he chided himself furiously. You don't know that you disappoint him. And yet, if he didn't, then why had his father never told him otherwise? Surely he would have said something at least once if he was proud.

Lee shook his head, attempting to terminate the train of thought. This wasn't about him and his dad. This was about the entire fleet, all that was left of humanity. They were nearly out of fuel, and they were all looking to him to find them some more. If he failed, he didn't just fail his father. He failed all of them. So why did it feel like his father was the only one who mattered? Maybe because the rest of the fleet didn't know him. If he couldn't complete this mission, his would be the name they all tossed around, the one they would all condemn as the pilot who destroyed their chances of survival. But they wouldn't be able to put a face to the name, none of them would know who Lee Adama really was. His father, on the other hand…

Lee felt his heart began to race again as he imagined the look of disappointment on his dad's face. He couldn't face that, couldn't live with the knowledge that his own father thought he was a failure. And somehow, the belief in him that his father had expressed the night before only made it all the worse. Bill Adama never said things like that. But last night, he had come right out and told Lee that he believed that he could do this. How crushing would it be if that faith turned out to be misplaced? Lee gulped in air, desperately trying to steady his shaking hands. This plan was mad. It would never work. And if it didn't, it was all on him.

Of course, if he did fail, the shame would only last until the fleet ran out of fuel and the Cylons found them and destroyed them all one by one. So that was something, at least.

Lee let out a strangled laugh at the thought. Damn it, it really shouldn't have been funny. Then he jumped slightly as his headset crackled suddenly, and one of his displays informed him that a scrambled channel had just been opened. A second later, Dee's voice sounded in his ear.

"Apollo, Galactica. Back door is open. Back door is open. Godspeed, Apollo."

This was it. It's all on you, Lee. Don't frak it up.

Taking one more deep breath, Lee clicked on the lights inside his cockpit, watching as the other eleven pilots down the line did the same. As soon as that was done, a quiet hum in his headset told him that they were all activating their radios as well. Lee gave them all a second, and then said quietly, "Wireless check. Thumbs up if you can hear me." Peering out of his canopy, he saw eleven pilots give the signal. "All right. Good hunting, everyone." As he spoke, the cargo container broke away from the ship, and the squadron all began to detach themselves from the hull. Lee hovered at the head of the formation, waiting until they were all in place behind him.

"How can you be so sure?"

"'Cause you're my son."

His father's voice echoed through his mind again as he stared out at the fight ahead of him, and he pressed a hand against a small pocket in his flight suit, feeling the oddly reassuring shape of the lighter that he had stashed there. You can do this, you can do this, he believes you can do this, so you'd sure as hell better do this…

"Initial point in five seconds. Flak suppression unit cleared hot. Okay, let's do this."

Everyone was treating him like he was some kind of hero. He didn't feel like a hero, though. He felt like he was just doing his job. Lee looked around at the sea of faces that surrounded him, all the pilots and deck crew and whoever else had happened to be in the vicinity, all of them laughing and drinking and celebrating the success of the mission. And they kept congratulating him on his success. It wasn't my success, he wanted to say. It wasn't even my plan. All I did was… was fly down a conveyor tunnel… that may or may not have ended anywhere near where I wanted to be… or may have been a dead end, resulting in my fiery death… He suddenly froze where he was standing, feeling strangely lightheaded. Why the hell did I ever think that would be a good idea?! The world began to spin slightly, and he quickly moved away from the crowd, steadying himself against the wall as the full impact of the sheer, utter madness of what he had just done finally began to hit him.

"Are you all right, son?"

"What?" Lee blurted out, startled by his father's sudden appearance. He'd assumed his dad had left shortly after Lee had returned his lighter. "Oh… I – I'm fine." He knew his father didn't believe him.

Bill rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "You did a damned good job today. You deserve this," he said softly, nodding toward the party.

Lee's heart swelled. Maybe he wasn't such a disappointment after all. "Thanks, Dad, but I don't think I'm going to stay too much longer."

"You sure? I have a feeling that the mysterious source of all this alcohol might dry up pretty quickly once this party dies down," Bill chuckled.

Lee found that he really enjoyed being able to laugh with his dad. "Yeah, I suppose so. Still… I'm pretty tired."

Bill nodded, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "I know you didn't take my advice last night, so I'll say it again. Get some rest, son."

Lee gave him a small smile. "I will, Dad."

Bill didn't leave the party until almost an hour later, staying until he was sure he had personally spoken to and congratulated every one of his pilots. They had all done a fine job today. Especially their leader, he thought with a proud smile. And speaking of Lee…

Bill knocked lightly on the door of the CAG's quarters. There was no answer, so he carefully pushed it open and entered. The room was dim, except for a lamp that sat on a chair next to Lee's rack. Lee himself was stretched out on the bed, fast asleep with papers scattered across his chest. Bill shook his head affectionately.

"You know, Lee, you are allowed to have fun every once in a while," he whispered to his son's sleeping form. Leaning down, he gathered up the papers – a mission report, just as he had suspected – and stacked them up neatly, placing them on the desk. He put the lamp back as well, and replaced the chair where it belonged. Finally, he took hold of Lee's blanket and pulled it up over him, watching with a smile on his face as his son curled into the warmth in his sleep. He looked like a little boy again, the little boy who used to try on his father's helmet and tell him that one day, he was going to be a famous pilot –

"Just like you, Dad! I'll be a hero, just like you!"

Bill brushed a hand over Lee's hair. "Not just like me. You're better than me." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his son's forehead. "Sleep well, Little Hero. You've earned it."