Note: Because any plotline which involves an abused young woman forgiving her abuser and it being the "right" thing to do bothers me to no end. And because I refuse to believe that a character I care so much about is a total frak up.

Disclaimer: I don't own Battlestar Galactica.

Despite her peaceful expression, there were many thoughts going through Kara "Starbuck" Thrace's head as she plummeted towards certain death. The thoughts were not calm. They were not well-ordered. And they were, one by one, leading her steadily away from the firm conclusions she had just formed.

How, for example, could she do this to Lee? Dear Lee, beloved Lee, Lee who was either like a brother or a lover depending on the day of the week, only-man-who-wouldn't-take-her-shit Lee. She was only in this bird right now because he believed in her, because he told her to trust him if she couldn't trust herself. How could she die right here, before his very eyes, and leave him to torture himself for the rest of his life for driving her to this?

And what about Anders? Her husband? He was no Lee, of course, she knew that well—had known that since she first met him—but he loved her and cared about her, and damn if some corner of her frakked up twisted heart didn't care about, love, him too. What would he do without her there to kick him in the ass, that overgrown lug of a pyramid player with eyes like the sea and the body and heart of a gods?

And the Old Man. Oh, gods, the Old Man. Adama had been everything to her for years now—her father, her rock, her raison d'etre. She had loved him when he had first introduced himself to her, she had loved him when he had opened up to her about Zak, and by the gods she even loved him when he knocked her over in that chair and told her she wasn't a daughter to him any longer. She knew what it was like to love someone who didn't care about her—had been raised with that lesson drilled painfully into her skull—and she could deal with it, if Adama really hated her. If he didn't—and part of her thought maybe he didn't, despite what he had said, maybe because of what he had said—then she would love him all the more. Could she really leave things between them as she had, with that greeting in the corridor, pretending that things hadn't changed since the Cylons invaded? Could she leave him without ever confronting him and giving them both a chance to release their demons?

And what was she about to die for? A voice in her head that sounded an awful lot like the man—no, Cylon—who had held her captive on New Caprica. A trauma-induced hallucination of finding peace with her mother—her mother who had abused her and taught her to hate herself, who was, if she was honest with herself, the root of many of her problems. And a symbol she still didn't understand but couldn't get out of her head.

"Kara! Kara!"

She blinked, and wondered distantly how long Lee's voice had been echoing in her ears, and suddenly she was pulling at the controls of her viper, forcing it to change directions, fighting it with every muscle in her body, and in a flash she saw that elusive raider before her and her finger twitched and damn if it didn't explode into a million pieces. And then she was pulling up, up, away from certain death, and back towards the Galactica, her viper damaged and limping but obedient to her commands, and Lee fell in at her wing again.

"Damnit Kara," he said quietly, as if his words were only meant for her, although they both knew that everyone on Galactica could hear what he was saying, "you didn't have to nearly kill yourself to prove that the raider was really there."

She didn't respond, couldn't do it this publicly. And as she pulled into the hangar bay, she knew that she was probably grounded, at least for a while. And she knew that things between her and the Adamas weren't good, couldn't become good without a hell of a lot of work on her part. But as she climbed out of her cockpit and saw the Old Man standing there, looking for all the world like a terrified, relieved parent, and felt Lee grab her from behind and hug her as if to prove to himself that she was really there, she thought that maybe, just maybe, things might be okay again. Someday.