A/N: It had always, somehow, appeared to me Lee would not be the one to put up Dee's picture in the Remembrance Hall. Yet, once it was posted their, it could quite plausibly ensue some 'interaction' or, at least acknowledgement of her 'avatar' on his part.
It had, incidentally, kept me wondering that Dee's picture should be so pronouncedly displayed through Lee's unconditional acceptance of Kara's 'otherworldliness' in 'Islanded In the Stream of Stars', season 4. Since no element of text (or subtext/paratext) should be regarded without underlying symbolic meaning within a tense narrative and crucial character development point, like that one, the issue of Dee's pic seemed to demand a bit of exploration.
Follows Lee's mindset and emotional slant via facing Dee's image at various points through the latter half of season 4.
Disclaimer: Non of the characters, plot points, inherent to the show, belong to me.
In thy orisons*
The moment he first noticed it, he knew he hadn't put it there. The picture of her, pinned up on the wall in Remembrance Hall. Smiling in serene composure, oh so proud in then still brand new uniform of hers. It honestly didn't occur to him to perform the traditional act of commemoration himself. Not for his own sake, anyway. Enshrouding sorrow and reverent memory were his companions at all hours then on, alongside anguished regrets, demanding no additional reminder.
The first thing to strike him, oddly enough, was surprise that someone else – Gaeta more likely than not - should've been, apparently, in possession of her photograph. He had to gulp down an upsurge of borderline jealous ire, kicking himself into awareness she managed to endear herself to most of the crew. It was not his place to seal her memory from being cherished.
He didn't venture to move closer, however. She was there, bathing him in an earnest stare, reading deep into his innermost torment, like she so often would, and yet, she wasn't. She was gone, nothing much but a scrap of glossy paper left to delude and scorn him. He all but fled the gossamer hallway, unable to endure the unmistakable appeal for his care in the gaze, regarding him from the snapshot, woefully missed the last time he looked into her eyes; rendered impossible to carry out for good.
Once the dry echo of rifle fire ceased in the hallways nearest to the airlock, he made his way to the candle-lit niche, housing her image, to plea for forgiveness. Feeling a failure and a fraud, by far, ached even deeper than when the news of her morbid choice shattered the world around him the other time. She trusted him to keep them all going, to keep them all safe, and he let her down, unable to foresee nor to forestall the mutiny, ripping apart what meager remnants of humanity they had left upon Earth. And now they were forced to try and execute their own – the one nightmare she relied on him to never let be summoned into existence.
He couldn't remember how long he wept that time, leaning his burning forehead on the soothing, glimmering surface of her dimmed avatar; seeking absolution in the benevolent warmth of her forever unruffled gaze; mourning the irrevocable loss of a chance for redemption.
Kara indeed died all the way back in that maelstrom. Or so Baltar's forensic expertise would claim.
He could sense she was somehow aware of every word, as he professed acceptance of the unfathomable, by the way her stare was fixed right on him from the snapshot, radiant with familiar rueful encouragement. Believe every word he did, too. For if Kara could be back from the other side, no matter how or why, that could issue a ghost of hope there was more to life than their toil's worth of pain and suffering.
That could mean Zack was somewhere out there too, same as all the dear ones, deemed lost in the ashes of their obliterated worlds. Same as Dee. He might still get a chance to let his brother know how much he was missed, how much it kept hurting. He might still get a chance to comprehend the excruciating 'why', doomed to sear his mind and heart alike. He might still get a chance to make sure what he presumptuously left unspoken the last time his promise faltered to save her, would be acknowledged.
When he stepped up to face her image prior to the final onslaught on the Colony, he actually prayed. It was awkward and far from eloquent, for a lifetime's worth lack of practice. Incidentally, he was praying to neither of the Lords of Kobol, nor to the God, Baltar preached, but to her alone. That, for all intents and purposes, would render his quiet soliloquy a sacrilege, if he were inclined to give a damn at the moment. For he didn't beg for luck or good hunting, not even safety any more, but for strength and wisdom to meet whatever fallout awaited them all on the other side of that ultimate endeavor. It took him to learn the hardest way possible he couldn't hope to obtain that particular grace from anyone else.
The last time he came to see her in the Remembrance Hall was to take her snapshot off the wall. Kara's incredible hunch, or divine intervention, or all of the above, brought them to a beautiful maiden planet. The fleet was to be abandoned and it looked like the shreds of both haunted civilizations finally reached home alongside a semblance of solace. There were mountains to climb, valleys to wander, seas and oceans to cross, he recounted to her enigmatically smiling image, tucking the picture securely into his pocket. He had the whole new world to show her now.
* The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
(Hamlet, Act 3, scene 1)