A/N: Lyrics used are from 'The Living Years' by Mike + the Mechanics.

Every generation blames the one before,

And all of their frustrations come beating on your door.

I know that I'm a prisoner to all my father held so dear,

I know that I'm a hostage to all his hopes and fears,

I just wish I could have told him in the living years.

Crumpled bits of paper filled with imperfect thoughts,

Stifled conversations, I'm afraid that's all we've got.

Say it loud, say it clear, you can listen as well as you hear.

It's too late when we die to admit we don't see eye to eye.

The Living Years

The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was so loud. It overwhelmed the rest of the world, muting the sounds of his Viper and the voices that crackled over the wireless in his helmet. It was a steady, rapid rhythm, and he was drowning in it. He was so tired; he wanted nothing more than to sink into the sound and leave all of this behind, let someone else shoulder this terrible responsibility. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it.

He had to do it.

Don't think about the number. Don't think about the people. Don't try to see their faces. Don't do it don't do it don't do it don't –

"Mark."

Twin trails of flames exploded from his ship, arcing toward the Olympic Carrier, and a split second later, the fierce light of the impacts was burned into his vision, but suddenly the ship's windows were filled with faces, 1,345 of them, some pleading, some crying, some angry, all of them staring out at him, their voices clamoring to be heard, echoing over his wireless – 1,345 voices crying out, 1,345 lives ending, 1,345 – don't do it don't do it why did I do it I killed them all why why why –

"No!"

Lee Adama sat up so fast he nearly hit his head on the bunk above his, and it took him a long moment to remember why. He was on the Galactica. It was the first time in days that he and his pilots had been able to get a good night's sleep – except Lee couldn't sleep. Swiping the curtain aside, he rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bunk, breathing heavily. Luckily, his instincts had kept him from making too much noise when he woke, so his shout must not have been as loud as it had seemed. No one else had stirred at any rate, although that may just have been due to exhaustion. He rested his head in his hands, still gasping, cold sweat running down his chest, the back of his neck.

His father's words from earlier in the day echoed through his mind: "I gave the order. It was my responsibility."

"That's not enough, Dad," Lee whispered in the darkness. You didn't pull the trigger. You didn't kill 1,345 people. I did.

Suddenly, the slightly stuffy room seemed downright oppressive. Getting to his feet, Lee opened the hatch as quietly as he could and slipped out into the dimly lit corridor outside. It was cooler out there, but he was too restless to stand still now. With no clear destination in mind, he started to walk, letting his feet take him where they wanted. Before he knew it, he was running, running faster than he ever normally did, pushing himself harder and harder as though he would be able to escape what he'd done if he ran fast enough. But he couldn't, and finally he was forced to stop, panting as he leaned against the wall – no, not the wall. A hatch. He was leaning against a hatch.

It was marked 'Commander.'

"Damn it."

His feet suddenly felt like they were glued to the floor. There was a part of him that wanted to talk to his father. There was a part of him that didn't. No part of him, however, wanted to try waking his father up and talking to him at one in the morning. And yet, he couldn't make himself leave.

I'm not knocking on this door. I'm not doing this. Not now… maybe not ever.

Reluctantly, he turned away, taking a few hesitant steps down the corridor before he stopped. I don't need to talk to him. I don't need him. I never did before, and I don't now.

The hatch opened behind him.

You have got to be frakking kidding me.

"Lee?" Bill Adama sounded more than a little surprised to see his son standing just outside his quarters.

Lee slowly turned back to face him. "Hi, Dad."

Silence reined for a long moment as they both fumbled for words. Bill found some first.

"Did you… did you need something?"

Lee shook his head, staring at the floor. "I just thought – I mean – never mind," he finished lamely.

"Just thought what?"

Lee didn't answer.

"It's the Olympic Carrier, isn't it?"

This time, Lee's silence spoke volumes. Bill watched him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, knowing he was itching to get away, but also knowing that whatever he would do if he left, it wouldn't be sleep. Bill was tired, too. He didn't even know why he had gotten up, what had made him get out of bed and open his door in the middle of the night. What he really wanted to do right now was go back inside, go back to bed and leave Lee with his thoughts. And yet there was something in Lee's face that told him his son needed him more than he was letting on.

"I shouldn't have sent you away when you tried to talk to me the other day."

Lee finally looked up at him, confused. "What?"

"The day after the attacks, when you came to talk to me. You were upset. I should have let you in. Sending you away was a mistake."

Lee didn't know what to say. "Oh. Yeah, well… I-It's no big deal."

Another moment passed in silence, and then Bill gestured toward his open door. "Get in here." He stepped inside and stood to one side, waiting for Lee to follow him. After a rather uncertain pause, he did. Bill shut the hatch behind him, nodding toward the couch. "Have a seat." As Lee sat down, perching stiffly on the edge of the cushion, Bill moved to a small cabinet on the other side of the room and pulled out a bottle of ambrosia and two glasses. "Drink?"

"Sure."

I have a feeling we're both going to need it, Bill thought. He handed Lee one of the glasses, and they both took a few sips as Bill settled onto the far end of Lee's couch.

"Can't sleep?"

Lee made a face. "Obviously." He instantly regretted his tone of voice. At least his father was making a modicum of effort to talk to him.

Bill sensed his son's discomfort, carefully controlled his own tone. "Any idea why?"

"Why are you asking? You already know. You said it."

"What happened to the Olympic Carrier wasn't your fault."

"That's funny, because I thought I remembered blowing it out of the sky."

"I gave the order."

Lee laughed humorlessly, still staring at the floor. "You keep saying that like it should help. I wouldn't expect you to understand why it doesn't."

Bill could tell Lee was wishing he hadn't said so much, but he asked the question that Lee's assertion led him to anyway. "Why?"

"Why?" Lee echoed incredulously. "'A man takes responsibility for his actions. He accepts the consequences and lives with them.' Do you know how many times I've heard you say that? And I don't know, I guess maybe that works for you, but it's not enough for me! I can't just accept that I killed thirteen hundred innocent civilians and move on!" Swirling the green liquid in his glass, he quickly drained the rest of it in one gulp, then set the glass on the coffee table and rested his face in his hands. "You know what? Ignore me. I'm tired, and the world's completely frakked up, and… I don't know, just forget it." He tried to stand, but his father's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Wait, Lee." Bill swallowed the rest of his drink as well. "I know you're not like me. I didn't realize how upset you were, and I'm sorry for that."

It was the shock of realizing that his father was actually apologizing to him as much as anything else that kept Lee in his seat.

Seeing that Lee wasn't about to say anything, Bill continued. "I know I wasn't around as much as I should have been when you were growing up. I know how much I missed, and I know the divorce didn't help matters – "

"The divorce?" Lee finally found his voice. "You think that was the problem?"

"What do you mean?"

"You have no idea how much you missed if you think the divorce was the problem."

"Lee, all I know is that you used to look forward to me coming home. You used to get so excited. And then everything changed when your mother and I divorced. You wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn't even get you to talk to me."

Lee shook his head. "That didn't happen when you got divorced, Dad!" The pain in his voice was suddenly heartbreaking. "You mean you really didn't notice? You weren't even there often enough to notice?"

So something had happened before the divorce that had changed Lee's perception of him, Bill realized. And he really hadn't noticed. "What happened, Lee? What did I do to you?"

"It wasn't me," Lee answered. "It was what you did to – "

"Zak? Zak, what's wrong?" Lee watched as his little brother threw another pebble into the small pond in their backyard.

The younger boy looked up at him with his earnest, dark eyes. "Dad's really gonna come home, right?"

Lee sat next to him, dangling his legs in the water. "Is that what you've been worried about all day? I thought something was really wrong." He picked up a stone and threw it as hard as he could, trying to outdistance his brother's. "Of course he's gonna come home. He promised he would, didn't he? Dad's not gonna miss your birthday."

"You promise?" Zak asked trustingly.

Lee knew that to his brother, his word was practically gospel. If he said it would happen, Zak would believe him. He would stop worrying.

"I promise."

"You didn't come home, though," Lee said angrily. "We never even knew why. He was so disappointed. He tried to hide it, but I could tell. I could always tell with him."

"I'm sorry, Lee," Bill said softly.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." He rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling even more exhausted. He didn't know why he was even trying; neither he nor his father had any idea how to talk to the other. All of their meager attempts at conversation over the last two years had inevitably ended up focused on Zak.

Bill's thoughts followed a similar vein. Why was it that all of his attempts to talk to one of his sons always seemed to teach him more about the other? He wanted to get to know the son he still had left more than the son he'd lost.

Finally, Bill said quietly, "How do I talk to you, Lee?"

"I don't know," Lee answered, his voice just as quiet. He sounded more tired than angry. "You never tried very hard, even when you were around. You always…" He paused, took a deep breath. "You always seemed to like Zak better."

Bill stared at him in surprise. "What?"

"You talked to him, laughed with him, played with him… I don't have a single memory of you just playing with me." He looked away, once again staring at the floor. "I wasn't a son, I was a legacy. I wasn't allowed to be a child."

"'Night, Daddy."

Bill leaned over and kissed his four-year-old on the forehead, tucking the blankets securely around him. "Goodnight, Zak."

Another sleepy voice came from the other side of the room, where six-year-old Lee was curled up in his own bed. "Goodnight, Daddy."

"You're too old to call me 'Daddy,' Lee," Bill said, barely glancing at his older son. "Go to sleep, now." He got up and left the room, turning out the light as he went.

Rolling over to face the wall, Lee pressed his face into the pillow so his brother wouldn't hear him sniffling.

"Yes, sir."

"You – you were older than Zak," Bill said helplessly. "So maybe I expected a little more from you than I did from him…"

"I was older than him, but I was still a kid. But you never acted like it." Lee poured another small measure of ambrosia into his glass and downed it quickly. "I don't want an apology. I don't know what I want. Whatever it is, though, it's probably too late."

Bill had never heard his son talk like that before. It occurred to him that he'd never had a conversation with his son that had included exhaustion and alcohol, either; that seemed like as good an explanation as any.

Lee sighed quietly. "No, you know what I want? I want you to come to Zak's fifth birthday party. I want you to come to my football games senior year when we won the championship. I want you to tell me you're proud of me when I graduated first in my class from the Academy. I want you to come to the ceremony when I got promoted to Captain."

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Lee stood at attention in the doorway of Battlestar Atlantia's XO's quarters.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Colonel Nathan Tran said, not unkindly. He knew Lee had noticed the letter lying on the desk almost as soon as he had entered.

"Is that… from my father, sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"It is," Tran confirmed. "I'm afraid he won't be able to make it to your promotion ceremony. I'm sorry."

Lee's expression hardened and he stood stiffly, his gaze shifting to a point on the wall just past Tran's head. "I didn't really want him there anyway, sir."

Tran examined the young man's face for a brief moment. "That will be all, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." He saluted and left the room, nearly walking into the ship's commander, Admiral Nagala, just outside the door. He quickly snapped to attention. "Sorry, sir! I wasn't looking where I was going, sir!"

"At ease," Nagala said, sounding slightly amused. "No harm done. No apologies are necessary."

"Yes, sir," Lee said sheepishly.

Nagala walked past him into Tran's quarters. Lee was about to leave when the Admiral's voice drifted through the partly open door.

"Is something wrong with Lieutenant Adama? He seems distracted."

"He is," Tran said. "I just had to tell him his father isn't going to be here when he's promoted."

"How'd he take it?" Nagala asked.

"I don't know," Tran admitted. "He claims he didn't want Bill there anyway; I know there's been a fair amount of… tension between them for years now. To be honest, I'm a little worried about him."

"You think he was lying," Nagala said. It wasn't a question.

"Of course I do. He's obviously upset. Thing is, that kid's got one hell of a poker face, except for those eyes. He can't hide anything there. You should have seen his face when I told him I was inviting his father. I could see it, that – that hope, you know? 'Maybe this time, he'll be proud of me.' And then I had to tell him that Bill's decided not to come."

There was a short pause, and then Nagala remarked quietly, "Bill's one hell of a commander. I've never talked to him about his kids, though. Can't help but wonder how he is as a father."

Outside the room, Lee finally realized he'd been eavesdropping on his commanding officers and moved away, walking quickly and silently down the corridor. He didn't need his father. He didn't want him at the ceremony. And he'd keep telling himself that until it became true.

Bill had had no idea that Lee had wanted him to come to his promotion ceremony. In fact, he'd finally decided not to go because he'd assumed that Lee didn't want him there. How could he have misjudged his own son so badly? Unsure of what to say, he watched silently as more ambrosia poured into Lee's glass and then disappeared just as quickly.

"Y'know what I miss?" Lee asked after a long moment, his words slurring slightly. "I miss the Atlantia. Lotta friends on that ship." He stared into the bottom of his empty glass. "All dead now," he added quietly. He set the glass on the table and leaned back against the couch, finally relaxing under the influence of the alcohol. "I don't fit in here like I did there. Here I'm the commander's son, I'm – I'm Daddy's boy. There I was… just Lee."

"In flight school," he continued sleepily, his eyes drifting shut, "they called me Apollo 'cause I was the son of Zeus. No one ever said that on the Atlantia. They just said I had to be the god of the hunt, 'cause in the war games and training exercises I never missed. None of them cared who my father was." He sighed quietly, his voice growing softer. "They only cared who I was."

Just seconds later, his breathing evened out and he relaxed, fast asleep.

Bill sat and watched him for a long time, contemplating what his son had just confessed. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he had never thought about how much Lee had lost on the day of the Fall. Bill himself had been estranged from his wife, his best friend was his XO, his crew was his family. He still had all the ones he loved the most. It hurt knowing that Carolanne was dead, but that loss felt as though it had happened years ago on the day of their divorce, rather than just a few days ago. But Lee… everyone he cared about except for Kara had either been on Caprica or the Atlantia. He had had his entire life torn away, and then been forced into a new one under the command of the father he hadn't spoken to in two years.

Bill suddenly wondered just what it was that was keeping his son going. Maybe the wounds were still too fresh, the shock hadn't yet had a chance to set in. If that was the case, what would happen when he finally realized that he had almost nothing left? If the crew – most importantly his pilots – had accepted him as one of their own, as their CAG by then, then maybe that would give him enough to hold onto. But if not…

Bill shuddered slightly, pushing the thought away. He knew that now, for once, he could do something right for his son.

The only reason he knew what he did now was because Lee was too exhausted to function and slightly drunk. But maybe in the future, that didn't have to be the case. Maybe Bill could give him someone to turn to when things became too overwhelming. Maybe he could give him a father.

As Bill helped his sleeping son stretch out on the couch and covered him with a blanket, he found himself having flashbacks to a time when he'd done the same for a small, hero-worshipping four-year-old. That innocence and youthfulness was still in Lee's face as he slept, apparently free now of his Olympic Carrier-ridden dreams.

Brushing a hand over his son's hair, Bill leaned down close and whispered softly, "I love you, Little One."

When Bill woke the next morning, he wasn't surprised to find Lee still curled up the couch. He'd managed to sleep through reveille. Bill had already sent word out that the pilots, deck crew, and other personnel who had been especially overtaxed during the past few days should be allowed to sleep. Those who had to be involved with the first CAP would be given extra rack time later. That wasn't Lee, though, so Bill left him where he was.

There was a small knock at the door and it opened a second later, revealing a young private with a carafe of coffee. Bill motioned for quiet and nodded his thanks.

"Breakfast today, sir?" the private asked softly, glancing at the sleeping form on the couch.

Bill shook his head. "Not today. I'm going to eat in the mess, see how everyone's feeling now that the whole thirty-three ordeal is over."

"Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"That'll be all, thank you. Dismissed."

The young man snapped a crisp salute and left.

Bill sipped the coffee. It wasn't bad… or maybe he was just too used to battlestar fare. Most likely the latter. He finished one cup and left the rest for Lee. It would stay warm for a while. Almost unconsciously glancing over his soundly sleeping son one more time, Bill satisfied himself that Lee was all right, and then left to find out what was being served in the mess today.

The mess hall was quieter than usual, undoubtedly because so much of the crew was still sleeping. But even so, as Bill sat there a steady stream of Galactica's men and women came and went. He talked to many of them, and was pleased to find that morale as a whole was far better than he had expected it to be. His mood improved further still when Kara entered and dropped down into the seat next to his with a smile.

"Morning, Boss!" she said brightly. "What brings you here on this fine, Cylon-free day?"

"Just making sure my crew is all right," Bill answered lightly, sipping at another cup of coffee.

"Everyone seems to be doing okay, surprisingly. Well, except one," she amended. "Have you seen Lee recently? I can't find him."

"I have, actually."

"Where? When?"

"Asleep on my couch, about forty minutes ago."

Kara stared. "Lee? Our Lee? Asleep on your couch?"

Bill almost asked if that was so hard to believe, but then thought better of it. Of course it was hard to believe. "We talked last night."

"You talked?"

"Is there an echo in here, Starbuck?" Bill asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Kara shook her head several times, as if trying to clear it. "You and Lee. You talked. Like actually talked about – you know – personal stuff, and not just… just CAG/Commander stuff."

Bill nodded.

"How'd you manage that?"

"I may have accidentally gotten him slightly drunk," Bill admitted.

Kara let out a snort of laughter. "I knew it." She sobered then, and asked, "How's he doing?"

"Not very well, at the moment," Bill answered quietly. "He's upset about the Olympic Carrier. And… a lot of other things."

Kara raised an eyebrow, asked shrewdly, "You had another fight, didn't you?"

"Surprisingly, no," Bill said. "I think… I think he really wants to make an effort to fix things, at least a little. He's lost so much. And I miss him," he added quietly. "It's been so long since the last time I even saw him."

"I think he's always wanted to try to fix things," Kara said carefully. "Maybe there was a while after…" She paused uncertainly, but Bill nodded for her to continue. She didn't need to say it. "For a while then I think he had really convinced himself that he didn't want to be close to you, but… well, he's Lee. He's always wanted you to be proud of him at the very least, even if he wouldn't admit it."

"I am proud of him."

"I know," Kara said. "But he doesn't."

They sat in silence for a long time, until Bill pushed his chair back and stood up. "I should go. I don't want him to leave before I get back."

"What are you going to do?" Kara asked.

"I'm going to tell him I want to be his father."

When Lee first began to wake, he couldn't remember where he was. This wasn't his bunk. He briefly considered opening his eyes, but he really didn't want to. He was so comfortable. A hatch opened and closed somewhere nearby, and suddenly the smell of food filled the room. Lee's eyes snapped open. He was in his dad's quarters. Right. And speaking of his dad…

Lee blinked sleepily up at his father, who seemed to be carrying the source of the smell. "What's that?"

"Breakfast in bed, I suppose," Bill answered, setting the tray down on the coffee table. "Don't get used to it."

Lee let out a snort of laughter as he sat up, eyeing the food appreciatively. "Thanks, Dad."

Bill shrugged. "I thought you'd be hungry."

"I could have just gone to the mess," Lee pointed out, swallowing a large mouthful.

"You also could've paid attention when your mother tried to teach you good table manners," Bill said with some amusement.

Lee grinned. "Touché."

"Besides," Bill said, settling back in his chair, "I wanted to talk to you some more."

"What about?" Lee asked, reluctance obvious in his voice. He didn't remember everything he'd said the night before, exactly, but he was pretty sure that a lot of it he never would have admitted to his father had he been completely sober.

"Last night I let you do most of the talking. I just had a few things I wanted to say, if you're willing to listen."

Lee recognized that his father was giving him a chance to walk away. He was letting Lee decide where their relationship would go from here.

"Okay," he answered quietly.

Bill took a deep breath, remembering one of the things Lee had said the night before. I want you to tell me you're proud of me. "I know it's too late to mean much, but… the football championship your senior year? That was one of the best games I've ever seen. And your ninety-four yard touchdown? You probably won't believe it, but I yelled myself hoarse."

Lee stared at him in shock. "You… you were there?"

"I was there. And after that touchdown, I asked the woman next to me if you always played like that. From what she said, you must have had a hell of a season. I was so proud."

Lee didn't say anything. He didn't think he could have if he'd wanted to.

Bill shrugged. "I know it's not much, not with everything else I missed."

"But you were there. You actually came home just to – to see me do something."

"Course I did," Bill said softly. "You're important to me. I didn't love Zak more than you. And I've always been proud of you."

"Why – why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Lee asked helplessly.

"I didn't think you'd want me there. It's the same reason I didn't go to your promotion ceremony. I knew the invitation had come from your XO, so I thought it was just a formality. I thought you'd be happier if I didn't try to force myself into your life." He watched his son for a moment, seeing the extremely fragile hold he had on his emotions. "That was a mistake. I'm sorry."

Lee realized his father was thinking of more than just the promotion ceremony. He was trying to apologize for almost twenty-six years of absence from Lee's life in the only way he knew how. Lee stared at the floor, blinking rapidly and trying to ignore the lump in his throat.

Bill had seen the vulnerability in his son's eyes before he had looked away, and he suddenly didn't know what to do. He'd never seen so much emotion in Lee's face, and he suddenly realized with striking clarity that that was because Lee had listened to everything his father had ever told him. A man doesn't cry. A man accepts the consequences of his actions and learns to live with them. Lee had taken those and more to heart and used them to construct a mask, so no one would ever see his emotions – especially not his father. He had shut himself in because he wanted Bill to see him as a man.

"Gods, what did I do to you, Lee?" Bill whispered softly. Before Lee could even begin to think of a way to answer, Bill reached out to him and enveloped him in his arms. He could feel Lee shaking slightly, knew he was still desperately trying to hold everything in, so he whispered gently, "Just let it go, Little One."

Lee felt a few tears spill over as he pressed his face against his father's shoulder, and suddenly the words slipped out before he even knew he wanted to say them: "I love you, Dad."

Bill smiled in relief, his own eyes less than dry as he held his son a little tighter. "I love you, too."