To be okay
AN: This story is set after the rescue mission on Caprica and takes off in another direction after that. It's AU, in a sense that Kara has already found out Sam Anders is a Cylon, there have been no elections (Laura Roslin is still president), there is no talk of settlement on New Caprica and Cloud 9 has not been shot to pieces. This story is written in what is becoming my signature style of second person. Hope you enjoy.
Spoilers: Everything leading up to season 2 final.
Disclaimer: Don't own them. If I did, I would not have let them frak things up so considerably.
Thud. Bang. Kick. Thud. Bang, bang, kick. That's what's real. That's in the moment. That's what you should be concentrating on. Nothing else should matter right now.
Get a grip, Starbuck! Concentrate!
Relief. Laughter. Jubilation. Screaming. Shots. Crying. Running. Chaos. That's what's on your mind, that's what you're trying to get away from.
Some time ago, perhaps an hour, you finally found yourself able to extract your tired body and confused, fuzzy mind from the whirl of people all gathered in the hangar deck to welcome back to stranded group of people from Caprica and to raise a toast in honor of the Galactica rescue party, whose hard work and persistence paid off.
Some time ago, you were being hailed and congratulated by your superiors and peers. Hugged even by the admiral and, though a little awkwardly, hugged by Lee as well. You let them, smiling until your facial muscles cramped, swallowing the increasing urge to scream, kick and cry.
In the chaos around the deck, nobody noticed your heart wasn't into the party and nobody seemed to realize that the one person you planned this entire mission for in the first place, isn't there. Just as, so far, nobody has come looking for you. In the organized chaos that comes with trying to harbor the refugees in an already cramped ship not suitable for civilian life, your escape from the suffocating crowd went by unnoticed. Which suits you just fine. Because when the urge would not, could not be ignored any longer, you knew there was only one place on the ship where you can get the frustration, the pain and confusion out of your system: the blessedly empty workout room.
Where you are now kicking and punching the stuffing out of the bag in front of you, working yourself into an exhausting oblivion as to avoid the maelstrom in your mind, all centering around one subject, one person:
Sam Anders. And the fact he did not come back with you.
Not because you couldn't find him. More because you did. Find him…and a lot more you hadn't bargained for.
It confused you, overwhelmed you, angered and hurt you. More than anything, it's that last emotion that brought you here. Confusion is nothing new, feeling overwhelmed is commonplace, anger only fuels you. But pain? Kara Thrace has left pain behind when she became Starbuck. Or so you hoped. But even if it was Starbuck who did what needed to be done, it is not Starbuck who is now trying to work off all leftover energy in the hope that complete exhaustion will soon replace the searing agony.
The punching bag has never faced an enemy quite as desperate as you and it puts up a nice fight. Without a sparring partner to hold it in place, it swings precariously from its hook on the ceiling. Yet, it might be safer for any willing sparring partner to stay well out of your way tonight. As goes for anyone else.
The sound of the latch being pulled momentarily distracts you and the punching bag takes its long awaited revenge. You're knocked off your feet as it swings back and hits you in the back of the head the moment you turn to identify the intruder.
Strong, male, familiar hands help you up. Concerned eyes look at you and you breathe a sigh of relief.
"Thanks Helo."
He nods, doesn't ask questions. He was there. He knows what happened, knows how it affected you. There's no need for him to spell it out.
"You okay?"
You shrug.
"Been better. Been worse too."
Helo nods again, handing you a bottle of water and a towel.
"You vamoosed."
It's a simple statement, void of any accusation, void of any concern. He knows you would blow a fuse if you would detect either one of those.
"I needed some time alone."
"I get that. But the Admiral and the Commander don't. They were looking for you. In various degrees of concern, I might add."
"So…let them look."
"Kara…"
This time, there surely is a warning in his voice. You want to rebuff it, but hold back. This is Helo. The closest thing to a friend you have these days, since you're not so sure anymore about anyone else. At the very least, Helo can relate to your feelings of betrayal and despair. So you let him get away with patronizing you. For now.
"Kara…they need an after action report. It's standard procedure. They need to be told what happened…all of it."
All of it.
He's right. Of course he is. There was never a moment in which you thought you might actually be able to dodge that particular bullet. This entire mission was your plan to begin with and so they won't settle for just the bare naked facts which could be reported by any other officer. You can't simply hand this one task back to Helo, though you know he would have offered if he could. But in this case, it has to be you.
Doesn't mean you have to like it. Which you don't.
Normally, you wouldn't care. It's always the same. You chase Cylons, they chase you. You kill some of them, they kill some of you. Well, there's always a difficult moment whenever you have to account for lost Raptors or Vipers and their pilots, but even though you miss the people you've lost, it's a lot different from what you are supposed to be debriefing them about this time.
Frak. There's just no way you know how to tell them with a straight face and all the military composure that should come with your current rank and responsibilities. Not this time.
The gentle voice of Anastacia Dualla reaches you over the intercom.
"Captain Thrace, please report to the Admiral's quarters. I repeat: Captain Thrace, report to the Admiral's quarters."
Well, that's it. Coming through the intercom like that, even via Dee, it's as much of a direct order from the Old Man as if he'd been standing right next to you. Sighing in resigned frustration, you take a swig from the bottle and wipe your face clean. There's no time for a shower, so if you stink like a skunk, the Adama men are just gonna have to frakking deal with it. Men as in plural. Somehow, you just know that Lee will be there too.
Gods damn it all…At least you haven't been drinking. Much.
Giving a wink to Helo and getting a look of understanding back, you open the hatch and make your way to the Admiral's private rooms. Taking one more deep breath, you knock.
"Enter." The familiar voice booms out.
You step in and snap off a salute. Some time ago, he told you it wasn't necessary and though you know it was a big compliment and a sign of trust, you need the stability of military protocol now more than you need Adama to be a father figure. Any sign of humanity, of well-meant and sincere concern and you'll break.
Captain Kara "Starbuck" Thrace doesn't do breakdowns.
The Admiral salutes back without comment and next to him, Lee does the same, before ordering you to stand at ease.
Ease. Not happening today.
You greet Laura Roslin as well and she gives you a warm smile.
"Welcome back, Captain Thrace. It's good to see you're safe."
Safe. Yeah right. Meaningless four-letter word tonight. But how can the President know that? So instead of snapping at her well-meant greeting, you bite your lips to shreds and just nod a thank you.
The Admiral meanwhile has poured all four of you a drink and motions for you to sit down. Too jittery to allow yourself to relax, you request to remain standing. At his nod of consent, you take a huge gulp of ambrosia and wait for the questions to come.
There's only one.
"So…Captain. Can you tell us what happened during the rescue mission?"
Well, at least it's the one encompassing all the others. Perhaps, if you stick to the facts…
"Sir, we landed at around…"
You proceed, in minute detail, to relay the facts, throwing in times and numbers, temperatures and other weather conditions, landscape settings and strategies, hoping that the multitude of insignificant figures might somehow cover for the information you're leaving out, the important things you're not willing to share yet.
For minutes on end you talk and by the time you're done, your throat might be dry, but so are your eyes.
So far, so good.
That is, until the older Adama pokes a hole in your defense.
"So…all in all Captain, you're satisfied with the results?"
Sure you are. If you consider the results as just that, then there's no reason not to be satisfied. You set out to rescue the people stuck on a desolate, enemy-infested planet without sustaining too many casualties and that's what you did. Statistically speaking, your target his been met. You have every reason to be satisfied.
"Y-yes Sir. I am."
"But you've forgotten to mention one person in particular. The one you wanted to get back to, if I'm not mistaken?"
Oh frak. With your eyes, you beg him not to push for more information and when he seems unlikely to let the subject go, you venture a look at the man who's saved your six more times than you care to remember. Despite the tension between the two of you and the awkward way you left a lot of things unsaid before you left (what else is new?), he might be a little more inclined to throw you a bone.
Not this time. Though not as pushy as his old man, Lee Adama is not willing, or able to provide you with an easy exit strategy. Tearing your eyes away from his steady blue gaze, you resign yourself to the inevitable. Hacking, spluttering, you tell them as much of the truth as you can bear to give them.
"He…eh…he didn't come back with us. Sir. He..eh…he got killed in action."
Lee gasps in surprise at that statement, but you refuse to look in his direction, unable to deal with his sympathy. Or his relief, should there be any to be found. His father just nods, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, but not letting his gaze waver.
"Care to elaborate, Captain?"
No. NO, no, no! You can't! It hurts too much.
"Please Sir…don't ask me that."
Taking pity on you, the Admiral thankfully drops the subject, thanking you for the by the book execution of the mission and the results: all civilians present and accounted for, all except one. But then again, casualties are always to be expected. Never wanted, but still, always anticipated. That's the harsh reality of your days now.
You're offered another drink which you cannot politely refuse, but as soon as you can, you kindly ask to be dismissed, using fatigue as a credible excuse, only partially lying about it. Your request being granted, you hastily bid both military and personal courtesy to your superior officers as well as Madame President and stagger out of the make a beeline to the officers quarters, where you allow yourself to fall onto your bunk without even bothering to take off your clothes.
Sleep eludes you, though, as you knew it would. Everything around you is quiet, so you assume they're all asleep, leaving you alone with too many thoughts you're not willing to deal with yet. Knowing that the only two choices you have are either to keep your mouth shut and focus on getting your thoughts under control or throw a tantrum and face the consequences (sickbay and/or brig), you wisely choose the first one and resign yourself to a night of useless tossing and turning…
Your little group of people is thoroughly pinned down on the spot. The shooting goes on and on from both sides, drowning out all other sounds and almost making it impossible to give orders and keep track of the situation. You're focused on the cylons coming closer and closer, your senses heightened by the adrenaline pushing through you. There's no time for strategy, no time to think or regroup or take shelter. Fact of the matter is that you're outnumbered, there's nowhere left to go and you're running out of ammo fast. It takes careful aiming to hit a non-human piece of scrap metal in a lethal way and since you don't have time on your side, you fire at will and are disconcerted to see and hear the pang of most bullets as they ricochet off the bodies of the advancing centurions, protecting the humanoids behind them.
Cowards. What's wrong with getting your hands dirty?
Luckily, you find yourself surrounded by good people only, people you have faith in. Helo stands firmly on your left side, the only one still carefully aiming before shooting as not to spill bullets. For all the time he's taking, at least he hits all targets, his calm determination having a stabilizing effect on you. In times like these, you're glad to recognize him as your friend, as always, even when he's lost his heart to a supposed enemy. Yet, slowly but steadily, his faith in Sharon is rubbing off on you and so far, her help and supplied information has always proven to be correct as well as useful.
Grudgingly you have to admit that, even if she seems to have made a conscious decision by staying with the fleet and helping you, it still can't be easy for her to watch herself get killed over and over again. Creepy is not a creepy enough word for it.
To your right is Sam. For a moment, you regard him with mixed emotions. Sure, you're happy to have found him alive, but for some reason, or rather, a gut feeling, part of you is not quite so much at ease with him as you were when you first ran into him. There's been no time for mutual sob-stories or even more than a quick hug and kiss and perhaps there's an advantage in that, since you cannot allow yourself to overanalyze what it is you're feeling. Or not feeling. Or should be feeling. There's no time.
Still, in the moment before the attack got out of hand, you did question your instincts and came to one major issue: guilt. Without Sam having to say it out loud, it seems like he blames you for not coming for him (well, all of them, but mostly him) sooner, not understanding, or perhaps even not willing to see that you really did come as fast as you could. As fast as you were allowed to.
What did he think you would do? Steal a raptor and whisk him away, leaving the others to fend for themselves while the two of you flew romantically into the sunset? Even if your file of reprimands easily matches the file of recommendations in length, you wouldn't have done that. Not now. Not when it took you long enough to establish a very fragile new trust between yourself and the Admiral. Between yourself and his son.
But that's not all.
Always one to believe her instincts, you can't quench the stomach ache. Something else is off. You're in danger from more than the cylons approaching you and more than your loyalty being questioned by a friend. And again, Sam Anders has something to do with that, though you have no idea in what way, shape or form. It's almost like his heart isn't into the fight, his aim is poor and he's hiding more than he's fighting.
Quickly you make sure he's not injured, but there's no blood to be seen and there's no sign he's in pain. Has he just lost his nerve? Or is there something more serious going on?
A bullet hits your makeshift shelter a mere inch from your head and only Karl's excellent reflexes save you from becoming the guest of honor at your own funeral as he pulls you out of harm's way. Too embarrassed by your lapse of concentration to look him in the eye, you mumble a quick thank you in his direction and fix your gaze to the tree line. If anything, it roughly brings you back to the sticky situation at hand.
Shaking off any unwanted thoughts, you try to regain focus on the toasters in front of you, not willing to risk another very close call. You'll have to deal with Sam Anders's weird behavior later, when you're safely out of this place and you can examine him more carefully.
Well, turns out you don't have to wait that long.
The ugly, gut wrenching, maddening truth about the man you were willing to risk your life for, becomes only too obvious in the next few minutes. So obvious you're almost sure you're hallucinating. That, or you're the victim of a very hideous prank.
Some of the humanoid cylons are easily recognizable, though still half hidden behind their metal counter parts. You've located several copies of the tall blonde woman you fought with for the arrow of Apollo. There's two of the clean shaven male, at least one Simon, one Sharon…and…behind him…no.
NO!
Gods Almighty!
Stupidly, you look to your left, the look of sheer horror on Helo's face confirming you're not going mad. Then, as you hear movement, your gaze turns to your right, where the expression of Sam Anders has gone unnaturally pale as he too spots his clone coming straight at him. He wants to say something to you, but halfway across his mumbled words, his eyes, one moment ago locked with his carbon copy, suddenly glaze over and he slowly lifts his gun...
Two shots ring out simultaneously. One comes from Helo's gun as he, white as a ghost, shoots the Anders copy coming at you.
The other one comes from your own weapon. The Sam Anders you knew and thought you loved, is lying motionless at your feet, the gun he was pointing at you still clutched in his hand. Vaguely you think it's strange how they bleed in the same way humans do. Just as red, just as warm. Just as lethal…only it's not.
Because he's not human.
He's a toaster.
And toasters are the enemy.
Drenched in sweat, you wake up after this more than detailed account of the real story. For what it's worth, you might as well have shared it with the Admiral, the president and Lee as it seems like it won't leave you alone anyway. The room is still dark and silent and you're relieved you haven't screamed and woken anyone.
It's still nighttime and you've been given the next morning off as an unwanted reward for your efforts. It's disconcerting not to have to get up and have a routine to rely on, no CAPs to fly, no nuggets to train. You're not worth much if you can't even pretend to function normally.
Instead, you thump your pillow into submission and slump back down, hoping to catch some more sleep. Dreamless, if possible. Gods willing…
During the next few days, you're irritable, moody, cranky. There's been an official welcome party for the evacuees and you've been forced to participate, forced to stand at attention as you received a medal and a special recommendation from the president. Sure, you're proud of yourself and your team, and you're even willing to admit that the pride and support radiating through Lee's eyes spreads a welcome warmth throughout your body.
As does his silent understanding you're not willing to discuss what really happened during your self-planned mission.
He must have spoken about it to the old man too, because neither the Admiral nor president Roslin has asked you for any more specific details. So far, they've just left you to your own devices and you're more than grateful for that.
In the meantime, the people you've rescued are all trying to socialize with you. They too have experienced a great shock and a sense of betrayal that the man they've so faithfully followed turned out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. They too are full of uncertainty, of questions. Too bad they're looking at you for the answers.
How come they don't understand you don't have any answers to give?
The only way to get rid of them is to avoid the most public places until they get assorted onto the civilian ships. Which, on a rather crowded battlestar, is tough enough. It means staying away from the rec room, the sports facilities, the mess hall, the bunk room and during some hours, even the head. That's pretty much everywhere. Just to keep occupied, you assign yourself to every single duty you can think of, volunteering to do anything possible, just to keep busy and therefore, unavailable to staring eyes and unspoken questions.
Plus, it wears you out to the point of exhaustion, which at least means you're too tired to even dream. You should have known your luck is running out.
Lee's been over from Pegasus to discuss some logistic problems with his father. You made sure you weren't on the hangar deck when he arrived and you sent out Hotdog with a message that you sadly had to decline his dinner invitation because of CAP duties. Had he taken one look at the duty roster, he'd seen you didn't have any during those hours, but you hoped he wouldn't check up on you.
Instead, you took an early shower, got undressed and settled in for an early evening. Dreamless, you hoped.
As in a mythical story of a multi-headed dragon, you find yourself face to face with at least half a dozen copies of a once-beloved face. All of them are taunting you, mocking you and the hours you spent making love, making plans to rescue him and build a future together.
"Did you love me?" One of them sneers.
"No, she loved me. She said so," says another one.
"At least she frakked all of us good," cheers a third copy.
"Not me, but I'll get first dips now," says the first one again.
"No. She never truly loved us," a fifth one chimes in, his voice more malevolent than the others.
"She might have made us all believe she did. She might have made herself believe it too, but there's another one."
Something, or rather, someone, is being thrown roughly on the dusty ground at your feet. His hands and feet are bound, his head covered by a burlap sack. He stumbles and groans, obviously in pain.
"See here, Kara Thrace's true love. Or what's left of him. Let's see if she loves him as much as we think."
The sack is being yanked off and the human looking creature squints in the sun as he looks up at you. He's skinny, his lips are chapped from dehydration and dried up blood is matted in his hair. Several bruises in various stages of healing are covering his entire body, as well as crusted up cuts and welts.
No wonder it takes you quite some time, but when you do, you're incapable of stifling your gasp as you recognize the man slumped in front of you.
"Lee!"
As you rush to try and help him up, one of the cylon Sams points a gun at him.
"Touch him and he dies."
You stumble back, but keep your eyes focused on Lee's, trying to comfort him without physically coming any closer.
Two Sams now yank Lee on his feet by his elbows, while a third one takes out an arsenal of weapons and torture devices. A small knife with a particularly sharp blade. Some brass knuckles. A whip. A chain. Lee whimpers as his captor picks the knife first and holds the cool steel blade against the vein in his victim's neck. It glints menacingly in the scorching midday sun.
One of the others now comes close to you, close enough to feel his stinking breath on your rippling skin. You're about to be sick. He addresses you, this distorted creature in Sam's body, in a whisper, so Lee won't hear him.
"Now, let's play a little game. You tell us you don't love him, don't care for him, don't even like him and we might just leave him alone. If we think you're lying however, you get to choose which part of this pretty boy we take first."
Frak this. You're normally so good at lying. But the thought of denouncing him, betraying him in front of him, in his face…there's no way you can do that and convince yourself, let alone these creatures, whom you're sure will harm him either way, judging by what they've already done to him.
Yet, you have to try. Hoping those frakked toasters will believe you. Hoping Lee won't.
"I don't love him."
"Don't tell us. Tell him."
Again, you try, swallowing the bitter aftertaste of your treason.
"I…I don't love you, Lee."
The cylon next to you looks at his copies for verification. All others shake their heads and give you the thumbs down. Not convincing enough. You failed.
The one next to Lee holds up his knife threateningly.
"Well, well now. This is not very promising. But still so many options open…let's see. Kara…your choice. How about an ear? No? A finger perhaps? No? Oh, I know. An eye. One of his pretty blue eyes. Yes, you'd like that, right Kara?"
His blade is close to Lee's face now and he's squirming, screaming, looking at you pleadingly, but there's nothing you can do.
Closer, closer.
"Kara!"
"No! Lee, no! Please!"
"No! Lee, no! Please!"
"Kara! Kara, wake up!"
You're roughly being shaken and immediately alert, you shoot upright, ready to fight your unknown attacker.
"Kara, stop squirming! It's me, Karl. It's okay, you're safe. You're just having a nightmare."
As you slowly regain your focus, you indeed find yourself in your bunk in the officer's quarters, Helo grabbing your shoulders and half a dozen sleepy pilots looking at you with mixed emotions on their faces, ranging from confusion to sympathy to anger at being awoken before their time.
"Here, drink this."
It takes you a while to notice Karl is holding out a glass of water, but you gratefully accept it and drink half of it back in one big gulp, spluttering all over your tanks and not giving a hoot whatsoever.
"You okay?"
Sure, as okay as you think you can be, that is. After a horrible nightmare like that. Thank the Gods nobody dares to ask you what it was all about.
Karl now addresses Kat, who's hovering behind him, a chagrinned expression on her face, obviously angry at being interrupted in her own dreams. Helo doesn't show her any consideration, though.
"Stay with her. Don't let her fall back asleep. I'll go get Commander Adama."
What? No. Triple heck no!
"Karl, don't talk about me as if I'm not here and don't you dare bring Apollo into this!"
"Kara, it's late. We're all tired from our hard work today and more than that, we're all tired of pretending we don't know you guys have a thing for each other. Now if you'd screamed out his name in what we could have assumed was a pleasant dream, then no, we wouldn't think of getting him. But this wasn't pleasant, was it?"
Burning up with embarrassment, you can't deny anything he says. Satisfied with your silence, Karl sticks with his plan.
"Kara, he needs to know, okay? If nothing else, he's your friend and you could use that now."
"You're my friend."
He smiles.
"Thank you Kara, but it wasn't my name you just screamed. So if you don't mind, I'll go fetch him before he takes a raptor back to the Pegasus."
He turns to do just that, but, much to your own surprise, you call him back.
"Helo?"
"Yes?"
"I…I can't tell him. Will you? Please?"
"How much does he know already?"
You let out a big sigh.
"He knows Anders got killed in action. But not why and who shot him. I'm not sure I can tell him as much. I feel so foolish."
Karl smiles again, before giving you a brotherly hug.
"Don't feel stupid. I've heard from a reliable source those toasters can be very charming. Any old fool would fall for them."
You can't help but produce a smile at that. Karl lets go of you and a moment later, after assuring himself Kat's still watching you like a hawk and ordering her not to move an inch away from you, he's closing the hatch behind him in search of Lee.
Defeated, you fall back onto your sweat soaked mattress, waiting for Helo to return, possibly (hopefully?) with Lee. You still don't really want him to know, don't want to see the look on his face when he's told that all this time, you've been outsmarted by and frakking with the enemy. Trusting him. Falling for him.
But Karl is already on his way. There's no turning back now.
Silence has settled in the Admiral's quarters as Admiral and Commander Adama, father and son, share a drink after a long afternoon and evening of supply meetings. Tedious, boring, but necessary. The Admiral swirls his drink in his glass as he regards his son, who seems miles away in thought. He thinks he knows why and with a sly smile, brings the subject to said reason.
"Weren't you supposed to have dinner with Kara?"
The ever so slight twitch at the corner of Lee's mouth belies the non-committal answer the young man gives.
"Yeah, I was. But she sent word she was too busy flying CAP rotations."
The Admiral frowns at that, knowing full well that Kara's not on this evening's CAP schedule at all. In fact, he's very worried about her mental wellbeing these days. She's edgy, withdrawn and on the verge of insulting even when reporting to him. Proud as he is of her, he can't tolerate her behavior much longer. But he dreads the day he needs to report her and daily prays to the Gods she won't let it get that far.
His son, he knows very well, might just be one of very few people, perhaps even the only one, who can get Kara to open up and tell them what's eating her. Much for her own sake as for the sake of the entire fleet, he needs his best pilot to be healthy, both physically as well as emotionally.
But how to steer his stubborn, blind son in the right direction? Well, tread carefully is the first rule.
"She did well on her rescue mission, very well." The older Adama states. There's an almost paternal pride in his voice.
Not that long ago, it would have irked Lee to hear his father be this affectionate toward someone other than himself, but that's no longer the case. In these confusing, tormenting months after the Colonies have come to their tragic end, he's gradually learned a lot about not just William Adama as a formidable officer, but also as a man, carrying the responsibility for the safety of the entire remaining fleet on his shoulders, like Atlas. He's seen how having to make a decision between a bad option and an even worse one has affected him, whereas he had always assumed his dad never cared either way.
As he had always thought his dad didn't care about him. Or Zak. Or Zak's death. Putting the blame for forcing his younger brother to become a pilot all on one man's shoulder. Thinking that the older Adama had no right to feel bereft by his son's accident.
Now he knows. He knows and feels his father's pride and approval, knows and feels that the old man does have a heart. And a strong one at that. He's made his share of mistakes and paid an insurmountable price for them. Yet he's still mild with others and their frak-ups, never pushing past the limits of his crew, who love him to pieces for it and as a positive result are always pushing their own limits to earn their Admiral's approval.
So it is with a smile that he agrees with the Admiral's statement. Whatever the peculiar status quo between himself and Kara is, he too is fiercely proud of her determination and quite happy it has paid off for so many people who would otherwise have been left to fend for themselves. And yet…
"And yet, I'm worried about her. About what she's not telling us."
Lee silently questions since when his father's been able to read his mind, because he'd just been wondering the same thing. He knows Kara too well and just because she added all kinds of unnecessary facts the other day, it was all the more glaringly obvious she was trying to hide something. And judging by what he heard, how she moves around the ship as a ghost, avoiding any personal contact with anyone (the fact it's not just him only comforting him very little), she was under serious emotional strain and (as always) thinking she needs to deal with whatever it was all by herself.
"Something happened with Sam Anders. One would expect her to be sad about losing him, but she seems…I don't know…"
Well, that's helpful. Yet, it's all Lee can elaborate, wishing things were not so stifled between himself and his best friend, so that she could put her faith in him once again.
As the older Adama gets up to refill their glasses, a pounding knock on the hatch startles both men. It's late and nothing but some kind of personal emergency would have brought anyone to come knocking personally.
"Enter!"
The hatch opens to reveal Lieutenant Agathon, panting from the sprint he has taken to get here. His eyes rest on the young Adama and he exhales in relief.
"Thank the Gods, Apollo, you haven't left yet."
Intrigued, the Admiral decides not to point out the total lack of military courtesy the young man's showing, but simply stands aside to let him come in and address his son with whatever panic situation that has brought him here this late at night.
"No, it was already getting too late and I figured I'd find myself a bunk for the night and go back to Pegasus in the morning. But what did you need me for, Helo?"
"It's Kara, Sir."
Well, that certainly gets his attention.
"Kara? What about her?"
"She had some kind of nightmare, Sir. She's had a few of them the past few days, actually, but this one was different. It involved you, because she woke up screaming your name. And I think it might have something to do with what happened at Caprica."
Lee quickly exchanges a glance with his father, both men coming to the same conclusion: they were right about Kara not having told them everything. Choosing his next words carefully, the Admiral now turns to his trusted Raptor pilot.
"Helo…it's not that we don't trust Captain Thrace's after action report, but we feel she has purposefully failed to mention some of the events that have taken place. Something happened out there that has obviously shaken her, and I think we ought to know what that was in order to help her. I hope you understand I do not want to order you to tell us anything, but if I have to I will."
"You don't Sir. Ask me anything you want and I'll answer truthfully and completely if I can."
Admiral Adama nods, gratefully. He knows Helo, if anything, is a fiercely loyal man and he appreciates the effort it takes his Lieutenant to come forward with what is in all honesty not his story to tell.
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Now, what can you tell us about the rescue mission that she might have left out?"
Helo sighs, knowing that this was coming and dreading what comes next.
"Well, Admiral, Commander…I think you'd better sit down."
He well and truly hates the task he has just volunteered for. Though he knows he was well liked as an officer and crew member of Galactica and he's certainly a good raptor pilot and overall nice man, his love for and marriage to a Cylon has somewhat diminished his credentials. Yet, in this case, it also makes him probably the only one who, on some level, understands Kara's confusion, her pain, her sense of betrayal. By her own senses as well as by the man she thought she could love.
Love instead of Lee Adama.
Oh sure, Helo's not crazy. He's known ever since he's witnessed them together that the notorious Apollo and Starbuck are ass over teakettle in love with each other. And, as a given, both too scared, too stubborn, too hung up on guilt and rules and expected failures to dare to take a chance and go for it. Which is too bad, because, as he can testify, taking a chance can sometimes be a very good thing. Despite of the talking going on behind his back, despite of the fact that he has to visit his wife in the brig because even after all her help, she's still not trusted and therefore, neither is he, he still loves her too deeply, too completely to walk away from her just to make his life easier.
What is worth fighting for is hardly ever easy and what's easy is usually not worth fighting for.
And since Kara's a friend, she's worth it. And that's enough for him.
So he starts talking, making sure not to omit any fact Kara might have purposefully left out, starting by explaining all he knows about Kara's first visit back to Caprica to find the arrow of Apollo, about the circumstances in which they met with the resistance group and the relationship Kara built with Sam Anders (ignoring the pained look on Lee's face, but secretly welcoming it as a confirmation of the man's feelings for his friend), continuing with their rescue mission and ending with the moment they all found out Anders was a Cylon.
"As ironic as it undoubtedly sounds coming from me, but you could hardly imagine the horror on Starbuck's face when the truth hit her like that. We all know what it's like to put all your faith in a person only to realize they're the enemy you're trying to fight. We haven't been able to find out whether the Anders copy with us was actually aware he was a Cylon, or even if the Cylon with her was always the same copy, but what I do know as that she blames herself for not knowing it, not seeing it. For risking her life and the lives of a lot of her fellow Galactica officers to bring back someone she thought she could trust."
He dares to look Lee in the eye by now, knowing how much he hates the mere idea of humanoid Cylons, how much he still resents Sharon, even if she's not the same Sharon who shot the Old Man. And so he's not at all surprised to see the scowl on the Commander's face.
The Admiral, who has remained silent so far, now addresses the situation as he always tends to do: heads on.
"Well, that explains the nightmares, the insubordination and her reluctance to speak. But do you think she's willing to let us help her now?"
Karl bites back a knowing smile. Neither Adama can resist the urge, the necessity they both feel to help Kara, willing or not.
"I think she is, Sir. She might not like it, but she needs the help. More to the point: she needs the Commander."
He turns to the younger Adama.
"But…permission to speak freely, Sir."
At his nod, Helo continues.
"She doesn't need you to be the Commander, her superior officer. She doesn't even need Apollo. With all due respect, Sir. She needs Lee."
To his relief, there are no questions asked as of what's supposed to be the difference. With a nod of consent from his father (who, right now, is not the Admiral or their commanding officer either), Lee turns to Karl.
"Let's go then."
After Helo's left to go and find Lee, the flurry of activity which had exploded after your sorry display of nighttime dysfunction, slowly comes to a halt. Kat, as your appointed yet reluctant babysitter, is holding out a glass and two painkillers. Just as reluctantly, you take them. You would have preferred some of the Chief's rotgut, but your stomach is already growling in protest after your little trip to imaginary hell, so trying to drown the images in some seriously foul liquor is not a wise idea. Effective perhaps for the first hours or so, but destructive in the morning.
So pills it has to be.
Most pilots have lost their interest in the little after hours showdown and return to their own bunks, mumbling goodnights and shut ups as they make their way through the darkened space, cursing when they stumble across strewn around objects or crash into a locker left open by its owner. Somehow, these normal sounds soothe you as the painkillers begin to do their work.
But you stubbornly remain wide awake, too scared of the next scenario to go back to sleep.
What's taking Karl and Lee so long? Big as this frakking piece of scrap metal you're all floating around in might be, it's not quite big enough to get lost in. Which means there must be some other reason your two best friends have not returned to your side yet.
In the back of your mind it occurs to you that for someone who didn't want them to show up in the first place, you're acting way too much like an eager puppy waiting for its master to come over and pet him.
Huh. Wish you were a puppy. You could be drooling over the boss, paw him, lick him and even piss all over him and it would still be considered perfectly normal; a welcome sign of affection even.
But what if he doesn't want to see you? A dark cloud rolls over your happy puppy comparison and sends it whimpering back to its cage as the clear and present possibility of Lee refusing to come to your aid presents itself.
What if he's not convinced by Helo's story? What if he's disappointed in you? For picking the wrong man, for not realizing it, for letting yourself be fooled by a piece of hardware? For being a coward and sending Helo to do your dirty work? For not being honest with him and his father by not telling them all this yourself?
For not simply having chosen him in the first place, sparing the both of you a lot of heartache?
Put in this perspective, you're not even sure you deserve him coming over here. He's right to forever deprive you of his company, his friendship, his loyalty and love. To resent you, be repulsed and sickened by you. You know you are.
You're a frak-up. Always were, always will be. And now Lee knows it too.
Just as you've convinced yourself you're left to your own devices (well, except for Kat, but she hardly counts as she just sits there on the opposite bunk, looking anywhere but at you), the hatch opens and both men (Both, thank the Gods) walk in. Helo gives your shoulder a friendly and reassuring squeeze as he passes you, leaving you with Lee.
One pointed look of him sends Kat running after the disappearing figure of Karl, so now there's just about enough space to create a sense of privacy, if you keep your voices down to a mere whisper. Not sure as to what to say, you try to avoid his gaze. This is awkward and painful. A far cry from the easy friendship that once defined the golden duo of Apollo and Starbuck.
You miss those days, would do anything to bring them back.
Restless hands pick dust bunnies from the blanket underneath you, until bigger, masculine hands cover them and still their frantic movements.
"Kara. Look at me, Love."
It isn't so much the last word in itself, but more the infinite tenderness in his voice when he says it that makes you look up.
The same word is reflected in his eyes, complimented and highlighted by his sweet smile.
You're loved. Lee loves you, still loves you. Despite of knowing the gods awful truth, he absolutely does not look like he feels something remotely contemptuous about you. Instead, there's concern, warmth, safety and something more…
A promise.
Everything is going to be fine now. It's okay to break down. Lee's here to help you pick up the pieces. With a sound that's somewhere in the middle of a whimper and a groan, you let yourself fall forward, straight into a pair of strong, warm and welcoming open arms.
"Oh Gods Lee…he was a toaster! A frakking toaster!"
"I know, Kara love, I know. It's okay…I'm here now. You're safe, everything's going to be just fine. Shhh…it's okay."
The tears you've refused to cry so far are streaming freely down your cheeks, no longer dammed in by your stubbornness. Lee draws you in even closer until you're resting in his lap, his face buried in your hair, his arms around your waist as he murmurs soothing words and sounds into your ears. You're reduced to a simpering, shivering bundle of misery, but that's fine, because you're cocooned by love. His love.
There, in his arms, you calm down, finally reaching one all encompassing conclusion: the Sams in your dream were right: you never really did love him/them. You merely thought you did, happy with the fact that, after all the tension between Apollo and yourself, you found someone who made it seem so much easier to love and be loved. There was no frakked up history between the two(?) of you; no questions left unasked and unanswered for years because you were too afraid of the answers; no skeletons to add to your overstuffed closet. Instead, Sam gave you a sense of contentment and never asked for more in return than you were willing or able to give. It gave you a sense of peace and rest.
You figured that was what real love was.
It sure wasn't. Even before you knew the truth about him, you most certainly knew the truth about yourself. Only, for a while, you just forced yourself to believe it was the real thing. But on the long run…It was too easy, too superficial, it irked you that there was so little he seemed to want to know about you and that there didn't seem to be anything more there was to know about him (right…). Pyramid player turned guerilla warrior. The end. Parents? Siblings? Friends outside the group he has gathered around him? You never asked, he never told (stupid, so stupid!). He was a delicious male specimen and a satisfying frak partner. Nothing more.
It's a shrill contrast to what you know about Lee Adama, which is pretty much everything. The good, bad and ugly you've shared with him, created with him until you're now so entwined your bodies, your vipers, your lives don't seem to function without the other half. Despite of, or perhaps even because of all the ways you're tied with the man currently holding you close, it's his love, his approval you've been seeking all along, his friendship you want to build on.
It's too soon for declarations of everlasting love and devotion. Even if Sam is completely out of the picture as a potential partner, you can't simply swap one lover for another. You might be anything but shy, you're not that shallow. There has to be some time to mourn the loss of what might have been, even if all that might have been was ultimately a big pile of lies and therefore would never have lasted.
Besides, you recall wryly, you're Starbuck and Apollo and even openly admitting your feelings for him, especially that, is just not supposed to be that easy. In the past, you've bruised each other, torn at heartstrings, left scorch marks across skin and soul alike. Ironic that the cause in this case is also the only antidote.
Still, Lee hasn't let go of you and doesn't seem inclined to release you any time soon. Noticing that you've stopped crying by now has made him stop mumbling his train of nonsense words into your ear, so now he's just holding you.
For the first time since you've landed back on Galactica, a sense of peace engulfs you. Perhaps, with all distractions gone and nothing or nobody else vying for your attention, you can concentrate fully on mending fences, maybe even coerce another confession of love from his lips. You wish now that instead of teasing him with it, you would have answered in kind.
Like you wish you hadn't slept with Baltar. Or that you'd never even met Sam Anders. So many regrets. But no more time to waste thinking about them.
"Kara…you sleeping again?"
You shake your head against his chest, making him chuckle.
"You wanna go back to sleep?"
Again, you shake your head. No thanks. Sleep just brings you nightmares.
"So…wanna get out of here?"
"Go where?" Your voice is hoarse from crying and lack of sleep.
"Anywhere we might get a sense of privacy."
Not likely to happen. "And do what?"
"Anything we want. Sleep. Talk. Fight."
Most likely to happen. "That's the same for us."
"Break the cycle, then."
"You think we can?"
"I think we should try."
"Very well then. Let's go."
Taking you gently by the elbow, he guides you out of the officers bunk room, not caring who's watching you and what's being said behind your backs. He never was one to dive too deeply into the ship's scuttlebutt. And he knows that his rank and position in the fleet prevents all but the bravest gossipmongers from saying anything to his face. For those he has developed a very strong backbone.
Under any other circumstances, the gesture with which he steers you would have annoyed you (you're Starbuck, you don't require anyone's guidance), but tonight, you know somehow that he needs this more than you do. This feeling of helping you through this. And perhaps you need it too. So you let him take charge without objection for a change.
Before you reach your destination, part of you already knows where he's taking you. The hangar deck is nice and quiet, except for the graveyard shift workers, who're too wrapped up in their maintenance work to even acknowledge your presence. Normally a sucker for protocol, Lee would have demanded the recognition coming with his rank, but now, in the middle of the night, while seeking some seclusion on an already more than overstuffed ship, he's glad to go unnoticed or at least ignored.
Taking the metal stairs leading to the observation deck, he finds the both of you a hidden corner and sits down. Having forgotten any blankets, pillows or other commodities making the ground a little more suitable for a person to sit on, he wordlessly offers you the only comfort he can give you: himself.
Not one to complain, you allow him to pull you onto his lap, his strong arms embracing you. It's more familiar now, but not less welcome. It's almost like he too knows that now's the time for healing. For going back in time and restoring, piece by piece, the damage you've inflicted upon each other's hearts.
"I'm sorry," you whisper against his chest, so softly he hardly hears it. Yet, he doesn't make you say it again. He's not cruel in his victory, nor is he spiteful in defeat.
"For what, Kara love?"
Now that he's started adding that small but significant endearment to your name, it suddenly doesn't seem so hard to put it all out there. If he loves you under these circumstances, he'll love you always. His fate is yours, whether you fight it or not. So you might as well seize fire.
"Everything."
You are. Sorry for your part in killing his brother, sorry for needling him, punishing him for the mistakes you make because you're too frakked up to love him normally. Sorry for sleeping with Baltar when you were angry for him not making a move when he should have known you'd dressed up for him and him alone. Sorry for shooting him even if that was an honest to Gods accident.
Sorry for all the times you chose the fight over the frak, the insult over the truth. The truth being that Lee Adama has your heart, fuels your heart, is your heart.
True to his nature, he doesn't ask you to elaborate, knowing without the need for words what you mean and all it encompasses. Knowing without it being said out loud how much effort it takes for you to say those little words. When stubborn pride has always been the only bandage at your disposal, giving it up, leaving the wounds underneath exposed for all to see, is a very scary thing. He appreciates the sacrifice.
Since the two of you are one of a kind when it comes to this particular brand of DIY doctoring, he answers by kissing the top of your head.
"I know. And I'm sorry too."
He is. Sorry for allowing his guilt over his brother's death to cloud his judgment, sorry for not having the guts to pursue you on Colonial Day and then blaming you for seeking refuge with someone else. Sorry for blaming you for every single time his feelings toward you made him lash out. Like you were solely responsible for his emotional health.
And yet, he still believes you are. After all, without you, his heart is nothing more than a pumping device, a machine. Without you, he might as well have been the toaster.
Apologies being offered and mutually accepted, the two of you just sit there in peaceful silence for quite a while. When you shiver, he tightens his hold around you, his broad chest and muscular arms shielding you, warming you.
And still, even though part of you wants to leave it at that, you know that apologies are merely a start. You need to figure out why exactly the two of you keep frakking up every chance you get. Seizing the moment before your fear strikes back, you decide to ask him.
"Why Lee? Why do we keep frakking things up when it comes to us?"
He's silent for a while and you can almost hear him think. It's not an easy question and there is no easy answer. If there was, the mystery would have been solved long time ago and you wouldn't have needed to ask any questions in the first place.
"Fear I guess," is his noncommittal answer. It's a start, but not even close to being good enough.
"Fear of what exactly?"
He sighs before answering. Apparently, he has thought it through.
"Fear of caring too much. Neither one of us has had much of an example of how to love when we grew up. We learned how to take care of ourselves, only to rely on our own instincts. We're not used to putting our hearts on the line, our faiths into another person. Doesn't mean we're not capable of loving. Only means that we're afraid of putting too much of ourselves out there. So when we think we do, we retreat. We kick, fight and basically do anything we can to fulfill the self-fulfilling prophecy. We push the other one away as not to be the first one to get his or her heart broken. Never mind we break our own hearts in the process."
He's right. Having dealt with rejection all your life, it put up all your defense mechanisms. If you don't love anyone, they can't hurt you. Only never loving anyone, or never allowing yourself to admit it's too late, since you already do, hurts even deeper. It has to stop. You'll make it stop. With more conviction than you feel, you tell Lee so.
"So all we have to do is stop being afraid."
He chuckles, kisses your forehead, then lifts your head to give you a proper kiss on the lips. It's the first one you've shared in a long time that's not fuelled by anger, jealousy or fear and it sends you reeling. Gods, you love this man. Makes you even more determined to get over your anxiety issues and start loving him truly.
"Yeah…that's all. Simple, really." He chuckles again, drawing you back in his tight embrace.
It's the safest place you know and in spite of yourself you feel yourself relax. After a while, when you've almost drifted off again, he very quietly asks you one more question. Two simple words, a frakload of possibilities.
"Now what?"
You shift in his arms so you can turn to face him. There's no longer any fear in his gaze, merely a glimmer of hope, half hidden behind a look of caution. Well, you can hardly blame him for that.
Still, the same hope simmers in your own heart. What if, just by chance, you might actually get it right this time? What if you can actually work through your fear like you work through a whole fleet of Cylon raiders? You can tackle the issues, the insecurities, if the reward is oh so sweet. You can, right? And if you can, so can he. Right?
Yes! By Gods yes! You're tired of this dance, tired of being too afraid to take what you want when it's offered to you again and again. Sure you did it to protect yourself and him from the inevitable pain, but in the end, what's the difference between the pain you might get from frakking Lee or the pain you know you'll get from frakking things up with Lee?
It feels like the harder you try to outrun your panic, the faster it catches up with you. Might as well quit running then.
"Now what, Lee? I say now we try."
"To be friends?" There's that hope again.
"For starters…" It flares up.
"And after that?"
"After that…anything goes."
"Anything?"
That grin of his should be made illegal.
"Yes, Commander. Anything."
"No more running?"
"I'll sincerely try not to. But just promise me one thing, Lee."
"Anything, Kara love."
"When I do run…will you run after me?"
"Only till the end of the universe."
You snort at the romantic pulp coming out of his mouth, but backtrack real soon as you see his face contracting in insult. Quickly, you give him a long kiss in order to pacify him. It works perfectly. Slightly out of breath by the mere force of the kiss, you slump back against his chest.
"Thank you, Lee."
"Any time, Kara love."
Safe and warm, you finally give up the struggle against your fatigue and allow yourself to drift off. You never feel Lee picking you up and carrying you back to the officer's quarters and to your bunk, nor do you notice him taking off his uniform, stripping off his clothes until he's only wearing his boxers and dog tags, before crawling into the narrow bunk with you, drawing the curtains closed. You merely gravitate towards his warmth as you sink deeper and deeper into a healing, dreamless, toaster-less sleep.
You're finally glad to be home.
Epilogue
And so it starts. Your trying again period. You bicker, play, fight and work together, fight some more, kiss it off, snap at each other, avoid each other, work out your differences and yes, you frak until you can't see straight.
The nightmares still come sometimes, but they're less and less frequent and last only until Lee notices your uneasy stirring and folds you closer in his embrace.
Some days you think you don't deserve a man like him, lots of days you're sure of it, but he refuses to be baited whenever your fear of love and all it encompasses threatens to take over and consume you whole, making you skittish and ready to do anything to push him away. He's like a frakkin' boomerang, only coming back harder after every time you fling him away from you.
You tell him he's an idiot for sticking with this. He tells you he's keeping a promise he's made. And as a rule, you always end up in the middle, the eye of the storm. The only place where the both of you are safe. Where his solid certainty and your unwavering faith in him (if not yet in yourself) create a perfect balance. Where Commander Adama and Captain Thrace, where Apollo and Starbuck can be Lee and Kara.
Be themselves.
Be together.
Be loved.
Be okay.