Title: The Sacrifice 2/2
Pairing: Vague K/L
Rating: K+ language
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters herein.
Word count: 8800+
Summary:Life off kilter, Kara comes to grips with her role in leading the fleet to Earth. AU post UBex.
A/N: This was excruciating to write (the many times I did it). It's huge, so get comfy. It's purposefully vague (and tinged with lamesauce) because it's the set-up to a multi-chap fic, release-TBD. Please keep in mind, this goes AU after UBex. I have stolen certain storylines from the rest of the series, but only to the extent as I've described them. Apologies also, the style is completely different than part one and I can't find it within myself to care anymore.
Beta and general love shout-out: Workerbee73 – deserves a medal for dealing with my whiny, crap-writing self. Taragel for direction about two months back, and everyone who is still interested.
.::.::.::.::.
"You doin' okay?"
Inane questions deserve equal answers. She dispels most with a pithy look of defiance. Kacey's departure and Leoben's reappearance a few days ago make her feel the insidious grasp of regression. So she draws in on herself, the same way she did after Zak's death, the same way she did after she first arrived on Galactica.
Sitting alone on the ground of the observation deck, she spins a full bottle of rotgut around, listening to the sounds of her own breathing and the grate of glass on corrugated metal.
And just because her very nature predisposes her to contrariness, she kicks the friendly bottle away and presses her forehead against the cool glass, the nearest cluster of stars drawing her gaze. Visions of a gravel-covered slope and a desperate uphill struggle remind her of just how far she has come since New Caprica.
.::.::.
As a Force of Nature, Kara does not take kindly to becoming a subject to it – relinquishing all sense of control. This loss is detrimental to her very existence, because the problem with being a doer, is that when she isn't doing, Kara has to think. She's never proclaimed to be a great thinker. Unconventional, offbeat, original? Yes. But logical, methodical, direct? Absolutely not.
Being left to her own devices for four months on New Caprica nearly drives her insane, if she wasn't already. Every single wrong she's committed, every act of selfishness born either out of fear or mistrust, every flagrant act of disregarding the feelings of others, play on repeat in her mind, breaking her down day by day.
Leoben's appearances merely punctuate the end of one nightmare and preface another. By the end of her internment, she believes —thinker that she isn't — that abduction and confinement are what she deserves. She also decides it's a fitting way for someone like her to finally lose it.
Though, with such a shaky foundation, losing it isn't all that hard. Kara fights or runs because it's ingrained in every fiber of her being, from childhood to present. Every event in her life has dictated that she either fight or run (frakking and flying being synonymous, and not so surprisingly blur the lines between the two responses) because it keeps her alive. But when fighting isn't enough and running isn't an option, she finally meets a challenge to which she can't apply her out-of-the-box thinking and succumbs to her inner-monologue. Adding Kacey to the mix is merely icing on the cake.
The constant guilt, fear, and pain she's inflicted and received throughout her life create a shell of her former self, so that when she returns to the fleet, she is Kara Thrace in body only. She loses the ability to recall any emotions such as love or caring, feeling only anger and frustration. Avoidance and alcohol are the best medicine — choosing to circumvent any confrontations by becoming an all-around unwelcome presence, her tempestuous nature scaring those who dare to venture forth.
The worst are the images that flash in her mind at odd times, sitting in the mess hall staring at a fork; clinging to the bars in the brig, seeing only a dark empty hallway and hearing echoes; or walking past a utility closet and seeing a broom with a split handle, reminding her of childhood injuries suffered under her mother's wrathful hand.
Soon, she drinks until she's pretty sure there isn't any alcohol left on the Galactica. Then Helo decides that he's had enough of her downwards spiral even though she's just getting started. He pleads with her to see the psychiatrist, Dr. Stoffa. That there's no shame in it. She wants to smack him until he shuts up, but agrees to see the guy, just so she can get Helo off her back and return to her beloved self-loathing in peace and quiet.
After three missed appointments she finally shows up, telling herself that she's there as a favor to Karl more than anything else. Of course, she regrets it immediately. Barely stirring the whole fifty minutes, she remains firmly planted in the chair opposite the older man, his sizeable potbelly supporting his clasped hands. If not for all the artwork on his walls — colorful, attention-grabbing pieces — and his oddly calming presence, she would have left within five minutes.
When she notes dried orange paint underneath his fingernails, her interest is piqued substantially.
She returns twice more, searching for clues that painting has occurred. On her fourth visit, Kara walks in as he is cleaning up after a previous session, his button-down shirt splattered with paint, a thick sheet of paper baring the finger-painting of a six-year-old. He catches her covetous look and asks if she wants to try, the only catch is that she has to describe her finished product to him.
She likes painting because she doesn't have to think. It's messy and explosive and utterly chaotic; but it can also be defined and organized and neat if she needs it to be. Back on Caprica, she could look at a piece and recall it's impetus. No words were needed then. Just movement.
One time can't hurt. Nodding slowly, she sits at a table and begins, reds and yellows creating a garish combination as they crash against turquoise splotches interspersed with black daggers.
Their first official session ends with Kara articulating the barest of sentiments. Turquoise is freedom and flying, allowing her to bend and expand at will. Red and yellow are now swirling into disjointed orange, her frustration that people are moving on with their lives while she is just spinning her wheels. Finally, the black daggers are her presence aboard the ship — dark and lonely and dangerous, moving aimlessly without hope.
When she steps back from her creation, realizing that she's just laid claim to every emotion she poured into the blank canvas, she can't help but be surprised by her stream of consciousness monologue given to this stranger. Even worse, she begrudgingly feels a modicum of relief. They speak of flying and daggers, thinking of ways to use one to combat the other. He lets her go without too much pressing, for which she is grateful.
Walking down the corridor, she can't help but crack a small grin as she picks off red flecks of paint from her palms. Maybe one more visit, she thinks, if only because she didn't use any green or purple.
And so begins the reconstruction of Kara Thrace.
.::.::.::.::.
In these dark times, you don't believe in diagnosing. You believe in equipping clients with the means to cope, to handle their own issues.
Admittedly, you're surprised. For months, it's been angry, chaotic finger painting.
Observing her careful color selection and deft brush strokes, you realize that she's been handling her own problems long before she came to you, resentful and utterly broken.
A couple flicks and whiskers appear, then luminescent gold eyes. Bearing the markings of a tiger, she compares and contrasts their characteristics upon completion.
Fiery, brave, magnetic, forceful, reckless.
She knows herself well, but not well enough.
.::.::.::.::.
Helo finally manages to track down the elusive Starbuck during her daily run. She's been uncommonly busy ever since the Cylon was brought aboard the week prior, avoiding all her usual haunts. When he plucks up the courage to ask her about it, he gets rebuffed in her typical cagey manner. Still, he persists doggedly and has luck on their fourth run.
"If I tell you, will you let it go?"
He nods. It takes nearly ten minutes and a completely empty hallway before she finally opens up, explaining Leoben and Kacey. No extraneous details as expected. Save for a few comments, they stay quiet for the next fifteen minutes.
"You know, you can always take a raptor over, go visit her."
"I already have."
"You what?" Karl can't hide his surprise. "How'd you manage that?"
Kara bites her lip; she clearly doesn't want to share the last bit of information.
"Running shuttles. I was taking care of some business on the Inchon Vale; thought I'd stop in for a bit... say hi."
Helo smartly shuts his mouth. He knows exactly what business she's been taking care of on the Inchon Vale. Though he's asked a few times, she neither confirms nor denies whether she's seeing that psychiatrist he recommended. Thinking back, he can't see how he hasn't noticed before. She's definitely much better adjusted than when she boarded the ship almost six months ago. No fights, no booze, even a smile or two.
"How's that business coming along, by the way? Thought you said it was for whack-jobs."
She grins sardonically at his comment, confirming his suspicions.
"Eh, slow. Different than what I expected. Been tending to it since… our little talk," she cuffs his jaw lightly, reminding him exactly of the weekend in question. Three months then. Playing it safe, he decides to recognize her other feat.
"Congratulations."
"What for?"
"Stayin' sober. Real proud of ya, 'Buck."
"Aw, Helo, you know how to make a girl blush."
"I do my best," he musters, running all out for the finish. "One more question," he gasps out as they recover, hoping to get an answer before she retreats. "I've got a couple raptor pilots who need to… take care of business. Do you think it'd work?"
"Depends. Those who run the business tend to be crazier than those seeking it," she turns toward the direction of the pilot quarters, giving him a smirk. "Hope they like to color."
He has no idea what she means by that, but he presses on.
"Hey Kara? Thanks for the run." She rolls her eyes and waves him off. Karl keeps smiling as he opens the hatch to his quarters.
"Guess what I just —" he stops at the look on Athena's face. "What? What is it?"
"I've been looking for you everywhere," she grabs him by the arm, heading out the hatch. "C'mon. The Admiral wants to meet with us."
"What for?"
"Hera… She's alive, Karl. The rebel Cylons—they're willing to return her to prove they just want peace."
Helo nearly topples over from shock.
.::.::.::.::.
Since she started seeing Dr. Stoffa, Kara hasn't experienced any recurring images from her time with Leoben or her childhood for nearly two months. However, since Leoben's arrival almost two weeks ago, she's had several nights where she's only caught an hour or two of sleep. This reappearance in her life—just the knowledge that he's out there, close by—triggers the images and nightmares again. She begins to freeze up at odd moments.
The most recent is while she's actually in a session, talking about what to do with the effigy of her mother. She's slowly working towards forgiveness of both herself and her mom. "Break it down, then build it up, but do it right this time," is what Stoffa says. The sculpture is her idea, something she's wanted to do for a while. She finds it ironic that this discussion is what provokes the images.
She's eight, sitting at a piano bench with her dad, trying to learn a song. Her small fingers pluck away at the keys, faltering over forgotten notes. His voice, soothing and soft, sings quietly so he doesn't draw her mom's attention from the kitchen:
odin odin dva tree
shest pyati tree shest
pyati tree dva odin
She repeats after him in his native tongue, earning a smile as a reward when he tells her that she's got talent.
"Remember what I've taught you little one, because it will bring you to me some day, when it's time for you to come to my homeland."
"What do you mean, papa?"
"I've got to leave soon, my love. I must return to where I came from. I'm going back to —"
That's all she can remember. She's blocked out painful chunks of her childhood. She recalls chasing after his car while he drives away and returning to find her mother destroying the piano with a sledgehammer, telling Kara she's the reason he left, that he couldn't stand how she misbehaves. As punishment, she's confined to her room for four days without food and barely any water. No wonder New Caprica affected her so deeply. At least in the brig, someone can rescue her.
"Kara? Are you having flashbacks again?"
"Yeah, it's giving me a headache."
"Do you want to continue… maybe paint instead?"
Shrugging, Kara heads over to the canvas and stares for a bit. She only has time to start, scribbling a basic outline with a room and a piano. It's enough though, because later that night, she is lulled to sleep by that song and her father's voice.
.::.::.::.::.
They're both sitting in his office, adjusting the schedule since a fight broke out between two pilots during a triad game, landing one in the brig and the other in sickbay. Kara's in good spirits, she's had sleep, and Kacey gave her a picture before another cathartic trip to Stoffa.
Slowly but surely, she's beating Socrata Thrace out of her system, moving towards redemption.
"Kara," Lee starts during a lag in conversation, "when uh, when I mentioned that Leoben said that you and I had similar childhoods, I wasn't trying to make you angry. I hope you get that. It just struck a chord with me. I know he buries his lies in truth, but he definitely knows how to push buttons… I'm just glad I don't have to interrogate him anymore."
She nods, knowing that their argument from two days ago was all bark and no bite, a venting of pent-up frustration. At the time, she'd asked Lee how Leoben would even know anything about his past. But Lee's focus was elsewhere. For some odd reason, his brain latched on to sacrifice and childhood. Frowning at the thought, Kara continues to disregard anything that mindfrakking bastard told Lee.
"Besides," he adds while opening his drawer, giving her a peace offering and a knowing wink, "I didn't mean that you were just a pilot. I hope you know that."
She scans the back of the book he tossed, avoiding his eyes when he brings up the final remark that made her depart from their yell-fest. What is she to him then?
"Yeah, I'm also the flight instructor and substitute CAG when you go off on important meetings with the president. Definitely an asset to the team," she says with a flash of a grin that tells him there are no hard feelings. "What are all those meetings about, anyway? Scuttlebutt says you're her military aide again."
Lee explains his role in helping the president negotiate with the rebel Cylons, comprised of Twos, Sixes and Eights — even Boomer. He's fascinated by their civil war, their abhorrence for Cavil's beliefs. She watches the way his eyes light up as he recounts an earlier discussion with Romo Lampkin about Colonial Legal Theory and remembers a time when all Lee wanted was to complete his military obligation and pursue a law degree.
Kara isn't completely oblivious. She's removed her head from her ass long enough to see that Lee doesn't enjoy flying the way he used to, avoids doing the paperwork as much as possible, and hardly does more than speak a few sentences at morning briefings.
"What?" he stops babbling when he sees her smirk.
"You like him. You, Lee Adama, want to be Romo Lampkin — klepto extraordinaire, dabbler in law. I should make you a t-shirt, or maybe some pins to wear next to your pips."
"Cut it out," he throws a balled up sheet of paper at her, which she returns with deadly accuracy.
"Seriously, Lee. You're miserable. That's the first time I've seen you smile about anything in weeks. Why don't you talk to the Old Man? See if he'll give you a transfer or something else to do for a while, let you stretch your legs a bit."
"I can't do that, Kara. I'm the CAG because the fleet needs me. My father needs me. I wouldn't be much good to anyone sitting behind a desk, listening to petty disputes and arguing about dead laws."
"True, but the military can always use an advocate. You could always specialize in military law, or if anything, still practice but remain in the Colonial Forces."
He nods as he considers her suggestion. When he drags his gaze away from the stack of papers tying him to the desk, there's warmth there that she hasn't seen in a long time.
"Would you miss it though? Flying?" Her voice is quiet and hesitant, unsure if she wants to know the answer to her unspoken question.
He seems to contemplate her words for a minute and she imagines Lee weighing the pros and cons, thinking that much of the glamour and mystery have worn off, leaving behind a chore without excitement. Though she'll never feel that way, she thinks it'd be awful for someone like him, aspirations lying elsewhere.
"Not really, no," he says slowly, rubbing his hand through his hair. "But I would miss flying with you."
She tries to ignore the warmth that rushes through her body, but is pleased that she even remembers the feeling. When she smiles at him and he returns one just as large, she forgets just a little that they can never be together and feels her heart defrost slightly.
She can do this. Even if she can't have him, she can certainly help him get some form of happiness.
.::.
What does she value more than anything else?
She curls up in a chair, sketching and shading with a pencil. She presents you with two beautifully drawn hands, clasping in a handshake. Tilted vertically, one could be clinging to the other and you like the intensity of that position.
Trust, she says. Most people value love, it's an inherent need. What is love without trust? What is love when you're afraid, when you don't feel like you deserve it?
Bingo.
What is love when she feels like she does deserve it? Doesn't love make trust all the more meaningful?
Maybe.
.::.
He soars over his wingman, cutting it close, but not close enough for her.
"Apollo, if you wanted to ride in my bird, you could have just asked," she cracks at him as she performs a barrel roll and cuts upwards vertically.
"Nah, you still smell Starbuck, can't handle the close proximity."
"I'm pretty sure it's a bad idea to alienate your successors during your last CAP ever, mister Military Advocate to the Colonies."
"Like you're one to talk about burning bridges," he shoots back while they navigate their way in and around the fleet. Shaking his head, he adds, "I still can't believe you were serious that night. The Old Man must have been pissed when you brought it up. He was certainly angry when we had our meeting the next day."
He's been wondering what she told his father; curious to know what it takes to break through to the most stubborn, steadfast man he knows. She must have put a lot on the line; going up against the Old Man. Lee will never forget that.
"Oh c'mon Apol-loooo," dragging out his name as they sweep a wide, graceful arc around the Astral Queen. "I only pointed out what he was too busy to notice. Besides, he only festered for two-weeks, but he finally came around, didn't he?"
"Two weeks on Galactica is like two-months on land. Besides, he agreed only after we had several loud, painful arguments." He's still a little sore from their last argument. Though it was disguised as a friendly, their round in the gym was anything but.
"Save it. You're proud of your battle wounds. You made your case and you still have his respect… and the lighter."
He can't argue so he stays quiet. The fluidity and synchronization of their movements briefly revives his love for flying. It's such a contradiction, making him feel invincible and vulnerable at the same time. As wonderful as it is though, remaining as CAG would only increase his desolation.
"Have you ever had a dream so vivid that you can't tell if it's a memory or just a dream?" her question surprises him, but then again, that's all she seems to be doing lately.
"Sure. What's yours about?"
"I'm sitting on a porch, waiting for someone to come outside and join me. It's sunset and there's this... amazing view. Dark blue water, pink sky… But the best part is the breeze. I miss the wind more than rain, you know? Sometimes even more than sunlight."
Lee lets her uncharacteristic admission settle over him. It's odd, but he's had a similar dream, except he's going onto a porch holding two glasses, but he always stops to look at the view and never makes it to his destination before he awakes.
"I guess you would, Starbuck. Wind is the only thing that could ever keep up with you," his voice is softer than he'd like and he's thankful for the closed channel.
"Don't get all mushy on me, Apollo. What do you miss? Wait, no. What do you look forward to?"
Out of boredom, they've been throwing the idea around lately that they might actually find Earth. Though it's always in jest, he gets the feeling that his wingman grows more certain of the possibility with each passing day.
"Hmmm. Fires. I want roaring ones in the fireplace during winter, get wrapped up nice and warm in a blanket right next to it. And I want a bonfire on the beach, where I can dig my toes into the sand and smell the salty air."
Hearing her chuckle, he waits for her typical jab to dispel his waxing sentiment. Surprisingly, she asks another random question about wormholes and other phenomena, and he wonders if she's taking advantage of their solitude, savoring every moment just like him. In the expanse of blackness, Starbuck and Apollo say what they want, letting their inhibitions die a little.
He falls back, watching as she shoots forward and abruptly flips herself, simultaneously rolling to where she's facing him, vipers locked nose-to-nose.
"Your porch, Starbuck, did it have a swing on it?" he knows he shouldn't be asking, but he has to know. He nearly thinks she isn't going to respond until he hears the channel crackle in reply.
"Not tellin'. I think of it like a birthday wish. You reveal the whole thing and it may never come true," her voice is wistful, and he wants very much for it to be true, especially the part where he finally breaks away from the view and finds her waiting for him.
She wiggles her wings and he returns the gesture, unable to hide the frown as he realizes they've come upon the Galactica and the end of CAP. Switching to open channel, he reluctantly makes contact.
"Galactica, Apollo, requesting permission to land."
"Apollo," it's his wife, and suddenly his bonfires have gone out and the sun has set. He can't have that dream, at least not with Kara. "Permission—"
"Apollo, Galactica Actual, permission denied… I never did get to see you and Starbuck fly the Cakewalk."
He hears Kara's cackle of delight and realizes she must have told the Old Man about the time they both flew together while Zak was finishing flight school, performing a maneuver that had only been theorized about in the advanced flight manuals. Though it's been over five years, he still remembers the rush of adrenaline after landing and the luminous smile on her face when she met him on the ground. His heart still shudders at the thought of that smile.
"We'll take a loop, give you time to make it to the observation deck, sir."
.::.
Years later, sitting around a bonfire on the beach, Bill Adama will tell the small crowd of the last time his son flew with Starbuck, claiming that, "it was the best damn flying I ever saw."
.::.::.::.::.
You ask her to describe a fear that drives her.
Loss of control.
She returns later to create a craggy cliff where rosy fingers struggle for purchase; her other hand swings long, flaxen hair — a lifeline to which many cling with eyes open or closed in recognition.
Sky aflame with golden sun, burning her legs, muscles straining and face contorted in pain. Her heart lies in tatters several feet below. Hands offer assistance, but her gaze is fixed on her mark, her chin stubborn.
She will save others by saving them from herself. To do that, she must let go.
.::.::.::.::.
Grouchy and bored, Kat picks at her nails while she sits in the back of the ready room, her mind wandering while Starbuck debriefs the special ops team on their upcoming mission.
Eight weeks is how long the Quorum and the president have been negotiating with the rebel Cylons. One month, that's how long Starbuck has been CAG. Sure, Kat's a little bitter that she wasn't the first choice, but loathe as she is to admit it, Starbuck's been doing a top-notch job. Four is how many times Kat pokes her head out between her curtains and catches Starbuck returning from a midnight jog, tanks damp, breathing heavy. Three days is how long she thinks it's been since Starbuck has had a break or even caught more than a couple hours of sleep; she's being pulled in about five different directions lately. Two things are what Starbuck wants everyone to remember:
"First, trust your gut. You were chosen because you're damn fine marksmen," she says to the small crowd of 6 marines and three pilots. "If it doesn't look, smell, or feel right, then shoot it. Just be sure that it needs shooting, because all hell is going to break loose. Two: Arm-is-tice, that's what this little get-together is all about tomorrow. You don't know the meaning, look it up. Guard your position from the balcony, stay invisible, keep the suits alive, and be on the lookout for suspicious activity. Understood?"
"Yes sir!"
"Tomorrow, hangar deck. 1300. Good hunting."
After everyone disperses, it only takes Kat two minutes to provoke Starbuck into a much-needed sparing contest in the gym.
Kat starts out hot, taking a couple shots right off the bat, but Starbuck blocks every blow. Finally, Kat reaches too far for a jab and gets caught under the jaw by an uppercut and is soundly walloped in the shoulder by the follow up.
"So what's your deal, Kat? I'm not drunk this time around, why are you riding me so hard?"
They're circling the mat, taking sporadic punches or blocking bursts of assaults from each other.
"I could ask you the same question," Kat says as she lands a solid blow to Starbuck's mouth, causing her head to shoot back. Spitting out some blood, Starbuck straightens quickly, rolling her shoulders as she starts to shuffle on the mat.
"What are you talking about?" Starbuck launches a quick succession of jabs and uppercuts as Kat raises her gloves to protect her head and chest. During the barrage of punches, Kat lists her grievances.
"You're always pointing out all my mistakes when we review tape, you cut me down in triad, and you stick me with the rooks all the time during CAP."
Starbuck shoots her a deadly look and after a few minutes of trading blows, Starbuck finally nabs her with a left jab and the infamous right-hook to her eye. Scintillations clouding her vision, Kat staggers around, trying desperately not to fall to the ground.
"First, those tapes are for learning, and if you kept count, you'd realize you have far fewer mistakes than anyone else. I also point out the good things you do as well… I cut everyone down in triad, 'cause that's how I roll. And I stick you with the rooks..." she's standing still now, breathing heavy, waiting for Kat to get her bearings. "I stick you with the rooks because they look up to you... because you're patient with them... because you teach; you don't rip them apart."
For the first time since the worlds ended, Kat is rendered speechless. At her dumbfounded expression, Starbuck appears to grow uncomfortable, and forces out the next bit like it's being ripped from her.
"Listen, Tuesdays and Thursdays are basic flight theory followed up by astral navigation. You want a shot at it? Teaching?"
Even under her daze of pain and shock, Kat can see how hard it is for the one person she's secretly admired all these years to come to her for help, even if she'll never admit it. For once, Kat saves her snide remarks and takes the timely offer for what it is: a truce.
"Hell yeah… Sir."
Part of the invisible burden Starbuck carries seems to lessen. Kat receives a hesitant grin and a tap on the shoulder from Starbuck before she removes her gloves and tosses them into the corner.
"If we don't die tomorrow, come by my office at 2200 so I can give you the texts and tell you what I expect," she's wiping off the traces of blood from her lip as she heads to the hatch. "Oh, you might want to get some ice for that eye, it's already starting to swell."
Kat nods as Starbuck leaves her alone in the gym. She raises her arms wide to the room, prouder than when she became Top Gun. Because this time, Starbuck gave the ultimate compliment — trusting her skills enough to teach nuggets — and meant it. They may never be friends, but she has Starbuck's respect, and that doesn't come cheap.
She'll wear her black eye like a medal tomorrow, because she sure as hell earned it.
.::.::.::.::.
It's the week following the successful armistice to which the rebel Cylons showed up with minimal protection and an obvious willingness to get along. Kara is piloting a raptor holding the president and her marine guards, preparing to land on the baseship.
As part of the truce with the rebel Cylons, the Quorum will soon welcome a Cylon representative - Natalie, while the Galactica and other agreeable ships among the fleet will receive much-needed repairs. The president, in an attempt to show trust and to extend due respect to the position, is meeting with Natalie to give a quick and dirty introduction into the world of Colonial politics.
The group is ushered to a conference room by Sonja, who delivered Hera to her anxious parents. After securing the area, Kara receives the go-ahead to return to the raptor for the duration of the meeting. She's been instructed to keep her eyes and ears open for anything that could indicate that their new Cylon friends aren't as they seem.
In her wandering, she happens upon an oddly lit room with a tub holding what appears to be a skin job. Bending forward, Kara gets a closer look and sees lifeless eyes, an expressionless face, and nearly translucent skin.
Suddenly, it reaches up, fingers dragging along her cheek before taking hold of her jaw, catching Kara completely unprepared.
"You are the harbinger of death Kara Thrace," it smiles while a death-like chill seeps into Kara's body. "You will lead them all to their end."
"…Wh—What are you talking about?"
Releasing its grip on her, it begins another cycle, monotony and chaos fusing together.
Kara remains by the tub for a moment longer, completely befuddled.
"It's a hybrid, in case you were wondering. It mentions you a lot. Says you will lead a splintered faction to earth," Boomer says casually from the doorway as Kara looks at her. "Other times, it says you're a harbinger of death."
"How long… how long has it been saying that?"
"Not quite sure. It's been prophesying that since New Caprica, I do know that much."
Kara pushes past Boomer and starts back to the hangar deck, barely remembering to keep a look out. Forty minutes later, the president and her escort walk out to the raptor, not a hair out of place. Except for necessary ship communication, Kara remains silent the entire way back and after she debarks. Doesn't even blink twice when someone makes a quip about her landing being rusty – which it wasn't.
She brushes off Helo with Hera and backs out of a meeting with the Admiral, heading straight to the empty bunkroom. The foundation she's been reconstructing over the past few months soundly shaken, she pulls out her tarnished idols and begins to pray.
"Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer…"
.::.
On the baseship, a large table full of Twos, Sixes, and Eights review the meeting with the president. Shortly after beginning, a satisfied-looking Boomer enters and takes a seat next to her sister.
"I have good news. Kara has heard the hybrid's prophesy. I also told her it says she will lead a splintered faction to earth."
"Excellent work, Boomer," says Sonja. "Now all we have to do is wait for her to remember."
"Two," asks Natalie. "You're positive it was her father your ship intercepted near the Second Wormhole, 20 years ago?"
"I am certain," says Two. "It's one of my first memories. He had unidentifiable writing tattooed on his right inner forearm. The Lord was calling him home, but before surrendering to the stream, the man said he gave his daughter the coordinates for earth, and that she would go there when the time was right."
"Understood. Thank you Two, Boomer," Natalie says smoothly. "Shall we continue?"
The Cylons proceed to work in earnest, discussing ways to improve their relations and good intent with the Colonials.
.::.::.::.::.
Sam can't help but feel anxious as he watches Leoben and Kara have a standoff on the nearly empty hangar deck, save for his ambivalent crew of marines. After the meeting yesterday, the president agreed to release Leoben back to the Cylons, hence their current predicament.
Considering it's the end of third shift, Sam harbored the hope that Kara was sleeping in her rack. Instead, her hair's escaped it's elastic and she's got a small streak of grease on her cheek from toiling beneath a viper. Sam thinks it's cute despite the treacherous look in her eyes.
When Leoben speaks, Sam leans in to grasps key phrases.
"…seen the hybrid…know the way…sacrifice… Earth…it is time…"
"No frakking way, you toaster," Kara shakes her head, clenching her fists. "I am NOT what you're claiming," her voice is louder and barely restrained. Sam moves forward but stops when she shoots him a glare.
"What are you then, Kara? Bona Fiscalis? You and I both know how special you are. Accept your destiny."
Sam notices Kara's body tense when Leoben says the strange words. Destiny? Is that Cylon still hung up on that crap? She bites out something else sounding like love you and hybrid babies.
"All in due time. I can see it in your eyes. God has given you the means. The stream continues on despite your opposition. It's only a matter of time. We are so very near, Kara."
The way he says Kara makes Sam's skin crawl. He takes a protective step forward, indicating that this party needs to get broken up. Kara catches Sam's eye as she stands up on her tiptoes and hisses into the Cylon's ear.
"Get this straight. I will never love you… Ever."
She pulls back sharply and spins on her heel, retreating to the viper she's working on.
"How's Kacey?"
Before Sam knows it, a blur of blonde is launched and Leoben is laid out on the deck, having received a right-hook and a swift kick in the stomach from Kara. Sam pulls her off the Cylon and orders his men to put Leoben on the raptor while he uses all his might to separate this cursing, fire-spitting woman in his arms. She calms quickly, but he can feel the fury humming beneath her skin.
"Kara what's going on?"
"Leave it, Sammy. Not your fight," she says as she yanks away from him, stomping away.
As he turns back to the raptor, he shoots a murderous glance at a smirking Leoben.
"Like hell it isn't," he says under his breath as he cracks his knuckles, readying for battle.
.::.::.::.::.
You're both looking at her lifeline, a long scroll detailing memorable events and people in her life. Noticeable chunks are missing in her youth, but what you're interested in are her significant relationships.
She drags her finger along until it stops on the Sun. What is it about this relationship that keeps her?
He challenges me, never let's me get away with anything, and even when I hurt him, he still believes in me.
Yet, she still doesn't think she's good enough no matter what she does? Does she think the Sun similar to her mother in that regard?
…Silence.
.::.::.::.::.
Aurora. Goddess of the dawn.
Kara stares at the figurine as she waits for Yolanda Brenn to arrive. It's been over two weeks since Leoben returned to his baseship, during which Kara does her best to ignore the recurring dreams with her father. She knows she should be talking to Stoffa about this, but she doesn't feel like a shrink can help with matters of faith.
"I've been waiting for you," the woman somehow managed to take a seat without her noticing. Sitting across from her, Kara waits for some holy enlightenment.
"You've seen the hybrid, you've spoken with the devout Cylon, and now you come to me. What think you, Kara Thrace? Are you the herald of a new dawn?"
Kara tenses immediately. There's no way the blind woman saw her looking at Aurora.
"I'm just a screw-up... I have a tendency to self-destruct," Kara says, echoing one of Stoffa's first observations.
"Were you not born to a mother who had unattainable standards? Were you not constantly being evaluated, only to be left wanting? Yet she tirelessly beat into you that you were different… better somehow. But in order to survive, you had to endure each slight and strike, had to learn how to thrive off suffering. Because if you weren't afflicted, then you weren't doing it correctly."
"How do you know—"
"You wonder what is it that makes you different, because you don't believe yourself exceptional. Your ability to sabotage your relationships is something you count on, even when you want to stay. Relying on others makes you weak, especially when you're happy. You're afraid that if you give in to that quiet inner voice, the one telling you that you are worth fighting for, that you are special, then you'll finally know the truth: you know the way. The problem is, that way leads to the ultimate weakness — happiness and the hope of a future."
Kara's standing now; ready to leave. The oracle's voice grows light and eerie, causing Kara to stop before she exits.
"Know this: great love must be sacrificed so that you may lead them to their end; for you are the harbinger of death, Kara Thrace, herald of a new dawn."
The oracle holds out the icon of Aurora. Uncertain, Kara grabs it and leaves quickly, her heart beating hard against her chest. The last thing she needs is another person thinking she's supposed to kill or lead or whatever the frak is going on. She's not special. Besides, she can't even remember half her childhood.
She runs around the ship until she's numb and then collapses in her bunk, falling into a fitful sleep.
.::.::.
She's sitting on the porch swing, waiting for the sun to set as the wind rustles the wind chimes, carrying the scent of jasmine. Closing her eyes, she breathes it all in and opens them as she hears the screen door swing open.
There he is, holding two glasses, pausing to take in the sight of the setting sun, pink against dark blue water. When he turns, the sun is behind him, giving him the glow of his namesake. His smile is wide and warm as he hands her a glass, taking a seat next to her on the swing.
Fixing her with his piercing gaze, she can't help but scrunch her nose at his appraisal. He has this look about him, a form of recognition that makes her roll her eyes and laugh softly. All she feels is happiness, full and complete, as he leans forward and presses his lips against hers. Not a care in the world.
She opens her eyes and is facing ivory keys, hears her father whispering beside her.
He has to go back to…
"Earth," she whispers as she shoots up in bed, breath coming in sharp gasps. And just like that, after months of dreams and avoidance, she remembers.
"I'm going back to Earth. Those are the coordinates for Earth. No matter what, remember this song, these numbers. I love you so much, and I want to take you with me, but I can't little one. I don't belong here. Neither do you. Remember this music, because as long as you can hear, it'll always be public property."
"Like your tatooooo?" she asks as her fingers rub along the script on his forearm. He smiles then kisses her hair.
"Something like that," he turns back to the keys and lays down a soft melody while she starts playing beside him, sounding out the words as she hits the notes.
"One one two three
Six five three six
Five three two one"
Making a face, she looks to him again, "it doesn't sound as pretty when I say it in English, papa."
"Then keep singing it in my native language."
"Russian? But people think I'm making it up."
"Save it for the other side, you'll be fine once you get there."
Kara leans back on her pillows, remembering all the afternoons spent with her father playing the piano, speaking his odd language at the dinner table and angering her mother. She also recalls chasing after his car as he drove away, see you on the other side echoing in her mind. Kara rubs the spot on her head where she was smacked with a broom handle for speaking the forbidden Russian after he left. She stopped speaking it after that.
Sighing deeply, she feels a lurch in her chest. Was he just making it up to get away? Did Leoben and the Oracle finally send her off the deep end? Or is it true? Is she even human? Does she really have a higher purpose in all this? Why does she feel so… certain?
Ever so slowly, she realizes that this is all on her. She can either choose to pursue it, to lead the fleet to earth; or she can let them flounder along, waiting for Cavil to destroy them.
Frak.
.::.::.
Your first request: her self-portrait. Six months later, she unravels a scroll revealing Aurora, streaking across a dappled sky of obsidian, her wings iridescent and cape a rich hue of saffron against blazing crimson.
Closer inspection shows swirling images imbedded within the dusky hues: the tip unfurls like a twister of destruction, leaving love and sorrow in its wake. Glass shards of hardened vulnerability curl around fingers clinging to an assured arrow, broken at its tip.
Every glance reveals another image; every variance of shade echoes an emotion. A paradoxical siren, she's preparing for a new day… a new world.
.::.::.::.::.
As with all Cylon attacks, they neglect to send an engraved invitation to the fracas.
"Starbuck, sorry for interrupting your class, it appears we have a… situation," says the Old Man, standing next to a Two and Natalie in the CIC. "It appears that raptor 359 has jumped away."
"I thought I was supposed to pilot that raptor," she's perplexed. She's been the pilot for the past three weeks whenever the president has met with the rebel Cylons.
"Since you were teaching, Lee suggested that Athena take him and the president over to the ship for the judicial committee meeting."
"Are you sure having Athena take the president, who pretty much kidnapped her child, to a Cylon baseship was a good idea?"
"That's just it, Starbuck. It wasn't Athena. It was Boomer… and she took Hera," Natalie adds spitefully. Kara narrows her eyes at the Cylon, but returns her focus to the Admiral. His grave countenance makes her frown as reality hits her. Helo and Athena must be going insane; they've only had Hera for about three months. Immediately her mind jumps to outlining their options.
"While Gaeta traces the coordinates, I can assemble some more special ops teams. They worked well for our last mission…" she continues to rattle off things that need to happen until the Admiral holds up a hand to stop her, allowing Natalie to speak.
"From our hybrid, we know that the resurrection hub is near, and that Cavil has possession of it and the two remaining baseships. We're willing to jump into range, deploy the raptors and try to take out one of the baseships."
"Why should we believe you? How do we know it's not a trap? Boomer was one of you."
Both Cylons glance at each other, then to Kara. This time, Two speaks.
"We're also asking for you to destroy our resurrection hub. Our raiders are programmed not to, and this is the only way we can stop Cavil and the others. It must end here and now."
"But you'll be mortal. Are you willing to make that sacrifice?"
"Once we reach Earth, the Final Five will awake and can correct the issue," says Natalie.
Kara's eyes dart from the Two to Natalie as realization strikes. They know. They know she can lead them to Earth. It's the only reason the Cylons have been working with them. Putting on her best triad face, she weighs the odds of severing all ties right now, or continuing to work with them and hoping for the best.
Glancing around the CIC, she notices that no one even bothers to look away as they watch the events unfold. Her eyes fall on Gaeta and he raises his eyebrows, shrugging in uncertainty.
After agonizing over what to do with her newfound knowledge for two weeks, she decided to approach Gaeta a few days prior and had a difficult and stilted conversation with him. She told Gaeta that very soon, there will come a time when it will appear like all hope is lost, that a blind jump will be the only option. These will be the only numbers in your head. Use them.
Fixing the Cylons with a knowing look, she turns to the Old Man and grins confidently at him.
"I'll play nice as long as they do," she holds out her hand to Natalie and shakes it, sealing the deal. Turning back to the Old man, she nods solemnly as they begin preparations.
.::.::.::.::.
He's only been on Cavil's baseship twelve hours, but it feels like days.
Wiping his brow, Lee looks over his shoulder to his wingman as she hands over Hera to Athena, who's guarding her raptor. Kara then assists the president in boarding while Kat and her team provide cover.
Glancing at the destroyed raptor across the deck, he realizes the centurions managed to take out a third of the recovery team. Providing strong defense, six marines divided between Kat and Kara evenly, are all that remain. Athena starts preparing the raptor to jump away to the distant safety of Galactica.
.::.
Kara nods at Kat then looks to Lee, indicating that they approach the raptor.
"We need to get the nukes out now, while there's a lull."
When they finish placing them near the hull, she looks over to the marines scattered around, firing at the resurging Centurions.
"Heard you and Kat both took out the resurrection hub. Great work."
"Lost a raptor heading over, and that one," she nods to the crumbled heap, "took heavy fire upon landing. It had the remote detonator."
"Frak."
"Hopefully the rebels took out the other baseship. Cavil still aboard?"
"Positive."
"Speak of the devil."
.::.
Kat watches Starbuck and Apollo as Cavil orders the centurions to cease-fire. Ordering her marines into better positions, Kat keeps her weapon trained on Cavil as he speaks, waiting for a kill shot.
"…only needed you Captain Thrace. Thanks for falling into the trap. Let's do this the easy way. We'll back off and let your friends go as long as you stay with us."
"No frakkin' way!" Apollo steps up while Cavil pulls out his firearm.
"Hard way then?" Cavil shoots the marine standing just behind Starbuck. "Now that you've taken out our hub, we're in need of your… navigational expertise."
.::.
Kara shakes her head resolutely.
"No deal, Cavil. I refuse to give up the coordinates just so you can destroy everyone once you get there."
Watching Cavil's face redden, he shoots and misses a lucky marine.
"This will not end well, Captain."
"I'd rather die then let you frakkers win," her voice raging contemptuously.
"Oh, I won't kill you. Just prolong your meaningless existence." Cavil steps through his centurions and fires low just as Lee jumps in front of her.
Shots are traded, but all she hears is a great love must be sacrificed as Lee falls to the deck.
.::.
Everything moves in slow motion.
He feels the white hot pain as he slams into the deck, the feel of Kara's hand as she turns him over. Tears in her eyes, face mortified. He closes his eyes to block out the sight as he recalls a visit to Leoben.
You and Kara have both known great pain in your childhood, Major. Leoben whispers across the table, catching his attention. There will come a time, when you must ask yourself if you love her enough to sacrifice your life for hers.
"It wasn't supposed to be you," he hears Kara whisper.
.::.
Kat shoots Cavil between the eyes as the remaining five marines provide cover for Apollo and Starbuck.
"Get him on the raptor RFN!"
Kat nods to Starbuck as two marines carry him to the raptor while three others wipe out the remainder of Cavil's centurions. Climbing onto the pilot seat, Kat spools the FTL as the marines climb aboard, one helping Starbuck ensure Apollo's safety.
"Kat," Starbuck yells, "Lee sees Cottle ASAP or I'll come back from wherever and kick your ass. Maintain protocol at the rendezvous."
Frowning in recognition, she knows what Starbuck has left to do.
"Aye, Sir!"
.::.
Lee feels Kara's putting pressure on his wound as his eyes open.
"You're gonna be okay, you frakking idiot. Why'd you listen to Leoben?" she berates while caressing his cheek gently. "I have to detonate the nukes. Don't worry, there are a couple heavy raiders and I know the next two jumps."
"No," shaking his head firmly. "Find another way."
"This is the only way," gritting her teeth as she forces back tears. "Don't forget… no take backs."
His brow furrows then he remembers.
"Wouldn't dare, Kara."
"See you on the other side."
The door closes and blackness takes over.
.::.
Hearing more centurion fire, Kara runs to the missiles, setting the detonator for five minutes. Taking a deep breath, she pushes the button and looks for the nearest raider – thirty meters away. Sacrifice or no, she'll escape or die trying.
She weaves, jumps, shoots, and sprints across the deck, getting nicked in the bicep as she boards. Suddenly everything falls silent. She eyes the traitorous Boomer, bruised and bloody, standing on the deck with halted centurions.
Nodding at her, Kara spools the FTL drive, preparing for liftoff. Images flash in her mind: Zak, when she said yes; the Old Man giving her his cigar in sickbay; her mom, near death on her academy graduation; Sam's hug when she came back to rescue him; Helo grinning, telling her he was proud; her father as he said goodbye; Lee's eyes, when she said she loved him.
Nearing the doors, she feels the oddest sense of peace come over her and knows that this is where she belongs. She's enabled the means to find earth; they just need to have faith. Her efforts have not been in vain and she is not worthless.
Just clearing the doors as she engages the FTL drive, she feels the explosion rock the raider as loose apparatus hurtles towards her head.
Breathing in, suddenly… all is white.
You are the harbinger of death, Kara Thrace, you will lead them to their end.
.::.::.::.::.
Thanks for reading :P