Title : Break
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13 for violence
Summary : He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship.
Spoilers : Everything aired so far (up to 3x11) is fair game.
Pairings : Lee/Dee, glimpses of Lee/Kara, but the pairings aren't the point of the story.
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN. Huge thanks to my beta, Joey, who gave this a look even though BSG is not her fandom of choice.
Part One
Lee should have known.
No, really, he should have.
"It's just a routine investigation," the Admiral had said. "Go to the Faru Sadin, ask a few questions, make sure these people know we meant it when we said that we'd keep an eye on the black market."
And neither the Admiral nor the President had made it sound like it was a punishment, even if they had probably meant it that way. After all, Lee had been the one who had decided that the black market should be allowed to remain, under certain conditions.
"Take Dualla and a couple of marines for support."
And yes, he knows exactly why the Admiral did that, as well. It's no secret that there are tensions between Lee and his wife, and the whole frakking ship knows about them, and the Admiral must have thought that all that tension was becoming counterproductive (he would have been right) and that it was time to do something about it.
Truth be told, Lee hadn't minded the idea of spending some time with Dee, even if it was work-related, and under the watchful eyes of two marines.
They never seem to see each other anymore, and whenever they do, Dee looks sad and Lee feels like the biggest jerk ever, and damn it, he wants a chance to make it right. Maybe this mission will be the ice-breaker between them.
Yes, it had seemed like, maybe not a good idea, but a not-bad idea.
He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship, should have known that nothing was ever that easy, should have known that he'd be covered in bruises before the end of the day.
When did his missions away from the Galactica ever end any other way?
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
There are rules to this, he knows.
Their first step, logical, is to work him over.
Which they are doing.
And putting their hearts into it, too.
Then, they'll put him alone in a room, and come back some indeterminate time later and tell him that the fleet left, that his team was rescued, that he was abandoned, left behind, and he won't believe it, but deep down, he'll start doubting.
Then, they'll work him over again.
Then, probably at the same time, they'll undoubtedly start threatening to kill him.
Or, worse, they'll threaten to kill his men.
Lee wonders if people like that know that there are classes in War College dealing with this kind of thing.
He wonders if they know that these situations always fall into certain patterns, where everyone's behavior is predictable up until a certain point.
"We don't want to have to do that," they'll say, trying for a sincere tone. Lee can almost hear it already. "But you're forcing us to come to this."
And if he's very, very lucky, the rescue will come before he finds out if they are serious or not.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The second time they take him to what Lee dubbed the interrogation room, even though it's really nothing more than a storage room, there's a bucket of water on the ground.
Predictably, the men who lead him here whispered lies about how the fleet had left and abandoned him here
Lee tuned them out early in.
It hasn't been nearly long enough for the fleet to have given up yet.
He's sure of it.
Instead of listening, he studies the floor—the water around the bucket, the pools of blood here and there.
Lee wishes he could say for sure that all of it is his, but he doesn't remember the first time he was here clearly enough for that.
Were his men—was Dee—questioned here? Were they asked the same senseless questions about Galactica, and how the rescue team is likely to proceed when they come, and is there any way they'll let them get away with a hostile takeover of a civilian ship?
At the first question, Lee can't resist from pointing out, "I thought the fleet had left."
His retort owes him in first plunge in the water and he tries to resist struggling, certain that they won't kill him—yet—but unable to stop himself as his lungs start screaming for air.
Dying in space was easier.
He just… drifted.
It didn't even hurt, until he woke up on the Raptor, on his way back to the Pegasus.
"How many men will they send?" one of the men asks him.
Lee briefly toys with the idea of insulting them, maybe even cracking some jokes, like Starbuck might do in this situation. He decides against it. He doesn't need to worsen the situation. It's bad enough already. "Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica," Lee says, knowing that they won't keep him alive indefinitely, and wondering what the hell they think they're going to get from him.
They keep him under longer than the first time, and when they bring him back up, he spits a mouthful of water and coughs uncontrollably. They keep him kneeling, forcing him upright when all he wants to do is curl up.
"What are the Galactica's weaknesses?"
Aside from the fact that it's a decommissioned ship that's not supposed to be flying anymore, and that it's the only thing standing between us and the frakking Cylons? Nothing.
"Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica."
Before they force his head under the water, one of the men holding him whispers to Lee, "You're not making it easy on yourself."
Story of my life, he wants to say, but then he's struggling to hold his breath, and it doesn't seem to matter anymore.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He's still panting, dripping water, on his knees in the center of the room, when they bring in the first marine.
Damn.
Lee knows that life's unfair, and no one can win all the time, but couldn't they catch a break, every once in a while?
The rescue team isn't here, and it looks like today's bad guys seriously plan on executing his men.
And there's just no way he can say anything about Galactica's weaknesses to people who might be Cylons (and who are terrorists even if they're human), no way he can start explaining to them what the attack plan is likely to entail while civilians are still aboard the ship, presumably waiting for rescue.
The marine is made to kneel a few feet from Lee. "You look rough, sir," he says.
Lee feels rough. And if his face looks like the one of the man in front of him, he hopes he doesn't meet a mirror for the next week.
And if they did that to his wife, he won't rest until they're all dead.
"Thank you, Gunny. So do you," Lee replies, as if they were passing each other on the Galactica.
They share a look and the marine licks his lips nervously.
It's a common joke to say that marines are expendable—canon fodder—and that their sole purpose is to die to clear the way for the rest if the troops in hostile territory.
Just like every viper pilot knows before climbing into the cockpit that he's a walking/flying dead man until he lands again.
They all joke about it.
And when no one is looking, they whisper prayers to the gods, start self destructing by drinking or getting reckless, develop rituals or find a lucky charm—something, anything, to make them believe that luck is on their side, that they'll live to fight another day.
Lee's luck is running out.
Just as this marine's is.
One of the men holding them puts a gun to the marine's temple.
"What can you tell me about Galactica's means of defense?" he asks Lee.
Is protecting that information really worth a man's life?
Is there any way to buy some time?
"I don't know that much about Galactica's—"
A vicious kick in the back sends him sprawling forward, and he hits his chin hard on the ground. Someone grabs his hair and pulls him to a kneeling position again.
Lee glances at the Marine, who looks like he could just about kill everyone in sight now.
If only he wasn't on his knees with his hands tied in his back, unarmed.
Right with you there, Gunny.
"What can you tell me about Galactica's defenses? How much weaponry? How many guns left, how much ammo?"
"Fifty nukes, ten millions guns left, more than enough ammo to blow you out of the sky."
The click of the safety being pulled echoes impossibly loud in the room.
"What about Roslin?"
"Great lady," Lee deadpans. "Very competent. You'd like her."
Someone's still clutching at his air, and the grip tightens painfully.
"What about her security detail? What's the protocol when she leaves Colonial One?"
We're in space, Lee wants to snap. So unless you have small attack ships you've been hiding in your pocket for the last two years, or a very clever way to infiltrate people on the Galactica or Colonial One, why don't you give it a rest?
Still, he doesn't like what he's hearing. It sounds too much like the sudden resurgence of uncontrolled black market was a ploy to attract someone from the Galactica, and Lee doesn't like the sound of that at all.
He doesn't like that no one ever suspected that there was an organized group of men armed enough and determined enough to take over a ship and capture soldiers and question them.
He doesn't like where their questions are leading.
He doesn't like that there are many civilians on board. Potential hostages.
He doesn't like that they're smart enough not to let information about them and their plan slip through.
"What about Roslin?"
He meets the marine's eyes. Sees the naked fear in them.
Holds his gaze as he replies, "Major Lee Adama, CAG, Battlestar Galactica."
He doesn't hear the shot.
He's still staring ahead, trying not to throw up, when they pull the marine's body to the side, and drag Dee in.
Make her kneel in front of Lee.
She has bruises on her face.
His fists clench.
He can't do that.
There's no way he can allow them to kill his wife just to protect information.
These guys will die by the time the assault team arrives anyway.
How many hours has it been?
Surely, they must be on their way by now.
"What can you tell me about the Galactica's defenses?"
Funny how, suddenly, the regs that made everyone laugh so hard in the aftermath of the apocalypse ("So, we're the only humans left alive, and we need to repopulate the fleet, but we can't, 'cause we're in the army") don't seem so ridiculous any more.
If he could see her as just another soldier, maybe it would be easier.
But all he can see is his wife—too wise, too beautiful, and way too good to him.
Dee looks at him, blinking back tears.
"I don't—" Lee starts. He doesn't know what he's going to say. He can only lie, that much is sure. But maybe buying a little time…
Damn.
He just can't do this. Not to Dee.
He opens his mouth but just as he's about to talk, Dee shakes her head.
When he meets her eyes, she gives him a small, forgiving smile.
Then, looks defiantly at her captors.
"Go frak yourselves."
They don't repeat the question.
Lee stares ahead dumbly, as bullets propel Dee's body backwards.
He stares at her while the men gather to talk in hurried, angry voices, gesturing wildly.
He stares at her as one of them pulls him back to his feet, drags him to the door.
Somehow, he's still staring at her when they throw him in a dimly-lit room.
Then, he stops seeing anything anymore.
TBC