# # #
The cabin door was hooked wide open and Helo knocked on the doorframe politely, wiping perspiration from his brow, his skin glowing with warmth from both the brisk pace he'd kept up and the heat of the rising sun. He waited impatiently, and knocked again.
"Lee?" He stuck his head in the doorway and looked around the small home. The ex-Major, ex-pilot wasn't there, but the fire smouldered, banked up neatly, and a bark container suspended above the coals gave off the strong scent of pine needles. Lee wouldn't be far away or gone for long if he'd left the fire burning for tea to boil; leaving the fire lit unattended was a prime way to have your house burn down to cinders. A couple of colonists had left theirs alight while they were out setting traps, and had come back to find the place engulfed, with others fighting to keep the blaze from spreading to the forest around. Helo frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, squinted into the forest around. He'd just have to wait.
He didn't want to go in to the house – it seemed too intrusive. So Helo sat down on the doorstep and waited, shutting his eyes and soaking up the clear morning weather. He dozed for a few minutes, perhaps – he wasn't sure. He hadn't had much sleep the night before, talking with Sharon until late, and then Hera had woken them up at the crack of dawn. Helo was exhausted. He came to full awareness with a start as his ears picked up rustlings nearby, the sound of someone nearing the cabin through the thick undergrowth. Helo slid his hunting knife out of its sheath and rose to his feet. The local animals didn't usually come near people anymore, having learnt to fear them, but you could never be too careful.
It was Lee, and Helo sheathed his knife with an easy motion, lifting a hand in greeting. The shorter man was shirtless and his hair was wet and mussed, a towel slung round his shoulders – he must have been bathing in a stream. Thank the gods Lee was wearing his khaki trousers, protecting both his modesty and Helo's eyes.
"Helo!" Lee raised his hand, mirroring Helo's greeting gesture. He crossed the clearing and ushered Helo into the cabin, a smile wavering on his face. Helo couldn't help but notice the faded bruises mottling Lee's skin, and he winced in sympathy, wondering when he had collected them.
"It's good to see you. How's Athena? And Hera?" Lee indicated a stool and Helo sat awkwardly, watching Lee pull on a shirt and take the tea off the fireplace, pouring two cups and sweetening them both with a dollop of maple sap. Damnit. This wasn't meant to be a social call, but Helo didn't want to be rude with Lee's hollow eyes staring hopefully at him. He accepted the tea with muttered thanks.
"Athena and Hera are both fine." He said plainly, and silence dropped over the two men for a moment.
"I haven't seen you in a while." Lee commented at last and Helo shrugged.
"Things have been…eventful. Athena and I…well, we don't want to get mixed up in trouble, not with a child and a baby on the way."
"Eventful. Hah, that's one way to put it." Lee's fingers traced over his cheekbone unconsciously, the large mark that lingered there in shades of faint purple-green.
"Nasty bruises, there." Helo felt he had to say something to acknowledge Lee's battered state, and Lee grinned sardonically, an expression that didn't reach his eyes.
"Courtesy of Saul Tigh, for the most part, and a few enthusiastic supporters of Lampkin that had a little chat with me."
There was silence again.
"Sorry to hear that." Helo said at last, perched tensely on the wobbly stool and feeling incredibly awkward. This was not how he had envisioned this conversation going.
Lee tilted his head, eyed Helo carefully.
"You don't think I was involved, do you?"
Helo drew a slow breath.
"No."
"You don't sound so sure."
Helo put the cup of tea down untouched, leaned back a little on the stool and returned Lee's calculating gaze.
"I don't think you told Boxey to go and kill the President. I know you Lee, and I know you wouldn't promote assassination as a viable tool. But…" He shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to get his thoughts across without crushing Lee completely. The poor bastard already looked awful, and Helo had heard through the grapevine that Starbuck hadn't been near Lee since she had detained him and left him in the lock up. Lee's people were more swayed by Paulla's opinion than his it seemed, and on top of that, he'd obviously had the shit kicked out of him recently. Telling him what Helo really thought just seemed like kicking the man while he was done.
Lee straightened his spine and his eyes narrowed.
"But what?" There was a hard edge under his casual question.
Helo swore inwardly and bit his tongue, a furrow slicing between his eyebrows.
"But you were the one who founded this movement. The one who organised everyone, who brought people together and gave them the drive and passion to believe they could do something about the situation. To believe that they had to do something about it."
"And? How is that a bad thing, Helo? I'm doing something here. I'm trying to achieve something I believe in, something I thought you and Athena believed in too. I know things are frakked up right now, but I can get them back on track. I can make things right again. I can." Lee raised his voice and his knuckles went white around his mug of tea. It sounded like Lee was trying to convince himself the truth of his words just as much as he was trying to convince Helo.
"A kid died, Lee. You can't make that frakking right."
"It wasn't my frakking fault!"
Helo pushed himself to his feet, itching with impatience and annoyance. Why couldn't Sharon have come to see Lee? Why did they decide to talk to him at all? Helo gave a mental snort at his questions; it had been his frakking idea. Do the honourable thing and tell Lee upfront that they couldn't support his political position anymore, give him some parting advice, maybe. Some personal support…Gods Helo didn't know what he'd been frakking thinking.
"Maybe you didn't tell Boxey to go out there and do that, but you…you didn't stop it either. And you could have, at one point, if you'd just pulled your people into line. Your hands aren't totally clean in this mess, Lee." Helo lost it, snapping curtly, his concern for Lee's feelings falling by the wayside. Lee flinched and looked down at his hands, flexing them absentmindedly, as though he could see the blood on them if he looked hard enough.
Helo sighed.
"Godsdamnit, Lee, do I have to spell it out for you? You've created a frakking monster and now it's snapped the leash and gotten loose. You've lost control. A man nearly died, a child got killed! Shot dead in the frakking road, all because you can't control the flames you've happily fuelled up until now!" Helo gesticulated angrily, eyes darting over the inside of the small cabin, taking in its sparse furnishings and the little attempts at making it homey. Starbuck's touch showed, and the place seemed hollow without her presence. Lee seemed hollow without her there. It made Helo feel like shit. This wasn't what he'd wanted to do.
"I'm not going to have my family involved in the movement anymore. I can't. We wanted a new start on Earth, not more of the same rifts and mistrust and godsdamned violence." His voice softened at the last few sentences, feeling like a heartless bastard, as he finally looked at Lee who sat with head bowed, still staring at his hands where they lay palm up in his lap.
Helo groaned,
"Shit, Lee. I'm sorry…"
"It's fine."
"No it's not. That was out of line. I just… Frak it!" Helo mushed a hand over his face and took a deep calming breath. Trying to get back to the point.
"I only came here to tell you that we wouldn't be coming to the meetings anymore, because we don't want to be involved in…everything."
"Alright." Lee's face was utterly miserable, tone defeated.
"Athena wants to know if we can stay in the cabin, or if we should move into Landfall." Helo spoke quietly now, having retreated to the doorway, shifting awkwardly on his feet. Lee glanced up with confusion flickering on his weary features,
"Of course you can stay. It's your house, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but…is it okay to live in the community if we aren't involved? Like I said, lee – we don't want to get caught up in trouble."
"Stay. Please. I'll tell the others not to bother you." And then, under his breath,
"If they'll listen to me."
"I'm sorry, Lee. Athena and I, well, we both wish you the best, but…"
"Yeah."
"I'll see you 'round?" Helo hovered in the doorway, itching to get out of the oppressive atmosphere in the cabin and out into the fresh, clean air.
"Sure. Take care, Helo. My regards to Sharon." Lee managed in an apathetic monotone, looking down into his mug of tea with dull eyes. Helo had never seen someone look so completely, hopelessly miserable. He castigated himself for being so blunt, and for turning what should have been a courtesy call into a soul-crushing lecture, but it was too late for apologies and amends now – he just wanted to get the hell out of there.
Helo mumbled a polite reply and swiftly ducked out the cabin door, the sun hitting him with its glorious light, forcing him to squint as his eyes adjusted from the gloom of the cabin. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest as a warm breeze whispered across his face. No more worrying about Sharon being manipulated into activities of questionable legality. No more biting his tongue during meetings with Lee and his people. No more. Helo set off across the clearing and along the narrow trampled path through the undergrowth of the forest, eager to get away. Thank the gods that was over and done with.
# # #
"Frak!" The mug was flung with force, shattering against the log wall in an explosion of pottery and hot tea.
"Frakking bastard! Motherfrakker! Gods-frakking-damnit!" The table went over on its side, taking the second mug of tea with it and shaking the whole cabin with its fall. A stool was kicked roughly into a corner to a litany of curses. The bucket that served as a sink was upended, water splashing on the simple plank floor and seeping away through the cracks. And then the storm passed, and Lee was left standing in the middle of the room, chaos surrounding him, over-long hair flopping wetly in his eyes as he panted. He blinked away tears of anger and frustration, feeling drained and godsdamned hopeless. Frak he was an idiot.
He forced himself to be calm, and cool, and went around the cabin righting everything he'd displaced in his fit of anger. Both the mugs were broken into large shards, but everything else was fine. The table was set upright and the stools replaced at it, the dishes bucket put back on the wooden bench. He tidied up automatically, letting his mind go blank, his shoulders slowly uncoiling as the tension dissipated, his racing heart slowing to a steady thump.
Lee buried the shards of mug in a shallow grave by the corner of the cabin; it was the tidiest way to dispose of them, and besides it gave Lee a chance to work out the rest of his anger, hacking viciously at the soil. But once the anger had passed out of him completely, Lee wished for it back. With it gone, all he felt was a chill emptiness soaking throughout his chest and weighing down his limbs and mind, draining away the motivation he so desperately needed right now. He sat down at the table, head cradled in his hands, staring at the pattern of the wood grain wavering along the planks. His head felt like it was wrapped in a thick layer of wool, thoughts foggy and deadened. He swore at himself and jerked to his feet, taking the bucket he'd upended to the snowmelt stream, feet leading him unerringly to the clear, icy flow. He knelt on the soft muddy earth of the bank and splashed some water over his face, gasping at the shocking cold. It helped clear away the fog though, and he went over things with careful precision as he filled up the bucket and returned to his cabin.
So, he'd lost Helo and Athena's support. It was not unexpected; Helo had only ever been involved because Athena had been, and Lee could understand why they would want to withdraw now. They were moderates, and Lee's movement was quickly becoming a magnet for fanatics. No, he couldn't be angry with the Agathons for leaving. He could, however, be absolutely and utterly furious with himself for letting the situation escape his control to this extent. He needed to do something. What, he had no idea, but doing anything would be better than sitting lonely and depressed in his cabin, letting the days waste away while the world went to shit around him.
Paulla was the problem. Sowing discord amongst Lee's people, inciting them to take action that Lee, quite frankly, thought was despicable. He needed to go and make it very clear that he was still the one in command around here. Make a rousing speech, perhaps. Play off the uncertainty they all felt in the wake of Boxey's death. Tell Paulla in no uncertain terms that she needed to back the frak off. No master plan by any means, Lee thought wryly as he hung the bucket over the fire to boil, but better than sitting around crying into his godsdamned tea.
# # #
"I'll be fine, Nora. Thank you." Romo Lampkin smiled at the petite woman with the neat coil of long black hair, as he insisted he didn't need assistance.
"Are you sure, Mr President?" She hovered beside him as he buttoned his white dress shirt a grimace twisting his face that he hid by ducking his head well down. He really didn't want to stand up. Sitting was bad enough. But one had to keep up appearances.
"Quite sure. I have my cane, I believe I can manage." He told her smoothly, wiping the pained expression from his features as he looked up at her, and sliding on his dark glasses.
"Right." He said, preparing to stand. And yet he stayed seated.
"Right." Still sitting.
"Mr President? Do you need a bit of help?"
"Hmm." A long pause as he stared down at his feet, dangling over the edge of the high hospital bed.
"I believe perhaps I do, in fact." It cost Romo a little to admit that, determined as he was to put up a strong front. He couldn't have the dissident faction – or the Council – thinking he was weak. In this troubled time he could allow no cracks in his façade, if he wanted to stay in control. But stab wounds bloody well hurt. When Romo had last been injured, back on the Galactica, he had enjoyed the sweet relief of handfuls of lovely painkillers. Not so on Earth. Here he got to experience the full beauty of excruciating pain if he wanted his mind to remain clear and fully functional. Which was necessary, if he were to go back to work. Which, was something that he could no longer avoid, being as it had been six days since the assassination attempt and damage control was well overdue. But by the gods, it frakking hurt. Nora shot him an impatient, knowing look and linked her arm through his, her tone briskly sympathetic.
"Come on, the worst bit is getting up. Once you're on your feet, walk around for a moment, and the pain should drop right back."
"Indeed. I'm sure it will." Romo was wry, eyebrow raised, but he let Nora help him off the bed, hissing as his feet hit floor and he straightened up. Bloody frakking hell it was agony. He nearly sat back down but he knew if he did he wouldn't be able to make himself get up again. So he took the cane Nora offered and leaned heavily on it, controlling his breathing so it came slow and deep, instead of the shallow pants his tortured body wanted to make.
"Just walk around for a minute and you'll feel much better." Nora encouraged and he shot a dry glare at her, doubtful in the extreme. But three rounds of the tiny room and, surprisingly, the pain subsided to a dull ache. He wouldn't be running any races, but then he doubted he'd be called on to do that anytime soon anyway.
"Better?"
"Yes, actually. Thank you, Nora." The short woman blushed a little and bit her lip, as though Romo's thanking her was a great compliment. He supposed perhaps she thought it was, being as he was the President.
"You've been an incredible help to me over the past few days, and an excellent nurse. I've been very lucky to have you." Romo thanked the woman even more effusively; it was just good politics to butter people up whenever the chance arose. She was flustered, and he left her in her fluster, inclining his head and making his way out the door of the tiny room he had been laid up in for the past five nights and six days, cane thunking against the floor.
"Mr Lampkin." Doc Cottle was the only one who never called him by his official title. Romo thought that in the Doctor's mind, Laura Roslyn would always be the President, and Romo was, well, just Gaius Baltar's ex-lawyer. Not that Romo minded – it was refreshing to find someone who didn't stand on ceremony. He and Cottle weren't friends by any means – Romo didn't really have friends, unless you counted Jake – but they'd talked over drinks at Joe's before. At the moment, however, Cottle's voice was stern and accusatory. Frak. Romo turned slowly and was pinned by a severe glower.
"What are you doing out of bed, Mr Lampkin?"
"I can't delay things any longer, Doctor. I need to resume my duties as President."
"You're still recovering from an infection, not to mention the original injuries."
"I understand that. But I can't lie around in bed when there are things that need to be done, Doctor." Romo smiled slightly and placed both hands over the head of his cane.
"Sometimes a man must make sacrifices for his people, Doctor."
Doc Cottle scoffed at that and shook his head in disgust.
"If you say so, Mr Lampkin. I can't stop you, but if you collapse, don't expect any frakking sympathy from me."
"I would never do such a thing." Romo replied, a smile still playing round the corners of his lips.
"Ha." Cottle grunted, somehow instilling the sound with both contempt and amusement and dismissed Romo from his mind, turning to the next patient without so much as a nod goodbye.
The ex-pilot and current patrol officer, Hotdog, if Romo remembered correctly, was loitering outside the hospital, fiddling with a stuffed toy. Romo stopped and cleared his throat, and the young man looked up.
"Oh. Mr President. Um. How can I help?" The kid was confused, moving back from the hospital doorway, the stuffed rabbit squashed in his grasp so one glass eye bulged out at Romo, its muzzle crushed inward.
"Hotdog, I am I right?"
"Yeah." The kid shifted uncomfortably, tanned complexion looking almost sallow, eyes stained beneath with the purple of strain and exhaustion. Hotdog had a child, didn't he? Romo racked his brain, trying to think past the dull pain that radiated from within his abdomen. A little boy, with kidney problems. Nicky – that was it.
"How's Nicky?" Romo asked smoothly, with only a second's pause, and Hotdog's eyes widened a little with surprise that the President remembered his son's name. What people didn't realise was that being a lawyer involved the memorising of a vast number of common laws, or, if not the laws themselves, the reference books and pages upon which the relevant laws and clauses could be found in detail. Remembering people's names was a piece of cake, compared to remembering that the information pertaining to obtaining a mistrial in the case of the judge indicating any bias was contained in Criminal Court Proceedings of the Twelve Colonies 6th Edition, chapter nine, pg 267, clause C 39.2. Gods, how Romo missed needing to remember that sort of thing, back before he had been unceremoniously thrust into the position of President – by none other than Lee Adama.
"-sick. But Doc Cottle says there's a good chance he'll be fine. He's sleeping at the moment. He gets very tired these days, poor little guy." Hotdog was saying and Romo blinked, pulling his thoughts back to reality. The pain was taking more of a toll on him than he thought. He needed to pull it together, quickly.
"Would you mind fetching Colonel Tigh for me, Hotdog? I believe he should be in the Council chambers." Although phrased as a query it was an order, and Hotdog recognised it as such, and out of habit saluted, thumping the toy bunny against his forehead. He flushed and grinned wryly,
"Of course, Mr President, sir." And took off at a jog. Good kid that one, loyal, unquestioning. Romo hoped his son recovered. He leant against the side of the hospital to stay upright, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the tearing, aching pain pulsating from his wounds.
# # #
"All right. Listen up you frakkers!" Lee strode into the middle of the communal cabin that served as a gathering place for his faction, glaring around the room. He noticed with satisfaction that Paulla was there. Good. His gaze slipped over the other people; the core of the more militant off-split from the movement. A few Twos, Jeanne and her son – they went everywhere Paulla did – and a human colonist Lee hadn't known before landfall on Earth, who went by the name of Kessler. Lee thought 'went by', as Kessler didn't seem like the type of man who slung his real name about. Shifty eyes, unshaven face, a pair of wicked-sharp hook-pointed hunting knives on each hip. They all stared at Lee, a vicious smile flickering at Paulla's lips as she eyed him up and down indolently. His abrupt entrance had shut down the conversation that had been taking place, and Lee stepped forward a few paces so he stood at the end of the long narrow cabin, and crossed his arms, feet shoulder-width apart.
"Boxey is dead." He started with, and saw that only Jeanne flinched at those blunt words.
"The President was almost killed."
"Frakkin' too bad Boxey di'n't do th' job proper 'fore he got hisself kilt." Kessler muttered to himself and Lee tensed his jaw, monumentally irritated.
"Shut the frak up, Kessler. If the President had been killed, you know what would have happened? We'd have been frakked." He tilted his head, staring down everyone present and letting them see his disbelief and annoyance at their stupidity.
"We're the minority here. Minority in numbers, weapons, supplies – everything. If the majority doesn't want to listen to us, they don't have to – sure, we can kill a few people, but we can't kill everyone. And every person that dies is just another reason for the majority to dig their heels in, to disregard our opinion." He laughed shortly and without humour.
"You think you were so frakking clever. You think you achieved something, made a statement. Well the only statement you made is that we're so frakking stupid we sabotage our own goals!" His voice rose to a near-shout and Jeanne cuddled her son closer, shrinking into herself. The others listened quietly, and Lee could see the Twos, at least, were thinking his words over.
"I've told you so many times, the only way we're going to change things is if we change peoples' minds! We can't force them to do as we want! We don't have the manpower to enact it or sustain it!" Lee was speaking quieter again, but his words were filled with icy, ferocious emphasis, letting some good old righteous fury fill him up. Gods, it felt good.
"You need to listen to me. I can fix this. I can make it clear that what Boxey did, he did on his own, as a confused, impulsive kid. That we weren't involved – that Romo Lampkin can still engage with us in good faith."
"Hah. Good faith. It's Lampkin who's not engaging in good faith." Paulla's mouth twisted the last four words, mimicking Lee in a mockery.
"So you think. But I'm telling you all, violence isn't going to help the cause. Violence isn't the godsdamned answer. I know it's frustrating, I know there don't seem to be any results, but the only way to achieve what we want is to convince people – with words – that we're right." He fell silent, nothing else left to say.
"We'll think about it." Leon – Lee thought it was Leon, anyway – said neutrally. Lee didn't say anything in reply, just nodded slightly and strode out of the cabin as abruptly as he had entered it.
Well. That was the first step. Hopefully more desperate measures would not need to be considered.
# # #
"Ohhhhh. My frakking head." And as if triggered by her voice,
"A baker's dozen, a dozen bakers minus one add the one and the three and you get…. Ah – Ah – Ah… Systems normal. Systems normal. Systems normal."
Starbuck blinked as Sam's monotone cut through her killer hangover and made her brain cringe inside her constricting skull.
"Oh gods." She wriggled face down on the pallet that had served as her bed for the past five nights and clasped her hands over her head, burying it in the thin mattress.
"Oh, just kill me now. I can't bear this." Starbuck whinged to herself, making a complaining mewling sound, quietly, to keep her throbbing head intact.
"Bear. Bear – An' then they did come, to find a settling place of their own, twelve globes within the black, each ripe and ready to bear children upon them. End of line."
"Shut up, Sam." Starbuck groaned, thumping the side of the hybrid tank with one fist. In the last several days she had become strangely comfortable in just being normal around her comatose, nonsense-spewing Cylon husband. But right now she just wanted peace and quiet, so her head could perhaps not explode. She lay there for a moment, Sam thankfully falling silent, and tried to remember last night.
Oh gods.
Starbuck remembered going to Joe's bar for the fifth night in a row, and getting frakked off her face, remembered getting mouthy at Joe… Oh frak. She remembered being so frakking drunk she'd fallen off her stool and puked all over the floor…and then…nothing. The next thing she remembered was waking up here with a mouth so dry it felt like the desert and tasted like vomit to boot, and a head that was pounding in time with her pulse. Shit. She must have passed out. Starbuck groaned into the mattress and pleaded with the universe to just let her sink into the floor, or pass out again. Anything to spare her the embarrassment of knowing that someone – most likely Joe – had taken pity on her and dragged her drunken form back here and tucked her into bed. Gods how she wished she remembered what had happened, so she could apologise or avoid the appropriate people. Oh, wait…
"Shit!" Starbuck scrambled to check her body under the thin blanket and was incredibly relieved to find herself wearing all of her clothing, minus her boots and socks. Well. That was something at least.
"Shit. Shit… Finding… Then the shite of the oxen and other beasts was smeared upon their flesh–"
"Urgggh. Shut up, Sam!" Starbuck ripped the blanket up over her head and decided to just stay there for a while. At least until her brain stopped trying to claw its way out of her head.
# # #
Author's Note:
Feedback is appreciated, adored and (breathlessly) anticipated.
I'm especially interested in knowing whether or not the characters seem, well, in character; I want to show character development, growth and change through how they cope badly or well with the situations and interactions they are placed in – but I don't want to end up with characters that have little to no resemblance to who they were on the show. So if you think characters are acting too much OOC, or conversely, are being portrayed well, please comment and let me know :)
Lee especially, is undergoing much strain in this episode, and events, both past and present, are going to put a lot of pressure on him…
The next chapter should be up on Friday (NZ time).
Thanks for reading!