Battlestar Galactica: Runaway

by Mirwalker

CHAPTER THREE

As they stepped onto the hanger deck, Lee and Ran could hear the high-pitched giggles echoed by the deeper laughs of the pilots and deck crew. Lee snuck a look at his friend, relieved to see a more comfortable smile appear on his face. Once again, and despite the horrors of just the past few hours, who couldn't resist taking some happy relief from the joyful sound?

Lee also noticed that, while fully covered, Ran was actually dressed only in bloodstained pants and a medical smock. Pulling him aside, he whispered, "I don't think they need to see you in your skivvies."

Glad that Lee had not been so eager to see the children that he'd also missed this important detail, Ran smiled a "thanks" and slipped stiffly into the proffered jumpsuit.

As he zipped up the dirty, but fully-covering outfit, Lee reminded him of a few other facts that might make the pending reunion go a little more smoothly. "Several of them weren't distracted enough by the tour and pilots, and asked about their missing class members. They've been told that you're fine and with everyone at the doctor's. The surviving mother and the… other woman's little girl are with a priestess. Best we can do."

Baresi nodded at the soundness of the actions amid the sadness, still not entirely confident himself in the harsh reality of the day's events. Though he couldn't have imagined any of it, even after everything else that had happened, he was glad to have Lee in the nightmare with him. He hadn't anticipated that reunion either; but that familiar presence gave him a renewed hope he wouldn't have survived the day without.

With a pep-talk slap to the arm, Adama pronounced him presentable, and steered him toward their waiting audiences.

The relative calm of rapt attention was shattered as the children saw their teacher approaching with his pilot friend. A chorus of voices followed on the thumping heels as their orderly circle beside the viper disintegrated into a mob rush on him and a showering of him with updates and questions.

"Mr. Baresi!"

"Are you OK, Mr. Baresi?"

"Jina said the f-word!"

"Your glasses are broken."

"What's wrong with your hands?"

"We're getting call-signeds, Mr. Baresi!"

Ran gave a few light hugs and head tousles with bandaged hands as the class crowded around him excitedly. Shooting a stern look at the offending girl, he chose to focus on the positives for the time being. "Callsigns, Lorn, pilots have call-signnnnns."

"Mine's 'Lizard'," gleamed the little boy, oblivious to the corrected pronunciation.

And the rest of the group decided that this was the perfect moment to also share their own pilot monikers and their opinions on those of their classmates. Simultaneously.

"I'm Butterfly!"

"Cookie!"

"Call me Viper!"

"You can't be 'viper;' that's what the ships are called!"

Relieved to be back with the class and see them all well—no, almost all of them well, Baresi was also a little overwhelmed at their need to again be near, touching and attended to by him. Reading that struggle in his friend, Lee waded in beside him and shouted, "Hey, hey, hey! I would hope that my pilots and crew would have told you that your callsign should mean something specific for you, tell people something about you."

The boy apparently now called Lizard stuck his tongue out at the CAG, while simultaneously explaining, "I alwaths thtick muh tunk out. I am a lithart!"

One little girl stood quietly beside Lee, and tugged gently on his uniform jacket. "What does yours mean, Captain Apollo? Are you a god?" She looked skeptical. "Are you going to make Kalin, and D'Neese, and the missuses OK?"

No adult in the space ever remembered the hangar being as quiet as it was in that moment, as all eyes, grown and growing, turned on the ranking officer. Word had obviously spread, across all ages and developmental levels, about the missing classmates and chaperones. The cover story had handled their absence until now; but the few, quick words could only satisfy for so long.

From the doubly-blunt mouths of Aerilon babes, thought Lee, as his mind started at the sharp and child-logical connection the girl had made, and reeled at how to possible respond honestly and carefully. A new story, true or... creative was needed. Now.

As he had on the President's visit, Lee turned toward his interrogator and squatted again, having learned that this helped engage the children more effectively. "Jina, isn't it?"

She nodded matter-of-factly, unimpressed at his short-term recall of her name. Her clutched doll looked at him with a similarly dry expectation.

"No, I'm not a god; that's just a nickname. …Like 'Lizard'—he isn't really a lizard, just a nickname."

Lizard's immediately protruding tongue apparently took issue with that distinction.

Baresi interrupted, maintaining the focus on the military tradition, and away from the missing classmates. "Captain Adama and I grew up together. And I gave him that callsign when we were your age, playing Colonial and Cylon in the neighborhood. It just stuck into his Academy days."

"Why 'Apollo'?" persisted another boy, showing the keen insight of young curiosity wasn't limited to a single student.

"Because he was one of the smartest and strongest people I knew," answered the teacher, long committed to being honest with his students. As Lee blushed and the deck crew cooed softly, Baresi withheld the "handsome" attribute for which the synonymous god was also known.

"What was yours, Mr. Baresi?" interrupted yet another loquacious youngster.

"Run, Ran, Runaway!" shouted a new voice, approaching from deeper in the hangar bay, followed by its owner, as Lt. Kara "Starbuck" Thrace rounded the nose of the viper. "Apollo's little brother gave him the nickname, because it was what he did when they played. True to his name, when Zak the Cylon showed up, your Mr. Baresi 'ran.'"

Eyes of all sizes shifted to the new arrival, and then back to the target of her honest, but still mocking revelation.

"Technically, I would act as bait, luring Cylon Zak into Apollo's firelines. But Zak felt that framing that as 'runaway' evened up the score a little bit, since we always made him be the toaster. How're you doing, Starbuck?" smiled Baresi.

"Better than you look, Teach," she grinned back.

He gave her a good-to-see-you-too nod, as the children grew bored with the nostalgia of the adults' conversation, and turned their attention to either the welding across the hangar or the promised chance to sit in the fighter's cockpit. "I wanna sit in the Viper!" screamed someone, and they all crowded back to the plane echoing the same demand.

As the adults moved back to the bird with them, Baresi recognized the deck boss's uniform and double-checked, "Chief, is it wise to let them sit in the control seat of the fighter?"

Beaming at the adoring clamor, Tyrol assured, "This one's just coming off repairs, no juice for the engines or weapons. Climbing in and out's as dangerous as it gets; and my crew are carefully watching your babies. And ours."

"What do the numbers on the side mean? What is '1026'?"(1) asked a little boy, suddenly present beside them.

Baresi and Adama both looked expectantly to Tyrol, deferring to his expertise on his babies.

"Well, it's the identifier for that specific plane," he explained, trying not to give too technical a description. "It lets us tell which viper is which, since they all look the same to most folks." He pointed to the different numbers on the upper engine of the nearest several vipers.

"Machines have numbers; people have names," added Starbuck as she joined the group. "Cylons are bad machines without names; vipers are good machines without names."

The Chief instinctively bristled a little at the connection made between the Cylons and his birds, even with the favorable good-bad distinction.

Satisfied, or noticing something more interesting elsewhere, the boy ran back to the other students who jockeyed for a place in line for a cockpit sit, to hang from a wing or to look down the gun barrel.

Before the adults could renew their conversation, Thrace felt a presence at her side, and looked down to find two pair of dark eyes staring up at her.

"My dolly likes you," said the quiet, but confident voice of the larger face.

"That's great, kid," dismissed Starbuck.

"Do you like her?" the child persisted.

"Sure," lied the pilot, looking around to see if one of the other adults would rescue her from this pint-sized interaction. But they were all watching her fan club meeting with great and poorly disguised amusement.

"You're not even looking at her. You haven't asked her name."

"Fine," conceded the pilot, squatting and making an exaggerated effort to stare at the limp, blue-gowned figure being pushed toward her. "What's her name?"

"Kara."

Thrace's irritation evaporated, as she tried to think whether that name had been said aloud by one of the pilots or deck crew. Not that she'd heard. Was it on her uniform? No, she wasn't even wearing her flightsuit top. Where the frak had this annoying kid heard her name? "Where did she get that name?" she finally asked, with forced nonchalance.

"She says it," explained Jina, running her fingers through the doll's stringy blondish hair, and settling herself comfortably against the surprised Starbuck. "When I have a good battery, she says a lot of things. Her old battery ran out on Picon, so she was quiet for a long time since then; but the President's man brought me a new battery when she came to visit us. It was good to hear Kara again. But," the little girl looked at the namesake she didn't realize, "they told me not to waste this battery, so I don't keep it in all the time. Would you like to hear her?" she offered.

"No, that's OK…"

Not having waiting for answer, Jina pushed a button on the figurine's back, and it uttered a wavering, "Hi! I'm Kara; let's be friends."

"Two Kara's?" pondered Lee, as Thrace gawked dubiously. "I'm not sure Galactica's big enough for two. And then there's the trouble of telling them apart."

"Actually, yours would never be caught out in a dress," corrected Baresi with a gleeful grin. "And one only speaks on command; so I know which one I'd vote on keeping…"

Hearing the insults, but still too stunned to hurl a more typical "Frak you" at the schoolteacher, Starbuck recovered enough to nod to the fighters parked around them, "I think I like my toys better." Hoping to further divert the small and large attention from the unnerving introduction and the ribbing, she stood up and suggested to the girl, "Don't you wanna take your turn in the viper? All the other kids are doing it…" She had never been inherently interested in conversations with little people, and was increasingly unnerved by this particular one.

"Ok," begrudged the little girl, both disappointed and somehow not surprised at the grown up's lack of interest in her and her small friend. "Kara still likes you, Ms Starbuck."

As the adult grimaced after her, Jina stepped over to the big ship just in time to be immediately helped into the seemingly oversized seat by a friendlier grownup who introduced herself as "Callie." Her focus successfully redirected, Jina set down the doll, and let the brightly clad adult buckle her in as she strained to reach any of the lifeless buttons and switches around her.

Still with the adults, Kara glared once at a smugly grinning Lee, and turned away to bite her lip and brood on the strange child and toy.

Callie had just hovered the huge helmet over the child's head, when they heard a shout from the flightdeck, "Alright, now that everybody's had a chance to sit in the viper and see the raptor, we're going to head on to our next stop on the tour. Who wants t-shirts?"

A symphony of "Me!"s and "Yay!"s erupted from below the high walls of the fighter's cockpit. More interested in not missing out on new clothes and sights than in the unresponsive controls and smelly oversized seat of the flying ship, Jina batted away the big hat and wriggled through the restraints without having to unbuckle them. Clambering out of the giant seat, she all but leapt into the arms of another deckhand, who lowered her, legs already running, to the deck.

"They get shirts?" asked Baresi, as the small herd rumbled away toward the museum again.

Tyrol explained without taking his eyes off each piece of equipment the mob rambled past, "One of the last supply runs we got before… Well before, was the first shipment of souvenirs for the gift shop. We've already commandeered the adult clothes for our crew, but not the child sizes. Better to let kids use them than cut 'em up for rags. Do you think they'd all like a snow globe?"

As they laughed at the ridiculousness of the offer, Lee noted, "Speaking of clothes and souvenirs, Ran, you can't stay in the jumpsuit forever."

"Safety orange not my color?"

"No. And the chief's gonna want it back, or put you to work hauling gear."

"The Picon trip was just an overnighter; having nothing on my back, means I have nothing," admitted Baresi, returning briefly to seriousness. "So, unless you've got some adult-sized giftwear left…"

Seeing Tyrol shake his head before turning to get his crew back to work, Adama suggested instead, "Before you make any decisions about campouts for the kids, let's head back to the officer's bunk; and we'll get you set up with some of our spares."

Glad the oddity of the doll was heading away across the ship, Kara returned to the comfort of unsettling others. "Makes you miss the days when you had a jumpsuit of your own, huh, Runaway?" She pushed passed him with an intentional if playful shoulder-to-shoulder impact, whispering to him, "Or did you just wanna jump in someone else's?"

"Says the kettle…" volleyed Baresi, with a look of slight annoyance and a shrug at the puzzled-appearing Adama.

In the senior pilots' bunk, Ran slipped easily back into the no-modesty norms of the officer's berth, as Lee helped him slip stiffly out of the deckhand jumpsuit and into a spare set of pilot's slacks and a tee shirt.

Kara looked on smugly as Ran winced, and quickly returned his expression to appreciation as Lee kicked the bloodied rags toward the door.

"You must be hungry," observed Lee, rifling through his locker and tossing a snack bar Ran's way.

Kara snickered at the resulting sight: the grown man now sitting on the edge of the bunk, helplessly clutching a sealed snack in mittened paws.

"Sorry," smiled Lee, stepping over and unwrapping it for his injured friend. "And I think it's got raisins; but it's all I have…"

"It's perfect," assured Baresi, as he tried to savor the large bites his clumsy hands almost made necessary.

"How long's it been since you were in uniform, on a ship, Runaway?" Thrace re-entered the conversation, as she rattled around in her own locker. "And I don't mean box forts on the playground."

"Never mind Fleet décor," sighed Ran, ignoring what was likely to be a critical end to the innocuous question. Instead, his covering and craving needs met, he slowly rolled out prone on the lower bunk. "I can't remember the last time I slept on any mattress. Actually, on anything except a floor or economy seating."

"If that weren't my bunk, I'd offer to leave you alone for a few minutes with it…," chuckled Lee, at the only slightly exaggerated grin on Ran's face, as he relished the forgotten comfort.

Kara rolled her eyes at the innocent intention behind Lee's suggestive banter, especially given the interaction partner. In an act of mercy, she decided not to pick at that irony directly, but rather pull at threads in the larger situation. "How do you think the Old Man's gonna like have a few dozen jamhands running around his ship?"

"He knows they're here only until we can find somewhere else to put them," grinned Lee. Seeing an opportunity to turn her trouble-seeking efforts back on her, he asked, "Are you volunteering to help? That little girl and her doll seemed to love you on the flight deck…"

"Just because some three-feet tall ball of snot and sugar needs recognizes the awesomeness standing before her-" she gestured to herself- "Does not mean that I am interested, or obliged, to indulge my many fans. Besides, their fearless leader is your groupie, not mine," she fired back.

"I'd bet that Ran could find some space for one more, oversized child in the class," joked Lee. "Though I don't know that he'd like the idea of intentionally adding a delinquent to his cohort. Would you Ran?" Lee asked, as they turned to the guest.

Rather than responding, the discussed teacher lay silently in the CAG's bunk, eyes closed and mouth open, breathing the slow, steady rhythm of a deep sleep.

Elbowing Lee, Kara asked in an automatic whisper, though with exaggerated irritation, "Don't his brats need him for the night?"

"I think they can probably survive one sleep while he gets a good rest," decided Lee as he gently pulled the candy bar remnants from Ran's bandaged fingers, pulled off his cracked glasses, and tousled his hair affectionately.

Setting the glasses on the table, and downing the last bite of the energy bar, he mused, "I've never thought about these bunks as comfortable, but this is probably the best sleep he's gotten in a while…"

"I'll say…," Kara sneered, as she continuing undressing toward a well-earned shower. "He's wearing your clothes, nestled in your bed, and you just tucked him in. He couldn't be happier unless you crawled in there with him."

Lee stopped short as he too prepped for bed, though he'd intended in a different rack than she suggested, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Reality Actual to Apollo? He's been hot for you ever since I've known you both."

"Kara, he's one of my best friends, like a brother. We're close as friends, but that's it. Besides, he has… had someone."

"Lee, I like him; he's a great guy. Really. He's been through a lot recently, like we all have, and now he's got you again –you've got each other. I'm happy for you," she sneered with a genuinely mocking tone, before running out the door with towel and toiletries in hand, clearly wanting the last word.

Lee smirked after her, and then realized he was alone and all but naked in front of Ran. Starbuck's words echoing in his head, he unthinkingly covered himself, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of Ran's gaze, even hypothetical.

The next morning, Baresi was already gone when rise-and-shine sounded in the pilots' bunk. As the other pilots stretched, scratched and then stumbled out into the day, Lee and Kara tried not to seem too interested in the empty CAG's bunk.

Sharing a well-rested "morning" with the caboose of the head-headed line of pilots, a wet, shirtless and open-flyed Terran grinned at the remaining friends as they gathered their bathroom gear. Lee hurriedly pulled on his own top, while Kara took her time standing in her bra and briefs.

"Looks like you had a good shower, or a good time, teach," she observed suggestively.

"Well, it was really more a get-wet-and-towel-off, as I can't do much with these," Ran explained, holding up his still-bandaged hands. "And the lens on my glasses fell out, so I'm completely short one good eye and two good hands. Not too bad, I guess, considering… I guess this is how daggets feel all the time," he added, putting up his hands and sticking his tongue out in imitation.

Lee smiled mechanically, while Kara rolled her eyes in judgment.

Having entered the room on Lee's side of the central table, Ran asked him, "I could get the shirt off eventually with my paws, but don't have the dexterity to pull it back on damp by myself. So I don't go back to the kids half-naked again, could I get some help?" He intended to ask about the pants zipper less publically.

Lee hesitated noticeably before suggesting, "Kara, why don't you take a turn at being hospitable?"

Enjoying the disconnect playing out before her, she demurred, "Oh, I wouldn't want to come between you two… friends." And then stuck her head deep into her bunk looking for nothing.

Sensing something up, but not realizing what or how serious, Ran held his hands out to Lee plaintively.

With clear resignation, Lee took the shirt and pulled it none too gently over Ran's outstretched arms and then head. Quickly gathering his own bath gear, he narrated for Baresi without making eye contact, "Your class is having breakfast in the enlisted mess this morning, if you'd like to catch them. The President has asked that you attend a briefing at 0800; I'm sure my father would also like to see you there. CIC can give you details. I've got some things I need to take care of before then; so I'll see you both later." And was gone.

Emerging from her bunk, Kara tried poorly to look like she had not noticed the abrupt departure.

Baresi looked after Lee, surprised by and a little offended at the gruff treatment. He was less surprised by Thrace's intentional inattention, and decided against asking for her help with his slacks. "What was that about? Did I do something?"

"Well it's not like he could be in his bunk with you playing sleepover party in it," she suggested and reminded him simultaneously.

"I didn't mean to conk out. And either of you could have woken me," Ran defended.

"But you just looked so precious having your little naptime…" she baby-talked at him.

Professionally trained to handle childish behavior, Ran redirected to the core issue with a calm voice and pleasant expression. "As I seem to have missed something important, would you please tell me what's going on?"

"Oh come on, Ran; is it that hard to figure out? Or just to admit?"

He sighed and shrugged, "I'm a science teacher, not a religious oracle."

"Funny, I thought you'd been an Apollo worshipper for years," she stage whispered.

A wave of insight passed over his face; and he pursed his lips as he decided whether and how to engage her veiled accusations and not-so-hidden defensiveness. "Well, I guess that makes two of us," he fired back, finally showing some fire in his voice.

"What?" she tried to downplay the affront she nonetheless felt.

He walked over and nodded toward the photo of Kara, Zak Adama and Lee pinned inside her locker. "Even with one good eye, I recognize the photo, Kara; I took it. Do you love him?" he asked, pointing to the folded under edge, where he knew the older brother to be. "Do you?"

Kara gaped, then bit her lip in a mix of shock, denial and indecision, finally dismissing harshly, "No."

"Then in addition to mean-spirited, that also makes you an idiot."

Thrace tensed in automatic reaction to the insult, while Baresi stood his ground, eyebrows up in open invitation to strike. "I've got glasses and bound hands, Kara; go ahead and prove nothing." When she hesitated, he confided, "Yes, I love Lee; after Pol, he was my best friend, my brother. If the gods are merciful, the man who loved me died quickly; and I won't get to tell him again how much I do love him. Don't miss your chance."

Tossing his borrowed towel into the laundry bin, he pushed past her, letting his challenge hang as she finally relaxed from her fight stance, slammed her locker and headed to the head.

Outside the space carrier, amidst the ragtag fleet, the mood was considerably less tense, even if the temperature was much colder.

"So, Winger, did you specifically request the playmate to make CAP less scary for you?" mocked the lead viper pilot.

"Can it, T-Bone," replied her wingman.(2) "You're just jealous the deck crew doesn't outfit your bird with all the comforts of home."

"I don't know what you mean. When I arrived at work, my flight suit had been turned down for me, there was a nice chocolate on my seat; and it's clear my instrument panel has been thoroughly dusted since the last guest. There's even a whiff of 'new viper' scent in the cockpit…"

Winger stuck her tongue out and danced the blue check-glad doll at her colleague through the canopy, when their wireless crackled with Lt Gaeta's voice, "Galactica to CAP. Flight deck suggests your 'stowaway' must have been left by the kids from the passenger cruiser that toured the hangar last night. Request you treat your guest well; we'll return to owner when your patrol's done."

"Acknowledged, Galactica," grinned Winger. "We'll give her the royal tour, and bring her home safely."

"Just don't let her steer," added T-Bone. "You're dangerous enough on your own."

"I love you," a sweet, scratchy, automated voice mocked again over his headset.

"I guess this will make for a great story in the ready room; and it's already kept us entertained for more than half an hour this morning…"

Another "Will you be my friend?" was followed by muffled laughter.

Or this could be a really long rest of shift, he realized.

Just then a flash of light ahead of them caught both pilots' eyes. A second burst of light burned brighter and closer before consuming Winger's viper in an explosion that bounced debris off her close-following squadron mate.

"Holy frak!" shouted T-Bone as the glare faded and he nearly collided with an oncoming Cylon raider. Recovering his wits and instinctive roll-away enough to flip his control stick around, as CIC chatter went wild in his ears, he managed to see the same Raider fire off a handful of scattering missiles before it blinked back out of existence.

Violent flares from the side of four different civilian ships confirmed it would indeed be a really long shift.

NOTE

1. Per Battlestarwiki, the viper with this designation survived the Battle of Ragnar Anchorage (Miniseries Part 2), but was not definitively seen or mentioned afterwards.

2. Both these pilot callsigns were referenced in 33 (BSG 1.1), but never again.