Event Horizon: Defiance

by setivalen

AU, beginning with "missing year" on New Caprica. Different leadership is in place on Galactica and Pegasus as the invasion/occupation is about to begin. Multi-arc story, covering occupation through to discovery of Earth and final conflict with Cylons.

7. Ch 7: Prayers and Lamentations

Chapter 7: Prayers and Lamentations

Chapter 7: Prayers and Lamentations

"…we do pray for mercy; and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy." Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare

"I was numb…for you I come…night and day…and I can't stay away, no, I can't stay away." I Can't Stay Away, The Veronicas

Sit Rep: Pegasus, Seven Weeks After New Caprica Occupation

Lee was in the Commander's ready room, pouring over the ships' reports and updated tactics diagrams. He rubbed his eyes in consternation, then stretched up in he chair to put his hands behind his head and arch his chest out, willing the frustrations to ebb. As he sat upright again, he reflected on how his father's days must have been, when the whole fleet was still together and in perpetual motion. There were so many factors—resources, psychological dynamics on crowded ships, shortages in certain skill areas, boredom for some while others threatened to crack from the pressure of relentless work, repairs, the need to find raw materials...not to mention medical needs, legal matters, and education. It was a floating nation—a nation at war, threatened by enemy attacks even as it tried to find a pulse, a rhythm that could be sustained. He shook his head, sighing at the visible mishmash in front of him, struggling to bring structure to what amounted to a puzzle made of liquids—free-flowing, taking the shape of whatever surrounded it, slippery and ephemeral.

Knowing he had the training and intellect to cut a swath through the murky waters, Lee resolutely reviewed the documents before him. He began categorizing by the types of decisions required, then prioritized within each section, delegating to members of the Rescue Strategy Group or to the civilian captains. When relevant, Lee noted his decisions and next steps, or made recommendations; he forced himself to limit the parameters informing his actions. Apollo was finally beginning to trust his instincts, knowing when to obtain additional information and when to make the call. He smiled for a split second, thinking about his father—what he would perceive of Lee now. I've made my choice, Dad—finally decided which side I'm on. I actually chose the yoke of military leadership—just as you hoped I would. Will it actually make a difference?

Running his fingers through his hair, triggering his mind to re-engage with the tasks at hand, he analyzed the tactical schematics and tried to absorb the confluence of resources needed to make the strategy come to life. At the time of the Occupation, there were 170 vipers between Pegasus and Galactica, and only 50 pilots. The RSG had determined 350 pilot recruits would be needed to ensure a minimum of 250 completed training; that was leaving little margin for shift coverage and pilot losses incurred over time. Two hundred vipers would be necessary to pull off the attack sweeps, defense maneuvers, and rescue cover, along with 30 raptors for transport of people and supplies. The RSG had the required raptor ship contingent, at least, though recruiting would need to fill out the pilot ranks here as well.

To reach target goals, the RSG had to locate the raw materials to build additional vipers and ammunition. Fuel was another key consideration—not only for the ships in space, but the ships on the ground. During the settlement on New Caprica, it had been determined the mining and refining vessels would not survive a planet entry, given they had never been designed for a ground landing; it meant Lee now had the ability to mine and refine tyrillium, if a source could be located. Captain Michael Larsen of the ship Euripides had proven to be invaluable as part of the RSG; working with the rest of the fleet's captains, he'd been able to locate a planetary geologist. The geologist was currently reviewing chart data and spectroscopy readings to determine likely planets for tyrillium; coordinating with Tigh, she'd calculated it would take three weeks to mine and refine sufficient quantities for the rescue mission and the reintegration, providing fuel for 20 jumps with the projected full fleet contingent. The geologist had also been charged with finding water and vegetation targets, though Lee believed tyrillium was the critical component, given the length of advance time needed. He hoped the defense battle plan would give the military a window of opportunity, when on New Caprica, to secure fresh water and food stores, relieving the urgency to locate those resources ahead of time.

Which left the most daunting challenge to be addressed: obtaining the raw materials and finding the right people to build another 20 or 30 vipers. The Pegasus, a flag warship, had been designed to support not only viper repairs, but actual ship building. Captain Larsen, working with Major Parker, the Resources Officer, had been gathering leads on where to scrounge up metal scrap and wiring; so far, approximately 20 vipers could be built with the components collected. The next hurdle: finding mechanics and welders with knowledge and talent to complete the actual construction. Lee had assigned that job to Kat and Racetrack, since they had the most vested interest in the ship-building results. There were seven military equipment construction personnel who'd remained on Galactica and Pegasus. Captain Larsen believed at least 40 more were needed to complete the ships in any reasonable time table, and even then, additional equipment would need to be built in order to construct the ships.

His chest constricting, Apollo forced himself to take ten deep breaths. It was so easy to skip ahead, let anxiety take hold…he struggled to see how to reach the end goal, with so many time-consuming steps stretching into the future. He would need to lean harder on Racetrack and Kat to pick up the pace in screening for pilots, as well as for knuckle-draggers. There was a great deal of manual work to be done in assembling vipers from scratch, and training for that many pilot groups would take at least two months. Two months. How many settlers would die in that time? Could his father hold on that long? Could Kara? It would mean four months of occupation…and four months could feel like four years, if the conditions were severe enough. It was long enough to lose yourself, forget what you stood for, forget what you hoped for your future…Lee knew it painfully well. A sudden flash of memory shuddered through him…gurney jerking across the pavement as the medical transport from Eos landed on Caprica; flashes of his father's face; harsh lights shining in his eyes as the gurney wheels skated along the halls to the hospital room; pain gripping him every minute of every day afterward, as he moved through physical rehabilitation. "Enough!" he shouted aloud, banishing the Eos memories to the background again.

"Uhhhh….Commander? Are you free? It sounded like you were talking to someone…"

"Just myself, Lieutenant Agathon. Normal for today…is it time for our run already?" Lee was beginning to wonder if he would ever be able to keep track of time again, given his record over the past 24 hours.

"Yeah—I had a feeling you'd still be here, so I thought I'd swing by, then we could hit the lockers and take the sweep of the ship at our usual pace." Helo was grinning; he and Lee tended to run quickly, and the other crew members had taken to calling them the "Nike twins."

"Let's go—this operational stuff is driving me mad. I need to work this excess energy off."

After a short stop to change, the two men hit the main corridor, listening to one another's feet until the rhythm fully established itself.

"So, Lee, what'd the doc have to say?"

Lee chuckled. "That I should get laid…"

"Come again?"

"Nothing…just a string of wisdom gems Cottle thought to share…he said it's probably the interrupted sleep, and the lack of rest in general, that led to my current symptoms."

"Uh-huh. Interrupted sleep, eh? Having dreams?"

"Yeah. Maybe even while awake…" Lee wanted to ask Karl a few questions, but had decided he wasn't going to share the whole story about the Priestess…not even half of the whole.

Karl looked at him for a moment as they continued the run. "Okay, Apollo, not funny—you can't say something like that and then let it fade!"

"I did something. Something uncharacteristic for me. I saw a Priestess yesterday."

"Well, Lee, a little prayer wouldn't hurt anyone right—"

"No, not in the official temple."

"Oh. Oh…"

"Yeah, I know. We'll skip over the part on how I ended up deciding to do it, and we'll move along past the actual words she said to me—"

"No, you don't….you don't get to leave out all of the details, Lee. How can I help if—"

"Just listen, Karl, okay? I will share the 'prophecy'…maybe…another time. I still need to process it myself now, and if I said—well, you might think I was unfit for duty, if you heard me try to describe the conversation."

"Fair enough…as if I have a choice." Karl smiled; he was willing to accept Lee's assessment on faith for the moment.

"But I do have two questions I wanted to ask, since I've certainly been thinking about things after my encounter with the Priestess." Lee pulled out of the jog, slowing to a walk so he could breathe more easily while he talked. Karl did the same.

Staring straight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact, Lee posed the first question. "How do you know when you've hit 'destiny'—that you're doing what you've always been meant to do, were born to do?"

Helo stopped in his tracks, his jaw slack. "Wow, Apollo. That's a really heavy question for this hour of the morning…isn't that more of a 'gee, we're drunk, let's discuss the meaning of life' type question?" He wanted to support his leader and emerging friend, but it was hard to know where to go with an opener like that…

"I…maybe, but I'm sober and I want a sober response from you. Please, Karl—it's unusual to ask, I realize, but it's important." He studied the man's eyes, hoping for the insights Helo usually grasped so easily.

Helo nodded and started walking again. "I guess…it's never been as—well, you're a bit more complex than I am, in that regard, Lee—I never had the same expectations placed on me, so it was easier to 'hear' myself early on in life." Lee glanced at Karl, grateful for his sensitivity.

"I can tell you what the feeling's like, if that's any help…it's a calm certainty. There's no questioning, no analysis, no anxiety, not even a feeling of wanting to rush forward to get to 'it,' whatever that is. You feel…well, you feel peace, I guess. Centered and whole. Energized, but at the same time, willing to take things as they come to reach the goals ahead."

"…I'm not sure…no, I can say with clarity, I haven't experienced that yet."

"Really? Because Kara said—"

"Kara—what's Kara got to do with this?" There was a strange look in Lee's eyes—fear and recognition and want churning together.

"Kara talked with me, sometimes, about how she met you, what you were like before…"

"Before Zak's death."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Lee; I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's fine, Karl—honestly. But it wasn't just Zak's death; it was the impact of the Eos mission." Lee resisted the impulse to start running again, feeling the anxiety growing like a virus within.

"The Eos mission? I…other than those photos you have, Lee, I've never heard you—or anyone else—talk about it."

"And I'm not going to start now." Lee's voice was cold and sharp.

"No problem…your conversation, remember?" Helo was puzzled; he wasn't sure what any of this was about, and the situation was beginning to feel laden with unspoken meanings he wanted to unravel or block out, he wasn't confident which yet.

"So, what was it Kara said?"

"She talked about how on fire you were when you gave those lectures at the Academy; passionate, confident, humming with energy and purpose. Starbuck loved the way your eyes widened as you described tactical maneuvers and battle strategies."

Lee paused, resting his back against the metal wall. His voice was muted when he spoke. "I was…she was…you're right, Karl. I did feel that centeredness you describe, back then. It was so long ago, I'd forgotten." He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself the luxury of remembering that night, when he'd been with her, soaked up her scent in his skin, joined with her. He had been certain of his "destiny" that next morning—military leader and soul-mate to Kara Thrace. Only the two had proved mutually exclusive…hadn't they?

"So, the current question is, what would it take for you to find that feeling again?" Karl put his hand on Lee's shoulder, offering his silent support to help the man get there.

"I…I'm at a loss with that, Karl. I know—" tears suddenly leapt into Lee's throat; he had to stop, pull it back in. Exhaling a loud sigh, Lee opened his eyes and stood straight, moving forward in a walk again.

"You've helped me, Karl. I'm going to stop there for now, and hope we can pick up this part of the conversation at a later time, after I've had a chance to think through your insights." Helo said nothing; no matter his curiosity, it would be of no help to push Lee Adama to talk further. He wasn't good at articulating his inner workings to anyone; Karl was surprised they'd made this much progress in a discussion.

"So, here's the second question…"

Karl looked startled that Lee was pressing forward, but gestured his encouragement.

"Do you think Kara can ever love herself?"

"Oh, man, Apollo—that is definitely a 'drinking buddies' kind of question. What the frak did that Priestess say, anyway—she really tapped some nerves!"

"Helo, please, just…what do you believe?"

"I…Lee, I can't answer…I don't honestly know how to answer you. I'm her best friend, but she's…ineffable. Her childhood taught her about fear, about anger, about self-loathing. She is infinitely loveable—but she doesn't see that. Could she ever find—well, centeredness, peace, the space to accept the whole of herself? I'm not sure."

"That's what I thought." Lee shook his head; again, he wondered, how could a god supposedly give his essence to a creature so tortured and lost? Lee, frak me—you don't even believe in any of this…

"Karl—"

"Wait, Lee. I want…I feel prompted to tell you something else." Apollo stopped, his body trembling internally for unknown reasons as he faced Karl.

"Go ahead, Karl."

"You—if anyone could help her get there, it would be you."

"Gods, Helo—why would you say that?"

"Because…because you are the embodiment of your namesake, your call sign, more than you realize. You are a healer, Apollo; you can break the cycle. It's your faith in her, and hers in you."

Lee was breathing shallowly, marveling at how Helo's words echoed those of the Priestess. "Helo, you're frakkin' wrong. You have to be. She sees you as her best friend, sees Sam as—" he couldn't bring himself to say it. "Even my father…I think he's had more faith in her than in me. I can't be anybody's savior..."

Helo gripped Lee's arm painfully, bringing them both to a sudden halt. "Godsdamnit, Apollo, there you go again, into that frakkin' hole of self-doubt and self-pity. Enough. Enough!" Lee stood there, bewildered by Karl's sudden anger.

Realizing he was handling his commanding officer, Helo dropped his grip. "I'm…sorry. It's just—you can be so frustrating, sometimes, exactly like Kara. The two of you—one day, the two of you need to share your childhood stories—every godsdamned detail. And then you need to help each other forgive and heal. It's no wonder neither of you can figure out your 'destiny'-there's so much noise inside, too much tousling between mind and body, heart and soul. Then, while you're at it, you both should lay out the other details—the things that happened between that last lecture at the Academy and the day Kara married Sam on New Caprica."

It was Lee's turn to grip Helo's arm too tightly. "What—you know something…something you're not saying…"

"I know a great deal. And it isn't my place to 'say' anything. To you or to her. But I will tell you one thing I'm sure of: Kara won't manifest her true talents until she deals with her baggage. You, my friend, have been destined for greatness—larger-than-life, historical greatness—and won't manifest that either until you deal with your baggage. We all need—our survival depends on—Lee and Kara getting their crap together. Can you do that?" Karl's tone was firm and loud; he was being too bold, forgetting his place, and he didn't care. Lee needed to come to terms with some things, pull out of himself, fight to break the chains holding him back.

"Do you really believe I'm…destined for…"

"Yes, damnit Lee, I really do. So does Sharon. So does your father—it's one of the reasons he always pushed you so hard."

Apollo took Karl's hand, squeezing it before hugging him with a quick slap on the back. "Thank you." They had arrived at Lee's quarters, and it was time to move on to the planned duties of the day.

"You okay?" Helo felt strange leaving Lee at this juncture in the conversation.

"Yeah, fine. Better. We'll…I know I'll want to talk more with you, given a little time. I appreciate—I know why Kara trusts you as her closest friend." Apollo smiled warmly; his admiration for his XO was increasing steadily over time.

"I'm heading to the Galactica today, for meetings with Tigh and Dee. I'll be back in time for CIC watch."

The men parted; when Lee managed to get inside the hatch to his room, he sank back into the couch and let the tears work their way through his body. He wondered if this was a permanent change, crying so much; it wasn't aligned with any leadership model he'd heard of. But it meant something: he was feeling again, and emerging from the numbness that had defined his life for far too long.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sit Rep: Pegasus, Ten Weeks After New Caprica Occupation

Lee watched the dradis intently, listening to the newly graduated nuggets work on the maneuvers for the initial wave of planet penetration. Kat was having them practice the decoy runs first, and it wasn't going well.

Helo had insisted two of the Pegasus pilots, Captain Simmons and Lieutenant Valroy, were the right people to recruit and train the nuggets—Lee had his doubts, preferring the two CAGs to take over the responsibilities. Helo, with Tigh's agreement, had argued the CAGs must focus all of their time on plotting maneuvers, then guiding the nuggets in the cockpits to execute the different mission steps. A three-week training program had been developed by Simmons and Valroy to start growing the ranks of the pilots rapidly. Lee clenched his teeth reflecting on the training; the idea of viper pilots flying missions after three weeks seemed ridiculous to his logical mind, but they had little choice. Precious months were slipping by, and it would do no good to have a precision rescue plan but no one left alive to rescue.

The first four classes, run in tandem over the past six weeks, had just "graduated," if it could be called that. So far, Lee wasn't impressed with Simmons' and Valroy's work—basic military formations were missed, they couldn't trap well, and the refueling process had been disastrous. Kat's voice told him she was disgusted with the nuggets right now, and Racetrack sounded just as fed up.

Looking over at Helo, Lee decided he needed to split the difference in training approach. "Captain Agathon, please have Simmons and Valroy report with you to the Situation Room in five." He picked up the com next, to talk to the pilots. "This is Commander Adama. Racetrack and Kat—come back to the barn and meet in the Situation Room in fifteen; Hotdog, Seelix, and Tightwire, divide into three flight groups and work on strafing maneuvers, then one-on-one defensive tactics."

Walking into the Situation Room, Lee saw Simmons and Valroy standing, with Helo in the corner studying his boots intently. "At ease, men," Lee stated evenly. "Walk me through the military formations you've covered with the nuggets." For the next 20 minutes, the flight instructors reviewed the film footage, testing, and manuals being used. As Racetrack and Kat joined, Lee asked them to take notes, then share thoughts on what corrections or additions needed to be made. For the next three hours, the group hashed out the structure and flow of the training, working on how to maximize the learning time. Lee and Helo agreed the nuggets needed to get into cockpits from the first week; it was taking too long for them to get their space legs and develop a feel for the machine. Lee insisted, for the groups already trained, Kat and Racetrack would should go back and spend another week reviewing key military maneuvers and formations with them, helping the nuggets recognize the types of flight runs all of the pilots would be expected to execute during the rescue mission itself.

Satisfied, finally, with the direction of the plans, Lee looked directly at Simmons and Valroy.

"I know this is challenging, even daunting. Thirty thousand people on New Caprica, and ten thousand colonials up here are counting on us, however, to exceed the bar—it's likely to be an all-or-nothing proposition. We cannot fail in this, or everything of the past 18 months will have been for nothing—no humanity left, no future. I am entrusting you with the core of our mission—getting our pilots ready for battle. See that you honor that trust; you have the skill, and I'm confident the two of you will make sure we don't have any other experiences like today." Surveying the wider room, he nodded at the door and said "Dismissed."

Helo lingered behind, and Apollo remained seated, to give attention to his XO. "What's on your mind, Helo?"

"I've been reviewing the battle plans. Some slick moves in there, Commander—but do you think—"

"Do I believe we can get pilots who are skilled enough to execute?" Karl sighed in response.

"Actually, I do; I have confidence Racetrack and Kat will get them the rest of the way. It will be razor-thin timing; we may not believe the attack runs are meshing well until we're ready to jump back to New Caprica."

"Agreed. Kat's come into her own as a CAG, hasn't she—I wouldn't have thought she could pull it out with this much strength, but she has." Karl was genuinely impressed with Kat's skills.

"She's a lot like Starbuck; maybe that's why they disliked each other so much." Lee smiled slightly, and Helo did as well.

"Is that why you like her?"

Lee hitched his breath. "What?"

"As your CAG, Lee—gods, what did you think I meant?"

"I didn't think you meant anything, Karl, I'd…just lost my…train of thought for a second. Yeah, that's why I like Kat in the role—she's got the right mix of tough and kind, guiding and directing." Anxious to change the subject, Lee realized Helo hadn't talked about the real reason he was still sitting in the room.

"So, out with it, XO."

"There's a contingency we've missed in the overall battle plans, and I want to discuss it with you. It's possible that…we need to prepare for the likelihood we could lose one of the battlestars."

Lee studied his hands for a moment, fingers steepled, forehead tense. "I had considered it…but I wasn't sure it would do any good to worry the others."

"We're at war, Apollo—they know the odds."

"Intellectually, yes. But psychologically—there are superstitious people aboard these ships, Helo. If I put out a plan with that contingency, we'd be accused of sabotaging our chances, putting that idea out there for the gods to grab hold and use."

"I figured that was your reasoning. So we won't 'put it out there'—we'll keep it within the RSG for the time being. But it has to be addressed, Lee."

Adama studied his XO's features. "Gut feeling?"

"Gods forgive me…yes."

"Draw them up then, Karl, and I'll take a look to add my thoughts. There are different considerations, depending on which ship—"

"I know. I'll cover both scenarios."

"Good. Are you…are we finished for the moment? I have to check in with Tigh on a few things."

"Ready to go. Don't forget the workout session at 1800—Kat and I thought climbing would be a great activity." Karl was grinning; he liked the implied analogy, given the odds they were facing each day.

Lee groaned. "I'll be there. I'm sure, after an afternoon with Tigh, I'll be ready to let off some steam anyway."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was 2100 hours; Apollo was sore and exhausted from the extensive repelling practice. He wanted to get some sleep; it had been difficult at first, but Lee had managed to find six hours, most nights, to stick with his pledge to Dr. Cottle. Tonight, however, wasn't looking good for meeting the goal. He'd just finished reading another chapter of some obscure legal drama story his father had kept on Galactica, and practiced two or three jump calculations manually, adhering to another component of Cottle's prescription. Normally, it would have been time to hit the rack, but tonight, he'd agreed to meet up with Kat in the Situation Room to review a new entry strategy she'd developed for the on-ground operations. Lee had been reluctant, at first, but Kat was excited to share the tactical surprises in the plan, and he didn't want to discourage her.

Putting on his fatigues, he poured a glass of water and sat in the large chair in his bedroom, rubbing his forehead with his right hand to force the tension between his eyes to subside. He was pretty sure he was going to feel more tension by the time the meeting was over; his sexual fantasies about Kat had been more frequent, over the past week, and he was fighting to control impulses. It was insane to allow himself to fantasize about her—she was an officer, reporting to him. And denying yourself the pleasures of intimacy because of fraternization regs had been such a good idea with Kara—that's how you lost her to Zak, and then to Sam. He stood up, shaking the recriminations off. No time for wallowing any more—Helo had been right about that.

Walking towards the main deck, Lee considered the reasons his feelings for Luanne were developing at all. It was primarily because she made him laugh, and it felt so good to rediscover humor, no matter how black or silly it might be. You and Kara laughed so easily together, before she went back to Caprica and met Sam… Gods, it was hard to believe how his mind worked, sometimes.

As Lee stepped into the Situation Room, watching Kat setting up the models on the war table, he remembered the other reason she was so appealing: her enthusiasm. Kat had passion, lived by her instincts, and when she was excited or pissed, she knew exactly why and expressed it freely. He envied her that; after all these years, he still had a "stick up his ass," as Kara so fondly reminded him in the past.

Spotting Apollo in the room, Kat gestured for him to come over to the table. As she began animatedly explaining how she'd come up with a strategy to deceive the Cylon basestars' sensors, create a distraction, and get troops on the ground, Lee felt feverish—her energy was infectious, and suddenly he wanted more of something. More of her.

Kat was moving the models to show the finer points of the tactical maneuvers, and Lee stepped up behind her to get a better view of the battle lines. Without conscious thought, he found himself standing close enough to disrupt her hair slightly as he let out each breath. He trembled; he was about to cross a line, a line self-respecting Commanders didn't cross. His desire, however, was beginning to actually overwhelm him. Placing his hands lightly on her hips, he breathed into her left ear before placing his lips softly below the earlobe, kissing her there and then sliding his lips and tongue lightly backwards down her neck, at an angle. He felt her shiver, heard a small moan escape, encouraging him to give into the madness of his sexual hunger.

He moved back to her ear, and slid his tongue around the inner curves. Kat turned her head back to find his mouth, and he moved a hand to her jaw, fully kissing her. "Gods," he moaned, as he started exploring with his tongue in earnest, pressing deep into her mouth. He pulled her to face him, and pushed her against the table, rubbing his erection impatiently against her thigh. She slid her hands under his tank, stroking his chest and then his back.

Thrusting his hands into her wild, curly mane of hair, he moaned loudly as hers slid over his hard shaft. Roughly, with a feralness that gripped him with unsettling strength, he dragged her tanks over her head so he could suck her nipples freely and run his hands deep between her legs. Lee felt how wet she was, smelled her sexual arousal, and after struggling with the waist button of her pants, frustrated, he broke the zipper. Ripping the pants open just to be able to touch her slick center, he eagerly slid his fingers deeply into her as he massaged her in the right spot with his thumb. She was shaking, grabbing his hair, reaching to get his pants undone and off him.

Kat's hands moved down Lee's torso, pulling and stroking; Lee's head fell to her shoulder as his breath caught and he almost lost control. She rubbed the lubricated head with the tips of her fingers, knowing he was already close, and then fell to her knees, pulling his full length into her mouth in one move. He cried out, unable to check himself; he'd been so hungry for the contact, for her, for frakking with abandon. After a few minutes of the heat around his shaft, he pulled her up by her hair, almost violently, and turned her body so her ass pressed into him. He slid himself along her backside, reveling in her skin and the feel of her ass, as he wound his hands around the front, playing with her nipples and stroking her to climax. She shuddered, with an intense guttural sound escaping her mouth as she came for the first time. Lee pushed her forward on the table, to get the needed angle, and thrust himself into her with a loud groan of pleasure and relief. He thrust again, hard into her, gripping her hips roughly as he gave himself over to the wild sensation of frakking recklessly. Her pelvis slid harshly against the table edge, and she could feel another orgasm coming in a frightening wave. Lee groaned loudly, driving deep with each push into her, then let out an anguished howl as he finally came, plunging himself in again and again to milk the climax for as long as he could ride it, his mind exploding in color as he let the intensity of his release flood each region of his body.

He finally leaned over her back, pressing her chest against the table, struggling for air and to regain some sense of normal mental awareness. They both stood up; He wrapped his strong arms tightly around her chest and stomach, as she was still shaking, and he felt her legs start to weaken, so he guided her body to lean into him. He continued to embrace her, letting the warmth of their bodies wash over him. For some reason, as he listened to her gasp for air too, felt her trembling, he was compelled to whisper, "shhhh, it's alright, it's alright" into her ear. Concentrating on what to say, since neither had spoken a word after he'd kissed her neck, he braced her for a second, hugging her a little closer, as he whispered her name: "Louanne…" She startled, and seemed to want to begin talking; instead, Lee covered her mouth gently-- "no, please, let me get it out first."

As Kat nodded slightly, he dropped his hand back around her waist and moved in close to her ear, exhaling his warm breath in slow, easy measures. "Louanne, I know how this probably looks, but I … this wasn't just so I could 'get off.' '' He waited, wondering how much to confess, and found himself just laying it out. "I like being with you. I've fantasized for the past weeks how it would feel to kiss you—take you." He paused; she wasn't trembling any more. She began caressing his arm around her waist; he decided to push the rest of the words out. "I know I'm not in a position to ask or offer anything, but I really want to keep seeing you…I want you intensely." He'd surprised himself by the last statement, as his voice rumbled low and heated over the words.

She turned around, brushing him with her whole body. His leapt up to attention immediately, and he found himself taking her tongue into his mouth again, hungry—insatiable hunger. Gods, Lee thought, when did his body become so wired, like he was nineteen again? Kat gave as good as she got, gripping his hair while holding him closer. He swung his arms around and splayed his hands across her lower torso, to arch her backwards—he could picture them, Sam and Kara, in the same form—and then she felt how hard he was, stroking him, and he was in the present, only, letting himself feel pleasure—hell, feel everything and anything at all.

"Let's take this back to my quarters, Lieutenant, so I can see your strategies with more time to appreciate them…" he smirked. They hastily dressed, some sloppy semblance of their former appearance, and he moved stealthily towards his room, whispering for her to move when he could see no one coming down the hall. As soon as his hatch closed, Lee's hands were everywhere on her, and he was tasting, licking, caressing every inch of Kat's skin.

Throughout the night, he would sleep for an hour, then brush against her body and be swept up again and again in the fierce appetite that seemed to grip him. When he was able to think, in between the waves of hunger, he admitted he was startled by it all—he hadn't found this kind of stamina since his Academy days, and he hadn't been sure it was still even possible. The wanton desire—was he just that starved for sex? Had he been going through the motions for so long he didn't realize he wasn't getting any pleasure from being with Dee? That didn't fit, somehow; though he had lost a lot of interest in sex, deep into his depression, he hadn't denied it from his wife, and he did always escape, however briefly, in the release. It just hadn't lasted for more than a few minutes, before the weight crashed into his chest again.

Kat punched his arm, letting him know she was awake, shaking him from his thoughts. A little eerily, and not for the first time in the past few months, she seemed to verbally answer his mental uncertainties.

"Those primal urges you've got, Apollo--it's about connecting to the core, y'know? We have to feel we're really alive. Food is – what's that word—'sustenance,' but it isn't sustaining. You found that out the hard way…" she smacked his ass.

"Only three things that make you feel really connected and grateful for just being alive—flying, sex, and a taking a good dump in the morning!" She laughed, and he shook his head at her coarseness—it made him cringe but somehow it also made him relaxed.

Kat needed no pretenses from anyone. Lee could be as rough and crass as he ever dreamed of being—he could be imperfect, greedy, emotional even—and she'd never think twice about it—there was a type of freedom she offered in that, and it was somehow as heady as swooping a viper into the inkiness of space.

Suddenly, she looked at him and said, "nope, there are four things, 'cause a hot shower is better than a great frak, depending on the day." He had to tickle her in agreement, laughing loudly at her squirming and cursing. He then moved on top of her and got lost in his primal urges once more. They both winced, raw from so much activity in a short period, but nothing stopped him once he was in the grip again.

After Apollo finally passed out in earnest, Kat shifted on her back, to try to make sense of the past hours too. Before Apollo had finally said something, back in the Situation Room, she'd been stricken for a moment. She realized she wanted him, badly, and there were so many reasons to think he just needed to get laid, a one-time release that a lot of soldiers sought out in the stress of war. But Apollo rarely did something casually; he didn't know how to stay on the surface of anything. When he told Kat he'd been wanting her for some time, she believed him. For whatever reason, he did enjoy time with her—she'd felt that a lot, growing bit by bit as each week went by.

Kat was a pragmatic person; she didn't dwell on love or marriage or entanglements. Clean, simple, direct-line relationships were her style, and she was pretty sure that's what Apollo could handle right now. He might be able to genuinely care about someone, but he wasn't about to fall in love, and neither was she. With an estranged wife and the love of his life married to someone else, Apollo had complexity aplenty; just maybe, though, what he needed, in this space of time, was something clean and simple. Why the man gave his heart to either of those women was beyond her; they'd both trampled on his, showing little respect for the gift of himself he'd made, particularly to Thrace. Still, he was intense and layered; she wouldn't know how to take all of that in either, if she'd been Starbuck.

Missions, physical workouts, sex—yeah, that would exceed her expectations for a good while. She snuggled back into Apollo's warm body, and drifted into a deep sleep—that's the fifth thing, sleep, she thought before losing consciousness….

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An irritating sound jostled Lee awake; it was the com. Barely able to open his eyes, he reached up for the receiver—at first nothing would come from his voice, so he tried again—"Adama here."

Helo paused—had Lee been drinking hard last night? "Uh, your XO—we had a meeting at 0700—"

"Frak," Lee muttered. This affair thing was off to a great start—raising suspicions in less than 24 hours—what could he say to explain it away?

"Sorry, Helo—I was in the Situation Room late last night, reviewing attack runs on the boards—"

"Say no more, Commander. We've all been pushing hard, and Kat and I gave you a punishing workout yesterday too." What a choice of words, Lee chuckled silently. Helo added, "grab some extra rack time; I'll cover your rounds for three hours."

"Thanks…" it was all Lee could think to say. His whole body was relaxed yet sore; his mind would not come back together and squeeze out the holes where essential thoughts and phrases seemed to be falling in, escaping his mental grasp. He hung up the com, and looked down to admire the mass of curls covering his shoulder. Kat's hair had a mind of its own—it suited her well, gloriously auburn with gold highlights, wild and soft at the same time.

Kat stirred; he could tell, the way her face scrunched up in discomfort, she was feeling the aftereffects of his spent hunger, her body ravaged and chafed. "Hi, wild woman," he said affectionately. "Sorry for the…"

"Shut the frak up, already, Apollo!" Kat whipped out, startling him slightly. "Don't apologize for giving a girl the best night of frakking in her life, okay? It's just stupid." She grinned evilly, and he yanked her hair hard.

"Gods, you're testy in the morning," he joked.

Kat sat up, suddenly realizing something—"Damn, Apollo, what time is it? I've got CAP at 0730!"

Realizing he could not afford to have Helo put two-and-two together, with both of them off schedule, he shoved her out of the rack.

"Hey!" she protested, but he pointed at the chrono. "Frak, frak, frak, frak, frak…."she swore over and over under her breath. It was 0720, and it would take 7 minutes to cross the ship to the hangar deck, leaving 3 minutes to get her flight suit on. She realized the immediate danger too—they wouldn't be able to let things go very far if rumors started now. Sighing in resignation at the sight of her pants—she could button the waist, but the gape left by the non-functioning zipper could only be masked by taking one of Apollo's non-military issued fatigue shirts—she grabbed one of them and pulled her boots on, before moving towards the front of the room.

"Remember to report for our evening War briefing, Lieutenant," Apollo shouted out, as she slammed the hatch. He fell back into his rack, a contented grin on his face, and was asleep in less time than it took Kat to reach the hangar.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sit Rep: Galactica, Eleven Weeks After New Caprica Occupation

The com sounded in his quarters, ringing incessantly. Tigh, still half-drunk from the previous night's liquor session, cursed mightily, refusing to pick up the receiver. His XO, Dualla, was a persistent bitch, he thought—he could feel her disapproval of his habits radiating from her every word and action, and it was more wearing than the daily hangovers. Tigh was starting to appreciate what Lee had been struggling through; Dualla appeared to be careful and reserved, minding her own business, but in truth, she had judgments about everything—and everyone. In Tigh's mind, Lee could be equally judgmental, but the Admiral's son was rapidly losing that self-righteousness—maybe experiencing the criticism daily with his own wife had shifted Lee's behavior.

Wives—Tigh grimaced in pain, thinking of his own, of Ellen. He wondered if she was alive, cursing the day he'd let her go down on that damn planet without him. Ellen wasn't strong in the face of deprivation and crises; she wanted her creature comforts, wanted security and the pleasures of a stress-free daily life. Ellen was stronger than she (or anyone else) gave herself credit for, but Cylon occupation went beyond the realm of Ellen's stress tolerance—Tigh was sure of that. He could only hope Bill had found Ellen and was protecting her; he believed the Old Man would want to keep Ellen safe, knowing how much his friend loved the woman.

Grunting at the effort, he swung his legs out of his rack, trying to push back the mental confusion the alcohol created—there was still too much of the ethanol mixing with his blood—and he gripped the edge of the bed hard as a wave of pain emanated from behind his eyes and across his face. Gods, I am honestly getting too old for this behavior, he thought dejectedly. Forcing himself to the head, he showered, shaved, and took something to help with the headache and nausea sure to follow him throughout the day.

Making his way to the CIC, he decided to stop in the commanding officer's Ready Room, using the corridor entrance—there would be some coffee on the table, and it might help him get a little mental sharpness back. He was surprised, as he entered the room, to see Dualla there, her body wracked with sobs. With a welling of compassion moving into his throat, he walked to her and lightly set his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them firmly. She gasped, not realizing someone was witness to her emotions of sorrow and shame—she was alarmed to turn around and see Tigh in front of her. He still smelled somewhat of alcohol, but he was standing steady, which was more than she could say for herself at the moment, and he seemed to be trying to offer her support.

Silently, Tigh pulled the woman towards him, putting his arms awkwardly around her. She started crying harder, at first. He imagined his Ellen, frightened and overwhelmed, and began saying "now, now, it's going to be okay" softly, resting a hand around her head, brushing her hair. Eventually, the sobs subsided, and she pulled away, standing up a bit straighter.

"I apologize, Sir, for the lack of decorum," Dee stated, not ready to look him in the eyes.

"We are all grappling with our circumstances, Lieutenant," he said kindly.

Dee chided herself for the harsh things she had just been thinking about the man only a half-hour before. "Thank you, Sir," was all she could think to say.

Tigh opening his mouth to say more, but hesitated—he knew a lot about Adama men and their stunted communication skills; he also knew a lot about their obsessive attachment to Kara Thrace. Would it help to share any of those bits of knowledge with Dualla, or make things worse?

He cleared his throat and decided to offer what counsel he could—she was his XO, in this moment, and he needed to stabilize her emotions, get them both thinking about the tactical realities ahead.

"Lieutenant, this is probably not my place, normally, to say what I'm about to say…" He looked at her eyes, fixed intently on his face. "As my XO, though, I need to be sure you're focused—that we're both focused on the mission before us." Dee nodded, crossing her arms to brace herself for what Tigh might say next.

"The Adama men are complicated—you know that. What you may have realized now, though, marrying into the family, is that they've got pieces of themselves missing—wounds that never closed, holes with air passing through them. The intensity of their feelings, their passions—the two don't understand how to manage the outcomes, which is why they can be hurt so profoundly. Their very nature's been bent, as a result, and they've compensated in strange ways. We've all got wounds—Gods know I've got enough vices to prove the effects of…." He stopped; this wasn't the time to get personal about himself.

"What I'm trying to say is those open wounds—it's their chief character flaw. Neither Bill or Lee know how to really seal things back up, let go and move on. So it's easier to keep the defenses up all the time, keep new holes from forming, since they can't deal with the ones already there. If they could talk…" he sighed.

"If they could force words to come out, stop treating emotions like an alien part of themselves, express the inner stuff that drives us all crazy—well, then they might be able to look beyond their own needs more often, really see the people around them that love them."

Dee's eyes welled up; she nodded, and gestured her hand out from her body for a moment, encouraging Tigh to continue. Dee was sure Kara was going to come into this at some point, and no matter the pain, understanding the pull of that woman might help Dee move on with her life, accept what had happened.

Sure enough, Kara's name was next. "Starbuck—Starbuck's nature is the same. Hell, she's more extreme; I think she suffered the most in her past…at least that's how I've tried to rationalize her character. Bill and Lee—well, they feel that kinship, the mutual understanding with a creature as wounded and inarticulate as they are."

Dee weighed that statement for a few moments; was it that simple? What could have happened in the lives of those three people to make them so stunted emotionally, so trapped in themselves?

Tigh watched her face, knowing she was coming to some pointed realizations. "Lee—Commander Adama—is dealing with a lot of internal energy he can't dissipate. Now, maybe he's coming out of himself a bit more, but it's gonna be in fits and starts." Tigh put a hand on Dee's arm, to let her know the hardest part was coming. "I'm not privy to Lee's thoughts, and don't expect to be. I believe he's getting a tether on life again, on leading, because he has a purpose. And that purpose is—"

"Kara," Dee interrupted.

"Yeah; it's a frakked up thing to have to tell you, but I think it's the truth. He wants to save the Old Man, he wants to save the settlers—but if Kara wasn't there, I'm willing to bet he'd still be eating his way into oblivion."

"So, are you trying to get me to throw myself off the upper deck?" She trembled as she said it.

"No, Lieutenant, I'm trying to get you to let go and move on. You've got enough internal strength to do that; Lee is too strangled emotionally to get the words out, address things once and for all."

"He's taken up with Kat—did you know that?" Dee could tell, by the look on Tigh's face, it was a new wrinkle in the mix.

"No, I didn't realize, but it makes sense, in a frakked up, Adama kind of way…Kat's behavior certainly mirrors some of Starbuck's." He saw Dee wince, her body curling up visibly; damn his mouth, still too loose from the alcohol.

Dee looked at him squarely. "No, I can't say I agree with you, Tigh. Kat's straight-forward—she's crass, blunt, but not emotionally stunted, per se. She's just simple—doesn't expect much, doesn't offer much of herself, just enjoys being skilled as a pilot."

"True," Tigh acknowledged, "she can communicate without problem, because it isn't a very complicated world to her. She's all about instinct—and that's probably the appeal. Kat won't want much, especially a lot of emotional communication, and she won't take much from him. She'll help Lee tap into his own instincts. He needs that most, for our fleet to survive and the rescue to succeed."

"Are you saying I can't do that—offer that to him?" The tone was slightly acidic, but equally anxious. Tigh took a deep breath.

"I can only go by what I've seen, and to be honest, I don't see that with you. It's not a flaw, something to hang your head over; Lee was drawn to you because you're a thinker and analyzer."

"But once the mission is accomplished, he might want a more—" here, Tigh cut her off.

"Dee, once the mission's accomplished, Gods willing, Starbuck'll be back, and the Admiral, and we'll be damned lucky if Apollo can hold onto his instincts. Only boldness is gonna keep us all alive, from this point on."

"So I should give up on him, my husband, for the sake of the fleet?" Now she sounded bitter, petulant.

"I didn't say that; you should give up on him for the sake of yourself. Gods, woman, why would you want a man in love with someone else? I bet Kat realizes Apollo's heart is with Starbuck--she watched it for a long time. If they are frakking, Kat's not gonna invest too much beyond the obvious, any more than he is." By this time, Tigh was growing very impatient and irritated. They were already way out of his comfort zone, and it was also beyond the range of an officer counseling talk; maybe he'd been wrong to go down this road with Dee.

She saw the contempt flash across Tigh's face; the conversation needed to end. Taking Tigh's hand into her own, for a brief moment, she just said "Thank you, XO. I think I understand, and I appreciate your compassion."

Tigh tried to read Dee's face—was the statement dripping with sarcasm, or did she really see what he'd been getting at? He couldn't tell; the energy in the room, though, was calm and still.

Dee walked past him, holding her head up a little higher, and went in the direction of the CIC. Grabbing at long last the coffee he'd needed 30 minutes ago, he turned to follow her, barking orders as he entered the main area.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tigh was resting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face to keep awake. The details of the rescue and reintegration plans were endless; he and Helo had spent the past three hours working out the necessary ground operations. They were in the Admiral's quarters; Tigh wouldn't sleep there, but he found it was the best place to meet when hours of discussion lay ahead. He picked up the bowl of cold noodles resting on the table, forcing himself to eat.

Helo appeared equally exhausted; Apollo was an exacting leader, forcing a brisk pace, insisting the rescue plan would begin in another six weeks. The man's compulsion for perfection was a source of consternation for all of the members of the RSG, but Tigh had to admit Bill Adama's son was brilliant. The complexity of the operation intimidated Saul at first—he didn't understand how it would be possible to pull off. Lee, though, with his ability to set the large-scale vision and then bore down into the critical elements, had guided the rest of the team; every key aspect was covered by a step-by-step plan, including contingency responses.

The trick was to figure out how the settlement leadership group might respond, and it was no easy task. Helo understood the core elements Sharon would probably focus on, and Tigh was able to explain the areas the Admiral considered essential in enemy ground conditions. Both men had spent enough time with Starbuck to be confident of the role she'd likely play in a rescue operation, and Lee had written out his observations of Roslin to help flesh out the decisions Laura might make in this situation. For the present, the RSG had agreed the ground action strategy would be built on the premise all of the key players were alive and still able to function within the tent city; it would be necessary to liberate those in the detention center early on, so any miscalculations could be corrected in assembling the right people for the rest of the plan to work.

Helo had begun writing out the master document to share with the settlement leadership group once contact was made. It would be difficult, but one or two scouting missions had to be undertaken, setting the right conditions with the colonials on New Caprica for the actual large-scale mission. Using the last known tent city map secured prior to the Occupation, the two officers had identified the weapons drop points, and scoped out the best raptor landing sites; depending on the fortifications and grounds artillery the Cylons had erected in the meantime, adjustments would be made after the reconnaissance sweeps were complete. Lee Adama was confident the settlement leadership group would address the issues related to the grounded ships: launch keys, fueling, and inspections for space-worthiness. Once they knew the battlestars were on the way, the settlers could propel those plans into motion.

All three men agreed the settlement leadership group would draft a ground warfare strategy too, and it would be important to compare tactics prior to the actual strike. Apollo, having studied his father's engagement and infiltration approaches in War College, believed the Admiral would focus on taking over the ground artillery weapons sites, destroying any landed raiders, knocking out key power generators, and hitting as many centurion holding areas as possible. The settlers had few actual guns, but many explosives, which would be easier to hide over the course of a long occupation. It would be up to the RSG to supply a sufficient number of marine platoon leaders, ready to guide the former military members on the planet in overtaking and holding strategic positions. The Cylons on the ground had to be held to an outer perimeter for at least 48 hours, allowing the colonials time to reclaim equipment, food and water supplies, tents and bedding; transport them to the battlestars; and return for additional runs. Without the reclamation plan, the fleet reintegration would fall apart almost before it began; no one could risk the sheer anarchy that might flare into being with so many humans bereft of any basic survival items.

For the RSG, the most gut-wrenching problem remained the basestars. It was possible to take out two or three of the Cylon vessels from the outset, enabling the colonial ground ships to launch back into space and jump, if necessary, to a pre-determined gathering location. It was even probable the military fleet could protect the airspace and coordinate the transport runs for 48 to 72 hours, despite the significant number of raiders sure to remain in the area. But the Cylons would send more basestars, and the military leaders understood there would not be sufficient weapons coverage for that extended a period, not against two or three additional vessels and raider reinforcements. To prevent additional basestars from jumping into the planet's orbit, all hopes rested on Sharon. According to Helo's conversations with her in the past, the Cylons tapped into ship controls through a literal liquid crystal panel. The machines did not distinguish between one another in this process, so if a similar control panel existed on New Caprica, Sharon could ostensibly send false readings back to the other Cylon ships. No one in the RSG was certain such a panel had been installed on the ground; Lee's instincts, however, centered on the sense the Cylons would require at least one of these data access points.

If this plan wasn't possible, for any reason, the reclamation efforts would be suspended. All RSG members agreed it was essential to save the settlers; as arduous as the journey might be afterward, absent so many resources, they would have to focus on alternatives after the first jumps were completed. Still, as the military leaders understood, the arrival of additional basestars was a devastating reality; it would take at least two or three hours just to get the colonials on the ships and past the planet's atmosphere. Most encounters with Cylon war parties lasted minutes. In the period of a few hours, a significant number of basestars could converge, still ending not only hopes of a rescue, but options for human survival. Apollo recognized he was gambling a great deal on the premise this rescue mission was necessary and viable; Helo and Tigh implicitly understood the taxing pace and attention to detail were manifestations of the Commander's commitment to ensure they beat the odds.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sit Rep: New Caprica, Nine Weeks After Occupation

Tom moved over to the thermostat on the Phygera, increasing the temperature. He recognized it was a use of precious tyrillium, but after so many days in the Cylon residences, Zarek felt it was impossible to get completely warm again. Nervously, Tom paced the office area, finally succumbing to the urge to take two shots of ambrosia. As he had time to reflect on the possibilities, Tom was anxious to find out how the rest of the leadership group had fared during his absence. He hadn't heard of any resistance activities, so he was assuming no attacks had taken place yet. Based on Tory's responses regarding Sam, he inferred the man was well on the mend. Reviewing the documents on his desk, Tom also concluded the Cylons were maintaining the status quo. The jumpiness in his stomach, however, signaled he needed to take some steps to secure activities during future absences; if Caprica pulled him out of commission again, someone had to sustain contact with the leadership group and represent the settlers' interests. Tom planned to ask Tory to take a message back: he wanted to bring Felix Gaeta into the inner decision circle.

Gaeta's behaviors over the past two months conviced Zarek he could be trusted. In the beginning, the man's dedication to Baltar made Tom uncomfortable; as he reflected on his own actions, however, Zarek didn't think he could judge the man for falling into the same dynamics he himself had entered with Gaius. Despite Felix's initial lack of backbone, the man had matured quickly in the new environment, taking risks Zarek hadn't expected. The man was a patriot, ultimately, and Tom admired him for that; he was confident Gaeta would be the best person to serve as his proxy. The other leaders would waver, wondering if the man could keep up the pretenses necessary. Tom had no doubts; he had seen the sacrifices Felix was willing to make.

Four weeks earlier, Tom arrived at the Cylon headquarters for a meeting with the cabinet. He was late, struggling through the snow to get back from The Cellar. Gaeta had been told Zarek was working in his office that morning, so when Tom arrived in wet clothes, it was immediately apparent he had been elsewhere. Before the President could offer an excuse, Felix understood the potential danger, and guided him into an empty room. He offered to run back to the ship and grab Tom fresh clothes, asking no questions. Re-dressed, 30 minutes later, Gaeta had then provided the excuse for the President's tardiness, pulling the attention to himself and absorbing the Cylons' ire. The woman, Three, slapped the man across the face for his "mistake," splitting Felix's lip; he never faltered and would accept no thanks from Zarek later, saying only he was glad to do something that might make a difference for the settlers. It was time to integrate Gaeta into the overall plans.

The perimeter alarm alerted Tom to Tory's presence outside, and he opened the hatch, startled anew by the frigid atmosphere outside and the icicles that broke off around the seals. Tory stepped up, clearly shivering; Zarek offered her a shot of ambrosia to jump-start her blood flowing again. She flipped it quickly, then removed the winter gear to adjust to the "real indoors," as she liked to call his quarters.

"Have a seat, Tory. Have you eaten? I can probably put something together…"

"I'm fine, Tom, thank you. I can't stay too long; several members of the Cylon cabinet have decided to visit the school tomorrow morning, so I won't be able to risk being too tired."

"I understand. It's…I'm glad to see you. I appreciate you making the trek in that bitter cold to bring me back into the loop." He smiled deeply, grateful to look into those rich brown eyes again.

Tory smiled in return, averting her eyes for a moment; he realized he was staring a little too intently, so he shifted his focus to the floor.

"Where would you like me to start, Mr. President?"

"Sam."

"He's made wonderful progress, Tom. His energy is back, and his frame has filled out again. He's chomping at the bit to—"

"To rescue Starbuck; I can imagine. And the Admiral—is he ready to proceed?"

"Yes. Since the events with Hera—"

"Hera? Who's Hera?"

Tory looked upon Tom, searching for the best place to begin. "The Agathons—Sharon and Karl—they had a daughter named Hera."

"Right…I remember the controversy. But I thought—"

"She didn't die. Roslin…Laura thought it was in the fleet's best interest to protect the child, and at the time, she didn't trust Sharon as a Cylon."

Tom watched the expressions flickering across the woman's face. This was clearly uncomfortable for her; she was involved in it, somehow…

"I didn't know all of it…I had…inferred a few things, but…"

"What happened, Tory, if Hera didn't die?"

"She…Laura asked me to arrange for an adoption. A woman in the fleet who just lost a child. I located Maya, and the President brought forth a little girl, approved the transfer, and made arrangements for Maya and the little girl named Isis."

"Our Isis—that's Hera? No wonder she's protected her in The Cellar…I always wondered why…"

"The night Sam went into cardiac arrest, Laura, Sharon, and Hera all apparently had the same dream—vision really—which led to the revelation of the girl's real identity."

"How did…what were the reactions to all of this information?" Tom was trying to picture Sharon, Laura, and Bill working through the implications of this deception, and he didn't see it turning out well. Unless…

"Did the Admiral know about it, about the…switch?"

"No. He was appalled; they haven't—haven't been the same since."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Tom, your sarcasm is misplaced…there's no one left unscathed in this."

"I'm sorry. You're right, Tory; I didn't mean it quite the way it came out. I just…Laura and Bill have been close. This had to come a quite a shock in their relationship."

"Yes, it has had a significant impact. I feel so sad for both of them, honestly; I don't think Roslin was right to take the action she did, but I know her, Tom—she wouldn't have risked so much if she wasn't certain, at the time, it was the best way to protect the fleet."

"From an infant?"

"Hera's much more than that, and you know it. The vision proves it."

"What vision…oh, the one from that night. Do you know what they 'saw'?"

"I've read the transcription Laura and Sharon managed to complete. It's hard to summarize."

"I'd like to—"

"No, Tom. The leadership group has already decided."

Tom stood up, visibly upset. "Decided what, exactly?"

"You…in your current position, it would be better if you knew as little as possible about this. Especially since…"

"Oh. That's it. Tory, I wish you'd waited to talk with me before saying something about what you saw that day; it isn't—"

Tory stood up as well, to look straight into his eyes. "Tom, I understand what you're doing; I know you wouldn't 'take up' with a Cylon woman unless you were gathering intel and trying to secure political cover. The others recognize that as well. But this information…the Cylons can't gain access to it. Even though I'm not sure what it all means, I know it's significant, and I'm confident the Cylon cabinet doesn't have this same information, the same awareness of what's to come."

"Which is…Never mind. Why are you so certain the vision's real, Tory?"

"How can you ask that, Tom, after you went to Kobol with Roslin, with the Admiral and Sharon? The Scriptures of Pythia are valid, in whole or in part."

"But this vision isn't related to the text, Tory—"

"Frak you, Tom Zarek! You don't know anything, you weren't there, but you feel qualified to determine what it means or doesn't mean...you're sleeping with a Cylon, for frak's sake—I don't see how you can judge when you disappear and—"

"Tory, gods, slow down!" Tom stepped up to her and pulled her into his chest, willing her to calm down, let the anger subside. She feels so good in my arms; I can't believe I upset her this much—

He was reassured when he felt the woman's body relax into him, recognized her arms sliding around his chest in return. They remained that way for a few minutes, nothing but breathing penetrating the stillness in the room.

Finally, Tom stepped back slightly, moving his hands to Tory's cheeks as he tried to read the impenetrable darkness of her gaze. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you—about the vision, or about…about the Cylon. I'm not sure it was a good decision, frankly, but I'm in it now, and I still hope to find out what's happened to Kara Thrace. Caprica—well, she seemed like the best option we have for finding out more."

Tory nodded in reply, keeping his gaze with her own. "I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. I'm not certain why it upset me so much; I guess I'm just on edge and tired."

Zarek felt the pull of electricity building between them, wondering if he might be imagining it. It was too complicated right now to allow anything else to happen, even if it was real…He leaned forward slightly, kissing Tory's forehead.

"Then you should get back to your tent, rest up for tomorrow. You were kind to come, Tory; I don't know when I can take the chance to come see the others, but hopefully in another week or so, it will be easier to return to my routines without drawing Cylon attention."

"Aren't we—I thought you also wanted to talk about the medical liaison role too?"

"Gods, I did forget. Look, Caprica's gone for the next two or three days, meaning I should be available to talk during the day. If you can, discuss some ideas with the settlement leadership group, then come by so we can set up the parameters and present it to the cabinet. And I need you to do a favor for me, bring an idea back to the leadership."

"Sure—"

"Given the current environment and Caprica's whims, I need a proxy, someone who can take care of decisions if I'm absent and help pass intel along when I can't trek out to The Cellar. I want that person to be Felix Gaeta."

"Gaeta? Tom, they won't…"

Tom handed her a hand-written document. "Take this to them to read. It spells out my observations of the man over the two months of Occupation. When you can, bring back their questions, and let's see if we can make this work. I'm worried, Tory; if the resistance begins strikes while I'm in the Cylon residence, or the Cylons increase the religious constraints and I'm cut off from the leadership group, I won't be able to help, and I can't face…"

"I understand, Tom, truly. I'll try to help them reach a similar conclusion." She smiled, then reached for her coat. On impulse, Tom grabbed her quickly, hugging her again.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. President, and be careful. You chose the manipulative one to bring to your bed; keep Baltar's fate in mind as you proceed."

"We didn't discuss Gaius; any news on him?"

"I almost forgot—I guess they really did cut you off from everything over the past week, if you didn't hear this…Baltar overdosed on Lethe again."

"Frak. Frak!" Tom ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. They needed the man to keep creating other drugs to help the settlers.

"I take it he survived?"

"Yeah. No one's quite sure where he ended up, but one of the Threes commented her 'sister' Three on the Cylon Cabinet had taken Baltar under her care—whatever that means."

"Okay." Tom exhaled loudly. "I'll see what I can find out about our mad scientist too."

"Good night, Tom. It was…I'm glad I had a chance to talk to you."

"Same here, Tory. Be well."

The hydraulics whirred and hissed. She was gone. Tom poured his fifth shot of the day, hoping this didn't become a bad habit; ten minutes later, unable to sleep, he decided to hell with bad habits, and proceeded to drink the rest of the bottle until he passed out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Glass clattered to the floor, shattering on impact. Tom jerked upright, trying to see in the dark of the room, realizing the electricity was out. Another impact shook the ship again; he could hear the sound of falling objects in the office beyond his bedroom. What the frak is happening now? Hope sparked for a moment; could it be the Galactica, back to rescue them? He pushed the thought away; they weren't that fortunate. Which meant a far less attractive alternative…the resistance strikes had begun.

Moments later, he heard the keypad and the front swing open, the wind rushing back towards his room. Suspecting it was Gaeta, Tom crawled forward, thankful the emergency power supply was running on the tyrillium tank.

"Gaeta?"

"Yes, sir. I wanted to get you immediately; there have been two large explosions. One appears to have disabled the main electrical grid; the other targeted the main Cylon place of worship."

"Frakkin' great. The lights won't work, though the heater and the main equipment are still juiced; let me grab some clothes, and we'll proceed to the Cylon cabinet."

"Shouldn't we inspect the damage first, Mr. President? There might be people hurt…"

"That will just make us look culpable and involved, Mr. Gaeta. No, we have to go talk with the Cylons, whether we want to or not."

"Yes, sir."

Fumbling around, Zarek managed to pull on a decent pair of pants and sweater. After a few miserable moments crawling on the floor, he located his boots. It didn't help matters his head was still swimming from the liquor ingested only a few hours earlier; in the dark, his head spinning, he struggled to maintain concentration.

Finally, standing up, Tom made his way past the living area into the outer office, feeling around for his coat, scarf, and gloves. Relieved to be clothed and walking, he called out to Gaeta. "Ready to go?"

"As much as I'll ever be, sir." They caught slight outlines of one another in the darkness as they made their way past the ship and towards the looming headquarters standing out against the moon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I hope you have an explanation for this, Mr. President." Caprica was circling the table, fuming.

"I don't have details…I wasn't part of this plan."

She stopped moving to stare at him. Tom met the stare and locked eyes, unblinking. No flinching possible now.

"Fine. But you are accountable for the actions of your people, Mr. Zarek. This is barbaric!"

"I…I'm terribly sorry this has happened. Was there…did Cylons…"

"Die? Is that the word you were afraid to say?" It was Cavil; his disgust was radiating across the table. "Two of our people were killed, yes. Our religious site was desecrated. Two months of significant labor—'down the tubes,' as your kind says—your people will be without electricity for at least ten to fourteen days now—in the bitter cold of winter."

Tom's gut dropped; what the hell were they thinking, putting so many settlers in danger for this strike? Had Laura and the Admiral agreed to such a reckless plan?

"We…I deeply regret the loss to the Cylon people. I will launch an investigation."

"You'll do damn well more than that, Mr. President; you'll execute the perpetrators!" Leoben was speaking now, his eyes ablaze with a desire for retribution.

"Humans don't execute without a legal process, Leoben."

"Oh, but they do, Tom Zarek, they do—two Cylons died without any 'legal process' tonight."

Zarek's chest heaved noticeably. He had dreaded this moment ever since he agreed to accept the charade of becoming President, and it was as excruciatingly miserable as he imagined.

"What do you want me to do, then—"

Three interjected. "You will make a statement, Mr. Zarek, first thing in the morning, condemning this atrocity. You will announce that the Cylons do not condone violent acts, and as a consequence for this violation of our agreement, we are rescinding certain privileges. Effective immediately, no human temples will be allowed. Anyone caught practicing their heretical faith will be summarily executed, on the spot. We will not provide any additional food rations through the winter; if more of your people die as a result, then so be it. Further terrorist actions will be met with matching force."

"I recognize your anger and outrage—all of you—but this is more than—"

"You think the punishment too harsh, Mr. President?" It was Caprica; something in her tone made Tom's blood curdle.

"I respect the cabinet's decisions. The reprehensible acts are probably those of a small group; these humans do not speak for the whole. The responses you intend to implement will place the burden on every settler, escalating tensions. I cannot undo the events of the past hour, but I can try to ensure there's a way to move forward, if you'll temper your reactions."

"He's right." It was Simon speaking. "While I suspect these atrocities are going to continue, we came to this planet with the idea of learning to live with humans, understand them. We must give them the 'benefit of the doubt,' at least for the first incident."

"Which would mean what?" Three was exasperated.

"Remove the human temples, outlaw the human religion. Let them deal with the cold for the next week or so as they await repairs to the power grids. But announce we'll imprison the heretics, rather than execute them, and don't refuse the food rations. I've studied the history of the Colonials, during my stays on the Old Worlds; nothing motivates them to rebellion more surely than starvation and disease."

"I agree." To Tom's surprise, it was Caprica.

"As do I," Doral submitted.

"It's decided, then—for the time being. Mr. President, you may return to your residence; Caprica will come in the early morning to prepare you for the open field, all-speakers announcement." Cavil stood up, signaling the meeting was over.

Tom stood as well, bowing slightly to acknowledge the plans. He wasn't sure what else might be said without setting sparks flying, so he opted for silence.

He and Gaeta said very little on their way back to the Phygera. As they approached the vessel, Tom turned to Felix. "Would you like to sleep here, on the couch? It's cold in the tents, and you've had a long night."

"Actually, I would be very grateful, Mr. President."

"Done then." Thirty minutes later, the two men collapsed, still clothed, both hoping tomorrow would not end up as disastrously as instinct dictated it would.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill felt odd tremors in the dirt walls as he was startled awake. They were brief, but worry struck his chest. He sat up, calling out to Sharon. "Did you feel that?"

"Yes, Sir. I don't know what it was…it felt like—"

"Like explosives?"

"Yeah. Exactly. We hadn't planned anything yet, though, so how…"

"Someone took matters into his or her own hands, Lieutenant."

"Which means that person has now taken part of the future out of our hands, Sir."

"I'm afraid so, Lieutenant—I'm afraid so." Bill lay there awake, knowing there was little to be done but wait and hope someone brought information to them quickly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Roslin heard the sounds and could see the flashes of light through her tent canvas. "Oh, gods, no," she exclaimed aloud, to no one. Without knowing the details, Laura was certain the resistance movement had started, and from an unknown corner. A part of her was glad something had finally happened, even though she recognized the terrible dangers facing them all now. A rogue action would probably lead to unintended consequences, and it robbed Sharon and Sam of their one best weapon in the plan to rescue Kara: surprise. The Cylons were sure to respond swiftly; increasing the security in the detention center was one likely result.

The "whonk, whonk" sounds near her tent interrupted thoughts and made Laura's blood run cold; suspecting the worst, she frantically threw on some warm clothes as the sounds stopped and the metal glinted in the crack of the tent flaps. Ten seconds later, two centurions pointed their weapons at her chest; she clenched her eyes closed, in reflex, silently praying to Athena for protection. One spoke: "come with us. You are to be brought to the detention center." Gulping in air, Laura moved gingerly forward. Apparently, it wasn't her day to die…though she was suddenly struck by the notion she might wish she had, depending on what greeted her in the days to come.

With a centurion marching along each side, Roslin walked the path towards the large complex at the far west end of the settlement. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, but faint light revealed other shapes moving in the same direction. She couldn't make out faces or recognize anyone's gait, but it was clear a number of settlers were being rounded up. For all their sakes, Laura hoped the rest of the leadership group remained free; the fascist rule was about to take hold. Doubting the gods listened to her pleas any longer, she prayed all the same: "Oh gods, hear our cry…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sit Rep: New Caprica, Eleven Weeks After Occupation

Moaning, her hips hurting from the cold stone floor, Roslin clawed her way up the wall to pull herself to a sitting position. Breathing shallowly, head against the cement, she fought for some mental clarity. Leoben had beat her the first day, and Cavil a week later; neither asked any questions. Apparently, the physical injuries were just to make sure they had her attention. The broken left arm definitely accomplished that goal; it was impossible to forget where she was or who was in charge of what happened next. At least she was still receiving food and water; Laura wondered if the other prisoners were even that lucky.

Two days ago, Leoben had started administered some drug intravenously, and now she had trouble putting any thoughts together. She also realized, with a macabre smile, she was drooling from time to time; whatever the medication was, it really packed a wollup. Unfortunately, it did nothing to reduce pain.

The door opened. She squinted, in the constant overhead light, to see who entered. Leoben was standing over her, hands behind his back…studying his handiwork, she supposed.

"I want to start asking you some questions, Laura Roslin. Are you ready to answer them?"

Laura tried to move her mouth; it took three attempts to bring her lips successfully together. "Too…much..med…"

"Yes, I can see that. We'll lower the dosage, and I'll try back in a few hours. If you cooperate today, I'll allow the medic to set your arm."

He left as abruptly as he entered; Laura found herself sinking to the floor again, unconsciousness taking hold.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill sat dejectedly in the chair beside the large table, futilely trying to construct a remote detonator. His fingers were cold, and the stinging in his eyes did nothing to help his accuracy. His heart felt like a block of concrete inside his chest. Setting the tools down, he clasped his hands together, trying to still the tremors. In all of his years of command, nothing had prepared him for the stark fear gripping him now. He'd watched Lee and Kara be put in harm's way, wondering if they could be found alive; he'd condemned a man to capture by the Cylons in order to protect a military secret; he'd been shot point-blank in the chest by a Cylon he later reinstated as an officer. In all those situations, he was confident of the odds, knowing he and the people under his command were trained to handle the terrible consequences of war. But Laura Roslin was not under his command, she wasn't a soldier, and he wasn't confident of the odds.

To his shame, Bill found himself paralyzed by regrets. He understood the absurdity of the sensation; regret served no purpose. It sapped you of energy, played tricks with your mind, made you more vulnerable to the enemy. Nonetheless, he seemed unable to compartmentalize his emotions, force regret into its rightful corner in oblivion. He was constantly agitated, thinking about how he'd left things with Laura, what she must be thinking, alone and scared. Bill chastised himself for his cardinal mistake: he should have loved her less and trusted her more. There were reasons for the decision she'd made with Hera, and it probably had protected the child. It was ethically wrong, but they'd faced so many ambiguous choices since the end of the worlds; was this decision more grievous than the destruction of the Olympic Carrier? Was his decision to re-instate Sharon as an officer less questionable, simply because of the weight of his personal convictions? He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers firmly along the each side of the bridge of his nose. The headache pulsating in his forehead would not abate; holding back tears for hours at a time took its toll.

The sounds of people arriving upstairs grabbed his attention; he rested his hand on the firearm beside him, aware each day was another close escape from detection. Galen and Sam clattered down the steps, faces drawn and blanched from the cold.

"Admiral…" Galen greeted him.

"Tyrol, Anders—glad you were able to make it. Any word from Zarek?"

"The Cylon woman continues to drop by his office unannounced, so he's trapped aboard the Phygera, when he's not being called to the Cylon Headquarters. He's sending Gaeta."

"Good. Let's hope—"

"Did someone mention my name?" Felix made his way down to the table where the others had just gathered.

"Welcome, Gaeta."

"Great to see you, Sir. I feel better, just knowing…"

"Thank you. I'm not sure I've been of much assistance yet. What news do you bring?" Adama's nervous energy left little tolerance for pleasantries.

"I've got two important things." Felix's eyes lit up; he was clearly proud of his efforts. When Bill saw the documents pulled out, he understood why. "Here is a map to the location for the launch keys; and here's a map identifying the location of Kara's cell…and Roslin's."

The Admiral slapped Gaeta on the back. "You did it! I…we all really appreciate the risks you took to get this information for us."

"My pleasure, Sir, but Zarek deserves the credit for the map of the detention center. He's…the relationship with the Cylon is a difficult situation for him, and Tom—we all owe him a debt."

Felix wanted to say more, but had been cautioned by Zarek to reveal as little as possible. The Cylon woman was possessive and capricious; Tom had been forced to endure a number of unpleasant and compromising situations to prove he was worthy of her trust. Even Felix wasn't sure how Zarek finally obtained the map, but the soulless look in the man's eye suggested the price had been high. Maybe too high.

Something in Gaeta's face caused Bill to pause. There was so much suffering to go around… "We do owe him a debt. Let Tom know…we miss seeing him. Is he…Gaeta, is he alright?"

The pause before answering told Adama the truth. "Oh. Can we…is there anything we might do to—"

"I'm not sure, Sir. I think—it would do him a world of good to see some of you, even if she's there with him. He's isolated, constantly under watch, unable to say anything without filtering it. And Caprica—well, frankly, Sir, she's like a black hole—that Cylon just sucks the life energy out of everyone. Tom looks like somehow she's killing him. I can't explain it, I just know that's the sensation that comes over me when I talk with him anymore."

Sam placed a hand on Gaeta's shoulder, remembering how much Zarek had done for him when he was so ill. "I'll come by, Felix—that's a promise. And so will Tory. They were supposed to work on a medical support strategy for the colonials, but she's been afraid to…" Sam wasn't sure if he should explain the rest.

"Afraid she'll upset the Cylon, or worse, be associated with the resistance?" Gaeta could well imagine the concerns running through everyone's mind these days.

"Yeah." Sam admired the man's perceptiveness.

"Look, I know he's been talking with Caprica and the rest of the cabinet about the need for the medical liaison and support; he's laid the groundwork. If Tory's still willing to function in the role, I'm confident we can make that work, and it would mean so much to…" Frak, I'm saying too much.

Even though Tom hadn't admitted anything to Gaeta, the way he talked about her, the number of times he mentioned her—Felix was pretty sure Tom had fallen for Tory. It was part of the reason the situation with Caprica was so painful. The liaison role would ensure a regular schedule of contact, bolster Zarek's failing spirits.

The Admiral spoke up. "Consider it done. And please know the launch key information is invaluable to us as well, Gaeta—we can't go after them until we hear from Pegasus and Galactica to find out the schedule for the rescue operation, but we'll never move everyone safely off this rock without the keys."

Gaeta smiled, pleased to realize he was regaining the Admiral's trust. "I'm working on the jamming frequencies, Sir, as is Tom. The Three models control the communications networks, which makes the intel harder to obtain, but we think…if we can distract the Three on the cabinet when Caprica's making her next trip back to the orbiting basestar, I can download the data when the scramble grids drop for the transport coordinates to be transmitted. If I'm successful, we might have them in two weeks; that's her scheduled meeting."

Galen listened to the steps, realizing how much Tom and Felix both were putting on the line to help with one of the most difficult aspects of the plan. "Admiral, I want to suggest you consider giving both men commendations after this is all over; they're involved in a very intricate dance. I'm not sure I could keep up, myself."

Bill looked up at Tyrol, surprised by his declaration. I need to pay more attention to the sacrifices of the people around me. "An excellent recommendation, Chief Tyrol." The Admiral stood up, gesturing for Gaeta to follow suit, then squeezed the man's hand in both of his own. "Damned glad to have you back in the 'CIC' of New Caprica. Please let Tom know his efforts are not in vain, and we are behind him, as we promised. It was a significant burden to accept, and he's served admirably in the role…I know Laura would be proud." The tears struck the back of Bill's eyes; he willed them away, but knew his voice still shook slightly with the energy of them.

"Please have Tory come by as soon as feasible."

"I'll bring her with me today, Gaeta—that's a pledge." Sam's voice was warm, full of emotion.

"When do you…it's best if I don't know the timing, exactly, but to be prepared…will the detention center operation happen in the next few days?" Felix was deeply concerned about the consequences, even if the rescue was successful, but he wasn't about to voice those thoughts at this late date.

"More likely in the next seven to ten days, assuming the Cylons don't increase security even further."

"As long as there are no additional terrorist strikes, no plans have been made for increases in centurion troops, at least from what I can discern. Are we…comfortable that…no other explosions are about to take place?"

"Roslin's capture struck close to home; the Cylons had that strategy right. Everyone's waiting for orders from Sam or Galen before taking other action." The Admiral's voice was steady, but his eyes still conveyed the pain of the loss.

"The Cylons wanted…originally they were going to execute settlers practicing our faith; I'm grateful that was avoided."

"The people are still reeling from the temples that were removed, and the mandatory attendance at all Cylon religious ceremonies, but I believe they recognize they've narrowly escaped blatant prosecution, for the time being. Please let Tom know we are deeply grateful for the concessions he managed to negotiate."

"I will, Sir. And I need to get back, before I'm missed, so we need to leave it here, unless there's anything else pressing you need me or Tom to address?"

"No, you've already done a great deal. We'll see you again soon, Gaeta."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The cat, Helo, was curled up against Kara's chest, purring contentedly. Kara was curled up in the chair, neither content nor upset; she was completely blank. Her foot cast propped up on the ottoman Leoben had brought to the "apartment" for her use, she tried, futilely, to switch her mind from the song wearing a long groove into her brain. This bitter pill I swallow, is the silence that I keep; it poisons me, I can't swim free, the river is too deep.

She'd succumbed finally to the numbness, let her tongue be still, relinquished her claim to an independent identity. The day after Leoben violated her, he'd come back with a spring in his step, believing Kara had somehow turned herself over to him. When she refused his advances, he'd dropped a large marble sphere on her left foot, fracturing every bone along the top. Falling to the ground, she'd tried to crawl away and lock herself in the bathroom, but he grabbed her legs and forced her to sit next to him on the floor, facing him. He'd slapped her across the face every time she refused to call him by his special nickname, "Lee."

Forty blows later, her face swollen beyond recognition and her nose broken in two places, she'd finally relented. It hardly seemed to make a difference, in the end; after all, there was no more Lee Adama. He was a figment of memory, fragmented and splintered by all that had passed; in the haze of her concussion, Kara wondered if he was ever real at all. When the magic word had been spoken, Leoben gently picked her up, whispering how much he loved her as he personally carried her to the medical facility. She would have smiled, had her face been able to move; it was so much like home. Kara's mother had breathed similar phrases in her ear, after a beating requiring treatment, and she could recite them all, in rapid succession; her mind raced through them, over and over and over, as her body jangled about in Leoben's embrace along the path to the Cylon buildings. It might have been cold outside—her face burned, so it was hard to differentiate—but she seemed to remember her fingers and toes becoming icy in the wind. Inhaling air required a great deal of effort at that point, with her nose and lips engorged. She was longing to take a deep breath; it had been so long since she'd even been allowed outside. Images of soul-penetrating blue eyes flickered across her mind, as she drifted in and out of consciousness over the next three days, and only one word continued to hold any meaning when she was finally awake again: Apollo.

In the week after her second discharge from the Cylon medical facility, Kara was placed on significant pain medications, in addition to anti-inflammatories and antibiotics. Leoben would come by the "apartment" regularly, holding her hand and talking to her. The permanent haze of the narcotics made Kara more responsive to suggestions; she called the Cylon "Lee" as often as he wanted, and told him she loved him, so he would leave sooner. Her favorite part of the day—or days—was falling asleep with the purring of the cat on her chest, leading her back into a dreamless state.

Stirring at some point—it wasn't clear which day or what hour, given the clouds in her brain—Kara recognized it was dusk. The medications had worn off slightly, and she decided to try to stand and maneuver to the bathroom. Using crutches, ungainly and wobbly, Kara managed to reach the sink. With apprehension, she lifted her gaze slowly to the mirror in front of her, and an awful whimpering cry vibrated in her throat. Her face, even after nearly two weeks, was almost unrecognizable; she tried to fathom if it was just from the physical beating, or the soulless existence she had finally accepted as her fate. Every patch of skin was some strange shade of purple, yellow, or grey, and her eyes, bloodshot, made her pupils look dark and flat. Her nose had been taped, so she might have some hope of a normal profile, eventually, but a great deal of swelling remained. Her brain seemed to slosh about inside her skull as she tried to shake out the blurriness in her vision, to no avail.

Kara struggled to remember where she was, and how she got there; she even fought to pull out a glimmer of reason, trying to explain to herself why she was in this place and what Leoben wanted from her. No coherent lines of thought were able to form, however; the narcotics still held sway over her mental and physical processes. In the end, all she could piece together was that Kara Thrace had been in this "apartment" for as long as she could remember; the Cylon Leoben was now "Lee," and a man with blue eyes named Lee Adama didn't exist any more; and her fate, body and soul, belonged to the Cylon from here on out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sit Rep: Pegasus, Eleven Weeks After New Caprica Occupation

"Lee…Lee! Hey, look at me…listen to my voice. It's Kat—you've had a nightmare—you're going to be okay. Kara's going to be okay. Look in my eyes, Apollo—come on now—breathe. That's good…that's good…"

Lee Adama was sitting up in his rack, rigid with terror, sweating and shaking. It was dark; he had no idea what time it was or for how long he'd been asleep. As the first layer of the dream finally receded from his mind a bit, he tried to concentrate, remember what had happened.

He felt Kat's small hands cupping his face, her ringlets brushing against his forehead.

"Gods, Kat…I'm so…it hurts...it hurts so frakkin' much. Please make the pain go away…please. Please." Lee was sobbing; he realized he had been crying for several minutes. Louanne wrapped her arms around him, letting his head fall to her shoulder, running her fingers gently through his hair.

"I know it hurts, Lee, I know. You're safe right now; it's okay to let it out."

Apollo clung to her frame, letting the warmth of her skin and the scent of her hair ground him. She was lightly rocking, holding him in such a way Lee could feel her strength, somehow feel less alone, less petrified. "Oh, Kat. I've lost her; I've lost Kara; she's slipped away again. I can't go on without her…so much pain…" his voice was hoarse, filled with a fear Kat couldn't name. She was worried; something had to get through to him, pull him off the ledge.

"Lee Apollo Adama…" Kat gripped his face, willing him to stare deep into her eyes. "Listen to me. Carefully. Kara Thrace is still alive—and so are you. Whatever you just experienced, it won't change what's real. You hear me? This is real—" she kissed him, long and sensuous, then pulled back. "Right now, in this room, in this bed, you're safe, and you're going to bring Kara back to safety too. The gods are protecting you, Lee; they'll protect her too."

Something clicked back in place; she could see his eyes warm again, recognize he was back into himself. Lee straightened up a bit. "Cou-could you get me some water?"

"Sure…" Kat walked over to the desk and poured a glass to bring back.

"Thanks, Louanne." Adama grabbed her hand, guiding her to sit close to him on the bed.

"Do you know what happened, Lee? It seemed like you had a nightmare, but I've never seen anyone react quite that way." Her voice was shaky; now that he was acting more like himself, she could admit how frightening it had been a few minutes earlier.

Lee reached over and stroked her face. "This has happened to me before. Twice. Tonight's the third time…" he stopped, lost in some painful memories.

"Same dream?"

"It's…it's not quite a dream, Kat. I'm not sure how to explain it…you're the first person I've ever even talked to about the experience."

Kat waited; Lee wasn't a very verbal person, but she was pretty sure he needed to get something out right now.

Lee sat still, breathing in a slow, measured rhythm. "The first time was aboard the Eos. I later found out…that it was around the time Kara started an emotional connection with my brother."

"And the second time?"

"I later found out it was around the time Kara started an emotional connection with Sam."

"Okay…that would freak me out too…but in this case?"

"I think Kara's…somehow, this time, she's relinquished her soul. It felt like—like she was shimmering out of existence." Lee's voice was hushed and pained, almost as though he were in a trance.

"Lee, let me ask you something. Is it possible—do you think she's had the same experiences with you, this nightmare vision thing?"

"I…I honestly haven't any idea. It seems doubtful."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Lee looked at Kat; her eyes were telling him she knew something important.

"Go on, Kat…"

"The night you were shot aboard Cloud Nine…you were with Dee, right?"

"Yes…and Kara was there with someone else."

"Right, but do you know why she went there?"

"No. We weren't exactly…she'd already focused on finding Sam…it was a painful time."

"Yeah. I remember too, Lee." He smiled briefly at Kat; she'd seemed so damned insufferable then.

"Well, the night before, Kara had a blood-curdling nightmare. You'd already left for Cloud Nine; Helo was the one who had to calm her down, get her to snap out of it."

"How do you know this, Kat? She was in the officer's quarters."

"Because Helo was really shaken up by it, and he was discussing it in the head the next morning with Hotdog. Starbuck wouldn't tell him anything, even though he knew it had something to do with you—she'd started screaming your name."

"Gods, Kat—are you sure? That doesn't sound like Kara—"

"And someone would believe it about you? It wouldn't sound like you either, if I hadn't witnessed it myself."

Lee was stunned. Bound together. Was it possible…could they be that sensitively wired together and still be so frakked up, trying to make connections with other people?

"I'm…I'm glad you told me, Kat. But if you're right, then I'm truly scared. She's in terrible danger; I'm losing her for good."

"No. I think that's the point—it's your instincts, Lee. They're kicking in, telling you there's time, but only if you act now. Don't you think, if you'd reached out to her those other two times, the outcome might have been different? You have to break the cycle; this is your body's way of reminding you when it's possible to make it happen."

"But we're months away from bringing this together, Kat; she's obviously going through something right now!"

"Look. I know you've been pushing all of us, like you've got an internal time table of when things are meant to happen. I don't think we're off-base; we're just starting to skate on the edge. So keep to the time table, Lee; we'll make it. It's your destiny to save her; you see that, right? You won't fail. We're all here to make certain you won't fail."

"How did you…why are you so understanding about all of this? Most women would be—"

"Jealous? Ticked off? Nah, Apollo. I'm not looking to 'own' anyone, and I knew the score with you and Thrace from the start. I'm enjoying our time—it's part of the plan, I guess. I don't want more; I couldn't handle more. We're fine—trust me—I'll be here to support you, get you to the finish line."

"Louanne Katraine, I don't know what to say…how to thank you."

"You already have. Now let's get some sleep, okay? There's a lot to do tomorrow."

Lee sighed, wrapping his arms around Kat and holding her tightly in his arms. He might not love her, but he was going to genuinely care about her for a long time. She was the balm his soul had needed so badly, and he could feel—despite the anxieties—he was finding his center again, with her help.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX