The Light of Apollo

By Carolina Blue

A/N: Takes place in S2, between "Home Part 2" and "Final Cut."

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is property of the show "Battlestar Galactica," all rights reserved, etc. etc.

I know! I'm sorry! I suck! I've been trying to write this as best as possible before posting it, and it's still later than I wanted. So thanks to all reviewers/alert-ers! Keep them coming, they help me write! (Trust me, this would have been even LATER without you)

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Kara burst into the Pilots' Quarters, flight suit still on from her CAP and eyes blazing. "How the frak did they get off the ship?" she yelled at everyone and no one. She had just heard the news from a surprisingly gentle Tyrol, and right now she needed some intel. Or something to hit.

The mood in the bunk room was somber and still. "They were disguised as medics," Hot Dog finally broke the silence.

Kara refrained from pointing out that he wasn't supposed to be in Senior Officer's Quarters, instead sitting down on her bunk and pulling down the top half of her flight suit. "What?" she snapped.

It was Helo who answered, the best and only bet to calm her down. "We heard from Dee that there were two medics and a patient who left in a Raptor about the time Apollo disappeared. The patient was strapped to a gurney and, uh," he cleared his throat, "-unconscious. His face was obscured. No one on the flight deck saw anything suspicious…" he trailed off, flexing his hands.

"Was it Cylons?" Kara didn't want to ask, but she had to know.

"We don't know," Racetrack answered from her bed where she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.

"And if someone knows, they're not telling us," Kat's voice, usually so fiery and combative, sounded small.

Kara slammed a fist into her pillow, but it didn't hurt enough. Next she punched the bulkhead next to her rack, but that wasn't enough either. The sympathetic looks from some of the other pilots- those not purposefully avoiding looking at her- didn't help. Helo looked like he wanted to get up and go to her, or open his mouth to say something, but she warned him off with a glare. She leaned back in her bunk, back against the bulkhead, and stared straight ahead. And then it hurt too much to breathe, because the only thing she could see now was Lee's empty bunk.

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Somewhere else in the fleet, in a small nondescript room in a small nondescript ship, a bucket of water was dumped onto Lee Adama's head. He awoke with a start, coughing and choking. Instinctively, he reached up to wipe at his face, but he couldn't move his hands. His eyes flew open as the memories of being attacked (abducted?) came back to him.

He was in some sort of makeshift cell, empty except for a simple chair at one end and a small window at the other. Lee himself was sitting on a chair against the far wall. The reason he couldn't move his arms became abundantly clear- they were shackled and chained behind his back through the bars of the chair. His ankles were also shackled together. 'Not good,' he thought. He coughed again, but ran his tongue along his lips, trying to pull more of that water into his mouth and wash out the bitter aftertaste of chloroform. He took stock of himself, feeling the bruises littering his body, the cut at his eyebrow. And whatever had happened to his knee, it was throbbing dully now.

Finally, finally, he looked up at the other two people in the room with him. One was his Broken-Nose-Fake-Medic friend, whom Lee was proud to see actually did have a broken nose if the colors and swelling on his face were any indication. Lee couldn't help but smirk up at him. "You should get that checked out," he suggested, eyed widening innocently. "Know any good medics?"

The sharp backhand across his face drew his attention to the other man. He was tall and extremely broad-shouldered, like he could give Helo a run for his money. He had shoulder length dark hair, streaked with gray, and he looked to be about the same age as Tom Zarek, and twice as crazy. And that was saying something.

"Hello Apollo," the man said.

Lee winced, not liking that they knew who he was. "Who are you?" he asked, face becoming a mask again and voice adopting the commanding tone of a CAG. He was not giving these guys any more weaknesses from him than they already had seen.

"I am called the Father," the man answered, in such a benevolent, pompous tone that Lee couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Oh great," he muttered. Another hit to his face, and Lee had to turn to spit blood out of his mouth. He glared up at the man.

"You will show me respect, mortal, for the time your body has left in this world," the man commanded calmly.

Too calmly. His words were chilling enough, but the lack of sanity with which they were spoken scared Lee. 'Mortal?' What the frak… "You're Cylons?" he asked warily.

They looked shocked for a second, confused. Then the Father shook his head. "We are humans, the children, the chosen of the Lords of Kobol."

Lee felt a moment of relief for that, before getting confused again. Not wanting to show it, he smiled again. "So you're the child and the father, huh? That's got to be confusing." Another hit, this time a punch that landed on the muscles between his neck and his shoulder, rocking him back against the wall. He took a few controlled deep breaths, pushing away the pain of what felt like pins and needles poking into his skin, then frowned back up at the men. "Why am I here?"

The man continued to stare at him. Study him. Lee felt a little like a specimen in a lab. "You are Apollo, are you not?"

Lee had to force himself not to roll his eyes again. If his flight instructor weren't already dead, he would love to kill him now. Stupid frakking nickname. "It's my call sign. Nothing more."

The man smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. He pulled the other chair over to sit in front of Lee. His posture was strange, neither casual nor stiff. It was almost… regal, Lee decided. This guy may have been crazy, but he was also in control. "Nothing more?" he parroted back with a knowing smile. What he knew, Lee had no idea.

He watched him as the man rearranged his robes around himself more comfortably, and something caught his eye. The man was wearing a medallion around his neck, and the symbol on the necklace was unfortunately familiar to Lee. It was the same symbol that he had found on the bomb on Niobe.

He sat up straighter, eyes wide despite the blood that threatened to trickle down into them from the cut at his brow. "It was you? You attacked Niobe?" The frakker smiled proudly. Lee wanted to strangle him. "You killed innocent people for… for what?"

"We were looking for you," was his simple answer.

Lee shook his head. "What?"

The man leaned forward. "We had to find Apollo, by any means necessary. What are the lives of thirty-two people compared to that?"

There was so much wrong with that, it made Lee's head swim. Thirty-two people were killed because of him? He thought of that little kid in the sick bay. Zachary had to have died by now. "Thirty-three," he corrected softly. Gods, he hated that number.

"We had to find Apollo," the man insisted. He glanced up at Broken-Nose-Fake-Medic, who Lee had forgotten was still in the room. The silent man moved to the side, out of Lee's line of sight, but Lee was too focused on Crazy Guy to care.

"I don't understand," he said softly. In his head, the words chanted over and over again. 'Thirty-three dead because of you. Thirty-three dead because of you.'

Crazy Guy was sitting back again, still smiling. He took a deep breath as though preparing for a lecture. "As it is written in the ancient texts, the god Apollo brought a plague to the woman Niobe for disparaging his mother."

Gods help him, it was a lecture. "Yeah, he killed Niobe's sons and Artemis killed her daughters." Lee may not be religious, but he- like every other student ever- knew the tales of ancient history. "What does this have to do with me?"

"My children and I brought a plague to the people of Niobe, to call out to Apollo. So he would recognize his work and come forth." His smile faded, but the confident look in his eyes did not. "And you appeared."

"Wait, what?" Lee unconsciously tried to back up, but Broken-Nose-Fake-Medic had a hand on the back of his chair. "That makes no- that's just a story. And I'm not actually Apollo."

"But you are," Crazy Guy insisted. "Phoebus is inside of you, and it is our duty- our honor- to bring him forth."

It took everything in Lee not to roll his eyes yet again. "Gods no," he muttered to himself. Looking back up at his captor, "My name is Lee Adama, Captain, serial number 318742. I am the CAG of the Battlestar Galactica, my-" This hit came out of nowhere. He didn't think Crazy Guy could move that fast, and by the time Lee's vision cleared and his ears stopped ringing, Crazy Guy was sitting back in his chair, smiling calmly, like nothing had happened. Lee shook his head lightly, wincing as more blood dripped into his right eye.

Crazy Guy regarded him calmly. "My followers and I have been searching for you for many years. You are the Apollo Incarnate, the host to the Lord of Kobol."

"Please stop," Lee murmured. He was ignored.

"God of archery, battle and victory. God of truth and prophecy, God of medicine and healing." He leaned in closer. "You are the patron defender of herds and flocks. Of colonists."

"I'm really not," Lee interjected. Part of him thought this had to be some sort of joke. Another hit. This time the fist slammed hard into his chest. He doubled over, inadvertently pulling on the cuffs around his wrists and causing them to bite into his skin. He spent a few seconds catching his breath before glaring back up at the man. "What do you want with me? What do you think I'm going to do?"

The man's smile widened, and Lee thought about upgrading his nickname to Super-Crazy Guy. Especially when he spoke again: "You don't have to do anything; we'll take care of it." He looked over Lee's shoulder, and Lee was reminded that Broken-Nose-Fake-Medic was still there. Before he had a chance to turn his head, a sharp sting hit the side of his neck. Almost instantly, he was hit with an intense wave of dizziness. He tried to look at Crazy Guy, but there was nothing to focus on. Colors were running together, lines that should be straight were waving around him. Crazy Guy's voice was muddled, echoing through his ears as though they were very far away from each other.

"F-frak…" he stuttered. He waited for the darkness to close in, trying to count the seconds until it did. But he remained awake, and he had a hard time judging just how long a second was supposed to be. "What…?" His body felt heavy and lethargic, but his mind seemed to be floating. It was a disconcerting feeling pushing at him, like he was supposed to relax but just couldn't make it all the way there.

"Just a precaution," Crazy Guy's voice was swimming in his head. "It's for your own good." In Lee's experience, things that were supposed to be for your own good never were. But Crazy Guy continued, "It's the first step in breaking you free." The voice got closer, a hand was placed on his slumping shoulder, feeling like it weighed a ton. "Just let it in, don't fight it."

Lee let out a huffed breath that was supposed to be a laugh. Don't fight it? "S-story of my life," he mumbled.

"Not anymore," was the unexpected answer. He felt the men push him back in his chair until he was more or less sitting straight up. Then there were two shadowy shapes in front of him. "Why are you named Apollo?"

His body may be rebelling against him, but military instinct kicked in. He was being interrogated. "Lee Adama, Captain, serial number 3817-" Something heavy connected with his knee, the one that had already been hurting. It took a few seconds for the pain to register, but the fire that surged through him moments later brought a groan to his lips. He would have curled inward again but two pairs of hands pushed him back. The fire in his knee took too long to go away, leaving him gasping for air. He wanted to twist out of the men's grasps, but his limbs were too heavy to move.

"Apollo," the voice caught his attention again. "You have to let go of what you think is real, what your mortal body has known in its years. That's not truth. Give in to this, and it will help you see what is truth."

No, no, no. Lee is not someone who gives in easily. Whatever this thing coursing through his blood was, he didn't like it. He shook his head. "Lee Adama, Capt-" This time something definitely snapped in his knee, he just wasn't sure what. He let out a scream as the pain hit him some moments later, then quickly tried to swallow it back. Gods damn it, he wished this drug had just knocked him out. Where was the chloroform when you needed it?

That voice was talking again, circling him. Lee tried to follow the shadow with his eyes, but it just left him more dizzy. He swallowed again, trying to will his world back into focus, but nothing worked. Everything was off, like he was watching some video where the sound was a couple seconds delayed. He was floating, yet everything felt weighted down. But he would not give in to the sensation.

Still talking. "This is just your mortal prison, you have to accept that. It's a human body, weak and worthless." Lee winced at the word 'worthless.' He had had enough of that word in his life.

Father noticed the flinch, filed that away for later thought. He turned back to the acolyte. "How much of a dose did you give him?"

The acolyte shrugged one shoulder. "Should last another hour or so," he answered, his voice sounding congested from the broken nose.

Father nodded, turning back to Apollo, who was shaking his head again. "If it has to come to this, Apollo, then I'm sorry. But maybe," he gestured to the acolyte, who took up a position next to the chair, bracing Apollo back against it so he couldn't move. "Maybe we'll have to show you how weak and worthless a mortal body is."

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The punching bag had always been Kara's trusty friend. And today they were bonding more than usual. With all that Kara had just learned, if she didn't hit something right now, she just might tear the entire fleet to shreds with her bare hands. Never mind that that was impossible, she would do it. She was that pissed.

Helo sat on the leg press bench nearby. He wasn't really working out, just idly pushing the bar back and forth, pretending he wasn't watching her. He hadn't really left Kara's side since the Commander had debriefed the pilots an hour earlier. She wasn't sure if it was for her sake or his.

"I can't believe, after everything, human beings did this," his voice was soft and not nearly as casual as he had wanted it to be.

Kara's answering grunt echoed through the otherwise empty gym. The punching bag nearly swung off its hinges. Her hands were beginning to cramp, but she didn't care. She welcomed it. Pain kept her focused on the job at hand. Pain kept her from dwelling on what must be happening to Lee right now. A cult. The word alone was enough to freak her out. But a cult of religious loonies who were going to torture Lee to death because of his call sign? 'If that frakkin' flight instructor wasn't already dead, I'd kill him myself right now,' she thought.

Helo continued. "These are people we're supposed to be fighting to protect. How…?" he shook his head, cleared his throat, fidgeted a little on the bench. Three different signs that he was hoping Kara would say something.

She threw another punch, letting out a quick, feral scream as she swung. The bag swung wildly again, the chains and hinges creaking nearly as loudly as her yell. Kara turned away from it, going to her locker. She kept her back to Helo, not saying a word. The only sound in the gym was that of the bag swinging back and forth, slowly righting itself. When it stopped, the gym looked completely normal again, and Kara wanted to hit the bag one more time, literally knock the stuffing out of it, just so that something would look wrong. She felt so thrown off and frustrated; it wasn't fair that that the world looked the same as it always did.

Helo was obviously staring at her back. "Kara…"

"Damn it Karl, what do you want from me?" she half yelled, half growled. She spun around, ready to fix him with the hardest glare she could muster. An 'Adama' glare, if possible. But there was Helo, sitting there, staring up at her with a sad, understanding look in his eyes. Not pity, not worry, just understanding. It almost made her feel like crying, but Kara hadn't cried yet, and she'd be damned if she started now. "What do you want, Helo?" she asked again, quieter.

He held her gaze. "I want you know, I'm here if you want anything from me." And that was all he said.

"I want you to find Lee while I go kill those frakkers who took him," she grumbled, leaning back against the row of lockers.

Helo snorted. "Yeah, you and every other person on this ship." He dared to stand up and move closer, handing her a towel. She accepted it as the peace offering it was, her mind dwelling on what he had just said. It was true, there was a dark cloud hanging over the entire battlestar right now. Despite everything that had happened and everything Lee might think about himself, he was a popular person on Galactica. In all the time he spent on the flight deck, with the pilots, in CIC, hell- even in the sick bay, he had grown to be very well-liked among the crew. Never mind the pilots. He was a damn fine CAG, especially considering the circumstances. Had Kara ever told him that?

No. She had called him the worst CAG in the history of CAGs. It had been said in joking, but sometimes she worried that Lee took all of that stuff to heart. That he really did think no one besides her had his back on this ship. For some reason, that made her sadder than the situation at hand. It was partly her fault; she always teased him about those things. Maybe he really did think he was the worst CAG in the history of CAGs. Maybe he thought she didn't love him like he said he loved her. You're dreaming, Kara. Dreamer! Frak! He couldn't die. He wasn't allowed to die, not before her. That was the deal she had made with herself after he had reappeared in her life- twice- during those first attacks. Lee Adama could not die while Kara Thrace was still alive. She turned to Helo, who was stuck in his own thoughts, leaning against the lockers beside her with a troubled expression on his face as he looked over at the sparring ring.

"We have to get him back," she said quietly, firmly.

Helo tore his eyes away from the mats to look over at her. He nodded slowly, reassuringly. "Then we will," he replied. He moved closer to her, until their shoulders were almost but not quite touching. They both looked out at the empty, quiet gym that looked like it always frakking did. "We will."

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TO BE CONTINUED…