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.

10. Ch 10: Beware the Ides of March Part A

Chapter 10: Beware the Ides of March

A/N: First, a big thank you to all the reviewers and people who've emailed me with your comments—it has definitely kept me inspired!

Second, this is a big chapter, but it's been a while in coming, so hopefully it 'hits the spot.'  I took a couple of weeks to write out the Eos back story (it refused to stay on the backburner any longer); the results of that work have been folded into this chapter (and will continue in the next). Please note, due to server limitations, this chapter has two parts, A and B.

Third, I want to give a BIG Thank You to my beta, Uberscribbler. He has been unfailing in his willingness to talk through any plot point and offer up alternatives when I was trying to work out a tricky spot. He has really kept me motivated!

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Chapter 10: Beware the Ides of March

"Those things had to happen to me. That was my destiny. But you'll understand, soon enough, there are consequences to being chosen. Because destiny, John, is a fickle bitch." Character—Ben, Lost, episode "Cabin Fever"

"Oh, a storm is threatening my very life today; if I don't get some shelter…I'm gonna fade away. War, children—it's just a shot away; it's just a shot away." Rolling Stones, "Gimme Shelter"

Sit Rep: Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation

Sweat was dripping. Dripping everywhere. Lee woke up drenched, fighting for air. He was back there…in that viper. Metal so compressed and distorted it was impossible to tell it had been a viper, except for the nose tip; he had been trapped in that narrow machine core, his body as misshapen as his ship. Lee. Shake it off! You're in your rack on the Pegasus; that is the shadowed past. You can inhale normally…that's it…take in as much air as your lungs can hold—feel the pressure, cherish the exhale—that's good. You're fine. It's all fine.

Flinging his legs over the side, Lee let his bare feet take in the coolness of the metal floor. He wiped the beads of water from his forehead, and as he lay his hand down in the sheets, he marveled how damp they were. Damn, Apollo—who knew it could still grip you that hard after all this time?

It was the terror, the abject fear, that plagued him. Of all the war images held captive in his memory—his torture, the shooting of the Olympic Carrier, the dead pilots lining the hangar deck of Eos—the worst ones remained the sensations and poorly sighted glimpses he had, through his helmet, after that terrible explosion. Buried alive in jacket of steel…that's how it felt, in those moments.

Apollo thought he'd put the experience behind him. Years had passed since he last experienced such a vivid dream, relived the actual moments with that intensity. But there it was. Precipitous and treacherous in its effect, the way he felt unbalanced and scared. Can't afford "scared." Of all the frakkin' things to deal with, this cannot be one of them. Hurtling himself off the bunk, Lee ripped the sheets off his rack and tossed them in a pile. Reaching for a tank and running shorts, Apollo dressed and stuffed his feet into the right shoes. After a quick splash with water, he moved through the hatch and started a furious running pace. It wouldn't be possible to keep it up, but as long as he pushed his body that roughly, he wouldn't have to think. If he gave himself enough time, he could use up the adrenaline coursing through his blood. Leave the fear in a trail of sweat behind him.

Twenty minutes later, he forced himself to get as far as the head before his legs refused to carry him further. Falling to his hands and knees, Lee crawled over near a locker bench and spread out, flat on his back against the floor. Unfortunately, though his body had collapsed, his mind was still running at the same furious pace now. Closing his eyes, Lee gave into it. All the fragments of the story had been coming out; he might as well let the next set of inner demons have their day.

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Sit Rep (past): Viper squadrons from Battlestar Eos on approach to second Rogue base, eighteen months into assignment; 80 light-years from Caprica

"Apollo—Eos Actual. Visual?"

"Three primary carrier ships, Sir. Thirty rogue fighters already in the air, probably regular patrol."

Understood, Apollo. Operation status?"

"Operation Pollox 'Go,' Eos Actual."

"Confirmed. Execute now."

"Attention squadrons—runs begin on my mark—mark!"

Thirty-six vipers, in four groups, initiated the approach. They had five minutes, at maximum burn, before they'd appear on radar; the pilots would need perfect aim to take the thirty rogues out before additional ships launched. Two groups would focus on the rogue fighters, while the third began bombing the outer two carriers. Apollo was leading point for the fourth group, taking on the main ship.

The rogue patrol, still in formation and with no scouts, was surprised. They flipped and still managed to get two-thirds of the group in defense formations; the Colonial squadrons destroyed sixteen rogues in the first twenty seconds after detection. Damn, they're fast – who the hell trained them so well? Lee wondered, silently, as he started barking out additional orders for the vipers to shift tactics. He watched in consternation as his pilots picked off only eight more ships. It's not enough—they frakkin' know that's not good enough! He began a rapid-fire string of commands to execute the two latest maneuvers he'd developed; the viper pilots had only practiced them twice, but there was no choice. If they didn't get the last six out of the way in the next 15 seconds, the operation was in serious jeopardy before even one main goal had been reached.

Multiple explosions confirmed the risky new tactic worked; his own squadron, meanwhile, was knocking out the latest rogue fighters right after they launched. "Ninety seconds past initial radar detection, people—push! Push!"

The original two viper groups joined forces with the squadrons targeting the outer ships; Apollo heard the chatter in his com as main engine targets were destroyed. FTLs…come on…kill the FTLs…yes! He pumped his fist quickly in excitement. "Two minutes, ten seconds past detection…we're behind the clock…begin attack runs now!"

Closing his eyes briefly to block out the jumble of noise in his ear, Lee made the 180-degree turn and began flipping switches needed to release the heavy bombs attached to his undercarriage. The bombs were specially equipped with mag couplings. They would affix to the carrier hull upon contact, with a thirty-second time delay before detonation. His squadron continued to provide cover for him as more rogue fighters made it past the launch bay, strafing his teams. After release, Apollo's dradis reflected the bomb placements—as planned, they locked onto the primary bulkhead seams fore and aft on the targeted carrier. "All vipers—break! Break! Explosion in twenty…eighteen…sixteen…"

At exactly two minutes and twenty-five seconds after the start of the Pollox operation, horror smacked Lee Adama square in the chest. Four more carriers, the same size as the one he had just attacked, jumped in directly above the current contingent. Heavy fire claimed five pilots before Apollo could get out a formed set of commands. Further shock set in as one of the new carriers released two small drones; these moved to hover over each bomb and Apollo was amazed to see the magnetization reverse. The bombs immediately begin to drift. The drones kicked in short, powerful thrusters for three seconds, moving through space to re-align with the bombs. Standard tow arms extended to grasp the weapons; they would activate only when the magnets were engaged, so the bombs would be inert until…Frak. Frak! The drones are heading straight for the outer edge vipers, away from the carriers… "Code red—repeat code red! Stay within 500 feet of carriers, or mag bombs will attach. Repeat—stay in 500-foot radius!"

The vipers responded, but the tactic meant they were limited in defense moves and attack runs. Another twenty-five rogue fighters were emerging from the new carriers; the operation was in dire straights. In frustration, Apollo transmitted back to the battlestar. "Eos Actual--Apollo. Must retreat. Four new carriers in action; bomb plans unsuccessful. Need immediate extraction. Repeat—need immediate extraction."

"Understood, Apollo."

"Bombs in control of enemy—drones employed. Stay sharp."

"Confirmed."

At three minutes and thirty seconds, Lee counted fifteen vipers still in play. "Retreat and prepare for extraction, vipers—drones will attempt to lock in, so keep it tight and mobile." Apollo did his best to protect his team from the onslaught, screaming aloud when two more ships exploded off his right wing. The Eos jumped into view; thirteen vipers scrambled towards the hangar bays.

Without warning, twenty-five more vipers launched out of the battlestar tubes.

"Eos Actual—Apollo. What the frak is going on?"

Commander Thornton came onto the com. "Operation is highest priority. Weapon use authorized. Engage Sisyphus protocol."

"Engage Sisy—request for private channel, Sir."

"Denied, Captain. You have your orders."

Willing himself to hold his tongue, Apollo sat silent for two long, precious seconds. He just couldn't accept this was going to happen…

"Captain Apollo. Confirm orders." Commander Thornton was in no mood for debating.

"Confirmed. Sir."

There was no more time left for thinking; his flight group--every last person—might perish before the weapon completed its now six-minute cycle.

After the second test of the EMP, the engineers had managed to shorten the atom-cooling phase. It would hopefully catch the rogue forces off guard for completion of the end-game, but it wouldn't offer any guarantees for his vipers—they were currently becoming outnumbered two-to-one.

"Attention, all squadrons. Sisyphus protocol commencing. All vipers engage with enemy. Repeat—all vipers engage!"

The thirteen ships almost at the launch bay reversed course and moved to intercept. Apollo could hear cursing and praying echoing in his ear as the pilots took on the rogue fighters and carriers. Lee continued to watch the drone movements, but they were hovering at a certain distance from the main action. Waiting for the landings…

A large moving object in his peripheral vision startled Apollo, and then his viper veered uncontrollably. Debris from an exploding rogue fighter struck the ship's side; Lee struggled with the systems and his stick, trying to regain maneuverability. As soon as he was in command of the viper again, Apollo pushed into the fray to provide additional cover for the vipers working to destroy the FTL drives of remaining carriers. He shuddered as he watched yet another fifteen rogue fighters launch. The Aias group was fully aware of the EMP weapon and its capabilities; they weren't about to let the battle end this way.

Fighting for a clear strategy under such fluid conditions, Apollo quickly scanned the action. He could see five of the seven carriers had lost FTL functions or engine power. Somehow, his pilots had managed to hold their own against the rogue fighters; all thirty-eight vipers were still engaged. The sheer number of Aias ships, however, meant attrition was still the greatest threat; for every rogue destroyed, another appeared, as the carriers continued to release new squadrons.

Sorting through the chaotic firefights, Apollo realized the pattern of attack: the rogue fighters were setting up a barrier line, clearing a path for a small group to break through the viper defenses and fly underneath the battlestar cannons. Even though the Aias group wouldn't know how to disarm the weapon, they could target the main power source of the ship; if the engines were dead, the battlestar wouldn't be able to defend itself or jump away. With enough firepower to eliminate all of the vipers—it would be a matter of time—the Colonial ship would be unprotected and easy to board. He needed to disrupt the advancing forces immediately…according to the countdown clock in his viper, there were four minutes left before weapon activation.

Issuing orders as he positioned himself near the rogue barrier line, Apollo watched the vipers successfully take out the remaining carriers' engines. The Colonial squadrons broke into three groups; two began firing barrages along the emerging line, holding the recently formed inner rogue fighter group away from the battlestar. The third Colonial group, led by Captain Adama, took up positions around the main engines. It was a dangerous juncture; one miscalculation by a viper in maneuver could vaporize that ship or damage the battlestar's most vital systems.

The Aias rogues were prepared for this final phase, and the fighting intensity escalated rapidly. The countdown clock indicated three minutes were left before weapon discharge. Apollo knew he'd lose many pilots in the next sixty seconds. The rapid series of explosions obscured his view; it was impossible to tell if the rogues had broken their formation to concentrate on the main target. A brief second of relative darkness revealed ten rogue fighters were bearing down on his squadron. The remaining viper pilots were ordered to support the last defense line; Apollo was down to thirty-one ships. Two minutes to go…Eos cannons unloaded all ammunition; the core rogue group was knocked down to five fighters. The other vipers and battlestar artillery wiped out most of the outer advancing rogues trying to provide fire cover for the core formation. Ninety seconds before EMP discharge…

The vipers finally received the signal to begin combat landings. Lee ordered one other pilot to remain with him, covering the engines; they had to keep the worst from happening for another forty-five seconds before they could head for the safety of the hangars. Three rogue fighters started a final attack run, heading straight for them. Apollo and his wing managed to take out two ships, the last one chasing them as they struggled to reach the landing bay. Thirty seconds…he whooped as he saw the other viper's skids hit just in front of him. Twenty-five seconds…

Searing pain. That was the last sensation Lee remembered. Unmitigated agony, followed by silence and darkness.

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"Sit Rep! What the frak just happened?"

Commander Thornton—it appears the armed drones attached to the closing landing bay doors. One bomb failed to activate; the other detonated fifteen seconds before jump."

"Damage report? Is the other bomb—"

"Two-thirds of extended landing bay obliterated; second bomb attached to debris. We managed to seal off the hangar—auto-blast door did engage and hold."

"And the vipers?" Captain Thornton tried to keep his voice from wavering.

"Unknown, Sir. Communications went dead; I've dispatched a full medical team and rescue crew."

"If they didn't land behind the blast door, they couldn't survive the jump…"

"I'll use the portable com to radio CIC as soon as I have word."

"No. I'm going…I have to see for my…I have to know. Stay on deck and assess the other systems affected by the explosion."

"Yes, Sir. Please take the portable com, Sir."

Commander Thornton nodded. "Find out the ship's status, quickly. We'll have to go back to…make certain the operation was successful. I want to know what shape we're in before we try to jump again."

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Apollo was suffocating. He was vaguely aware of air still being pumped into his helmet, but he was pinned against the console so tightly he couldn't move his lungs. A terrifying and relentless pain gripped his left side; he had the odd thought he should be grateful for the throbbing, since it meant he probably hadn't broken his back. Lee was gasping for air, to little avail; there was no room to slide even slightly.

Fighting for consciousness, knowing he had only a few seconds, a word rattled in his skull: pressurization. Pressure…suit—his suit was still pressurized! If he could pull the emergency ring, he might gain enough space to finally breathe. Apollo couldn't be sure anything else was pressurized—it could be his death warrant—but it might buy him a few more minutes of life, buy him some hope of medical crews coming. Wiggling his hand, trying to keep the growing darkness around his eyes from expanding, Lee grabbed what he thought might be the release. With no air, he had no energy; he pulled as hard as he could manage. Darkness won in that moment; his last flicker of thought was of Kara, her voice whispering his name in his ear.

Some moments later—Apollo couldn't know how many—he came to. Suit depressurization worked…he squinted as he reacted to a bright light shining into his eyes. The helmet visor was cracked and smeared with blood; he couldn't see any details or people. A muffled sound told him someone was above him, outside the ship hull; then he was aware of a very loud buzzing noise near his head. The pain on his left side actually intensified; whatever internal injury he'd suffered, it was quickly becoming fatal. Need to know I'm alive…move fast…have to hold on…He tried to use his voice. The sick taste of blood suddenly filled his mouth, and he coughed up the bright liquid into the helmet.

Gods…I wasn't ready to…Kara, wanted to go back and…have to try...Lee struggled through the nausea and pain to make a sound again. He gave up on any words; in frustration and fear and agony, he let a scream rip from his bloodied lips. He screamed a second time, and the last wave of life energy shot through him as he let it continue, unabated. The rescuers reached through the metal opening to cut the helmet in two and remove the broken pieces; Lee's gut-wrenching wail permeated the space around the emergency crew.

"He's going into shock and coughing up blood; we'd better move fast, or we'll lose him."

"Give him morpha. Two shots."

"Sir, we don't know the damage yet; it could make things worse—"

"He may die before we finish getting him out of this twisted scrap. I won't have Commander Adama's son spend his last minutes in this kind of agony."

"Understood, Doctor."

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Commander Thornton was sitting by Lee's bedside, watching the respirator move rhythmically. He kept grinding his teeth, thoughts of recent events battering his conscience. The EMP weapon discharge eliminated the Aias operations completely, in one move; the fighters, the ship-building facilities, the conventional armaments—all had been destroyed. But the weapon hadn't been developed with the expectation humans would be aboard enemy vessels; the energy was intended for machines. Microwave emissions meant excruciating deaths for all aboard the rogue carriers.

In the end, however, the mission had been accomplished. A new weapon was ready for full deployment, and the Aias group had been dismantled—throughout the twelve colonies and in deep space. Two hundred sixty rogue sympathizers were killed in twelve months; during the same time, over seventy viper pilots also died. It was a high price to pay to prepare for a Cylon enemy the Colonials hadn't encountered in nearly forty years; Thornton had to wonder, privately, if history would prove the folly of this pursuit. Worse, his own command was ordering him to cover tracks; the Eos had the grim and morally questionable task of destroying all evidence of the battle outcomes.

As predicted, several of the carriers exploded after the EMP weapon discharged, making Thornton's next job less extensive. The scientists had previously determined the cause of the explosions; if the fuel level in a ship's tank was just low enough, some of the tylium liquid, as heated by the microwaves, changed to a gaseous state. The fuel injector would simultaneously short circuit; sparks from the electrical discharge ignited the gas vapors, causing a massive explosion in the tank itself. This event set off a chain reaction of other detonations, until the affected ship simply blew apart. Depending on the proximity of another vessel, it could become part of a second chain reaction.

When the Eos jumped back after the attack, three carriers were fully blown apart; two others had been caught in the debris and were severely damaged. The Eos crew was now expected to destroy all of the vessels, breaking them into small sections, then apply special thruster equipment to set the debris in motion in all directions. The process would to take five days.

Thornton rushed to request a special military medical transport be sent immediately to the area; he had to risk the intelligence exposure to save those who survived the bombed hangar blast. While all remaining vipers had landed behind the failsafe door at the time of the detonation, the subsequent damage left four pilots and ten hangar deck crew members in grave condition. One of the pilots had already died—the man flying wing beside Apollo—as had three of the crew; the others were barely holding on, and Lee was in the worst shape. He needed surgery, in less than 24 hours and at a skill level beyond that of the doctors aboard; the medical transport would have everything necessary to try to save his life.

The emergency medical ship was expected to arrive within the hour, and as Thornton took the young man's hand in his own, he desperately hoped it would be enough.

A loud clearing of someone's throat caught Commander Thornton's attention. It was his XO. "The transport's here and docked; I asked them to move Captain Adama first, so they can review the information and prepare for surgery."

The Commander nodded. "I want to see the Chief Medical Officer of that transport now; please take him to my quarters. Ask Dr. Breslin to join as well.

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The two physicians stood as Commander Thornton entered the room. "Dr. Drury, is it? Have you been briefed?"

Dr. Drury looked at the Commander solemnly. "Your doctor updated me on the condition of all other patients coming aboard; we waited for you to arrive before discussing Captain Adama's condition. What is the extent of injury?"

Dr. Breslin spoke. "Captain Adama's viper was crushed during an explosion in the hangar bay, and a piece of metal from the rear structure penetrated the cockpit seat. It lodged deep into his left side; the spleen and colon were damaged, certain muscles were nearly severed, and his heart and lungs were bruised. We managed to stabilize him, but there's internal bleeding; he needs surgery for organ and muscle repairs."

"I managed to recruit two of our best surgeons for this trip; Adama will be in good hands. We'll do our best. Remember, though, we'll have to make the jumps back in phases; the FTL shifts are destabilizing for critically injured patients. It will take three days to reach Caprica."

Commander Thornton interjected. "Don't fail him."

"I…No, Sir. We won't." Dr. Drury knew the odds; they all did. He could only put his most skilled people forward to help the man; the rest was up to the fates.

Moving towards the hatch, Dr. Drury pursed his lips. "I need to go now and make sure Captain Adama's stabilized aboard our ship. I'll use the security channel to let you know his progress."

"I expect Commander William Adama will be there when you land…"

"He already made that clear. I'll be prepared for the 'Adama' treatment." All three men smiled slightly, knowing it would be a difficult conversation.

"Thank you, Dr. Drury."

"We'll pull him through, George."

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Lee woke up, his heart pounding. He couldn't figure out where he was, or how he got there, and memories of Captain Resurgere flooded him with adrenaline. Deeper fear set in when Lee realized he was hooked up to a respirator, his body so weak he couldn't manage to lift his hand. He wanted to cry out, but there was no way to make a sound; tears immediately began streaming along the sides of his face as pure panic gripped him.

Three medics rushed over, alarmed by the heart monitors wildly chiming.

"Gods, he's going into defib…Code Blue! Code Blue!"

Lee's body gave out; he slipped into nothingness.

"Godsdamnit! We're losing him…Frak…Charging! Clear…"

"No change—"

"Then hit him again!" A reassuring jagged line pattern appeared on the monitors.

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Dr. Drury ran towards the gathered team, taking in the situation. "What the frak did I tell you? Someone is supposed to be at his bedside at all times—he's been through too much—he's bound to panic if he wakes up with a machine pumping his lungs! Godsdamnit! His heart and lungs are bruised…he cannot afford the loss of energy or the stress of cardiac failure and electrical shock."

The head medic spoke up. "I take responsibility, Sir. We're short-handed, with all of the additional critical patients from Eos…"

"Immaterial, Lieutenant."

"Understood, Sir. I'll assign Lieutenant Mercer to stay with the Captain."

"How are his other vitals? We were able to save part of the spleen, but with the colon resection too, he's in real danger for septicemia."

"White cell count is holding steady, Sir. Low-grade fever, but that's to be expected…"

"We've got to give his immune system a fighting chance. What's the status on the isolation bed?"

"The room'll be ready in two hours."

"Good. Page me as soon as he's being moved."

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Piercing lights and harsh noises pulled Lee into semi-consciousness. He was immediately aware of the respirator, but remembered it had been in place some time before. Trying to focus his eyes, Lee realized he was moving…rolling…wheels. He was on a gurney; there was actually wind against his face. The lights faded, and Apollo caught a glimpse of a night sky before being whisked into a building. Every bump of the wheels caused his whole body to seize up in pain; he wished he could just make it stop. He was so exhausted…as though every last drop of blood had been drained away. Closing his eyes, Lee felt his own life slipping again. Maybe I should just let go now…

"Gods, he's going into cardiac arrest…"

"Grab the cart—there's no time to reach a room—"

"Charging—Clear!"

"Come on, Lee Adama—you made it this far—"

Lee could hear the voices, but everything was distant and muted. He knew he was nearly dead; an all-encompassing peacefulness was spreading through every cell in his body, and he wondered if it mattered anymore, the fighting for…

"Lee? Lee?"

Kara…Kara's voice. I've already passed over, then…she can't be here.

"I've got your hand, Lee. Zak's here too. We're here—you've got to—"

"Lieutenant Thrace, stand back—that's an order!"

"Lee! Lee!"

Her voice…it's real…real…

"I've got a rhythm—his heart's restarted. Let's move, people—he needs an ICU bed, stat."

Moving again—where's Kara? Come back, Kara. Come back…too much pain…don't want to be alone with it. Please, please…

"His vitals are still wildly uneven—I think he's in a lot of pain. We need to give him another shot of morpha before we go further."

"Do it."

Lee slipped into unconsciousness yet again, not knowing he'd remain in a coma for the next seven days.

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Sit Rep (present): Battlestar Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks after New Caprica Occupation

Voices nearby drew Lee out of his memories. He glanced at his chrono, cursing under his breath when he realized he had been out of his bunk for an hour and a half. Tired now, a headache beginning to build from his temples to his forehead, Lee moved quickly to stand; he didn't want anyone catching him sprawled out on the floor, wondering about his mental state. Pulling the kit and towel from his locker, Apollo decided he would grab a shower before returning to his bunk; it might help him become drowsy again.

Finally reaching his quarters once more, clean sheets hastily spread, Apollo sighed deeply as he sank into his pillow. The headache was worse, but it blocked all deep thoughts, allowing Lee to mercifully capture a few more hours of sleep.

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Eight hours later, after morning meetings and report reviews, Lee stepped into the CIC. Everyone seemed deep in concentration at his or her post; each person was buzzing with nervous energy, preparing for the rescue mission. Apollo asked the communications officer to set up a ship-wide broadcast; he and Tigh had established a set time for the announcement.

"Crew of the Pegasus, this is Commander Adama. After conferring with the RSG, we've agreed it's time to begin active raptor scouting runs to New Caprica, seeking to establish contact with our people. This is a significant step, signaling final preparations for our full rescue mission. We obviously don't know the status of things planet-side, and I want to prepare you for the possibility we may not make successful contact for several weeks. Knowing the skillfulness of our military folks down there, I'm confident they'll have found a way to receive and transmit—it's just a matter of timing. We'll pursue this course of action for three weeks; if we've been unsuccessful up to that point, the RSG has developed an alternative plan for reconnaissance. I'll keep you informed of our progress—you'll hear the minute we have a positive identification. In the meantime, emphasize self-management at all times. We're prepared and ready to complete this mission—stay focused and we'll execute against the plan."

Helo moved beside Apollo as he finished the broadcast. "Can we talk in your ready room?"

Lee looked at him with slight wariness. "Sure…let's go."

Once inside, Lee gestured for both of them to sit. "What's up, Karl?"

"I've reviewed all of the planned ground operations with Tigh. We're set, at least based on the assumptions we've made."

Lee nodded; this couldn't be what Helo wanted to get off his chest.

"I've also finalized the two 'end-game' scenarios—losing one of the battlestars, and using the EMP weapon."

"Well, obviously, we'd better not lose the battlestar Pegasus, if we intend to use the weapon." Lee smiled sardonically as he said it; Karl's face remained motionless.

"Gods, Helo, spit it out!"

"Have you…have you thought about the prophecy, Lee…the part about how 'you alone' are supposed to rescue Starbuck?"

"Yeah…what are you getting at?"

"We don't—there's no scenario for that…you going down on the planet."

"Frak me, Karl—you're letting this stuff mess with your mind. I am rescuing Starbuck—along with what we hope will be another 30,000 Colonials! The Commander can't leave his post—you know that—there's no way I would be going planet-side. I'm supposed to lead 'Colonization,' remember? Can't do that if I'm blasted to smithereens on a hero-fool's errand. What's more, Starbuck is Starbuck—standing on her own two feet and not about to be waiting around for anyone or anything."

Lee rubbed his face in aggravation; why the hell was Helo bringing this up as though it was important, let alone as though it was a possibility? They'd assumed all along Kara was with the rest of the leadership group; she was an integral part of the ground extraction plans.

"Lee—I know you don't want to consider this, but there's the chance Kara's been imprisoned…or worse."

"There's that chance with every 'leader' on the frakkin' planet, Karl. Surely that didn't just enter your mind now?"

Helo looked angrily at Apollo. "Uncalled-for tone, Sir."

Lee was unrepentant. "Look, are you asking if I'm worried about what we'll find—the conditions, the status of those we love, the extent of Cylon aggression? Of course I am, Helo. But I can't afford to dwell on any of that, and neither can you. Self-management applies to us as much as to the rest of the crew!"

"I'm telling you, Lee, that there's going to come a moment when you have to re-evaluate the priorities, and as your XO, I'm required to remind you of that."

"Because you're afraid I'll toss everything aside to run down to New Caprica?" Lee was incredulous.

"No, because I'm afraid you won't. It's the counter-intuitive move, and you're still hanging on to ideas of things from the past."

"Ideas of things from the past?" Like your interrupted sleep last night, Lee?

"You haven't accepted what happened a week ago—I can tell—and the outcome of the rescue mission may depend on your state of mind regarding the future. Everyone's future, Lee."

"Karl, what I've processed from the events of last week is my own damned business. I need you to be the XO, not some frakkin' priest with a calling. We are moving to reclaim our fleet, put things right. That's your job, that's the priority."

"We are moving to transform our fleet, put things on a new path. That's your job—your priority."

Apollo shoved the chair aside as he stood up. Fury was building in his eyes.

"Your language is bordering on insubordinate, Major—this discussion is over. Dismissed."

Karl stared at Lee a long minute. To Apollo's surprise, Helo didn't seem angry; he was determined, jaw set, but quiet. Waiting for something. You'll have to wait a long while, Helo…

"Helo—one more thing." The XO continued to stand still.

"The religious stuff—the prophecy, the prayer—that stays between us, even after we've brought the fleet back together. Understand?"

Karl continued to lock his gaze on Lee, unflinching. "Yeah. And it will, Commander—stay between us—right up to the point where the gods demand you step forward. You'll be the one to acknowledge the 'religious stuff'—and when that time comes, you won't be able to keep the words from spilling out of your mouth."

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Sit Rep: New Caprica, Eleven Weeks After Cylon Occupation

The Cylon Cabinet convened in the main meeting room at their headquarters on New Caprica. Final preparations were being made for the public execution of Felix Gaeta and the most revered of the Priestesses that could be identified among the humans—she went by the name Selenne.

"When will the gallows construction be finished?" D'Anna was leading the conversation.

"Another 24 hours. The weather caused some delays; we had to balance the building activities with the need for secrecy. The fencing and tarps began to collapse under the wind and sleet; we had to reinforce them first." Cavil was responsible for the next steps in the plan.

"I didn't ask for a drawn-out excuse, Cavil. We need to strike quickly; it's already been 24 hours since the attacks, and the humans are feeling emboldened by the silence of our people."

"I offered no excuse, D'Anna. Perhaps you'd like to be out there yourself, directing the centurions?"

"I have other projects needing my attention."

"Ah, yes, your human pet. I would think Caprica's experiences should have been enough of an example to prove the folly of adopting one." Cavil sneered.

"My pet is at least contributing something interesting that might be of use to us later. Leoben's, on the other hand—"

Leoben spoke heatedly. "Kara Thrace is not a pet—she's a part of our destiny—and the other one, Laura, is a prisoner. One who gave up some important information yesterday that I think all of you will find valuable."

D'Anna laughed unkindly. "Really? In another one of your 'sessions,' Leoben—your built-in excuse to abuse 'our destiny' so freely?"

Doral held up his hand. "Give him a minute, D'Anna. While I'm skeptical of the validity, he did uncover something you'll all want to be aware of."

"There's reason to believe Admiral William Adama is in hiding on New Caprica."

Cavil's eyebrows raised. "That's not possible, Leoben. The human woman—Roslin—she used that old human trick of disinformation on you."

"No. Here's the video—see for yourself. An Eight helped with the lip-reading and translation."

The Cabinet watched the images and scanned the pages Leoben handed to each member.

Simon began the next round of conversation. "We went through the tents—everything was thoroughly scanned and checked. If Adama was here, we'd have found him."

"Unless he was shifting between locations…we didn't alert centurions to that kind of possibility. There could also be a hiding place, a safe house."

Doral intervened. "No. Very unlikely. As I stated to Leoben—we've studied the Admiral in some detail—his motivations and patterns of behavior. He's too full of self-importance to stay in the shadows; he'd want to be seen 'leading' the settlers. We have enough humans in our police force now to know the main rumors passing through the city—this has never been on the radar."

"There could be alternative explanations—"

"Leoben—silence! We've indulged your whims long enough. I asked for the video to be shown so the Cabinet could see this information for what it is—speculation at best—and further, I want the future care of Thrace and Roslin to be transferred to Simon, for the time being. The Cabinet must take a vote on the matter—we need to be clear that Leoben's peculiar approach to the humans is unacceptable.

"You saw Thrace on that tape—if she is part of our 'destiny,' we may be losing our only chance to realize it. Her mind is deteriorating at an alarming rate. Further, as Simon will confirm, Leoben has been administering Lethe to Roslin, causing her mental deterioration as well. This must be stopped."

"Doral—calm, brother. We know you've objected to Leoben's tactics for some time. There is sufficient evidence here to support your contentions." D'Anna was bored with the sparring between the two Cylon men; it was time to eliminate the distraction.

Cavil looked to Simon. "Are you prepared to take over their care?"

"Yes. I began tapering them both off the heavy drug dosages yesterday; hopefully, in another day or so, we'll have a better sense of what's permanent damage and what's reversible."

"Doral, we'll put it to a vote."

"Wait—Doral and I have an agreement, and I want that to be part of the vote as well." Leoben stared coldly at the other Cylon.

Caprica was perplexed. "What do you mean, an agreement?"

"It wasn't binding—we made a wager."

"Leoben, continue." D'Anna thought things might be growing more interesting again.

"I'm convinced William Adama is on this planet, and the public execution will draw him out. Doral agreed that if Adama is brought to us within the next three weeks, he'll be turned over to me—along with Kara and Laura. Adama's capture would be a direct outcome of my 'tactics'—proving the validity."

Cavil gestured to Doral to confirm or deny Leoben's claim.

"We did wager that, but—"

"Then it should stand. Let's turn the prisoners over to Simon; if we find the Admiral here, on New Caprica, credit should go to Leoben…he can satisfy his whims, having proved the value of his methods." D'Anna liked the idea of watching a good 'cat and mouse game,' as the humans would call it.

Cavil nodded. "Anyone not in favor?" No one spoke or moved. "Done, then. Simon, arrange for the quarters of the two women to be set up here in this building; after what's happened, I don't think the detention center is the best location. But keep them apart; I want to see how Thrace recovers on her own."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tom was throwing up for the third time that morning, and he was sure his temperature was well above 100 degrees. He thrust his hand out to grab anything that would help support him as he tried to make it back into his bed. The shaking was uncontrollable; he could hear his teeth clicking together incessantly. Zarek cursed himself for his stupidity; he'd passed out, in the snow, and awoke some time later in a serious state of hypothermia. There was no chance his body would've held up long enough to make it to The Cellar, even if he'd taken the risk, so Tom had lumbered back to the Phygera instead, grateful his limbs took him that far.

Tom wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, and he suspected his blackout was a result of Gaeta's attack or the drug Caprica had administered on the trip back to the planet. Not that it mattered; he had gone into physical shock, with no viable means of treatment to pull him through. His condition was bound to worsen over the next several hours. Maybe my number's up, he thought dejectedly, knowing it would mean Felix died for no good reason. As if sparing Tom Zarek's life could be considered a 'good reason'…

He held out the faint hope one of the settlement leadership group members would realize he was back and come to the ship, discovering that Tom needed help—quickly. The other possibility was that someone from the Cylon Cabinet would seek Tom out, but the thought of seeing or talking with any of the Cylon models put him in a panic. Even though he hadn't been tortured, something about Caprica's words terrified; knowledge of Gaeta's murder pressed down hard on his conscience. As he sprawled out on the bed, Tom was beginning to think it would all soon be moot, these speculations. Zarek was weakening further, as the electrolyte imbalance and falling blood pressure began their nasty work on his organ systems.

For the second time in as many days, Tom managed to pull out the talisman from Tory, barely gripping it in his severely shaking hands. He closed his eyes and prayed to the gods—for forgiveness. It wasn't right to ask for anything else; Tom had never committed himself to religious practice, never offered anything before to these gods he'd steadfastly ignored. He wasn't sure he could ask for forgiveness either, at this stage of the game, but he was remorseful. Sorry for the people he'd killed early on in his life; sorry for his misguided arrogance, thinking he could somehow lead a movement; sorry for talking Baltar into using New Caprica as a campaign issue and supporting Baltar in getting elected; sorry for his general crimes against humanity.

Tom cringed as he realized one other important task he'd likely fail in before he died—passing on Gaeta's words from their final meeting on the basestar. They were important; probably Adama could figure out the riddle...he should try to write down the phrases…only he didn't have the strength to find the tools, remember the strange sentences. Total failure, to the end…

A thought struck Zarek then; he held the talisman in his left hand while his right struggled with the drawer next to his bed. He managed to wrap his fingers around the prize: one shot of morpha. With a little luck, maybe he'd just fall asleep and never wake up; even if he wasn't that fortunate, he'd still experience some relief before the final agony of being trapped in a body deteriorating towards death. Clumsily, Tom managed to stick his arm, and a small smile came across his face, even as his teeth continued chattering. A few moments later, the shaking stopped; it was blissfully quiet, and he sighed as he drew the covers closer around him.

The familiar sound of the hydraulic door lift penetrated his awareness. Tom would have laughed at the absurdity of his timing, if he could have managed the effort, but he was too incapacitated. He fought to keep his eyes open; Zarek was aware of his head flopping to the side as his mental faculties faded. Tom thought he saw a figure with long, dark hair moving near his face, but he felt like he was in a dream-state, so that might have been a wish projection. However, then the figure spoke, and the warm tenor of her voice nearby was real enough.

"Tom—oh gods, Tom, what happened? What did you just inject? Tom! Focus on my voice…that's right…I'm going to help you, but you have to fight through the images, stay here in the real world with me. You've got the…the talisman…squeeze it tight. Try to talk to me…I need to know what's happened."

"Tor-ry?"

"Yes, Tom. It's Tory. Feel my hand. Frak, you're so cold…have you been sick?"

Tom shook his head up and down slightly, though he instantly regretted it—multi-colored sparks swam in his vision.

"And the injection—was it morpha?"

"Y-ye-s." He fought to get another word out. She had to understand what the real crisis was. "Hyp—ther—"

"Hype…ther…hypothermia? You're hypothermic?" Tom gripped her hand harder in response.

"Okay. Okay. I know what we need…but I'm going to have to make my way to the medic tent nearby, get the supplies to take care of you. Don't lose faith, Tom…I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

Tory flung open the bedroom closet, hoping to find additional blankets. Spying a comforter, she dragged it down from the shelf and hurriedly wrapped it tightly around Tom's body. Finding a knit cap, she pulled that over his head too; any way to trap the body heat had to be used. With a quick kiss to his forehead, Tory moved back towards the door and the outside.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty minutes later, medic Daniel Froman in tow, Tory scrambled up the steps into the Phygera. Tom was death-white and passed out on the bed. They worked quickly to set up an IV, pump fluids into him, and give him the precious shots of what medicine they had left. Froman unloaded an electric blanket from his knapsack, plugging it in and asking Tory to help him strip the patient, so the warmth would be directly against Tom's skin. After 15 minutes, all of the medical steps were completed; There was nothing else to do but wait.

"Daniel, thanks for coming and bringing these supplies—I know they're our last."

"He's still the President, though I hardly know what any of that means anymore."

"It means we have a way of life—human society—we're still fighting for. And this man has been doing his part to keep the Colonials alive—so we're doing ours for him."

The medic bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I need to go, Tory—it's almost nightfall, and there are a lot of people who need regular blankets distributed. The power's been spotty at best, since the resistance attack, and the Cylons aren't going to repair the conduits, so we can't rely on space heaters to help people make it through the cold evenings."

"I know, Daniel. I'm beginning to think winter is just a permanent—and deadly—feature of the landscape here."

Froman moved to leave. "I'll come by in a few hours; if you think I can sleep on the floor in this outer room, I'll stay with him tonight, make sure he's stable."

"That would be wonderful."

After the medic left, Tory surveyed the small space, searching for clues that might suggest what had happened to Tom and Gaeta on the basestar. No one had seen Felix; now that Tom was here, she had a sickening feeling it meant Gaeta's fate was an even darker one. In the past 24 hours since the last resistance effort, after the centurions searched every single tent, the settlers had largely been left alone. The absence of communication could only mean the Cylons were planning something significant; Tory was positive they would intensify their response.

She was equally certain it wouldn't take much to push the rest of the settlers over the edge—humanity was reaching the critical juncture where decisions would be based on the "nothing left to lose" mentality. The Colonials were starving, freezing, laboring—suffering. Prolonged suffering—the kind that motivated people to battle for change, even if the odds were against them, even if death was inevitable. The Cylons could strip the Colonials of everything—snuff them out of existence—but the one thing the humans would hold, until the last, was free will. They would choose to go out fighting.

And it will be an arduous battle, Tory thought, as she saw the electricity flicker out in the ship. Knowing the heat would continue to run on the emergency generator but the blanket wouldn't function, she understood she had to make up the difference, and soon, or Tom would probably not survive the night. Without hesitation, Tory removed most of her clothing and moved under the covers, gingerly sliding her body alongside his. The electric blanket had been working well; the warmth lingered in the sheets and other bedding, as Tory carefully placed her arms and legs to surround Tom's skin with her own. Uncomfortable at first, she willed her mind to stop analyzing, and let her limbs relax. Hopefully, the power would come back on; until then, Tory knew the best thing she could do was try to get some sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Tory? Tory, is everything alright?"

She stirred, finally remembering the voice belonged to Daniel Froman. "In here, Daniel." It was morning; had he not returned last night?

"There you are—how's he doing?"

"I…I don't know yet. The power went out…I was worried about his condition backsliding, so I—"

"Good thinking, Tory. You kept his body temperature stable—that was very important."

"I…thanks. Is the power back on?"

"No—but this place still feels heated—how's that possible?"

"Emergency generator—works the life support systems and the primary equipment, like hydraulics for the hatch."

"How long will that last?"

"Depends on the fuel left…two days, maybe."

"We won't try to move him, then, for the time being. I'll give you a second to…get up…and then I'll check his vitals, see where we are."

Tory rose from the bed and quickly tossed on her clothes. Froman took Tom's temperature, looked at the IV bags, gauged his pulse and pressure.

"He's definitely improved, Tory. We're out of the IV solution, so you'll have to help hydrate him the old-fashioned way—wake him every three or four hours and make him drink two glasses of water."

"Fine. I can do that. What about eating?"

"If he's got anything here, let him eat it…shouldn't be a problem, and he has to do what he can to get his energy back. The Cylons are already asking about him, where he is…they won't let him stay out of action for long."

"What did you tell them? Did they come by the medical tent?"

"Yeah—took a look at all of the patients, as if they were searching for someone specific. Then asked about Zarek. I explained his condition; that D'Anna model seemed a little skeptical. Wouldn't put it past her to come to the ship herself, so be ready."

"Thanks, Froman."

"Oh, and I can't forget to tell you this—it's why I couldn't come back last night. The Cylon leadership made a general announcement—while I was here helping Tom—anyone violating 9 pm curfew will be shot on the spot. Further, all the humans have to come to an 'event' in the middle of the city today at 11 am—about an hour from now. I told them Tom couldn't walk or stand up, but D'Anna said your presence was mandatory."

"That sounds pretty ominous, doesn't it…"

"I'm sure it will be…sobering…alarming. The Cylons don't know how to project anything else."

Tory wished it was possible to communicate with the other settlement leaders, but she didn't dare take any risks. Froman was only a casual acquaintance; she couldn't trust him to carry a message.

"I'll be at the public center area in about half an hour, then. You should probably get back; we don't want to draw undue attention to Tom's condition at the moment."

"Tom's pulling through, Tory—that's the good news. We have to hold onto our successes to keep surviving, no matter how fleeting they might be."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tory left Tom sleeping soundly as she dressed for a long stint of standing outside in the piercing cold. Approaching the center area, Tory saw there were thousands of people milling about. Despite the crowd size, very few people were talking; dread lingered over each individual settler. Three huge view screens had been set up, clearly to ensure all of the people would see what was taking place in the moments ahead. A large structure, unrecognizable under the tarp coverings, drew the eye to the center of the screen. Tory involuntarily shuddered; something shocking and indelible was going to occur, and everyone gathered knew it.

Searching for recognizable faces, Tory saw Galen and Cally nearby. She navigated through the throng to stand next to them. Cally was holding Nicholas in her arms.

"Hey. Good to see you both."

Galen nodded. "You too. Heard Zarek might be back?" He darted his eyes around; it was a dangerous time to ask any questions, but they needed to pass information along as quickly and as often as possible, given the circumstances.

"Yeah—in bad shape though." At Cally's horrified look, Tory hastily added, "not torture, at least not the kind we're all thinking of—it's hypothermia. He went into physiological shock; Tom's condition was severe when I first found him."

"You think they just dumped him outside, let that happen?" It was a morbid curiosity, but Tyrol still tried to make sense of the Cylons' actions.

"I don't know, Galen…Tom's been passed out for most of the last 24 hours. There's any number of questions I wish we had answers to…no sign of Gaeta or what's happened to him."

Cally shifted the weight of the baby in her arms, trying to shield him from the bitter winds kicking up. "Gods, I wish we knew why we're here—it's insane, insisting each and every Colonial come out into this frakkin' cold."

Tory said nothing, but as she turned to stare at the covered structure for a moment, she wondered if she'd prefer not to know what lay ahead.

A face caught her attention—It can't be. He wouldn't risk this…

"Galen?" Tory tilted her head in the direction where she thought she had just seen the Admiral. That isn't—"

"Shhhhhhh, Tory, for frak's sake!" Tyrol moved close to grab her arm and whisper in her ear. "I'm as disturbed about it as you are, but the Old Man is getting a bit off balance, starting to reach the event horizon, if you know what I mean. Laura, Starbuck, Sharon—it's all adding up. And with no sign Apollo or the others are ever returning…"

Tory whispered intensely back. "We don't know, really, if the fleet is out there. Gaeta was still working on the jammed frequencies. That's part of the reason I'm so anxious to find out what's happened to him; we need to know how to carry forward with the steps. Do you think the Admiral can—"

The arrival of centurions and the Cylon Cabinet halted all movement and noise. Two people, clearly prisoners, were yanked into view; though hooded, Tory was certain one of them was Felix Gaeta.

The Three model D'Anna stepped up to a microphone. "Humans of the 12 Colonies, your recent actions are crimes punishable by death. Despite our best efforts to live beside you, share our resources, educate you in the ways of the one God, you have spit in our faces. Today, the Cylons demonstrate our commitment to still carry on in this 'social experiment,' while better protecting our own interests.

"The Colonials must accept the consequences for their actions. Still, we know not all of you were or are involved in the Resistance activities, and punishment should be meted out to those who played an active role." D'Anna signaled to the centurions to remove the tarp coverings.

Collective gasps and shouts could be heard as the gallows appeared. In the corner of her eye, Tory saw Admiral Adama, hooded and face downward, shift his weight uncomfortably. She was overwhelmed by a sensation—Bill's presence here is a mistake.

Galen's elbow in her side pulled her attention back to the scene in front. Keeping his hands below the general line of vision, he pointed to the gallows and then showed three fingers. Tory studied the structure, and realized—there were three nooses. But only two prisoners…

The Cylon Cavil stepped to the microphone. "Today, you will witness an event familiar in your human history. The public execution of wrong-doers signals crimes against the Cylons will not be tolerated. We will punish those who act in defiance and rip apart the fabric of our partnership. Murdering Cylons—including centurions—justifies the taking of lives in return."

Doral removed the hoods of the prisoners. More settlers reacted in realizing Gaeta and the Priestess Selenne were up on the scaffold.

"These individuals admitted to their culpability. They will now accept the consequences." Centurions positioned the two humans and placed the nooses around their necks.

D'Anna stepped forward once more. "We know these leaders did not act alone. While they would not give up the names of conspirators, our police force has surveilled many groups. We want to send a clear message to the conspirators among you—be prepared to lose everything you hold dear. Come forward, surrender to the police force, and we will spare others. Remain in the Resistance, and watch as those you cherish pay the ultimate price."

Tory's heart leapt in her throat as D'Anna thrust out her arm and pointed into the crowd, near the spot where Tory, Galen, Cally, and the Admiral were standing. Not even thirty seconds later, she was frozen in horror as two Centurions emerged from the sidelines and made a direct line for Cally and Galen.

The other humans stepped back as the centurions approached. It was instinctive; no one was able to reason clearly, think of options to stop what was happening. Felix Gaeta's voice could be heard in the background screaming "No, No! This wasn't supposed to happen—No!"

Cally was lifted straight off the ground. She tried to pass the baby to Tyrol, but the centurion roughly scooped the child into a metal paw, still gripping her arm with the other 'hand.' An other-worldly sound began to rip from Galen's throat. He was screaming, trying to grab Cally and Nicholas back; the centurion knocked Tyrol to his feet in one smooth sweep of metal.

Tension through the crowd was almost a physical sensation against the skin, but still, no one moved. They could storm the gallows collectively, stop the madness…but the centurions had enough firepower to kill every last person standing. In the altered time state associated only with moments of intense crises, the settlers watched as Cally was placed in the third noose. The Cylon Cabinet stood silent, appearing to take some perverse pleasure in the waves of fear emanating from the sea of people before them.

And then, time shifted into hyper-speed. The sound of a lever being pulled…three humans dangling, feet thrashing…the unprecedented sight of a centurion snapping a child's neck…wails rising from every direction. Tory had to look away; her mind wasn't able to process the sights and sounds around her.

Another moment…Bill's hooded figure reaching to forcibly grab Galen, lock him in an embrace to keep him from falling and becoming trampled. Tory could only stare as Bill dragged Galen into another part of the crowd, trying to ensure they would both be lost in the swarming about to follow.

And the swarming started. Small groups leapt out onto the scaffold, grasping for the members of the Cylon Cabinet; other clusters began jumping on top of centurions to bring them down to the ground. Rapid bursts of gunfire crackled, and settlers began dropping—two, three, four at a time. The Cylon Cabinet members, Caprica and Boomer, were shouting and gesticulating wildly, ordering the centurions to stop shooting. Cavil grabbed D'Anna, following Doral, Simon, and Leoben into a heavy raider on land nearby. Tory watched the swirling commotions, dazed and lost. A hand—a voice—a slap across her face—she shook her head to clear it, understanding Sam was beside her.

"Tory, we have to move—now. Admiral's ordered all of us to relocate to The Cellar, permanently, starting this minute."

"No, Sam, No—I have to be with Tom. He's in serious condition, in the Phygera—"

"Damnit, Tory, this is no time to play 'hero!' Tom can fend for himself—"

"You're wrong, and I'm not leaving him alone, Sam. Not after what we've just witnessed—we cannot possibly leave him to the fate of those—monsters—"

Sam hissed. "Let's get him then, and hope to hell we can reach The Cellar without risking the lives of the rest of the leadership group."

It took seven minutes to reach Tom's ship. Snow was beginning to fall again, heavy enough to indicate a blizzard was unloading above them in the near future; at least it might make it harder for the three of them to be seen during the trek ahead.

As Sam entered Tom's bedroom, he understood why Tory had been worried. The President was pale and shaking visibly, mumbling in a delirium.

"I'm going to carry him over my shoulder, Tory—it will be the fastest way to cover the distance. Grab a few of his things, and help me with covering him; there's no way to protect him fully from the cold, but we can try."

They said nothing more as each went about the immediate tasks. Another five minutes had ticked by; they were stepping outside again. Tory spoke. "We should split up—it will seem less noticeable." Sam waved a hand in agreement.

"See you in a few more minutes, Tory."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill staggered forward in the snow, the falling wet flakes making it difficult to see ahead. Galen was walking with him; Adama kept a tight grip on his arm, to be certain he could steady the Chief and stop him from bolting. They were almost at the tent entrance. Bill yanked Tyrol beside him as he stepped behind a tree, surveying the area. There were no centurions in sight, but Adama continued to scan the tree line and any surface structures nearby, squinting to determine if he noted anything resembling a camera or video feed. Satisfied he wasn't finding anything, Bill guided them both into the tent and kept a hand on Galen's back as they descended the steps.

Alarms went off as Adama realized Tory and Sam were absent; he also wondered what had become of Tom Zarek. Knowing Galen was his immediate concern, Bill gestured to Maya to come and help. They removed Tyrol's soaked outerwear.

"Let's get him in the shower; it will warm him up a bit. Maya, set up a cot near this space heater, and hunt through that box in the far corner—there—for a sedative. I think we have one bottle left. We should give a dose to Galen right now." Maya scurried off while Bill tried to talk to the Chief in a low, calm voice. He didn't remember what he said; it didn't matter. He just had to keep Galen anchored—enough—to stabilize things, give his body time to catch up with his mind and emotions. Nothing would make the next few days, weeks, months easier—for Tyrol or anyone else. The only thing to focus on was survival. They might all be dead in the soul, physically sick from malnutrition, but it was still possible to survive. It was the only goal left; surely nothing else was attainable any longer. Even rescue seemed a hollow and inscrutable concept, in light of the present realities. They could only survive—fight—until the last.

After the shower, situating Galen to rest for a while, the Admiral went to check on Sharon. She was awake. The pain continued to drain her of energy, but she was alert and anxious to understand what had happened. Asking Hera to 'keep an eye' on Tyrol, Bill drew both women into the communications room to share the events of the past two hours. Sharon's eyes filled with tears as she listened to the sickening details; Maya could do nothing but stare at the floor.

"So what are our next orders, Sir? Everything's rapidly disintegrating; we need to come up with a plan to help the settlers survive. Scattered resistance actions aren't going to help; they Cabinet will take out the rest of our race, if they decide it's a lost cause."

Adama looked at her hard, a memory coming back to him. "You tried to warn us about how the machines would think…I'm sorry I didn't listen, take more heed."

Sharon took his hand. "I think we'd have ended down this road regardless, Sir. The actions of the Cylons have been ill-considered. They simply don't understand what they're doing—or how they're doing it. And now, I suspect they don't know how to stop, either."

Bill dropped her grip. "The Colonials know how to stop, but we won't—I won't. It's time for me to lead our people again, Sharon—our back's against the wall."

"As I asked, Sir—what's the plan?"

"We've got to figure out how to break the jamming signals, in the slim chance the Galactica and Pegasus are still out there and planning to help us. However, we can't wait around hoping for a mystical intervention any longer. I want to talk seriously about the alternatives—all-out war against the Occupiers, or an exodus. We've got flight-worthy ships with FTL capabilities, and supplies aboard them; maybe it would be better to be on the run than caged here, animals for slaughter."

"We need Sam here to really start hashing out the pros and cons of each…any idea when he might return?"

"I thought he'd be here already…" anxiety crept across the Admiral's face.

Sounds in the outer room interrupted their discussion. Bill saw Sam stumbling down the steps, a large form over his shoulder; Tory was following. He realized the body draped over Sam must be Tom.

"Sam, Tory—thank the gods. We were truly beginning to worry."

"We had to go back for Tom; he was too sick to make it here any other way."

Adama rubbed his face, briefly, before moving to examine the man's condition. It seemed like everyone was falling...this was his third 'patient' in twenty-four hours.

"What happened? He wasn't at the…how did he escape?"

"We don't know, Admiral. I found him in the Phygera yesterday, critically ill. Somehow he'd ended up outside, exposed to the elements, and went into hypothermia. Then his body went into shock; I don't know how long he'd been that way, or how he even made it back to his ship."

"So he's unconscious?"

"Most of the time, yes. He wasn't ready to be moved, especially out in the cold again, but we didn't have a choice."

"Was the medic able to give him anything—fluids, drugs…"

"Yes. But he's probably still dehydrated…I couldn't stay with him this morning."

"Okay. Let's set him up on the other side of Tyrol, see if we have any saline drip left to give him, and hope he regains consciousness in a few hours. I need some answers." Bill crossed over to Anders.

"Sam, how are you holding up?"

"Ready to be done with these Cylon bastards once and for all, Sir."

"So say we all. I know what I'm about to ask is risky—but every move we make is dangerous at this point."

"Go ahead, Admiral—I'm game for whatever you've got planned."

Bill smiled. He was reminded of the characteristics Kara had probably found so appealing in this man. "Gaeta had a computer in his tent. I don't know if the Cylons searched there; it could already be confiscated, but we have to try to retrieve it. Felix was working on our jamming frequency problem, and I have to see if I can figure out where he was in solving things."

"I'll head back out now. But, Sir—"

"We need a plan of action that doesn't involve waiting for help that may never come—I understand, Sam. When you return, we'll talk about the other possibilities."

Sam appeared relieved. "See you all in thirty."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tom jerked up from the cot, trying to figure out what was going on. The room was still; he recognized, finally, he was in The Cellar, and there were other cots nearby. Sharon, Galen resting…what's happened? How long have I been here? He moved his legs; his whole body strained with effort. Tom noticed the IV in his arm and realized the bag was nearly empty. Thank gods—whatever they'd given him, it had helped tremendously. He was conscious and at least able to think coherently, for a change.

Tentatively, Tom moved to stand up. He was dizzy, but after a moment, he could take a few steps forward. He wanted to get to the communications room, find out who else was here who could fill in the blanks about his lost time.

As he unsteadily entered the room, Tory grabbed him to make sure he didn't lose balance. "Hey, Tom—glad to see you're awake, but you really shouldn't be walking around just yet." She gave him a small smile; one look in her eyes told him the last few hours had been emotionally painful. Sam and the Admiral looked up from the table, where Adama was busy with a laptop. Maya and Hera had spread out on another part of the floor; Maya was trying to keep the little girl occupied with a few toys.

Tory brought Tom over to the chair next to Sam and handed him a bottle of water and a protein bar. "Try to eat…we need you back on your feet."

"What happened? How did I get here?" Tom was unsettled by the vacant stares of the others.

Sam laid out the recent events. Tom leaned forward, head on his arms, as he understood the gravity of their circumstances. He was inconsolable over Gaeta's death.

"It's my fault…I involved him in all of this. I still don't know why he sacrificed himself like that…I wasn't worth it."

"Tom, Felix was a good officer, and he understood the risks and the reasons for taking them."

"No, you don't know…" Tom explained what had transpired aboard the basestar, including the final conversation with Gaeta and Caprica's actions.

"Strange that the Cylon risked anything to intervene." Bill was weighing the information carefully. "She did seem shocked by the actions of the others…she and Boomer did. They tried to stop the massacre afterward, though it was…futile."

"I'm not sure if it means anything, but Caprica and Boomer do appear to react differently. It isn't affection for the humans, but—" Tom wasn't sure how to describe what he witnessed.

"Affinity. Recognition of something…maybe because of familiarity. Both of them—or versions of their models—spent a fair amount of time with humans." Adama was processing.

"Not necessarily good memories to download, though—I can't believe it would explain…"

"I don't think that Cylon aboard the Pegasus downloaded." Adama's firmness on the matter startled Tom and Sam.

"I guess all we can say is we should keep observing those two models. If we believe they might at least hesitate before acting, we could use that to our advantage." Sam was already mapping out strategies for broader attacks; he wanted revenge…for so many reasons.

"Tom, you said Gaeta specifically asked to talk to you before returning to New Caprica. Do you remember the details of the conversation? He obviously wanted us to understand something."

Tom nodded. "It's easier if I just write out the words—do we have something I could use?"

Five minutes later, Tom handed the paper to the Admiral. He'd struggled to recall the right phrases, but he realized they had to be exact. Bill looked over the paragraph.

The last time you and I went searching for something that tasted like the cum-urio tea leaf back on Sagittaron, we ended up with a plant we transported back to Roslin to cultivate. I've actually collected quite few new specimens of plants, and had talked with Baltar about testing these for new medicinal properties we might be able to exploit, or examining them as food sources. With Roslin gone, I'd taken over the care of the plants, and now, I'd like you to assume the responsibility. It may sound small, but I still believe Baltar could discover something important. My favorite was the mittere flower; it transmits a very sweet scent, and seemed to work on faster healing of surface wounds. My notes on it are on my desk; please see that Baltar gets them.

"Alright…cum-urio is a root phrase from the ancient language, meaning 'communications.' 'Mittere' is another root phrase, meaning 'message.' I think 'transmits sweet scent' ties into that—transmitting a message to our battlestars. All of this relates to the work he was doing to resolve the frequencies…and I have his laptop. That's probably what he meant by 'my notes.' But I can't…we have to figure out how to take the next steps. Tom, did he say anything at all, before you went to the basestar, about the jamming frequencies?"

He told me…it was a masked relay. Somehow, he'd rigged a masked relay. It would pull the data from the raider…I don't understand how it would function, only that he'd capture something on a personal device, then send it to his laptop."

"But the laptop was powered off, hidden when I found it." Sam worried they were on the wrong track.

"Right—but when we power it on, somehow…using the com panel here…the signals held in this device would transfer to the laptop, and the software could translate the data into something into useful."

"Okay. Tom, that helps a lot…let's hook this to the panel. Sam—hand me that cable." Adama maneuvered the equipment, then booted up the computer. They held their breath, waiting. Bill could see the machines were connected and communicating; a data sequence began streaming down the screen in a series of unrecognizable commands. Then a visual box popped into view: "Ready for conversion. Enter primary code."

"What the frak does that mean?" Sam was anxious, impatient.

"It means we're still missing a clue from Gaeta's message. He was aware the Cylons were listening to each word, and he was being extremely careful. He didn't want them to realize what he'd really done, what he was after." Adama marveled at the man's ingenuity.

Tom snapped his fingers. "he mentioned plants several times, and medicinal properties—healing surface wounds—maybe there's something in that?"

Adama shook his head in agreement. "Gaeta would remember the cryptograms from Academy training, and he'd expect me to follow along. So let's write out the four key words, in order: plants, medicinal, surface, wounds. If we take the first letter of the first word, the second letter of the second word, and so on, which is the first code we cover at the Academy…we get 'pern.' "

"Which means?" These military types are too clever by half, Sam thought to himself.

Which means…means it's a slang term for something. Something a technology and communications expert would know…frak! Frak! I…it's not coming to me." Adama slumped in his chair, dispirited.

A female voice broke into the air. "Stands for 'pernicious'—as in 'pernicious virus.' "

"Sharon—it's good to see you. Pull up a chair." Tom was genuinely happy to see her, even though it was confusing, at times, even now—Cylon, but somehow no longer Cylon-like.

"Thanks, Sharon…that has to be it. Okay…does that mean, once I type the word in, a virus launches? We can't risk that…they'll track our signal immediately."

"No. It should mean that once you type in the word, the jamming frequencies will come up. Using the algorithm Gaeta programmed into the software sub-routine, every time you press "send" to unblock the frequency, the Cylon mainframe systems will interpret the communication signal as a potential virus. The system response to a computer virus is to encapsulate it—which in this case, will just ensure the frequency signal remains unjammed for a longer period of time."

"Won't the open channel be detected?"

"Unlikely. There are momentary lapses in coverage all the time, due to solar interference, unusual radiation, etc. The odds that one frequency out of thousands is actively open and transmitting—especially when there's no evidence of Colonial ships out there—they will consider it acceptable error."

"Won't that mean we only need one frequency, then?"

"The encapsulation functions for a set period of time. The computer systems on Cylon ships are almost living things—they mutate and adapt—once the system has developed the appropriate 'defense' to the perceived 'virus,' the threat no longer exists. Encapsulation's no long necessary. We'll have to change codes every 24 hours."

"Enough talking—can we just see if the frakkin' thing works?" Sam was less interested in the hows—he wanted to know if the Colonial fleet was out there and receiving.

"Let's take it out for a ride." Adama entered in the word, then pressed the primary key. Recognizable frequency codes appeared. Bill selected one, then pressed the 'send' key to forward it to the com panel system. A transmission screen opened. The Admiral typed in a message: "Still here. Come now. Out of time. WA."

The message went out; for ten minutes, the group was quiet, waiting to see if anything came back. At last, Bill spoke. "They'll be scanning all channels. There must be 300 codes here; let's send the same message over several frequencies, and give ourselves some time."

Sam spoke up. "Meanwhile, can we work on another plan? The Cylons aren't going to be sitting around waiting to see what the humans do next, and frankly, I don't want to disappoint them." He had a dark look on his face.

"We'll begin discussing another plan. But first, I want us to all bow our heads and remember Gaeta—he gave all he could to us, our people, and he deserves our solemn respect." Adama stood up, gesturing the others to follow.

Bill said a few words about Felix, and then additional comments for Cally, Nicholas, Selenne, and all the other men and women who had died in the past 24 hours. No one was able to hold back tears.

Finally, the Admiral looked up. "Now it's time to make sure those toaster mother-frakkers pay for all they've cost us."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sit Rep: Battlestar Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation

Lee was in his quarters, reviewing the latest CAG reports on mission preparations. He was relieved to see most of the statistics improving, but still concerned there continued to be so many mistakes in the complex maneuvers. They didn't stand much chance if they had to rely on basic flight moves. A sound at the hatch reminded him Kat was expected.

"Hey, Sun God. You look like you've been thinking too hard again."

"Uh-huh. Just going over the flight stats. I know the pilots are tired, but they've got to get these patterns, down, Kat—they Cylons will shoot them out of the sky in groups of ten if they keep this up."

"We're running the drills, Commander, and they're spending two hours in the ready room each day going over the timing, the sequences, the videos. It's coming together—we just haven't hit critical mass yet."

"The fleet has two weeks left, three at most, before we have to let this plan loose. I'd suggest we hit 'critical mass' in the next few days."

Kat waited for a smile, but seeing none, came over to the couch to sit next to Lee. "We will. I'm with them all the time, Apollo—I know what I'm seeing—we're gonna hit the targets." She put her arms around him, then drew his face in for a kiss.

Lee felt her next to him, and tried to force other thoughts out of his mind. Thoughts about a stunning viper pilot who had missed him, after all, wanted him…still. He kissed Kat back, let his hands wander to their favorite places, let hers move between his legs…

Gently, Lee pushed Kat back from him. He couldn't do it. Somewhere between last week and this one, after the talk with Helo, everything internally transformed. He dreamed about Kara, had fantasies about Kara, worried about Kara. The longing had taken over again, full force, and he wasn't going to be able to ignore it—or want anyone else.

Lee's head was down; he looked into Kat's eyes at an angle, furtive and tentative.

"I get that this 'thing' is winding down, Apollo. We're nearing the edge of the razor, and the focus has to shift. You don't have anything to regret or apologize for."

"You've been…" Lee sat up to look her in the eye. "I do have feelings, for you Kat. And I always will. It sounds so trite to talk about friendship, but—"

Kat put a finger briefly to his lips. "It's not trite—it's what we've always been. Will continue to be." A sharp pain shot through Lee's center…Kara said that too, and look what happened…

"Apollo, stop it. I've seen that look before…the past doesn't decide the present. And Thrace doesn't get that, yet, but you do…don't fall back into old habits."

"I still can't figure out how you do it…read my thoughts that way." He smiled, his first genuine one in the conversation.

"That's what friends do, Apollo. And I'll keep doing…so watch out!" She laughed, and he joined in.

"Hey," Lee said, softly. "I'll never be able to thank you. You helped me get back on my feet, in so many ways. No one's ever…I hadn't experienced that kind of giving before."

Kat leaned over near his ear, conspiratorially. "Maybe you never asked, Apollo…or accepted."

He stared into her eyes, faces close together. "Now I know how to do both." Lee pressed his lips against hers. It was a good-bye; this part of their relationship was ending, and he wanted to acknowledge it properly.

Kat stood up to go. "I'll see you for our regular briefing with Racetrack tomorrow."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee couldn't sleep after Kat left; so many thoughts and impressions kept rushing into conscious awareness. He wasn't able to keep up or process all of them. Exasperated, and a little desperate, he got out of bed, contemplating what to do to deal with his insomnia—running hadn't turned out to be such a good idea. Lee found was completely off schedule the following day, and every hour counted right now. Maybe he should just try walking.

Casually dressing, Apollo headed down the central corridor. The ship was always busy now, even with the smaller crew, but at this time of shift, few people wandered the halls. He listened to the rhythm of his walk, concentrating on the light sound of heel against metal. He was almost in a light trance, his thoughts slowing down in speed, if not in volume.

Something tugged at him, a slight change in the air…he stopped, finally looking at where he was. He blanched, slightly; he was standing in front of the official temple on the ship's main deck. How the frak did I end up here? He stood with locked knees, staring at the doors. He hadn't stepped into a temple since…since Zak's funeral. When he married Dee, Apollo had insisted on a civil ceremony—they took their vows with Helo officiating, his father and Sharon as witnesses. He wanted nothing to do with temples or priests or hollow promises of better tomorrows and the dead always helping to guide the living.

Now, Helo's words were pounding in Lee's ears.

"You'll be the one to acknowledge the 'religious stuff'—and when that time comes, you won't be able to keep the words from spilling out of your mouth."

"Just as the Lords left to populate the Colonies, so certain individuals, in each cycle, are meant to expand the reach of humans in the universe, bring a group of people to a new place, where hopefully they evolve—rise above their base emotions and pettiness. In this cycle, that individual is you."

Lee took a deep breath. It wasn't like something would self-destruct inside if he went in…he pushed the right side door open.

The room was dark, no artificial lights marring the interior. Candles covered every side altar, and the front was set with four large pillar lights, flickering deep into the center. The space was empty; Lee could spend his time undisturbed.

As he moved closer to the front altar, Lee smelled the intense fragrance of the burnt faeres leaf; he wondered how there could still be a supply of the incense after all this time. His eyes rested on an icon of Aurora; for whatever reason, he picked it up, carrying it with him to a spot he decided was as good as any. Semi-circular, tiered seating lined each side wall, but many preferred to sit on large pillows evenly spaced near the core of the room. Lee knelt on one pillow, then opted to swing his legs around, arms wrapped around his lower legs.

Pressing his forehead against his knees, Lee practiced a relaxation technique he'd learned a long time ago, from the military counselor who'd been assigned to him on Caprica, after…after Lee finally accepted he might never recover from his experiences aboard the Eos without guidance. Lee let the tension ebb from his frame, allowed his mind to shift where it wanted. And, ultimately, Apollo knew exactly where he would find himself, what he'd be compelled to walk through, because his mind had been pulling him inexorably to that point. Ready for the demons or not, it was apparently time—time to face them—because he wasn't prepared to lead a floating nation if he couldn't lead himself through this wilderness called the past.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sit Rep (past): Caprica, Two weeks Post-Op; Aileron Military Medical Center, Intensive Care

The first two weeks in the hospital were barely part of Lee's consciousness. Later, Zak and his father would fill in missing pieces, but Lee only remembered two days fairly clearly. For the first week, as Zak explained, Apollo had been kept in a medically induced coma. When they finally brought him out, the total length of time he'd been on a respirator—close to ten days—coupled with the severity of his bruised lungs and the recently repaired muscle tissue…it all meant he struggled to wean himself off the mechanical breathing machine.

In the end, it took five painstaking, anxiety-filled days, most of which Lee tried to blot out by sleeping and regularly requesting more morpha. Finally, the physician put him on an anti-anxiety drug; it shifted Lee's fear into a lower gear, enough to control his body. When the large tube was pulled from his throat, it took another two days for Lee's voice to return, and even then, it was a raspy, half-version of himself.

Everything was arduous, taking more energy than Lee thought he could find within him. His father or brother had to help him sit up, take a drink, move into a chair. He'd never felt so weak or tenuous…or afraid. His body was fragile, unwieldy and untrustworthy. He wondered if he'd ever recover enough to have a normal life, and the anguish at the thought of giving up flying was too much to absorb.

Worse, though—far worse—was his loss of will. Lee knew he needed to fight—push through the pain, take back the reins, move forward. And that was the problem—Lee didn't see any "forward" worth pursuing. He didn't want to "deal" with the searing torments haunting every physical movement. He definitely didn't want to deal with what had happened over the past eighteen months. But most importantly, he didn't want to deal with the reality that was "Zak and Kara."

Of course, Zak was oblivious—he had no reason to think Lee would not be delighted to learn his brother had fallen deeply in love with one Kara "Starbuck" Thrace. Tying together the snippets of conversation, it seemed Kara and Zak had "been there for each other" when the news of Lee's presumed KIA status first devastated all of them. Their closeness led to other feelings—more on Zak's part, he'd confessed to Lee—"but I won her over with my charm and 'skills,' if you know what I mean." Lee could only nod and smile weakly as a darkness sucked away whatever small energy his soul might have mustered.

It wasn't that Lee blamed either one of them, really. At this point, after everything that had happened to him, Lee seriously questioned what he had to offer—as a friend or a brother, let alone as a romantic partner for someone. But the loss was still real; Kara hadn't left room in her heart, believing Lee was dead. The way he felt internally, maybe that would have been the preferable outcome.

By the accounts of the doctors, over the past six months alone, he'd nearly died four times—just counting hospital stays and cardiac arrests. That didn't cover all of the near misses while fighting the rogues for the past year. So he had to marvel at the absurdity of it all…he'd survived all kinds of hell, only to land in the middle of another nightmare. And this was the worst one, because now, he had nothing resembling hope in his life—health gone, flying gone, career gone…love of his life gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On the fourteenth day of hospitalization, as Zak sat in a chair next to him, Lee found himself actually contemplating the ways he might be able to take his own life before anyone could stop him. He had come up with at least two plausible options, though he was still too weak to manifest either one. Maybe in another few days, he could just…

"Lee—Gods, what are you thinking about? You have such an eerie look on your face!" It was Zak; immediately, Lee felt guilty.

"Nothing. Just staring off into space, I guess."

"Yeah, I think you've done more than enough of that already. Come on, let me help you out of bed, and we'll go take a walk outside—you need to remember what the sun feels like."

"No, thanks, Zak. I'm too tired."

"Lee, for gods sakes—" Zak tamped down his exasperation. "Look, I realize you probably feel like this recovery thing is going to take forever…" Lee rolled his eyes.

"…but it won't, brother, I'm telling you. At least, not if you start on it now. And I'm here to help you, every step of the way." Zak gave him his best reassuring look.

"Damnit, Zak, I already told you, I won't allow you to burdened by this crap, my crap!" His brother's eyes flared in pain; Lee regretted his caustic outburst.

"I'm sorry. Gods, I'm so sorry. I know you want to…but Zak, you have everything going for you, and I want you to keep that momentum. This new trial flight program you're in, your friends…Kara…put all your energy into those things. It's up to me to…to handle my stuff."

Zak leaned over his brother at that statement, his body tense with anger, eyes boring into Lee's soul. "But you're not, Lee—you've given up. I see it in your eyes...hear it in your voice…and I can't just 'leave you alone!' "

Lee stared back, his eyes dead but pleading at the same time. "Zak. You can't fix this. I don't know if…if I can. One of us deserves to be happy, to have a full life, and it really ought to be you. You're the one who—" He couldn't go on. He wasn't able to cry any more, not since his torture on the rogue base ship, but he was paralyzed by emotion, nonetheless. He wasn't sure how to be persuasive when he had no spirit to draw upon either. Still, it was Zak…and Kara…and he had to try. He had to get his brother to focus on his own future.

"Look. I love you—you'll never know just how deep that goes. And I can't—I won't—be able to move on with my life until I'm sure you're on track with yours. You have to be weeks behind in your studies now, and in your sims practice. There's no time to lose, Zak, and you've worked too hard to lose ground now on my account."

"I'm not going back to the Academy unless you make me a promise."

"Fine. What is it?"

"Well, actually, there's three parts to it…"

"That's three promises, then, Zak—" Lee had to smile a little, despite himself.

"Fine. Three promises, then."

"Because the gods send things in threes…"

"Something like that. Do you agree?"

"Don't you think you need to—"

"Uh-uh. Promises first, explanations second. My life is on the line here, after all!" Zak smiled slightly.

Lee exhaled an audible sigh. "Okay. Give it to me."

"One, you start physical rehab in earnest—this afternoon." Lee expected that.

"Two, you agree to take medication for depression." Zak stared hard at his brother.

"Zak, no one's talked to me about…"

"They're afraid to. I'm not. You're in despair, Lee, and I know it seems real, but—you have so many gifts. You have a great future ahead of you, once you reach out for it again. And I want you to find love the way I have; you deserve that too."

Lee shook his head. He didn't believe a drug would fix the emptiness that possessed him now.

Zak pressed forward. "And Three—" he could feel his legs shaking as he tried to imagine how Lee would take this one.

"Three, you agree you'll call me or your doctor when you're thinking about taking your own life."

Lee's body curled up involuntarily. He knew his mouth was open; he had to consciously think to close it. How in the hell could Zak…and then Lee sighed again. He could because he was Zak.

"I'm…I don't know what to say. I'm sorry you saw—" for the first time in months, Lee felt tears stinging his eyes.

Zak moved to the bed, enveloping Lee in a hug. "It was a hunch. Lee, I love you, and you've been through so much—I wish I could lift some of that burden off you now."

"Oh, Zak, please don't say that. I'm so grateful you don't have this—garbage—running around in your head. I desperately hope you never do." Zak was still hugging him; Lee's heart seemed to shudder forcibly in his chest. And then Lee felt it coming—that torrent of grief he'd been trying to hold at bay for months and months and months. He moved to get away from Zak, but his brother just grabbed him more tightly.

"You don't have to be Apollo, stoic leader and bearer of the Adama tradition here, okay? You're my brother, and you're hurt and angry and depressed and tired. There are no witnesses; you're safe to just be. So, Lee? Just. Be."

Lee sank his weight into his brother's arms, and for the first time in nearly a year, he let himself cry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The days after that conversation were better. Actually, some of them were wretched, but mainly because of the physical pain; emotionally, while Lee couldn't say he felt much of anything, he would acknowledge he was at least on a more even keel; he hadn't had any more thoughts of suicide. Conversations were a chore, but somehow he managed to say a few things to each person—his mother, his father, his best friend from the Academy, Tom Warren, and Zak—to get by, as another day passed, and another.

He couldn't go "home" yet—not that he was anxious to be anywhere. He didn't have an apartment, so the only place he could stay would be at his mother's house, at least until he could make other arrangements. She seemed sober, these days, and she was dating someone, so it might not be so bad there, but he was hardly motivated to leave the rehab facility to live with his mother. Tom Warren had offered Lee a room at his place too, but now that Tom was married to Sarah, Lee figured he would just be a burden—they didn't need a negative, surly boarder hanging around.

Luckily, the military rehab hospital offered semi-normal sleeping quarters—they weren't cozy, but they weren't like a typical sick room either. When Lee had free time, he focused on reading. It kept his mind occupied, and he really wanted to get lost in stories of other people, pretend he was someone else…pretend he didn't care that Kara Thrace hadn't come to visit him once since he'd been in the hospital. Zak made excuses for her absences, but Lee was skeptical. He could conjecture all the reasons why she wouldn't, or couldn't see him, but in the end…all he was left with was the bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue that seemed to make him nauseous with anger and sorrow. He did the best he could to remove those thoughts and feelings—this was his brother he was jealous of!—but it was a constant struggle. Yeah, it was much safer to spend his days imagining he was in any other life.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A loud knock on the door woke Lee; he wondered how long he had been dozing. Too sleepy to put himself through the still-painful process of sitting and standing, he yelled out.

"It's open."

As the door swung into the room, Lee was stunned to see Kara walk through. She must have caught the look of disbelief. "Is this a bad time? I can—"

"No, no, it's fine. I was just resting. Please come in." He figured she would need a clear statement to get her going again.

"There's a chair next to the window." He watched her movements as she lifted it and slid over towards him; he'd forgotten how lithe and precise she was with her body, how every action had athletic grace.

"Hi, Apollo." She smiled.

Gods…don't look in her eyes, Lee… "Hey." He had no idea what to expect.

"Zak said you were making a lot of progress. Thought I'd see for myself."

"I'm surprised you had the time." Oh, so bitter Lee…and you meant it how it sounded.

Kara locked eyes with him, her back arching slightly, but she passed by the comment.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't come by sooner, but getting this trial flight training program off the ground has been all-consuming."

"Congratulations, by the way—Zak described the program to me, and I think it's great—something the fleet really needs. Suits your talents well."

She studied his face, weighing the genuineness of his words. "Thanks, Apollo—it means a lot."

"I didn't know…about the program with the Academy or Zak's participation or anything…until I made it here planet-side. We didn't get any news or correspondence for more than six months."

"Half a year?"

"There were a lot of…security issues. It wasn't a safe place for transports."

Kara wanted to ask one question; she'd yielded to her compulsion, the one that drove her to come. She had an opening here, but wasn't sure of her footing, so she held back a little longer.

"I guess your first CAG duty turned into quite an adventure."

Lee scoffed. "Yeah. The stuff of legend." Kara tried to read his face, his eyes, but it dawned on her now how different Lee Adama really was; his soul no longer seemed reflected in that blue. Something akin to terror ran along her spine. Zak had been right; Lee was in a dark space.

"Too bad you can't get out of here yet; looks like you could use some ambrosia to warm your spirits." Kara reached out to lightly touch Lee's cheek. He leaned into her palm, startling her; she watched his eyes close, heard him sigh, and her heart jumped. Lee turned his head to rub lightly against her hand, then reached up and enclosed it within his own. Kara found her breathing becoming more shallow and rapid.

Neither said anything for several minutes. Lee brought her hand to his lips, kissing gently, and rested their clasped palms in his lap, looking down. "I'm glad to see you, Kara."

Kara nodded, afraid her words might betray more emotion than she could afford to share. But it was time to finally ask the question, the one that gave her no peace, the one chasing sleep away each night.

"I never heard from you, after that phone call. Why didn't you write to me?"

Lee's head snapped up. "What do mean? I sent a number of letters!"

"No. I'm quite sure I would have remembered, Apollo. Nothing ever came."

Lee seemed genuinely stunned. "Kara, I did write you. Sixteen letters, in all. And there was only one from you that ever came to me."

"Well, I wasn't going to keep writing to a ghost." Her voice was heated, until Kara realized what she'd said. "Oh Gods, Lee—I didn't mean…"

Lee dropped her hand and looked away, staring into the room. "That's how you thought of me, isn't it—a ghost."

"No. I only...I figured there had to have been several transports that made the runs in all this time, and when you didn't follow through, it seemed like you'd vanished."

"Maybe I did. Maybe I'm still a ghost. It certainly feels that way around you…and him." Lee shook his head slightly, disgusted he'd voiced that thought; he didn't want her to see how much it mattered, how devastating it was.

Kara stood up. "Zak and I…it was a gradual thing. He was—"

"Real? Alive? Better?"

"Lee, I didn't come to do this…"

"Don't frak around, Kara. Of course you came to do this. You wanted to ask the question, let me know how it's my frakup, that you couldn't leave room in your heart for me, since I didn't 'follow through.' So you moved on to the better Adama brother, the one who was tangible, readily available. Perfect."

The chair was flung, sliding hard into the wall. "Yeah. Perfect. Glad to see you're recovering, Apollo—certainly sharpened that tongue along the way."

"Godsdamnit, Kara, don't storm out—"

It was too late; she was already at the door. With tremendous strain, Lee hurtled himself off the bed, almost falling as he caught her arm. He clenched his teeth as the pain radiated in different directions along his torso.

She stood still, refusing to turn and look at him, her head tilted sideways, but towards the floor. "I really am happy to see you're healing, Apollo, and I'm…I'm sorry for what you've been through." The tone was hushed, with a tenderness that ached in Lee's heart.

Emotional tension lingered in the air, and Kara was motionless, though she didn't say more. He had the strong sense she wanted to tell him something, wanted to leave an opening for conversation later, but no words came. For Lee, he had a precipitous urge to pull her towards him, crush his lips against hers until she dropped heavy into his arms. Every muscle seemed to twitch with the anticipation of that next step. And he knew it was futile, a gesture he would never be able to make. Understanding that door to Kara was now closed off—it was unbearable. He dropped her arm in resignation, fighting hard to keep from falling back into his bed in despondency.

"Good-bye, Kara. Thanks…for coming to see me." Don't let your voice waver…

Kara turned quickly, flashing a smile, though he could see her heart wasn't in it. "Catch you around, Apollo."

He listened to the patter of her footsteps as the door groaned and whined in an agonizingly slow close.

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Sit Rep (past): Caprica City, Two and One-Half Months Post-Op

Lee walked into the restaurant, scanning the room for Tom Warren. Spotting the man in a corner table, he sauntered over and put out his hand. "Hey, Tom."

"Lee—my gods! I didn't recognize you! What's with the handshake thing? C'mere." Tom gave him a broad bear hug. Gesturing for Lee to sit, Tom waved a waitress over.

"My friend here needs a beer. Stout ale, actually. I'll have the same."

"Thanks for the invite, Tom."

"Damn glad to see you, Apollo. I know we've talked by phone a few times, but I'm happy to lay eyes on you, at last. Well, what I can see, anyway—ditch the sunglasses, eh?"

Lee took them off, and Tom tried not to let his consternation show. The man hadn't smiled once since his arrival; he was unshaven, a ragged beard marring his angled features; and he walked slightly slumped over, no projection of confidence or energy. Thank the gods Zak called me; we really have to help this guy find his way out of the darkness.

"So, Tom, when did you talk with Zak?"

"Huh? I haven't crossed paths with Zak—"

"Look, I know you've been a good friend, but I can smell Zak's involvement in setting this lunch up today."

Better not to lie…"He's worried about you. And so's Kara." Tom saw Lee's fists clench, and wished he could tell him more—that Kara called Tom herself, not even realizing Zak had talked to him already—and the torment in her voice had been enough for Tom to make quick arrangements for the plan he was putting in motion now.

"What did they think you could do about anything?" Tom couldn't believe the hardness in Lee's tone.

"Oh, I don't know—retrain you, maybe? You seem to have forgotten how to be among the living."

"That's just crap."

"Not from where I'm sitting…have you looked in a mirror lately? Listened to the tenor of your own voice?"

"You know, as much as I care about you, Tom, I don't need this. I'm going to—"

Tom pulled Apollo back down. "Okay. Not the way I planned to enjoy a meal with an old friend, either. Can we start over?"

"Yeah." Lee sunk back, slouching into the chair. Frak—tired already, and I've been here five minutes.

"Let's order, huh? Can't argue over eating!"

Lee nodded. They kept the conversation light while waiting for the food to arrive. Which meant, actually, that Tom did most of the talking; Lee didn't have anything "light" to share with others these days.

As they worked their way through lunch, Lee had to admit he was enjoying the company; he'd forgotten how wonderful Musket's sense of humor was, how he could make Lee laugh. When the conversation hit a lull, Apollo realized Tom was ready to try and broach his real agenda a second time; Lee decided he was better prepared to share a few things.

"Sooo…wanna tell me what they put you up to?" Lee was relaxed as he asked the question, letting Tom know it was alright to go ahead.

"Hey, no one put me up to anything, Apollo—I came up with an idea, s'all, and I'm asking you to hear me out before shooting it down."

"Okay."

"Remember the cabins I told you about, the ones my dad built for family reunions?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, this time of year is great to go out there—fishing, rock climbing, hiking trails. A few of the trees are still turning, and it gets refreshingly cold at night, while still good outdoor weather during the day."

"Were you thinking of fly fishing? I haven't done that in a good long while." Lee figured he was rusty, but the thought of a good reel in his hands, the stream whooshing past his knees…that did sound peaceful. He might find something like contentment in that.

"Exactly my point! You and I always had a great time out there, and I feel like cooking some trout."

"Well, that wasn't hard, Tom—geez! I can definitely get excited about a cabin trip."

"Great—Zak, Kara, and I thought we could go—"

"Wait…you didn't say anything about Zak and Kara coming along—"

"I didn't think that would be a prob—lem…oh. Oh." Tom put his hands over his mouth. "Frak, Lee—is that what part of this is about? I mean, I knew you were really into her a couple years ago, but…"

"Part of what? And no, it has nothing to do with Kara—that was a different life."

"Part of your melancholy and general detachment from everything, Lee. And I don't believe you—I can see it in your eyes. That's the first time they actually came alive, when you just said her name—it definitely has to do with Kara. Or more accurately, Kara and Zak."

Lee blinked. Damn the stinging, damn his eyes for betraying him. "Tom…a lot happened to me out there. Maybe too much happened. Yeah, I'm detached—and I intend to stay that way. I don't believe…forming attachments, planning for the future, that just gets in the way of fulfilling a soldier's responsibility. And being a soldier is just about the only thing I've got left, so I need to make the best of it.

"I've been through two months of the most grinding physical therapy, and I may have three more to look forward to before they'll even think about letting me in a cockpit. I'm in physical pain every frakking second of every frakking day, and I do not have the energy for anything else. Least of all pining over that bitch of a pilot."

Tom whistled, low and thready. "Lee…" he couldn't even find a way to continue. His voice was thick when he spoke again. "Let's get out of here, alright? My place is only a couple of blocks away, and I've got a great deck we can sit out on."

Lee hesitated for a moment, then decided he'd like to talk to someone. A little, anyway. "It'll be slow going, walking—"

"I'm in stride with you, regardless, Lee Adama."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So where's Sarah?" Lee asked, as Tom handed him a very cold beer and they walked onto the deck.

"Oh, on deployment. Recon mission—supposed to be back in another three weeks."

"Sorry I missed the wedding. You guys make a great couple."

"Thanks, Lee." Apollo could feel the rest of the sentence unspoken—"so did you and Kara."

"Put your feet up, Adama, and tell me about what happened on Eos. I know it's classified, but you can skip all the technology/intelligence stuff and focus on you—what happened to you up there?" Tipping back his beer, Lee drained it half-way. Then he started. At the beginning…which was really the first night he spent with Kara.

Two and a half hours later, as dusk was beginning to envelop them, Lee fell quiet, and Tom finally moved. He'd listened intently as Lee went along, interrupting only a few times to clarify certain points, absorbing the information. As his friend finished his story, Tom gestured for them to move inside so he could fix something for dinner. They prepared the meal without further conversation; both felt drained. At last, after eating, each spread out on a couch in Tom's living room.

"So do you want to hear my thoughts on the whole experience?" Tom didn't want to invade Lee's mental space, but he hoped he might be able to start giving Apollo a rope to climb out of the well.

"Sure, Tom—you know me as well as anyone could."

"Well, I won't give you pabulum; you've made it through a gruesome ordeal, and you'd have to be a different person after all of that. I won't argue you should be in a certain place about things either; I can't project how I'd respond, and no one should put that burden on you, tell you your milestones.

"I would urge you to consider talking to one of the counselors on base, Lee. You said the docs put you on an anti-depressant, but there's so much to process—I know I'd need help to stop the nightmares and regain a sense of perspective.

"I want you to do this, take this step, because you have so little faith now, in yourself or what you can achieve, and that just kills me. It really does." Tom stopped; he didn't want to lose his composure, knowing it would upset Lee. When he was certain he could talk evenly, Tom moved on to the next topic.

"I know how you feel about your brother, Lee, and he's great. He's also stronger than you give him credit for. Tell him what originally happened between you and Thrace. You have enough burdens to carry, and Zak will be sensitive enough to respect your feelings. He'll understand you need time to process the emotions to move forward; for you, the relationship with Kara ended up frozen at a certain point in time—you were cut off from any sense of normal life progressing. Zak and Kara had more opportunity to stay in the flow of daily life, so it's different for them."

"You're pretty good at this—thinking about changing careers?" Lee felt awkward, and wanted to cover for it.

"I can tell, you aren't going to do it, and I do get why, Lee—truly. But the other option left to you is to make a play for her, and I didn't think you'd listen to my reasoning on that."

"Tom, he's my brother!"

"And you're in love with his girlfriend, Apollo!"

"I never said anything about—"

"Gods, Lee, do you think you had to? You are so tied up in knots about her, you can't see straight. I…if you think you're going to be able to move on without dealing with her, with them, you're deluding yourself. Don't make it larger than life, Lee—I'm serious. If you talk about it, you'll find a way through it. If you keep it locked inside, let it fester, it will become the monster that owns you. In fact, it already did…already does."

"If Zak ever learned about my past with Kara, he'd never trust either of us. I can't bear the thought of that. And Thrace…she wrote me off a long time ago. I'll be damned if I'll let her know it affected me this much, when she clearly wasn't moved the same way."

"You don't know that. Believe me, Starbuck can always surprise. Her words and actions are often a study in contrasts."

"What are you saying, Tom? You can't be honestly suggesting I –"

"I'm not 'suggesting' anything, Apollo. I'm encouraging you to stop torturing yourself with the idea you didn't mean a lot to her; I think you're wrong. I'm not saying there's something in the present, I'm just telling you to give both of you more credit for the past."

Lee nodded. He didn't know if he could shift his perspective that far, but he would try.

"Two more things…are you up for them?"

"Why not…"

"Let me help you with the physical therapy exercises. I can't promise less pain—it will probably have to get worse before it gets better—but I have some ideas on how to take the process further, really bring your body back. You need that, I think—the sense your feet are planted firmly under you, and more importantly, that you can handle a stick in your bird like it was molded to you again."

"I'd be very grateful for your help, Tom. You're a good friend."

"You haven't heard my last recommendation yet." He smirked. Lee braced himself.

"Come on the trip, Lee. There are two cabins; you won't be subjected to the worst of it, seeing them, and I can keep Thrace occupied when you want to spend some time with Zak."

"Tom! What's the method to your madness? After everything we've already talked about tonight…"

"Like I said—don't make her, what you had, larger than life. Test the waters—let opportunities present themselves for you to have a heart-to-heart with Zak…or with Kara. 'Love less, trust more,' as the saying goes. Give yourself a chance to heal at least this one part of your past; it might be the key to healing the other things. I've got your back—you won't be without support and someone to run interference, if needed."

"We take two vehicles, then—so I can leave if it's harder than…than I can handle right now.'

"Not a problem."

"You've convinced me, Musket—how, I don't know, but I'll take a stab at 'rejoining the land of the living.' " Lee finally smiled. He felt lighter; maybe there was a way to get past the baggage, strive for contentment, if nothing else.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sit Rep (present): Battlestar Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks after New Caprica Occupation

Lee pulled his head up, stretching his neck backwards before casting his arms wide to fully re-align his back. Just remembering the physical injuries from those days brought back phantom pains. He rubbed his eyes, getting to his feet. He was cheating; the demons were just around the mental corner where he'd stopped. It was all he could tolerate, though, for the moment. Lee sighed; just touching this part of the story—their story—was further than he'd managed in a long while. The next chapters…the next chapters were the ones that established the pattern. That Lee-Kara pattern: approach, withdraw, approach, hurt, withdraw, heal, approach…endlessly.

It was time to get some sleep; he figured he could manage that now. The beast had been fed; he had some time before the torment began again, when he'd have to dig deeper into the past.

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