Chapter 53 Relocation

When Kara next woke, the unfamiliar bed and ceiling had her tensing as she sought to place where she was.

Trying to scope out her surroundings without alerting anyone that might be observing her, Kara took nearly a minute to recognize that she was in the cell that had been specially built to hold Sharon. The realization had her leaping to her feet, only to waver unsteadily for a moment as the dizziness hit her. When her vision cleared, she grimly surveyed the room again. No mistake. It was definitely the Cylon holding cell on Galactica.

Unless the frakkin' Toasters had gotten hold of her again somehow and done this mockup? Her head jerked upright as her breath hitched at the possibility. Then she noticed that the cell door was open and recognized the guard as Sergeant Mathias where she stood just beyond it. So, she was on the Galactica and the unlocked cell door was supposed to mean something. Just as the Marine guard did. Apparently she was free to leave, but not unattended.

Why had she woken here instead of sickbay? For the first time since coming to in Life Stations some days ago, Kara cautiously consulted her memories of the past week. Those before sickbay were a confused hash. Putting her palms to her temples, she tried to make sense of the fragmented scenes. What did she remember? The image of she and Colonel Tigh sitting at the Triad table with the Admiral glowering at them surged forward. She flinched, and then vehemently pushed past the memory.

She ran her fingers through her ragged hair. Ok… She had cut it off with her knife. But from that point everything seemed to take on a surreal quality; people staring at her in the corridor, her leaning against the hard surface of crates, the darkness, thirst and a distant pain—welcomed as a counterpoint to the emotional torment. Then followed a time of silence that had descended on her, replacing the hurtful voices that had driven her into hiding.

Until Kacey had called to her.

Kara abruptly wrapped her arms about herself, a low moan escaping as she recalled the little girl's beguiling smile as she'd patted Kara's cheek in sickbay. The desolation she'd felt as the child's mother took her away for a second time tore another moan from Kara. Why? Why couldn't they have just left her in the grey peace? Helo and the Doc had been there to witness the torment of losing her daughter all over again. She knew Cottle was a hard-ass, but never before had thought of him as purposefully cruel.

And Helo…

His betrayal was like soured milk on her tongue. The urge to spit was nearly overpowering. And the really frakked up thing about it—her friend hadn't even understood what he'd just done to her. Over the past few days Kara had tried to sink again into the silent sanctuary that had cocooned her before, but had been unable to find her way back along that path. A growing anger had filled the vacuum instead.

They had come. First the Admiral, mouthing words she knew were lies. Later, Lee had reluctantly presented himself at her bedside, too. His stiff shoulders and flexing hands making it clear only too well how much he wished he were anyplace else. Well, she hadn't asked him to come. Either of them. But if there was one thing the Adama men knew, it was their duty, she rationalized. And they'd obviously felt that she was an obligation they had to honor, regardless of how much they despised her personally.

Not that she should really blamed them.

Laying in the bed with her back to each visitor, she had ignored their overtures, confident that they'd be relieved to have fulfilled their official duty without actually having to deal with her. Their speeches meant nothing to her. Kara had learned long ago that the apologies and declarations that always came after the beatings and scathing words were just pretty curtains strung across the windows of a condemned house, meant only to deflect notice from the underlying truth. She'd learned that people showed what they really felt through their actions, not their words.

Lee on the flight deck jabbing a finger in her face with disgust in his eyes, that was truth.

That…and the Old Man shoving her from the chair.

He'd never laid hands on her before in anger. Not even when she'd confessed to killing Zak. His disgust for her had finally broken even his restraint. Course, she'd had it coming for a long time. Deserved it just like her mom always said. Well, there were no takebacks and both Adamas could pretend all they wanted, but she knew they'd finally seen her for what she was.

As motion caught her eye, Kara looked up and saw the man she'd once thought had proved her mother wrong, pause at the entrance to her cell. Had her self-loathing called to him, summoning the Admiral to confirm what she'd already accepted?

She turned to face away as he stepped through the open door. When he crossed to stand just behind her, Kara felt the weight of his proximity and fought the urge flee from the cell. Refusing to look at him was her only defense against the pain his presence wrought.

[ I I I I I ]

As Bill Adama stared at the stiff back of the young woman before him, he wondered how things could have come to this. How was he to break through the wall of anguish that palpably surrounded the lone figure?

Stepping forward, he lightly touched Kara's shoulder, and then quickly withdrew his hand when she flinched under his palm. He briefly worried that she might be in pain. But no, her self-inflicted wounds were almost healed after a week in sickbay. He now feared, though, that the psychological ones would never heal.

Trying to reach her in another way, he gently prompted, "What do ya hear, Starbuck?" As the silence stretched out between them, he thought she was going to hold to her silence.

Then he caught the low murmur, "Dust… Nothing's left but dust."

More than anything else that had happened, those desolate words brought him to the realization that Starbuck—his Kara—was truly broken.

Closing his eyes against the pain, he tried to be thankful that she'd at least answered him. It was more than she'd done during his previous three visits in sickbay. He remembered trying to find the words to expression how sorry he was for what had happened in the rec room, to explain that he'd only been trying to snap her out of the unacceptable behavior and hadn't really meant what he'd said.

With her rolled away from him on the hospital bed, he hadn't been able to see her face, but her rejection had been all too apparent. The second visit he had gone so far as to order her to give him her eyes, a technique that had always worked in the past. The only indication that she'd even had heard him was the shudder that the blanket couldn't fully hide. Her refusal hurt, and confirmed just how badly he'd damaged their relationship—as if her reactions and words in the hanger bay hadn't been enough already.

Now, looking around the cell he'd ordered built for their enemy, he questioned his agreement to move her here from sickbay. Cottle had reluctantly suggested it when they'd discussed Kara's violent reaction earlier. She was healthy enough not to be confined to sickbay any longer, but both men knew she couldn't be left to her own devices. Since bunk space was limited, and Life Stations was neither secure, nor private enough for Kara's current needs, they had to consider other options. Putting her up in the brig had been one, yet Bill hadn't thought it a good idea because she might assume that she was being punished, and that was the last thing he wanted.

At the time the Cylon cell had seemed a good compromise.

Standing behind her now, looking about the space that had been made more comfortable for Sharon by the additions of a sofa, coffee and end tables, and a lamp, he was concerned that they may have miscalculated again.

"Kara, this is just temporary," he said, wishing she'd turn to look at him; he needed to see her face, get some sense of what was going on inside her head.

"Right... Just until you find some ship's captain willing to take a frak-up like me onboard," she said, hunching her shoulders forward slightly.

Adama scrubbed at his face; fatigue, guilt and worry causing his jaw to ache from being clenched so long. His heart suddenly ached, too. She still believed that he meant to force her off Galactica. Despite his earlier apologies and explanations, and even though he had practically pleaded for her to forgive him; Kara still thought he was going to send her away.

He didn't know what to say, how to fix things between them. But he had to try. And keep trying until she got it through that hard skull of hers.

"Kara, you belong here, on the Galactica. You're not going anywhere but back in the cockpit when you're ready again." He saw her shoulders straighten and he felt a stirring of hope and continued. "I'm sorry for what I said before. I didn't know…" He trailed off, unsure how to broach the subject of New Caprica. He knew Kara...knew that she wasn't going to willing talk about what happened to her, and in her current mood, most definitely not to him.

"But now you do," her bitterness was tinged with resignation now as she added, "I understand, Sir. I'll go quietly."

Adama blinked in confusion. She seemed to be only listening to half of what he was saying. "You're staying here, on Galactica, with me," he said a bit more forcefully. Maybe raising his voice would help his words penetrate her wall of disbelief. "I won't lose you again, not like this."

She turned to him, spinning around so abruptly he had to restrain the urge to take a step back as anger, and a deep hurt, fought for dominance in her expression.

"Stop lying to me!" she shouted. Then her voice dropped again as he saw her visibly struggled for control. "You want me gone. You don't have to pretend anymore. I get it." She paused briefly, swallowing, and then added, "You're just like them."

Them? Who did she mean? She was all over the place and he felt like he had whiplash from watching her go back and forth between emotions and subjects.

"Who's them, Kara?"

"My parents," she bit out. "Like a daughter to you? You even said it. Well, you're right there. You're. Just. Like. Them," she punctuated each word with a jabbed finger in his direction. "Don't know how I could be so stupid. I actually thought you were different. But you're no—" her voice broke as she pivoted away, arms tightly wrapping across her chest.

She was comparing him to her parents? The ones that beat and abandoned her? Bill felt like he had been slugged in the gut, the sensation so strong he was finding it hard to breathe and bile rose in the back of his throat. Attempting to shake the feeling, he took the four strides that separated them and reached out, intent on pulling her into a hug…anything to prove to her how wrong she was.

As his hands descended on her shoulders, Kara twisted to face him and at the same time rapidly backed away with both hands defensively raised.

"Don't touch me! Don't you frakkin' touch me!" she said, voice breaking between fear and anger as she came to a stop pressed to the hard glass.

"Kara," he pleaded, shocked at her reaction. Things were quickly getting beyond his control. He watched, alarmed, as she slid down the cell wall and pulled her knees inward, closing in on herself again like she had when they'd found her in the hanger bay.

He partially turned to Sergeant Mathias, who had moved unnoticed into the cell's doorway. "Get Cottle down here, RFN," he commanded, his voice graveled with pain and grief. The guard gave an acknowledging nod and spun away to place the call.

Facing Kara again, he saw that she had her hands protectively clasped over her head and was shivering violently. Bill wanted nothing more at that moment than to go to her, comfort her, yet he realized that he hadn't the right. He'd broken a trust he'd never known was so fragile to begin with.

Was this his fate then? To cause each of his children to implode? First Zak, and now Kara? Even Lee had seemed on the verge several times, most recently evident by the excessive weight he had just shed.

As Bill stood in the Cylon cell, waiting and watching helplessly, he felt an unaccustomed wetness on his cheek.

Words spoken could never be unspoken.

No matter how hard he tried.