Rumors were one thing, but life in Squadron Quarters was going to make Kara Thrace insane. Completely. Inevitably.
She didn't think there had been a single day in the last two weeks when she hadn't overheard at least one sideways comment about her sleeping her way up the ranks or how she had managed to keep from getting into trouble when she'd "attacked" the commander's son. It was absurd. And yet Lee wasn't denying it, nor was the eldest Adama. It was as though they didn't hear the whispers, the insinuations.
She tried to follow their example. Yet even as Lee's eye healed, the comments seemed to be increasing rather than decreasing. Some of the comments had been about her and Lee – how they'd been sleeping together and this was all a lovers' quarrel – and others about her with his father, and yet every feigned explanation for the shiner had been blatantly ignored by the both of them. It was nearly enough to make her insane.
She was used to this level of control from Lee. He had always kept his private life just that – private – even when it became a target of speculation. But she would have thought the commander would have done something to squelch the rumors that were still going around. She couldn't get away from them, and it bothered her. The only thing that bothered her more was that she felt anything at all. What was so easy for the Adamas – the disregarding of others' opinion of them – was normally her territory. It wasn't working out this time. She actually cared what those around her thought, and that purely pissed her off.
Kara was used to controversy. She'd been the best pilot at the Academy when she'd joined up, and when she'd out-flown the men she had taken more than one ribbing. She had tried to become good-natured about it, as she had quickly become tired of the brig. Next had come the talk of her past, or lack thereof. She had no parents on record, and had initially joined on an orphan's waver, so everyone had seemed to think she should be the object of pity. She hadn't felt that way, and had set straight anyone who did, although it had only placed her in more trouble. Later, when she was tired of beating the men around her – and beating on them – she'd begun to drink. It had numbed the pain, the feeling that she had no place with them, and for a while it had helped. Unfortunately, it had been too easy. It kept her from progressing in the ranks, it kept her grounded, and it reminded her too much of the drunken father who had not minded throwing his children around.
One morning she'd awoken in the brig with a hell of a hangover and a general resentment of life as she knew it. From there, she'd stopped the drinking. She hadn't really touched ambrosia since, although she developed a coffee addiction that bordered on legendary. The difficulty with which she'd withdrawn from the alcohol had been all the proof she had needed that she would have to be careful. She got hooked on things easily, but knowledge was power. What she knew, she could control. So she had kept her addiction to coffee, developed a passion for running, and she had loved to fly. Adrenaline became her drug of choice, and she had fed on it. The outlet had also minimized her encounters with Academy security, and her training had progressed once more. She'd wound up in classes with Lee, a year younger, who was just about the only man who could keep up with her in a fighter. He'd also become a running partner, a friend, and a constant mental challenge.
That was when the rumors had really gotten bad. Even as they'd graduated and moved into the mandatory teaching phase of their education – the time they had to "give back" in exchange for flight school – the rumors that she and Lee were hot and heavy between the sheets had gotten ridiculous. She supposed she hadn't helped matters then by ignoring them; perhaps some denial on either of their parts might have stopped the lies, but if they had then she never would have met Zak.
He'd come into her life during her last year of teaching. As gorgeous and intelligent as his brother, he'd been considerably less stuffy. He was Lee without the control, without the temperance. She'd fallen in love before she'd known what had hit her. It was like having her best friend suddenly endowed with romantic possibilities. Lee had laughed about it, and would have really laughed if he'd known that half the attraction was the similarities that Zak shared with Lee, but he hadn't objected.
Their relationship had been quiet, yet it had been intense. Within six months of meeting, they were engaged. But for each similarity the brothers had shared, there was a difference as well. Lee was controlled; Zak was free. Lee was intense; Zak's laughter was contagious. Lee was a teacher, and Zak was a student. Lee was a pilot; Zak was not. How any two men could be so different, and yet so alike, was beyond her.
She had figured it out the first time she'd met their father. William Adama was a combination of his two sons, or rather each had taken characteristics from their father. Lee had taken his leadership, intensity, and inability to tolerate weakness. Zak had taken the sense of humor, judgement, and innate concern for others. Looking at either of his sons, she could see Bill's reflection. She had known then that Iilya was a very lucky woman.
Losing Zak had been hard, but losing Lee had been harder because that had meant that both of them were gone. And yet she'd still had Bill, and in those first months he had been invaluable to her. Iilya had left him just as she'd found herself on her own, so they had gravitated towards one another, two lost souls looking for comfort. No, there wasn't anything romantic about it, but there was definitely more feeling there than just what a commander and pilot should share. They were more than friends, but they weren't lovers. Back then, there hadn't even been suspicion of such a thing. Back then, the crew'd had their own lives to ponder, and they didn't need to look for gossip. She wished that were the case now.
"Pensive," Bill said in a decisive voice.
Kara's head popped up, taking her attention from the mediocre meal that she was trying to choke down. She preferred the memories, however bittersweet, to the food. "Good morning," she said with a gesture to the seat across the table from her. There were plenty of people around, and rumors be damned. She took her friends where they were, and she refused to make excuses.
Truthfully, he had been eating in the mess hall more often, sometimes sitting with her and sometimes with Lee, and often with others as well. She had watched the way others came to attention when he sat down next to them, but they didn't dare deny him the seat. The more she saw it, the more she realized just what he had to deal with on a daily basis.
"Is it any good?" he asked without any real hope in his voice.
She didn't say a word; just smiled. He gave a sigh and took a bite.
"How's it going up in CIC?" she asked.
He gave a shrug, taking another bite. He wasn't chatty this morning. That bothered her. Normally if he braved the mess hall it was because he needed more than food.
"Has to be better than the deck," she told him absently as she took a drink of the synthetic coffee that she was finally beginning to develop a taste for. "They're going to have to get my bunk set up back in the brig if some mouths don't close."
He looked at her then, nodding. "At least it's acceptable – more or less – for you to wind up there. I'm wondering just exactly what would happen if I hit a couple of the people I have to work with." He sighed then. "But I'm the example," he muttered.
"I'll beat 'em up for ya," she offered with a half-smile. She hated what this was doing to him.
He shook his head, but she got at least a bit of a smile from him in response. It was better than nothing.
"I know, it'll only make things worse," she said, echoing his sigh. "I don't know how Lee ignores it every day. I think he's had the worst of it."
"He's the most visible," Bill allowed. He didn't say any more, most likely because they were within earshot of more than one person and conversations around them had become suspiciously quiet since the commander had taken a seat.
"Morning." Kara and Bill both looked up as Lee nodded to the seat next to Kara. "Room for one more?"
Their heads bobbed in unison as he sat down. "Eye's looking better," Kara said, referring to the yellow and faded green shadows that were faint beneath it.
"I'm just glad it doesn't hurt," he told him with a wink.
"Enjoy the painless part," his father told him. "You won't have the same from this meal."
The three of them laughed, but Kara wasn't oblivious to the looks and snickers that were going around the hall. "Great, now they'll be talking about a threesome," she muttered under her breath.
Lee must have heard her because he winked, and she was left with no choice but to laugh.
"At the very least," Bill said as he took a bite, chewed, then swallowed with a grimace, "It'll put an end to the rumors that Lee and I are fighting over you."
"I thought the rumors didn't matter?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"It's become tedious," he admitted. "And it's interfering with work getting done, which I can't allow. It's not a matter of undermining my authority, but rather of gossiping instead of working. We may not be actively engaged, but this is still a war. We have to be ready, and that can't happen if half of CIC is busy taking wagers on who is sleeping with whom."
"So say we all," Lee agreed.
"How about one of us gets out of sight?" Kara offered. "You know, move one of us until the rumors fade a bit. It can't hurt, can it?"
"More than likely it would," Lee said quietly. "Whoever gets sent is out of the equation, but that only makes it worse on whoever stays."
She sighed. "I suppose so."
"I don't know," Bill said thoughtfully. "It might help. At least, get things back onto more familiar footing."
"What do you mean?" Lee asked.
The commander gave a shrug. "Rumors have been flying about the two of you since the war began," he explained. "It was better than what we're dealing with now. If we get the two of you off the ship for a while – even a few days – then rumors would probably fall back into that direction. I realize it's not ideal, but it's better than the mess we have now. It didn't appear to bother you two before."
Kara tipped her head to one side. "How do you expect to explain both your CAG and deputy being off ship at the same time?"
"We need other pilots," Lee offered. "One of us was going to have to do another sweep of the fleet. We could both go."
"It would give your subordinates good practice in managing without you," Bill added. "In any wartime situation, you can't have the squads too dependant on any one – or two – people."
Kara felt like she was watching a pre-planned by-play. "How long have you two been plotting this?" she asked bluntly.
Bill kept a totally straight face, but Lee's faint blush gave him away. "A few days," he finally said, as though he knew he'd been caught. His father gave him a glare for disclosing that much.
"And you couldn't just let me in on it? How the heck did you make it sound like my idea?" she asked impatiently.
"It's always easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission," Bill said with a sheepish glance in her direction. "So long as you don't mind the implications, of course. If the two of you are gone at the same time, the crew is likely to believe…"
"That's been the case since we were at the academy," she mumbled.
"True. They figured any man you didn't hit was in your bed," Lee joked. She didn't laugh. It annoyed her when Bill did.
"What's the plan," she asked in a resigned tone of voice. She'd hit one or the both of them later; now there were too many witnesses.
"We have some candidates on the Rising Star," Lee told her. "There's also some repair work that's been done on some of her shuttles that we need to check, and that's command level. I would have had to have gone anyway. In any case it'll get us out of the line of fire for a few days, and make it less likely that you'll kill someone."
"Right."
Both Lee and his father laughed at that. Kara found that whatever appetite she might have had was long gone, so she shoved her half-full plate away. "When do we leave?" she asked.
"Can you be ready by morning?" Lee asked, and she could have sworn there was sympathy in his voice.
She gave a nod. "I need to get back on shift for the moment, though. I'll do my best not to kill anyone while I'm there."
The look on Lee's face told her that he didn't know whether or not to take her seriously. Hell, she didn't know how to take herself. So she wiped her mouth on her napkin, tossed the paper onto her plate, and left the mess hall. Let one of them deal with her dishes, she thought. They had certainly felt they could play with the rest of her life; why not her breakfast?
As aircraft went, Lee would have rather had a Viper, or at the very least a Raptor. He hated the unarmed, inflexible, over-age shuttle that they would be taking. But there were several reasons – each as valid as the next – as to why they couldn't risk a Raptor on such a routine flight. He knew that; he just didn't like it.
"Home sweet home," Kara muttered as she followed him aboard, tossed a duffel into the cargo hold, and then took the pilot's seat.
"Hey!"
"If I'm in this can," she informed him without looking at him. "I'm flying it. Prepare for check."
Lee rolled his eyes, but reached for the clipboard. They had railroaded her into enough regarding this "mission", so he wouldn't press her any further. They went over the preflight list with a familiarity born of years flying, and years as friends. They couldn't read one another's minds, but it was a near thing. They finished in record time.
"How long will this take, anyway?" she asked him. She'd been annoyed enough the morning before that she hadn't bothered with questions, and he hadn't seen her since.
"The inspection will go quickly – maybe twelve hours. Selecting the candidates will be the second day, so that'll run longer. We should be back in seventy-two at the most."
She nodded her understanding and began to power up the shuttle. It didn't take her long. Lords, she was a wonder to watch in action, Lee thought to himself. When it came to flying, she was practically joined with the spacecraft, even one she flew as rarely as a shuttle. No motion was wasted, every movement graceful and with purpose. He found himself staring at competent hands when he should have been giving dutiful replies, and then he blushed.
"Problem?" she asked with one eyebrow raised.
"How long's it been since you flew shuttles?" he asked.
She gave a shrug. "Haven't," she admitted. "A bird's a bird, though. Same basic controls, same colonial design. It doesn't take much."
Lee knew better. He always took a few minutes orienting himself to a new craft, even if it was the same model and just not his own. He had never shown the natural talent that Kara had for flying. He was good at it, but that was because he had worked his ass off in flight school. Kara simply did it because it was a part of her. Yes, he would admit to more than a little jealousy for that kind of talent; most men would.
Launch went off without a hitch, as he'd known it would. With Kara at the helm, and him backing up, even the ancient shuttle was manageable. The trouble didn't start until after they had cleared the perimeter of the fleet.
As was the procedure, Kara's path had taken them around the outside of the established fleet boundaries. It was simply too dangerous to move between closely flying ships. As a result, they were perhaps a quarter mile away from the nearest ship, midway between the Galactica and the Rising Star along the length of the fleet, when he heard the explosion.
"Frak!"
He didn't bother asking what was wrong; Kara had her hands full, and the smoke billowing from behind him told him all that he needed to know. They were on fire, and it was spreading. In the vacuum of space, anything that ate up oxygen was a concern, and fire was first in their line of enemies. Grabbing a hand-held extinguisher which was thankfully less ancient than the shuttle, he headed towards the back wall where flames were licking along the inside of the uppermost wall. Using careful aim, he directed the flow of the extinguisher beginning at the outside, where he knew the fuel pods to be, and worked his way inward. He said a quick prayer that the fire was only on the inside; he couldn't combat anything external, but then he shouldn't have to. Lack of oxygen should take care of that.
Methodically he assured that the flames were extinguished along the crack between upper wall and ceiling, the fire retardant sealing the breach as it took out the flames. Then, when he was sure that he had the fire out, he went over the area a second and third time for good measure. He hoped Kara was faring as well.
When he finally made it back to the front of the shuttle, covered in soot from the fire and flakes from the extinguishing solution, it was to find Kara calling the shuttle every name in the book – none of them good, and many that he hadn't heard before. He was fairly sure he didn't want to know their meaning.
"Status?" he asked.
"Frakking ancient piece of shit isn't worth…"
He let her go on for a few more minutes, knowing that if she didn't vent her frustration verbally she would as likely as not do so physically. He wasn't in the mood for another black eye when the first hadn't entirely healed, and he didn't want to deal with her broken fist from putting it into a wall. So he waited until the adrenaline from the incident faded enough that she was coherent, and he tried again. "How's the ship."
She glared at him, but the stream of profanity didn't begin again. "Wireless out, oxygen at forty percent, and we're drifting. The engines are shot, but I'm not picking up any more internal oxygen leaks. Fuel cell is intact, but we've apparently lost our lines because we're running on stored power, not generating anything new."
He didn't bother asking how she knew what she knew; if Kara said it, then that was it. She had the ability to put together the dozens of instrumental clues that were available – even in an unfamiliar craft – and figure out just what she was dealing with. Tyrol had trained her well, so questioning would be pointless, and potentially dangerous as well. Kara was not in a good mood.
"Priorities?" he asked. It didn't occur to him that he was in command; Kara had a better grasp at the moment than he did.
She took a deep breath, let it out, then took another. "Oxygen," she said simply. We'll need to check that manually; I won't trust the instruments. Check the emergency supplies and oxygen as well, because we may be here a while. I have no communications, Lee, and this thing doesn't come with either gear or equipment to facilitate an outside repair. I can't tell you what blew, but something did. We sit here until we're missed, then they find us, and tow us in. We can't radio in, we can't get back ourselves, and we can't do one frakking thing about any of it."
Lee resumed his seat, letting out a long breath. "How long?" he asked.
She shook her head. "An hour, maybe two until we're missed. The flight plan wasn't all that specific, and this bucket has wireless that's so inadequate they may not realize we're out of communication for a bit; not until the Rising Star reports us as not arrived, Galactica confirms us as departed – you get the drill. Hell, it may not be until shift change. Another hour for them to figure out what's up, find us, and then send a tow. We're looking at about two for them to get it done, and another to secure things so we can get out.
Lee had been calculating mentally. "So six hours – at a bare minimum – for us to get back shipboard."
"That's about it, and that's best-case scenario. More likely between eight and ten. The only way we'll manage it at six is because your dad isn't likely to let things drag."
"Dad's off shift," Lee said softly.
"Hmm?"
"Colonel Tigh has CIC. Dad's off until fifteen-hundred."
"So double that estimate," Kara said dryly.
Lee didn't comment; he didn't want to waste the energy trying to convince her of something he wasn't sure of himself. "You said forty-percent on oxygen," Lee said. "What's that in time."
She turned to look at him, her expression flat. "Don't do a lot of dancing," she told him. "We should be okay, even up to about ten hours. Should be. Then there's the emergency supplies, which is another two hours, or four if we're really careful. We'll be okay, Lee. It's not like we won't be missed. Flight plans are too solid for that, and you know it."
Lee shook his head. "Anything else?"
"Power," she answered. "If we cut internal lights, we have a couple hours with the heaters. After that…"
"It's gonna get chilly," he concluded.
"That's about it."
He thought for a moment. "Cut the lights," he agreed. "And cut the heaters by half; that'll stretch it out for a while."
"And bring the temp down to the fifties," she complained.
"Survivable," he assured her. "I'll check the back for emergency supplies. Be grateful for that flight suit, otherwise we'd be reliant on body heat."
She rolled her eyes at him, but he got the reaction he was going for – she smiled. "We'll get through this," she muttered. "But it won't be fun."
It took them only a few minutes to manage what they had decided on. Kara took care of the power rationing and the electrical status for the heaters, while he checked out the main oxygen tanks and supplies. Unfortunately, the reality wasn't all he could have hoped for. Ten hours would be damned unlikely for the oxygen they had remaining, even cutting that to a level which would barely keep them conscious. Another issue with the power was filtering out impurities. All the oxygen in the world wouldn't help them if the carbon dioxide levels got too high. Filtration would steal some power as well. By the time they had checked things out, rerouted their power to where it was most needed, and moved to the back of the shuttle where the engine heat would keep them warm for just a bit longer, nearly an hour had already passed.
Lee had tossed the emergency supplies back against the warm wall, although it wouldn't stay that way long. Still, the bulk of the engines would block more of the coldness of space than the thinner front of the shuttle. He'd pulled out a couple of emergency blankets, but their effectiveness was dubious when in flight suits. The suits were designed to keep hot or cold out, not to keep body temperature stable on the inside. If they got too warm – started sweating – then the suits would have to go because the lack of ventilation would cause them to freeze. They had water back here too, but only emergency food bars which weren't a treat. It would keep them alive until help arrived. At least, he hoped it would.
"This is not what I had in mind," Lee admitted as he took his place against the wall on the deck of the shuttle. He felt Kara do the same, sitting close for warmth. Or at least, he assumed that was what it was. He slipped an arm around behind her, settling in for the duration.
"What did you have in mind?" she asked softly.
"Just… getting out of there," he admitted. "I was tired of the glances and the whispers. I thought a few days might make it a little less fresh in their minds; a little less raw in mine."
"It…" she began, but didn't finish.
"What?"
"It didn't bother you before," she said in resignation. He wished he could see her face, but any light they'd had was extinguished when the drifting of the spacecraft had faced them away from the fleet. There weren't many stars in the area they were currently passing through, so it was nearly pitch black. "And you were right, they've been whispering about us since the Academy."
"I thought it was funny then," he admitted. "When Dad started figuring into the conversation, it wasn't funny anymore."
"You're awfully protective of a man you didn't speak to for two years," she told him, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
"Don't go there," he requested. "It's not something I want to think about."
"Sorry," she said. She meant it. It was there in her voice. Without the lights, it was amazing what he could hear in her intonation. Had her voice always been that expressive, or was she just that nervous now – not holding back?"
"Comfortable?" he asked. It was a mundane question, but what else could he ask? It wasn't as though they could do anything about it if she weren't.
"Fine." She was silent for a moment, then, "Lee?"
"Hmm?"
"You checked the oxygen?"
He hadn't given her a report, not wanting to be the bearer of news he couldn't change. "I cut down the level. We should stay conscious, but not much more. If we go past eight hours, we'll have to use the masks."
"Any way to route it through the masks now?" she asked. "Maybe keep it confined to us rather than the whole shuttle?"
He shook his head before realizing that she couldn't see him. "Ventilation system is too damned old. It would take me hours to rig it, and that would defeat the purpose."
He felt her nod of understanding. "It was a lot easier to be sensible about this before the lights went out," she muttered. He felt her shift against him, cuddling closer. Cold? It hadn't been long enough for the temperature to really change. Another thought occurred to him.
"Are you claustrophobic?" he asked soflty.
"I didn't think so," she admitted. Honesty. There was no sarcasm, no humor, and no making fun of it. Kara was nervous. He squeezed with the arm he had around her, surprised when she shifted against him, pulling away slightly and sliding down his body. She kept her back to him, and wound up with her head on his legs, his arm held firmly by hers.
"You okay?" he asked. He didn't know whether to expect sarcasm as a response or something different. She didn't seem like the Kara he knew right now. She hadn't since the lights had gone out.
"I guess," she said after a long pause. "You?"
"The same," he admitted. Reaching behind him, he found the blanket that he'd thrown up against the wall. It wasn't the thin material they used for warmth, but rather an older material designed for weight and warmth, even when wet. It had been military issue long before ships had moved to the sky, or so he'd been told. It was what they normally used on their bunks, but not often otherwise. He tossed the blanket over her, pulling her body in next to his. It worried him when she let him. She wasn't shaking – not exactly – but she wasn't acting right either and there was a barely perceptible tremmor there.
It was then that it hit him; adrenaline drop. He'd felt it himself immediately following the fire, but he hadn't seen the same settling in Kara. He was feeling it now in the mild form of shock she was showing. He could almost guarantee now that if he were take her temperature it would be low, and her blood sugar as well. She'd been the one more startled by the explosion – more involved in its damage to the spacecraft – so she was feeling it more strongly than he had. If he asked, he was fairly sure she'd deny it, so he didn't bother. Instead, he tugged her close, wrapped the blanket around her, and listened for her breathing. He wasn't surprised when it deepened and slowed, her body shutting down for much-needed sleep. It was a good thing, really. Her body would use less oxygen in this state, require less heat, and she'd be under less stress.
He desperately wished that he could do the same, but knew that one of them had to stay alert just in case they were lucky enough for an early rescue.