Parental Reality
Parents are not supposed to get sick, or hurt, or have real lives. It's one of those incontrovertible facts that kids just believe. Parents are ageless, and immortal, and perfect. That's how it's supposed to be.
Hell, I've known since I was old enough to remember that parents weren't perfect, or at least mine wasn't. That was okay, though. For some reason I've always been able to manage on my own. I'm not sure if it's luck, or skill, or even stupidity, but I've never had trouble separating parental expectation from reality. I didn't understand where the blind spot could be until I saw what a real parent was.
I guess you could say that the Old Man is as close to a father as I've really had, even though I spent sixteen years with the man who contributed genetically to my existence and raised me. They say that having a kid doesn't make you a parent, and the man was living proof of that. I don't hold it against him – not really. He never asked to raise a kid on his own, and he sure never asked to raise a girl. Given the circumstances, I guess he did okay. I mean, I learned a lot hanging around where he worked because it was cheaper for him than getting a babysitter, and it was enough to get me started on the job. If I hadn't been working in repairs, I wouldn't have met the Old Man. If I hadn't met the Old Man, I probably wouldn't have survived at all. So, when it comes around to it, having a crappy father was a pretty good thing for me.
But when I think of parents, I think of William Adama. He'd find that funny, because he thinks he's a failure as a dad. He doesn't see things objectively; neither do I. But he's the one I think of as immortal, as ageless and indestructible. Maybe that's why it hurts so much when we find out that injuries happen, even to parents, even at work, and even where you think you're the safest.
CIC is probably the safest place on the Galactica. As it's where our officers conduct battles and our commands come from, it has to be. It has its own set of locking doors, its own guards, and its own filtration system. That was what went wrong. Somehow we had a seal bust – seals will be my undoing – and release a toxic gas into the CIC ventilation system. They found it pretty quick, and stopped it, but those few officers who refused to evacuate wound up getting a face full and lung full of the stuff. Needless to say, William Adama does not leave his command post.
But he's not as indestructible as I believed. The gas did something to his eyes, and even though Cassie tells me that he'll be fine, I don't think I'll believe it until he's looking me in the eye again. One other thing I found out along the way was that the woman Lee has been so worried about – the woman who has been spending time with him and eating meals with him – is none other than our very own Chief Medical Officer. Who would have thought?
I wasn't kidding when I told Lee that his dad was more than just a "good catch". Still, I have my own suspicions about the woman who likes to push on bloody thumbs and never bothers to check up on patients after surgery. Well yeah, I hear she was busy, and she certainly sent Doctor Sands in enough times, but from what I hear it was her who did the surgery, so shouldn't she be the one checking up on patients? Who knows how that medical stuff works? But she's apparently set her sights for the Commander, and I'm not quite sure why.
On the other hand, I can't think of anyone who would have less reason to use the Old Man. Kylen Salik has quite enough responsibility and pull on this ship; she doesn't need the Commander's approval for much. She also ranks nearly as high, commands quite a few people herself, and in general doesn't have a lot to gain outside of what he has to offer as a man. That's reassuring, but I still plan to check it out on my own. I've asked Lee more than once if he's had a chance to talk to her, and he's giving me vague answers at best. Hell, it was all I could do to get a name. I've made it quite a point to completely ignore scuttlebutt around here, and after a few convincing punches the majority of the pilots know not to gossip around me – especially about me, Lee, or the Commander. I still hear it, yes, but they're a little less overt. I guess that's something.
But regardless of whatever is happening between him and the CMO, the Old Man has a bandage over both eyes and looks absolutely miserable when I show up after shift. He's been sitting here all day, although I know that Tigh and Lieutenant Gaeta have been in and out to let him know what's going on and ask for advice; they can't run this ship without him.
"Slacking again, I see." I try to be casual after he calls out in response to my knock at the door. It's just this side of a yell, and not a happy one. I haven't seen him this pissed since the beginning of the war. He's positively furious, and I think I know why.
"You could say that," he mutters, and his voice is bitter. I can relate.
"No fun being stuck in a bed while this ship flies on without you, is it?" I can remember it myself; I still have the scar down my left hand to prove it.
His voice softens a little, but the bitterness remains. "How's it going on the deck?" he asks. "Lee was in before his shift, but I haven't heard from him since."
"Same old, same old," I tell him, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. Damn, he looks almost fragile there. A thought crosses my mind that the doctor may have been wrong, that this may be permanent, and it sickens me. The Old Man doesn't belong in a bed, whatever I call him; he deserves to move faster than light. He always has. "Lee probably didn't report because there's nothing to say. Patrols are out, nothing's reported, and maintenance is on schedule."
"Great." He doesn't sound happy about it.
"So, are you glad that the world is moving on, or annoyed that we can manage a day without you?" I think this is why he's so damned mad. It's hard to realize that you might be expendable. He's not, of course, but he's probably feeling that way.
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I'm reassured that Colonel Tigh is managing everything as well as I could."
"Right," I scoff. "That would last until the first time things got tough, then he'd be wasted in his room or worse yet, wasted and in CIC. You know he's not cut out for this."
"Drop it," he says firmly, and I have to grit my teeth to do it. "I don't let my friends chop away at one another. I won't let him do it to you, and I won't listen to it about him. Are we clear?"
"Yes, Sir," I tell him automatically. I don't have a choice. There's as much command in his voice now as there was when he was dictating actions in CIC the last time we had a problem. You can't say no to him; it isn't possible. "But I…" I have to think a moment; there must be a way to phrase this without making him angry. "I don't understand why you're so… loyal to him. I mean, I know you're old friends, but his record alone…"
"Is less colorful than yours," he reminds me. Oh, yeah. But while I got put in the brig occasionally for drunk and disorderly conduct, it was all when I was pretty much a kid. A few good hangovers were enough to prove to me that it just wasn't worth it. Well, that and more than one long lecture from Lee on short lives and long prison terms.
"I've been behaving myself," I add quickly. After all, I deserve some credit for keeping my hands off Tigh and my opinions – mostly – to myself.
"So has he," the Old Man tells me. "Kara, everyone deserves a chance to change. Give him that."
I won't argue with him; I respect him far too much. But I don't agree with him either. Deciding this is one subject on which we will have to agree to disagree, I change the subject. "So, it seems quiet here. Any visitors today, besides half of CIC?"
He actually smiles. "Not many," he admits. "I haven't been in the… best of moods."
I give a laugh, and he joins in. I wish I could see his eyes. He's a lot like Lee that way; he can fool you about how he's feeling, until you look him in the eye. Lee can't keep a secret from me worth a damn, and it's because his eyes give him away every time. It's what has me so nervous around him lately. There's something in his eyes that I can't peg, don't recognize. I think I know what it's about, and I'm just not sure if I agree with it. Things are okay with us; why does he have to mess with that? I don't realize that my laughter has stopped until I hear the Old Man's voice.
"What's bothering you?"
I shake my head, and then remember he can't see me. "Just gnawing on stuff," I admit. There's purely no point in lying to him – he reads minds. "Things and people, and why things have to change. Everything would be so much better if we could reach some kind of equilibrium and just stay there. All the constant… adjusting… it wears me out."
"Change can be for the better," he suggests. I'm not sure I like where this is going, but at the very least he doesn't seem so beaten now.
"It usually isn't."
"You would prefer to go back to the mess we were in just after the colonies were destroyed?" he asks. I know it's rhetorical, but I answer anyway.
"That's not equilibrium, it's chaos. I just… Every time I think I've got a handle on things, someone changes the rules."
"Like the old Cancerion proverb, when you learn all of life's answers then life changes the questions."
"Exactly," I admit. "And I don't like floundering around without the answers."
"None of us do," he says softly. His hand moves slightly, but aimlessly. I scoot a little closer and reach for his hand. I'm not usually a very tactile person, but I can imagine how isolating it is not to be able to see. Maybe he just needed to know someone was there. Or maybe I needed him to know. He's done so much for me – more than he'll ever realize – and it hurts to just sit there when he's miserable and hope he'll be okay. I know he will, because he has to be, but as much as I want to be certain there's that kernel of reality that keeps trying to grow. Life is crappy sometimes; that's just how it is.
He squeezes my hand tightly, almost painfully but not quite. "I'm glad you came by," he says. "But there must be things you'd rather be doing than sitting here with an old man."
"I can't think of one," I tell him. It's not exactly true, but in a way it is. I don't mind sitting with him, but I feel like it's so worthless. I'm not even a relative, really.
"I can think of several," he says, patting my hand and then releasing it. "Have you eaten? Did you take time to run, or work out, or even change out of your uniform?"
I shrug. I never realized just how much I normally rely on nonverbal communication – he can't see a shrug, or a head shake, or a wink, or a smile. Lords, what must that be like?
"Kara, I really appreciate you coming. You know I do… but please go away."
I'm stunned for a minute, and if I'm honest just a little bit hurt. "If that's what you want," I tell him. He's already let my hand go, so I stand up and back away from the bed. Okay, it stung more than a little. Would he have kicked Lee out? Where in hell did that thought come from?
"It's not that I don't want you here," he says. "But I need to take care of some things, and I don't want you to watch me walking into walls."
"If you need something," I begin, but I don't get any further.
"I have submitted to a day with my eyes covered," he says firmly. "I have lain here and listened to the dullest music known to man because it's supposed to relax me. I've eaten the food that was brought in even though it was the exact opposite of what I would have chosen myself, and I have tolerated having my ship run by other men. But damn it, I am not going to let you walk me to the bathroom! Leave a man some dignity."
His voice was somewhere between frustrated and amused, and I wasn't sure just how much of the tirade was real and how much was just to get me out of there. I managed not to laugh just in case he hadn't meant it to be funny, but the image of him bopping into furniture like a ball on a pinball table was almost too much. I finally settle on something that is a compromise, at least to me. "Here," I tell him as I press a small com unit into his hand. "I have one, and Lee has the other. Press the button and you'll have both of us on the run. The next time someone brings you food you don't like, we'll beat him up."
He's still for a moment, and then laughing. It sounds pretty good. "Get out, Starbuck," he says, but this time it's pure amusement in his tone.
"Yes, Sir," I reply, and wish he could see that I was smiling. He'll be okay.
As I walk down the corridor, tucking the com unit into my pocket, I realize that it's true. He will be okay, and it has nothing to do with his eyes. Even if they didn't get better – which is unlikely – he'd still get through it. There are some people that life just can't hold down, and he's one of them. It's nice to know that there are some constants in life, even if it is rather disconcerting to know that parents need to use the bathroom, too.