Chapter 11

Aftermath

The problem with leaving things up in the air - with using actions instead of words - is that when it's done no one has any more idea of what's going on than they did before. Sure, the kisses were nice, and they felt good, and there was a definite reassurance in knowing that Lee and I were... compatible. But it didn't tell me what he wanted, or needed, or expected. I mean, if all he wanted were really nice sessions of snuggling up together, then that was an easy one. It was the "happily ever after" concept that was frightening me.

But Lee didn't ask for more than a few kisses that night. We kissed for a while, and then he inched back away and only keeping one arm around me he started talking about rosters and schedules, and who was going to be back on duty and when. I accepted the change of subject more because I was so confused than because I really wanted to help him out, or thought he needed the assistance. But gradually, as the evening wore into night, the discussion turned to friends and family, his father and a couple of the pilots, and more other things than I could have imagined. We lay there for hours, just talking, and it was... well, nice wasn't the word. It was better than that. It was comfortable and easy, and when it came time for me to go get some sleep I was more than a little reluctant to leave. Lee actually offered to let me stay, or to take my bunk if I wanted to be alone, but I didn't take him up on either offer. I kissed him on the forehead, went to my bunk, and to my surprise I slept fairly well. I never did bother eating dinner.

The next day I was expecting things to be uncomfortable with him, or at least a little strained. But they weren't, and that was perhaps the biggest surprise of all. We worked just as well together, managed situations just as efficiently, and even managed to talk in public without anything appearing... amiss. In fact, it was as though nothing had happened, and that was what was bothering me. Hadn't it been as important to him as it had been to me? Wouldn't it... happen again?

And therein was my dilemma. I had been the one who wasn't sure about the whole "relationship" thing, and here I was wondering why he was backing off to where I'd been the day before. I didn't even make sense to myself, so I know I couldn't make sense to him. But he didn't complain or even say a word. He just went out on his scheduled patrol and I worked out until mine. Situation… normal.

Or I thought it was. I was on a short patrol, so I actually came within about half an hour after Lee's long patrol. I knew from the tension on the deck that something hadn't gone right, although I didn't see any major cleanups in action or ships in pieces. Once I'd finished post-flight, I cornered Cally for the lowdown. She's a good kid – Lords she's young – and she's pretty straight with me. She'd been one of the first to get sick, and I was glad that she'd also been one of the first to recover and make it back to the deck. This time though, Cally was a little bit evasive when I asked her what was up.

"Nothing, really," she hedged. I knew better.

"So that's why everyone is whispering in the corners and tiptoeing around like there's going to be an explosion?" I asked. "Cally, I know this place, and something's not square. Tell me what's up."

She gave a sigh, looked both ways to be sure nobody was listening, and then leaned closer. "There was a foul-up on Captain Adama's patrol," she said softly. "The rook he was with – Greenback – well, he didn't finish his preflight and left off some checks so there were thrusters misaligned for landing. Apollo got him in, but it was a near thing. He didn't even speak to him when he got out of his Viper; he just headed out. Greenback is in the ready room, but I think he's considering a different career. Frankly, I don't blame him."

"So, Lee didn't blow?" I ask, confused. No, Lee doesn't go off very frequently, but when it comes to procedure he's a hard ass. Skipping pre-flights – and not checking landing thrusters – was akin to killing someone in his book, because it very well could. I couldn't believe that he'd just let it slide.

Cally was shaking her head, looking almost scared. "I think… he was too mad to blow," she said.

"What?"

She shrugged. "I've never seen anyone so angry. It was like, he couldn't talk or something. I'm sure glad I'm not a pilot right now."

"Yeah," I muttered, remembering one other time when Lee had been too furious for words. Granted, I didn't think this would turn into two years of cold silence, but he was definitely going to need time to cool down. I also figured he might need a listening ear – someone to vent to whom he knew would hit back if it came to that. So I stowed my gear in the ready room, glancing only briefly at the morose rook sitting up against his locker, and headed where I knew that I would go if I'd been the one to talk in someone who frankly deserved to crash.

He was there, just like I would have been. Lee was in the gym, and there was no one else in the room. I actually considered leaving myself when I saw the expression on his face. While I'm sure the redness was due to the pull-ups, I'd very much doubt that the snarl was. Lee could do those in his sleep, so they weren't enough to tick him off. "Hey, Boss," I called out, giving him fair warning that I was in the room. I didn't want him smacking me out of ignorance. I didn't care if he vented a little, but he should at least know who he was doing it to.

He stopped in mid-pull and lowered himself to the floor. Then he stood, looking at me, and I swear I could see the rage coming off him in waves. I could understand it. Neither of us has any tolerance at all for stupidity when it comes to working with Vipers, and he had a right to his anger. Truthfully, I also admired the fact that he'd hit the gym before decking the rook rather than after. I probably would have beat the crap out of the kid and then gone for my run. Maybe that difference is why I'm so much better acquainted with the brig than he is.

When he just stood there, saying nothing, I started getting nervous. I know Lee tends to repress, but he's always been able to talk to me. Usually, if a conversation gets tabled due to discomfort, it's my doing and not his. He's the talker, always wanting to fix stuff. I'm the one who usually puts my foot in it, so I tend to go with fists instead of words. Seeing him unable to even scream this out bothered me. It didn't get any better when he finally spoke.

"Get out."

The words were flat, almost expressionless. I hope I never hear that particular lack of emotion from him again. It wasn't a dead sound, but rather so controlled that it held far too much feeling. It was like he didn't know what to do with it. "That won't make this go away," I told him simply. "You're going to be pissed until you deal with it, so you may as well start now." The bottom line is that I've been dealing with Lee for years, and not much that he does really scares me. Yeah, we might knock the stuffing out of one another on occasion, but it's a pretty fair match. What he may have over me in size and weight he loses to fairness, and what I lack in musculature and height I can compensate for with spite. We fit one another pretty well.

"Not now," he tells me. "Get out, Kara."

I sigh, realizing that this isn't going to be as easy as I'd hoped. Momentarily I consider just punching him and going from there, but even I have more sense than that. "No can do," I tell him as I walk a couple of steps closer. He surprises me then by actually backing away; definitely not in character. "I know what happened during the landing," I tell him. "Or, at least enough to understand. You have a right to be ticked. If you need a punching bag, then go for it. But ignoring it will just give you an ulcer and end that kid's military career. I don't really think you want either of those things to happen." Sweet logic. I wonder if he'll go for it?

His eyes close, and I watch his body actually shake. Even when he was ready to take apart his father, I don't think I saw him this obviously out of control. "Kara, this is your last warning," he says, and his voice is absolutely deadly in its softness. "For Lord's sake, go away!"

So I smile. I know it will set him off, and that's fine. The energy has to go somewhere, and he's absolutely vibrating with it. What I get surprises the hell out of me. I step towards him once more, and he backs off. I step again, and he backs away again. When he finally hits a wall, I'm able to advance a little, and I think I'm making progress right up until I'm within an arm's length of him. Then everything shifts.

I expected him to hit me, but the quick lunge he makes catches me off guard and he takes me straight to the floor. I find myself pinned with his hands on my arms, one of his legs secured over mine, and his full weight knocking the wind out of me. Lee is a fair fighter; he never takes me by surprise because he couldn't break a rule if his life depended on it. Now, he's broken most all of them, and I think it's the shock more than the hold that keeps me from moving. His eyes bore into mine for a long moment, clear and blue and absolutely furious. And then it occurs to me that he might not just be angry about the flight. Had I done something to piss him off? Was the thruster incident due to my maintenance shift? And if either is true, why hasn't he just come out and told me?

"I told you to leave," he says, his voice a growl that's just over a whisper. If he weren't so damned close, I probably wouldn't hear him.

"Yeah, well maybe I should have listened," I admit. Maybe he did need more time to deal with… whatever the hell has him tied in a knot.

"Tough shit," he tells me. "It's too late now."

"I think you've already got the ten-count," I say. "You win."

He watches me a moment more, and then he moves closer. I figure out what's going to happen just a split second before it does, but aside from doing permanent damage in the nature of removing a lip, there's not much I can do but accept the kiss he gives. Trust me, I considered biting him. Seriously.

It wasn't the gentle kiss I'd come to expect from him. Hell, it wasn't even rightly a kiss, but nearly an attack. There was no emotion in it, but a pure outlet for anger and frustration and probably more other feelings than even he could sort out. But the bottom line was that the kiss was beyond aggressive and almost frightening. If it had been anyone but Lee, I might have really been afraid, and most definitely I would have drawn blood. Even with him, I fought for a minute and that just seemed to make him fight back. That was when it hit me that he didn't want this any more than I did. He just had so much going on in him that it had to have an outlet, and I'd provided him one. I'd expected him to smack me; in a way, that was just what he was doing.

So I stopped fighting back, let my body relax, and let him do whatever he needed to. I know Lee, and however mad he is, he's simply not the type of man to rape me on the floor. Yes, this was out of character, but I'd given him the opening. After offering, I couldn't very well change my mind.

As soon as I stopped struggling, the kiss gentled. It wasn't soft or sweet, and it kept an edge to it that was less predictable than I would have liked, but he let go of my arms to brace himself and took a lot of his weight from me. I took that opportunity to put my arms around his neck and hold on. It wasn't groping, but mostly a hug. I just wanted him to know that I was there, and that I wasn't holding this against him. It turns out that there are a lot of outlets for strong emotions, and this one was damned effective. A fight would have taken us a good half-hour to settle. In just a few moments, he knows he's beaten me, and he pulls back.

And then I see the guilt. It's that same expression he's had when he's hit back after I've punched him in the gut, or when he's left a bruise on me while defending himself. The Adamas weren't raised to abuse women, and while I'm not the traditional female they still hold to that standard. To make matters worse, I start most of it. I can't really complain about how it ends up. And no, he doesn't have a reason to feel guilty. Yes, he's split my lip, but it wasn't deliberate and I was warned going in and several more times along the way, which is more than anyone usually gets. This one is on me.

I reach up and wipe a smear of blood from his lower lip and leave my hand there cupping his cheek. He looks so upset. I hate that I've done this to him. Sometimes I should just listen and leave when I'm told. No, I don't hold this against him, but there's no way in the world will he ever believe that. "Feel better?" I ask, forcing a smile. I'm worried about him; I don't want him to see that.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I lift up for a moment, kissing his cheek, and he flinches away as though I've punched him. I'll admit that it hurts, but probably not nearly as much as he's hurting. "I'm fine. Although, I think I'll listen the next time you tell me to take a walk."

His eyes close, and for a moment I know that he's blocked me out. He's trying to get himself together, and I need to give him that time. Who would have ever thought that I'd need to be the considerate one? When he finally opens his eyes there's some perspective there, some clarity to go with the anger. And yes, there's still anger.

"Are you ready to talk?" I ask.

He rolls to the side, winding up on his back and leaving me feeling cold and stupid lying on the floor next to him. After the workout he's obviously done, the metal floors probably feel good to him. "I'm sorry."

"It's over," I remind him, rolling to my side so I can watch him. "So talk to me."

"You know it. Greenback nearly committed suicide, and I almost let him." He lifts his head a few inches from the floor and slams it back down with a resounding thud. "Why in hell didn't I check that preflight?" he grinds out. "I frakking knew he was a rook. I knew not to trust him to follow procedure. The brat is so frakking cocky that he wouldn't follow a rule if it held his hand."

"You did your job," I remind him. "You checked your Viper, you covered your wingman, and you got him back to the deck. What in hell more do you want from yourself? You aren't a holy lord, whatever you may think. You're just a man, and you do the best you can at the time. It's all any of us can do, Lee."

"I wanted to kill him," Lee says softly. "When he started screaming, and he was so low… Kara, I could barely think. I just kept wondering if Zak had sounded that scared…"

That catches me off guard, but not really. Every time anything goes wrong on the deck I see flashes of fire and what was left of the man I was supposed to marry. It's not something you get over. Ever. But I can talk about it without coming apart now, and that's progress. "I don't think Zak ever knew he was in trouble," I admit. "He wasn't that low when he came in, and none of us realized that he'd caught a wing until he started to spin. Then he panicked, and before we could say a word… Lee, he never felt it. He never even screamed."

"I froze," he whispered. "For just a few seconds, when he started yelling, I just… froze. I didn't get it together until the LSO said something."

"You did what you had to when it mattered."

"I didn't want to," he ground out. "And when we got down, and I realized that he hadn't done preflight, I was almost sorry that I'd talked him in. How screwed up is that? Whatever he did, the kid didn't deserve to die, but I wanted to…"

"Strangle him?"

"At least," he said flatly. "And instead I attacked you."

I had to smile. "Ah, we've done worse to each other after a bad card game," I tell him with a slight shove. After all, whatever may have just happened, the gym isn't the most appropriate place for PDA, and when Lee realizes the position he has put himself in he's likely to be madder at himself then he ever was at Greenback. But for some dumb reason I need to touch him, so I take the friendly outlet that I've always used. I really don't think anyone would dare come in here anyway, but just in case.

"You've always fought back," Lee says carefully. Then he just looks at me, and I can see the question on his face. Why didn't I fight him this time?

"Well, this wasn't as bad as a left hook," I tell him with a shrug.

He reaches forward to brush a thumb across my lips and it comes away red. Okay, maybe I hadn't been ready for it, but he still doesn't need to feel like an ex murderer. "I'm sorry," he tells me again.

"It's over," I say again. "Forget it."

He just shakes his head, then lifts it up and slams it back down. The guy is going to give himself a concussion if he's not careful.

"And quit that," I tell him with a snap. "At least until we get the rest of our pilots back. I am not taking your shifts."

He's staring at the ceiling now and something's on his mind. I'm not sure if I should even ask. After all, he's not doing what I expect at the moment. Neither the self-abuse nor the silence are typical Lee, so I know that something has to be eating at him. There's something in me that says it's more than Greenback's most stupid move ever, and as self-centered as it is I have to wonder if it's about me. After all, if his dad had followed him into the gym, I'd very much doubt he would be lying here next to Lee. This is about more than a careless rook, or his dead brother, or a rough kiss.

"Tell me what you're thinking," I ask. His face is pretty much blank, and his eyes aren't giving anything away.

He sighs. "That I really wish you'd left," he admits.

"I told you to forget it," I remind him. "I knew you were ticked, and I fully expected you to try to deck me. Granted, I didn't think you'd actually manage it, but there's a first time for everything." My attempt at humor falls pretty flat. "Lee, we both know that when you're that wound up you won't calm down until you blow, and I knew very well that I was coming in as a target. I walked through that hatch on my own, so what happened afterwards is my responsibility."

He shook his head. "Yeah, I was mad at Greenback, but there was more to it," he admits. "Kara, I didn't hit you."

"Yeah, you did," I argue. "You just didn't use fists. The outlet was pretty much the same."

He turned his head to look at me, and he looked so sad for a moment that I just wanted to do something to make it better. Anything. "I was as mad at you as I was at him," he says softly. "In a different way, sure, but…"

"But what?" I prompt.

"But that's no excuse."

I think about that and decide it makes absolutely no sense. "What were you mad about? Or, should I ask what are you mad about?"

"That you never listen," he tells me on a sigh. "I told you to leave, and you walked right in. I tell you to do something, and you do the opposite. And even when I keep my damned mouth shut, I swear you read my mind and go the other direction just to make me nuts."

And I find myself totally confused. When in hell did I not do what he asked? Granted, I usually do things my way, but lately it's matched up pretty well with his. Hasn't it? "I'll give you today, and maybe I've been a little difficult on occasion, but you know very well that I listen to you more than I have any other CAG. Most of that is that you just make more sense, but part is just that it's you."

He shakes his head. "Forget it."

"No," I argue. "If this is about me, then I need to know what I'm doing wrong." I also need to know why it's so damned important, but that's another issue entirely.

"That," he says simply. "I say drop it, you don't." He looks back up at the ceiling, as though he can't deal with looking at me. Okay, it hurts, and it hurts more that I've just proven him right. I can't fix this if I don't know what I'm dealing with, and it ticks me off that I care about fixing it either way.

"So that's it? You're upset because I don't do what you want, and you won't bother to tell me what that is? I've got this clear?"

His head lifts up and slams down, and I really want to smack him. On the other hand, my conversation is about as effective as beating my head against a wall – or in I his case the floor – so I suppose it's just as well either way.

"I'll go," I tell him quickly, pushing up to a sitting position. "Preferably before you crack your skull."

"Damn it, you just don't get it, do you?" he said with a growl. He was looking at me though now, up on an elbow and facing me.

"Get what?" I'm tired now, and getting sick of not knowing what in hell he wants from me. "Lee, I didn't come in here for my health. I thought you might need an ear, or at least someone who understood. I'm sorry if I've overstepped somehow, but I thought that was how friends took care of one another. I don't know what my crime is this time – as I remember, you're the one who knocked me over – but whatever the hell I did, I'm sorry. No, I don't get it. I don't get any of it."

"Friends," he muttered. "I've had it! I'm frakking sick of being friends." With that, he was up on his feet and out of the room before I could even stand. I just sat there for a minute, wondering if he'd finally gone nuts, or if I had, and realizing that things weren't the same after all. Lee wasn't willing to come to me anymore, and he didn't want whatever it was that we had spent the last few years building. Rationally, I knew he was tired and that the adrenaline rush had to be wearing off enough to send him into a nosedive, but there had been truth in every word he'd spoken. I didn't get it. He wasn't acting like a friend. And what frightened me the most was that he had finally run out of patience and I still didn't have any kind of answer for him.