In the real world, I've found that there aren't very many certainties. One of the few things you can count on is that if things can go wrong, they will, and usually at the worst possible time. Another is that nothing worth having is easy to come by. Unfortunately, however many times I learn those lessons, I find that I have to relearn them over, and over, and over.
I can remember back to the first time I saw Kara Thrace. She was a live wire, even then. I went into that room doubly ticked off because not only had Dad picked out my roommate for me, and picked a woman at that, but that he had been a lot more impressed with the girl's flight achievements than he was mine. I'd always worked for Dad's approval, and I wouldn't have told him no for anything, but I'd decided before I walked into that dorm that I didn't like her. The feeling lasted right up until I found myself laying in the middle of the floor with a pert little green-eyed blond on top of me, an elbow in my ribs and a knee… well, some things a man doesn't want to remember.
Once I'd answered her demand of "who the frakkin' hell" I was, we both had a good laugh over the incident. She hadn't had an easy time of it at the Academy, and once she'd explained her attack as the preemptive offensive it had been designed as, I could understand a lot more. Dad hadn't told me anything about why I was to room with the girl he'd been bragging about for the last year; he had just told me that he had a room and roommate set up. Explanations weren't his thing. That's just how it is when your dad is a military leader. What he said was law, and that was the end of it. But Kara, now she was the beginning. I wouldn't have admitted it to Dad, but I actually liked the kid.
Back then, she really seemed like a kid. She had tousled blond hair, eyes that were absolutely huge, and she was a full foot shorter than me. What she lacked in size she made up for in speed and intelligence, and in the ability to make a plane do things it was never designed for. She was easy to care about, and there was something about that tough and often foul-mouthed exterior that made me want to keep her safe just so that she wouldn't have to. Looking back, I think she was the tougher of us even then. But we got along, and that was what was important. I helped her through physics and trig, and she helped me with offensive flight tactics and most of the required arts classes. Yeah, I know, no one would believe that Kara has a soft spot for great literature and traditional art, but it's there. She not only likes the stuff, but she can interpret it the way the instructors wanted. I'd say we covered one another's asses a lot over the next three years.
We got to be damned good friends, too. Maybe I wanted more – planned for more – once we were out of the Academy. My mom had never understood Dad's need to fly, and the way he'd be gone for months at a time. I figured that if anyone could understand the hardships of a military wife and not resent them, it would be Kara. Meanwhile, she'd really grown up. She wasn't the fresh-faced sixteen year old who I'd met that first day, but a very beautiful young woman. She had shot up in height, whereas I'd stayed about the same, and her time on the Academy track team had kept her in great shape. Hell, I even ran with her most days, and she almost had me enjoying it. Almost, because I'm a firm believer that no one should run unless they're being chased. Once I told her that, and she did. Lords, she was fast!
When she met Zak, he fell head over heels for her. I couldn't blame him, but what shocked me to the core was that she fell for him too. It hadn't been in my game plan to lose her to my little brother, but I was naïve enough then to just want her to be happy so I backed out of the picture and was just a friend. She was a pretty great friend. She still is, truthfully. She's also a lot more.
Which is why I'm laying here with her head on my chest, a blanket covering her bare arms and thinly clad back, and my arms around her. She's like a little oven, generating heat all the time, but last night she'd tried to make a point. She accomplished her goal, and somewhere in the reunion afterwards she never did get her clothes back on. I really wish I could mind, but her skin is soft and this gives me an excuse to feel more of it than I usually get to. Last night, I could have felt all of it. It was very tempting, but the look on her face had told me that it had been desperation driving her rather than any desire to be closer. I couldn't do that to her, and somewhere in the mess it occurred to me that there were more important things than sex. One of those was friendship. Another was trust. I've betrayed both of those in the last couple of weeks, but she's still here. I was right about her, you know. She would make an incredible military wife.
Not that I'm planning marriage; not exactly. Truthfully, I haven't thought that far ahead. I just know that when I'm around her, the world looks a little different – better – and I like that. And yes, she's easy to look at too. More than once I've caught her without her noticing, and just watched. My favorite place to do that is the gym. There's an intensity in her that is just amazing, and after a couple of years of celibacy a man has to wonder just what would happen if an intensity like that were focused on him. Maybe I couldn't keep up, but I'd sure like to find out. And that seemed to be mutual at first. I mean, we were closer than friends, even back at the Academy. We've been closer than friends here, too. Closer than friends, but not as close as I wanted. She seemed to be with me just so far, and then she pulled back. Initially it didn't bother me; eventually it made me crazy.
I always did well in tactics, so I didn't panic too much when Kara kept her distance. I looked at the situation as objectively as possible, looked at what had gone wrong each time I'd been rebuffed, and planned away around what had happened. It was almost like a game at first. "Well, she doesn't like this, I'll try that." But once you've run out of things to try, it's not a challenge anymore but rather a nagging ache. You start wondering what the problem really is, and if the friendship is as solid as you'd hoped. In all honesty, I started to wonder if it came back to Zak and her feelings for him. I would have understood that, but even if it had been, I'd given her time to get through it. Zak's been gone for more than three years, and the world has shifted considerably since that time. I decided it was time to get down to waging the campaign that I'd been putting off. If I'd known where it would go, I don't think I would have done it.
On the other hand, if I hadn't, we wouldn't be here and this is something I wouldn't trade. I don't get to see her soft side very often, and I know it irritates the hell out of her when she starts to feel coddled. That same independence that I love has become a barrier more than once to our getting closer. But as her oldest living friend – well, not counting my Dad – I reserve the right to care about her, and yes, worry about her too. Let's face it, she sometimes gives me reason.
As a CAG, I never like to get word that one of my troops is hurt. It's not just a matter of preserving the few pilots that are left, but of believing every one of their lives is my responsibility. Is that a little lofty? Hell yes, but it goes with the job. And as much as I'd like to think I know all of the crew – and probably should given how few there are – the truth of the matter is that while I can put most names with a face, I'm not really very close to many of them. Nonetheless, when I got a call that one of the pilots had been hurt doing some repairs, and that it was possibly serious, I was worried. I was a lot more worried when I got down to the deck to find the now-deserted Viper left just as it had been immediately after the accident.
There was blood everywhere. It was on the plane, the floor, the small tool box… everywhere. Oh, not great pools of it, but as though it had sprayed or something. My first thought was that someone had hit an artery or something. I'd come in from the back of the bay, hoping to stay out of the way of any emergency personnel if they were on their way, so I wasn't spotted immediately. I also didn't call out to anyone, because I was frankly stunned. What in hell could have done this? And what pilot was careless enough to let it happen?
"Captain Apollo, Sir?" That voice I know, our very own little Specialist Cally. I say little because those first couple of weeks I was convinced that her presence was a joke. She didn't look much more than twelve or thirteen, and she was so quiet and withdrawn that nothing she said changed that opinion. Then I saw her dive into a Viper which had taken a rough landing. The look on the Chief's face was priceless; he had known, and I felt like a dunce.
"What happened?" I asked, partly in concern and the rest confusion.
"She's already up in Life Station," Cally said, carefully sidestepping the question.
"I gathered that. I'm asking what put her there." Anyone else I would have screamed at for being so evasive when I was tired, busy, and otherwise put out by the whole issue of some pilot being careless.
"She and Lieutenant Bell were working on the preflight. He said there was a seal stuck, and she was trying to get it loose when her hand got cut on something."
"Did you see how bad?" A trip to life station could mean anything from a bandage to death, and there was a lot of blood sprayed around.
"Pretty bad," Cally admitted. "But she was still cussing when they rolled her out, so she'll probably be okay."
That brought me to a halt. I have four Viper pilots that are female and only one with the mouth of a sewer. "Who was it?" I asked.
Cally must have caught something in my voice – either that or she knows a lot more than she lets on, which is far more likely – because she backed up a couple of steps before answering. "Lieutenant Starbuck, Sir."
Kara. Oh, shit! If it had been anyone else, I probably could have been objective. As it was, all I could do was keep myself together until I found out just how badly she was hurt. "I'd probably better go see how bad it is," I muttered, just wanting to take off at a dead run. Sometimes being the CAG – setting the example – is a royal pain in the ass. "Why don't you get this mess cleaned up before it dries."
"Yes, Sir. Um, Sir?"
I really didn't want to stand there and chat, but Cally's one of our good ones and if she had something to say it was most likely important. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay, Sir?"
She couldn't have surprised me more if she'd gone off on one of Kara's profane rants. Well, it didn't surprise me to know that the crew knew we were close; that's a given on a ship of this size. What surprised me was that she'd say anything, especially then.
I gave her a nod, even though I knew better. The walk to Life Station may have slipped to a jog just a few times, and I hoped it was attributed to my concern for a pilot rather than my fear that Kara was really hurt. Then, when I finally reached my destination, I reached a brick wall. They weren't letting me back there for anything, which didn't do a thing towards my attitude. I made quite a few threats, and I have to say that the techs down there are pretty tough. I would have had half the flight crew cowering with half that display. But they weren't letting me in. Period.
About twenty minutes later, Doctor Sands came out to tell me that she was doing well but was still in surgery.
"Surgery?"
"It was too big a job for a local, but every time we tried to knock her out she stopped breathing on us. It isn't uncommon; a lot of people don't respond well to that type of sedation. It was safer to put her under general and do this in the operating room."
"Oh," I say, feeling really stupid. I understood about half of what she'd said. "Um, when can I see her?"
She smiled. "She's in recovery, so how about now?"
That was a relief. It wouldn't have been out of line for them to refuse to let me in, CAG or not. I'm not a relative, nor even a boyfriend. I would have called my father if it had been necessary, but I didn't want to worry him until I knew first-hand how she was.
And she was sick. Really sick. While I watched her retching into a basin from a fair distance away, I had to wonder how she could stand me when a headache hits. I mean, it's bad enough on the puking side, but the receiving end is a mess. She's never said a word, though. She just stays with me, cleans up the mess, and afterwards acts like it never happened.
I watch as Doctor Salik yells for something, and Cassie hustles away to get it. The "it" turns out to be a syringe of something which Kara gets quickly in the tush. She doesn't even flinch, which tells me how involved she is with getting sick. I keep my distance as the Doctor walks off nearly screaming about the ancient medications they're resorting to and the unnecessary side effects they cause.
But whatever they just stuck in her butt, Kara's not retching any longer. The tech who had been there holding the basin waits just a moment more, then eases her onto her back, putting a pillow beneath her right arm. I approach slowly. "Why a cast?" I ask. "Is it broken?"
Cassie smiles at that. "No, but we don't want her moving it until it's partially healed; it would tear the stitches. I also have a feeling she'd be a scratcher, and a wrap she'd just take off. I've tried reasoning with her about her health before," the tech told him with a wink. "No can do."
And she was right.
The medication they gave Kara to keep her from being sick also put her out for the next several hours. I took that time to talk to Doctor Salik – who was optimistic, my dad – who was worried, and my Deputy CAG – who was surprisingly understanding. We did some shift shuffling to cover both my absence and Kara's, and he gave me a report on the Viper that had caused the whole issue. Then, all there was to do was wait – and worry. There's nothing fun about telling someone you care about that they may never be able to do what they love again. No, it's not likely that she'll lose that much mobility in her hand, but as the doctor had told me, infections and complications were always possibilities. Stupid me. I asked if I could be the one to tell her; I thought it might be easier coming from a friend.
She took it surprisingly well, as she did her convalescence. She spent the time doing everything but flying, and I don't think she missed more than those first couple of days when the pain medication had her so woozy. It got to be a running joke that you didn't dare upset Starbuck, because now that right hook would be concrete, but I was just glad to see her getting better. It had never occurred to me that she could get hurt; somehow it just never had. Even at the beginning of the war, when I thought her dead, I imagined a flash of light and then oblivion. Kara is not a woman to slow down. She's just not. Seeing her taken down to a normal, human speed was frightening.
It was also frankly sobering, because I was forced to see just how much I actually depend on her. I knew that she was essential to my job, and that her friendship was valuable, and even that I wanted more than friendship with her. What I didn't know was that my equilibrium was reliant on her presence. A day without her wry jokes or crass humor just isn't any fun, and for all the hassle she causes, she's far more help than hindrance. Life is dull without her, and I've had enough of dull lives. I want her in mine. Period.
Which is not to say that having her somewhat limited didn't have its advantages. Someone had to scratch her back, after all. Getting into uniform herself was impossible, and a guy has to take his thrills where he can get them. She didn't even seem to mind a little help here and there, which was unusual for her. But it was an excuse to be close, and I took it. I was careful – always careful – but I stayed close. And when she flew that first patrol, I was right there with her. If there'd been a problem, I would have helped her through it, but there wasn't. It was like watching an injured bird, healed and set free. Lords, how she flew. It was just plain beautiful to watch, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
But for all her freedom in space, Kara can be an absolute brick when it comes to honesty. Finally, when she was back on her feet – or using her arm, as the case was – I decided that I couldn't wait any longer to deal with the limbo we'd been in. I had dropped more than one hint over the past months, ranging from gentle kisses to not-so-subtle subjections that were as close to lines as I was willing to go. Kara didn't seem to mind, but neither did she encourage me. She let me move forward, but she always pulled herself back. The dance was making me ill. I decided to corner her and just find out where we stood. It seemed like a sensible idea. We would both lay out our strategies, compare tactics, and the frakking war could be over. Instead, I ran into a pure roadblock.
It's hard for me to believe that Kara is dense, but I honestly think I'd prefer that to thinking she doesn't care. After going back and forth a dozen times or so, or what felt like it, we finally decided to pretty much leave things as they were. It wasn't much of a solution, but I thought it would be better than taking the chance of chasing her off. I was wrong.
Oh, it started out well enough. At the very least she agreed to be alone with me long enough to discuss the matter, and she acted like it was important to her as well. Truthfully, she had some valid concerns. Changes in relationships are never easy, but things that are worthwhile rarely are. To me, it was worth the minute risk to be able look at her as more than a friend, but to her it wasn't. That was the bottom line. It was good to know that it wasn't me – that I wasn't bungling in trying to let her know that I wanted more – but finding out that she was completely opposed to the idea was painful.
She was worried about losing a friendship; I understand that. And she's had some pretty crappy experience with men as well. The jerks she roomed with at the Academy were prize losers, and I know she dated a few of the squad guys before she realized that if she put out everyone knew it, and if she didn't they called her a tease. I guess that's why she's worked so hard at being one of the guys. So far as I know, she's never dated anyone on the Galactica, but I didn't think that would extend to me. She and Zak had something good; she had to know it was possible.
I tried to be honest with her. I let her know what I wanted, at least as much as I could without drawing diagrams. She plainly wasn't interested. I don't know if she expected me to be like the guys who turned on her in the past or what, but her lack of faith in me was hard to take. Gradually though, I came to realize that she wasn't afraid of me specifically; she was afraid of change. It was flattering to know that she valued what we had so much that she didn't want to risk losing it even if it meant things would be better when all was said and done. She didn't want to lose her best friend. I told her she never would, but it turned out that she knew me better than I knew myself.
I let most of it go, though. I reassured her, I gave her time, and most of all I backed off for a while. Why? Because whether she knew it or not, I heard some things in her argument that just didn't ring true. She didn't want me to be with anyone else. She didn't want to come in second to anyone. She didn't want to be alone. Any or all of those things clued me in that she wasn't really telling me no, but rather telling me to wait. I figured I could bide my time and at some point she'd come around. The thing was, I didn't want to be with anyone else. I needed someone who understood me and loved me anyway. I needed someone with my same values and priorities. And okay, if that one woman is already a great friend and happens to be absolutely gorgeous, then that's okay too.
And the other thing I heard in her was raw fear. She'd loved Zak completely, and I saw her after she lost him. There just wasn't a hell of a lot left of her for a while. It took time for her to rebuild herself and get strong again, and that kind of personal reconstruction isn't something a person wants to repeat. I do the same thing for a living that Zak was doing when he died. And bringing it around to my brother, I'm sure she had more than a little guilt in the mix. When I first started falling for her, I went through it as well. I felt like I was betraying Zak to feel that way about his girl. At some point though, I realized that she wasn't his anymore. He was gone, and he couldn't come back, and he wouldn't ever want her to spend the rest of her life alone and pining for him. He'd loved her too much for that.
And I also knew that he'd want her to be with someone who really cared about her, and respected her, and needed her. He'd want her to be with someone who wasn't intimidated by her skill, but challenged by it and impressed by it. He'd want someone who appreciated all she was, and didn't hold what she wasn't against her. I figure that if I don't fit that bill, then it isn't likely anyone else would. That wasn't pride; it's just how well I knew my brother. In fact, before he ever asked her out, he asked me if I minded. Even then he must have seen the way that I looked at her, but he accepted my word when I told him to do as he liked. I guess I didn't consider that she might say yes. I know I never thought that it would work out. Maybe my judgment wasn't as good as I thought it was.
But I let her go that night, because I believed that if I pushed her, it would be away from me. That wasn't what I wanted at all. I wanted… her. I didn't want to have to tell her how to feel, or what to do, or how to act. I wanted her to feel the same way for me that I did for her, and I suppose that wasn't fair. I thought I was being so generous – giving her time and space – but I was just disguising my expectations and my own impatience.
I got the surprise of my life when I found her sitting on my bunk after duty. She seemed angry at first that I was late, but quickly she settled down and we started talking. She'd brought me dinner, and although I'd already eaten I thought it was pretty sweet. It also gave me a level of hope that I hadn't had before. It was the first time she'd come to me – actively made an effort at what looked like more than friendship. Her words weren't so reassuring.
She wanted to know what I wanted. It struck me as so… Kara. Give her a diagram and she's set, but she can't puzzle things out unless it's under fire. She thinks fast when she has to, but when she tries it just seems to slow down the works. She over-thinks everything, which is what she always accuses me of. Maybe that's why we usually get along. Anyway, she told me that she didn't know what she wanted, so she wanted me to tell her what to do.
Gee, that was flattering. Right. I couldn't make her love me, or see me as a man rather than a brother. I couldn't make her feel the same excitement and anticipation when she sees me that I feel when I see her. I couldn't make her do anything, and even if I could I wouldn't want to. Who wants a woman who comes to him like a robot, asking for directions? I wanted her spirit and her life, not her obligation due to our friendship. But she was demanding an answer, and putting those thoughts into coherent words – especially under the influence of the disappointment I was feeling at that moment – was just more than I could do. I finally told her that. I couldn't do it for her.
And then I watched her crumble.
Kara is one of the strongest people I know, and it takes a lot to bring her down. She'll take on anything or anyone, but when it comes to her own feelings and emotions she's always questioning. She's so afraid to make a mistake that she doesn't even try. I tried to explain it to her – that I couldn't give her words for what she should feel – and wound up insulting her. Badly.
I used a bad analogy, and she got the idea that it was about sex. And it wasn't; well, it wasn't entirely. I'll admit that more than a year of celibacy isn't exactly comfortable, but neither is it terminal. If I wanted sex, that's easy enough to come by on one of the luxury liners that are within the fleet. Hell, it doesn't even take cubits anymore, just a few extra rations or a blanket or two. But sex isn't what I wanted. I wasn't opposed to it, but it certainly wasn't my priority.
What I wanted was her – inside, outside, everything. I wanted to know what she was thinking, and feeling. I wanted her to want me, not just to sleep with me. She'd talked about male egos once, and I suppose she has a point. Everyone wants to be appreciated, though. It's not just men. I wanted her to feel what I did. That's just not something you can engineer; it's either there or it's not. But I figured that I could at least put her at ease, and put things back into perspective.
So I talked to her gently, like a frightened animal. I moved closer slowly, touched her carefully, and before I knew it my lips were on hers and the world just dropped away for a few moments. I hadn't meant it to happen. I had only meant to get her attention, and maybe get her thinking in that general direction, but once I'd spoken of kissing her I just couldn't resist doing it. Practically, it was damned awkward. I was kneeling on the bed, doing my best not to scare her by acting like a starving man staring at a banquet, but it may have been the hardest thing I've ever done. Even when I tried to pull away, I couldn't help touching her. I felt like letting go of her would kill me.
She told me it was nice. Nice? I'm about to go off like a rocket, and she's saying it's nice? I called her on that one, as much for the sake of honesty as for ego. I'd felt her response. She'd been as involved in the kiss as I had been, and it had been a hell of a lot better than "nice". I couldn't get the words out of her, but at the very least she kissed me that next time, and then words weren't really the point.
My arms were shaking, so I put one around her mostly for support. When she didn't pull back, I pressed her down into my bed, doing everything I could to keep my hands out of any danger zones, and keep her from noticing what a state she had me in. I didn't want to frighten her, and everything seemed so tenuous then, but I couldn't let her go. Gradually, the kiss went from frantic to easy, and I think we were both able to enjoy it more. I know that she relaxed, and I didn't feel like she was going to bolt at the first opportunity. At that point I felt confident enough to give her some space, so I tightened my hold on her and shifted to my back. With her laying on my chest, she was a lot less likely to feel how involved I was, and I knew that I was less likely to push her farther than she wanted to go.
I'm not sure how long we stayed that way; I really wasn't watching the clock. I do know that when she finally pulled away it was to say something about the time, and needing some rest. I offered to let her stay before I even realized what I was saying, much less before considering how she might take it. When her eyes went wide, I amended the invitation by removing myself from it. I told her that I'd take her bunk. It's something we've done in the past when she's working the odd shifts and all the in and out traffic of quarters is keeping her awake. I can work just as easily out of CIC if it's paperwork I'm juggling, and if I'm in the air then it's all academic. She turned me down, but at the very least I saw her consider it for a moment. The refusal didn't feel quite as bad when I knew that the choice hadn't been easy for her. She was still so damned afraid; I wished I knew what would help, but I was completely clueless. I really don't think she was any more certain than I was, but at least that night I had her fooled.
I even fooled myself at first, right up until my preoccupation with her nearly got a kid killed. I suppose that's exaggerating, but not by much.
Iian Green was just that – green. He's a fresh-faced kid of about twenty who had barely finished the academy and was in his first assignment on the Atlantia. The day the war began, the kid was playing courier when he was faced with a Cylon attack. The Lords' honest truth is that he completely panicked and gave the shuttle far too much fuel, far too quickly. As a safety kicked in, all systems shut down. Ironically, that stupidity was what saved his life. We picked him up drifting just outside the orbit of Saggitaria, lost and scared and totally inept. Unfortunately, we don't have enough military pilots to pick and choose, so when we started looking for replacement pilots for the Vipers we'd pieced together, he wound up on the list. We wound up naming him Greenback, because he always seemed so naïve about everything. He was also horribly nervous, and occasionally scatterbrained. I knew that; I really did.
But the morning we headed out on patrol, I was thinking over the night before and how good it had felt to have Kara in my arms. I'm not one to wander around in a daze, but that morning I was damned close. I had to work to keep my mind on the preflight check before taking my place in the Viper and preparing for launch. As patrols went, it was completely uneventful right up to the landing. We approached the Galactica and I kept pace to allow the kid to head in. It's standard procedure that the wing leader remains to provide cover fire for less experienced pilots. Unless we're under direct attack, it isn't really an issue, but it is procedure and we've never gotten away from it.
I watched the kid head in with about half my attention. The rest was divided between maintaining my distance with the moving Galactica and how I was going to get Kara back into my bed that night. The schedule was set, and I'd seen to that a week before although I hadn't realized why it would be such an important factor in my life until that moment. She had brought me dinner, so I was just planning to do the same for her when I heard the LFO's voice change rhythm.
A quick glance and an experienced eye showed me the problem; the kid was way too low. For a moment I just sat there, waiting for him to self-correct. I hadn't flown with him more than once or twice before, and there are pilots who come in from beneath to gauge their vertical thrust before landing. Greenback wasn't that experienced but as I said, my mind wasn't really on him. It should have been.
My second clue that there was a problem came from the kid himself. It was a panicked call for help. "I can't get any higher," he called out in a high-pitched voice.
"Abort landing, Viper B417. Repeat, abort landing. You are too low." The LSO's voice was clear, if urgent, but it was enough to get my ass back into gear.
"Drop down, Greenback," I instructed. "Repeat, drop down and circle. We'll try this again."
"I can't make it go up!" The call was frantic and childish. For just a moment, I caught sight of him flashing his glance around the cockpit before I settled in beside him.
"You don't have to make it go up," I told him in my calmest voice. "Drop down, circle, and we'll go through a system check to find out what the problem is."
"Yes, Sir," he finally said, and perhaps three hundred yards before slamming into the lower section of the landing bay, he finally dropped down and followed me around a slow circle away from the Galactica.
While out, we went through systems one by one, and finally we located an absence of pressure to one of his engine's fuel lines. I had him make a couple of minor adjustments, gave that thruster a little more juice, and we turned ourselves around to try again. This time when we approached the Galactica, I was intent. Ironically, everything went smoothly. The kid made his landing, I followed, and for the moment a crisis was averted.
The specialist who had come to grab my helmet and hand me the report board knew better than to argue when I handed it back and moved past him on the ladder. I was headed for the kid's Viper, worried only about his post flight check so that we could find out what the hell had gone wrong. The first thing I needed though, was his preflight information. I needed to know his exact pressures when he'd gone out to calculate how significant a leak we would be looking for. I suppose I should have known by the look on the Chief's face when he handed me the board that something was wrong. His presence didn't clue me in, because anytime a bird has any level of malfunction, he's the first on the scene. These Vipers are like his children, and he guards them with his life. But there was something on his face this time which should have let me know that something was wrong.
A glance at the board gave me my answer. The readout showed the pilot name, Viper identification code, and nothing else. Nothing. No preflight check had been accomplished. None. I looked up at the Chief for confirmation, and he didn't meet my eyes. That gave me my answer. I didn't hang around long enough to kill the kid. Hell, I didn't even watch him get out of the Viper. I did however vow to myself that it would be a hell of a long time before he sat in one again. The kid had violated one of the most basic safety rules of flight. He might as well have gone out there without a flight suit, for the danger he had put not only himself in, but the entire landing crew as well. Our deck crews have lost quite enough, thank you very much. They don't need a fresh-faced idiot to take out any of the survivors. Hell, if it hadn't been for that I might have wished that the brat had crashed his bird. It would have served him right. Nobody likes to take the time for pre and post flight checks, but they are absolutely necessary to our safety. You just can't go out there in a defective Viper. You can't, but he had. And I had let him.
That was the part that drove me past the ready room and down the corridor to the gym. I had my flight suit half off before I got anywhere near the equipment, and miraculously the gym vacated in record time. When I looked up after my first set of reps, I was the only one in the room. We have a very smart crew. I don't get angry often, but when I do it's usually an epic event. I've come apart a few times since becoming CAG, and the squads have learned the signs. They stay clear, and everyone stays out of the brig.
There is – of course – one exception to that rule. Lieutenant Kara Thrace would take on the devil himself if given the opportunity, and she'd probably smile while she punched him. She's never been afraid of my darker moods, no more than she's been afraid of my headaches. She just accepts them as part of the package and barrels ahead. But that morning, I really wish she hadn't.
I had far too much adrenaline left from the near accident to release it in a few minutes of exercise, and I'd only been there for half an hour when she came in. I told her to leave. Repeatedly. But Kara has never listened to anyone unless she wanted to hear what they had to say. She came in actually looking for a fight, knowing that I was going to have to blow before I could calm down. There are times she knows me better than I know myself, but I know her pretty well, too. At least, I thought I did. She expected me to come out swinging, and I decided not to give her the satisfaction. I wanted her out, and I figured the best way to do it was to scare her off. If she was out of the picture, my head would be out of the clouds and I could do my job again. If I could just frighten her away – get her out of my system – then I could quit walking on eggshells. And the best way to scare her was to push her.
When she cornered me against the back wall, I made my move. I snaked one leg around hers, pulled, and took her legs out from under her. I hit the ground with her beneath me, knocking the wind out of her, and then I attacked. And that's what it was – an all out attack. I kissed her, but it didn't have a damned thing to do with wanting her or loving her. It was pure anger and aggression, and a lot of resentment that she could keep me tied so tight in frakking knots. I didn't care if I hurt her, didn't care if I scared her away, and didn't care if she was with me. I honestly think that if I'd hit her, I wouldn't have felt nearly as bad when my head cleared.
And somewhere in her lack of resistance – in her failure to fight back – my head did clear. She didn't fight me. If I'd punched her, she would have hit me back. As it was, she had accepted and let me do all the fighting. I might have been able to stand that, but then I saw her face. I didn't know then if I'd split her lip or mine, but I knew that there was blood. Anything causing that much pressure had to have hurt. I still gave her the opportunity to fight back, but she didn't want it. She just lay there, accepting whatever I gave her. And suddenly what I'd done and who I was absolutely sickened me.
I was so furious that I don't remember half of what I said to her, but I remember her expression like it was this moment. I hurt her far more with my words than I could have with my body. I tore into her with everything I had, and still she accepted and offered comfort. It was a comfort I didn't want, couldn't deserve, and wouldn't take. Every frustration I'd had in the last year seemed to boil up and spew out at her then, and the attack was completely irrelevant and unfair. I knew it even as I did it, but I couldn't stop it. What I said really wasn't important though, because I meant none of it. The words were simply weapons I resorted to after I had run out of other methods of attack. And when she finally left – when I had driven her away – it took everything I had not to go after her.
The next days were pure, undiluted hell. You never realize how much a part of your life someone is until they aren't there. You never realize how close you are to someone until you're trying to stay clear of them. I did everything in my power to avoid Kara in the vain hope that time and distance would keep me from wanting her. After nearly a week of working sixteen-hour days which accomplished very little and sleeping sitting-up in CIC, my father finally cornered me and hauled me off to his room. He asked what the hell was wrong, and I told him. I told him about Greenback, and about Kara, and about how hard it had become to keep work and friendship separate. I unloaded on him what I couldn't tell her – at one point bawling like the child I felt like – as a week of fatigue and mental anguish caught up with me. It was pitiful, now that I think about it. But Dad didn't criticize or laugh it off. He seemed to understand that I was coming apart. He told me that Kara wasn't happy either, that she had asked about me and he'd avoided telling her anything because he purely didn't know. I asked him to keep it that way, and he agreed. He didn't look like he approved, but he agreed. Before he left the room, he told me to think about what I was doing, and what I was giving up. He told me that I wasn't being fair to make the decision for Kara, and that she had some rights, too. I didn't absorb much of it then, but I did finally get some sleep. There, in my father's bed, I finally managed to let some of the anger go. The pain was still there, but the anger I had carried – both at her and myself – seemed to seep away as I slept.
The next week wasn't any easier, and it had little to do with the headache that slammed me one morning. Stress is always a trigger, and this was as much stress as I'd known since the beginning of the war. It didn't help that it was the first one I'd been through without her patient assistance in the past year. I cut back on work shifts, but remained as far from where I thought Kara would be as possible. I knew that if I saw her, I wouldn't be able to keep up the pretense any longer. I knew that if I had to look at her, there was no way I could keep hurting her. I really thought that time would make it easier, and in a way it did make me numb. Granted, I wasn't any more pleasant to be around, but neither was I quite as emotionally volatile. I knew that if I could just keep my distance, then it would get better. It had to.
I should have known that Kara wouldn't leave it at that. Despite my scheduling and rescheduling, she managed to track me down while I was hiding out in the hangar doing some minor repairs. She gave me the option of either making a huge scene in front of my troops, or being alone with her in my room. I seriously considered the scene. But in the end I resorted to talking to her, using the excuse of needing a shower to get a few minutes alone so that I could try to build up some kind of resistance to her. But all it did was put off the inevitable. If what we had was going to end – whether friendship or more – it was going to have to be a conscious decision. Avoidance was slowly killing me, and she didn't look a hell of a lot better.
She had cleaned up my room by the time I got there. Looking back, it tells me just how nervous she must have been because that woman hates to clean. She was perched at my desk, doing the paperwork I'd been ignoring, and I tried once more to avoid the situation. She didn't let me do it that time either. I sat down, and we started to at least clear the air somewhat as to why I'd been so upset and even why she'd been so reluctant to get close. None of it was really new, but maybe we were both so tired that we had actually started listening to one another, because for the first time it started to make sense.
She really was afraid of losing me, and it suddenly hit me that I'd given her damned good reason to worry. I had done exactly what I'd promised I wouldn't. I had turned my back on our friendship. I tried to explain that I hadn't done it out of spite, but because it just hurt too much to see her and not have all I wanted with her. I understood that I couldn't make her love me, and I wasn't holding it against her, but the uncertainty was affecting my work and putting lives at risk. Somewhere in all the confession, I also admitted that I'd been in love with her practically from the beginning. I still don't know how that happened, but she was too astute to miss it. I also let her know that I regretted what had happened in the gym, although regret is a mild word for what I'd felt. I had hated myself. When I really think about it, I still do.
I don't think I'll ever forget the sound of her voice when she asked me what to do. Kara is strong – very strong – and to hear her voice break because I've frustrated her to tears was almost as hard as knowing that she'd never want me the way I wanted her. I expected her anger, probably to get punched. I never expected tears, and I truly never expected her to start stripping before me. It was what I'd always dreamed of – Kara with me, beautiful and honest and warm – but this wasn't my Kara. This was a woman who was terrified that she had lost her only friend, and I had done that to her. I had taken my best friend and dropped her into the vacuum of space, and I'd done it because I didn't want to hurt anymore. I had her so tied up that she was even willing to give me what she thought I wanted: her body, something she guards very carefully. Turning her down was one of the hardest things I've ever done, and the look on her face after I'd done so was even worse. And when it was done, I did the only thing I could; I put my arms around her and held on.
She was blaming herself for my irrationality, so I said what I could to set that straight. I tried to explain myself, but it didn't even make sense to me.
Yes, I wanted sex, but that was such a small part of it. I wanted all of her, not a grudging acquiescence to what she thinks I want. I want her to know that I see her as absolutely lovely, inside and out. I want her to want me – all of me – not just the part that's been her friend for years because that was all she would allow. And finally, after all this, I realize that if her love isn't freely given, then it isn't worth a damned thing to me. And holding her best friend hostage is not the way to win her love.
I've been impatient, and I tell her as much. And then I realize that it's worth the wait just to see the relief come into her eyes, the gentle smile I've missed so much. I find it impossible to let her go, but my back can only take so much. When I shift her from chair to bed, she actually tightens her grip on me, and that is a reassurance I desperately need, as is the brief laughter as we tumble over one another in the uncoordinated romantic effort. Another reassurance is the way she drifts to sleep in my arms, warm and heavy and trusting. I can't believe that I almost betrayed that trust in the worst way possible.
I watch her sleep for the longest time, half-afraid that if I close my eyes she'll be gone. I've missed her so much, and not just the compact body which is snuggled against me. I've missed her wit, and her energy, and the way she always keeps me guessing. I'm better when I'm with her, and I'm only just starting to realize how many levels that reaches to. I suppose I doze in and out a little, and at some point I realize she might be chilly so I grab a blanket and toss it over her nearly bare back, but I never really sleep. I've come too close to destroying everything I wanted, and I don't want to risk it happening inadvertently. So when she finally starts shifting herself, I feel it instantly.
I didn't know she was awake right away. In fact, I thought that I might be the one who was dreaming. But I feel her smile as she nuzzles her face into the space between my shoulder and chest, and I enjoy the way her hand drifts from my chest to my hip, then down my leg and back up. I'm still in uniform, but it still feels good. And more than good, it feels natural. She isn't being forced into this, or coerced. Hell, she probably doesn't even realize I'm awake. I debate telling her, and decide not to. I want to know more of what she likes, and wants, and sometimes it's easier to feel than to talk.
She stays that way, gently petting me and cuddling, for a long time. Somewhere along the way I start rubbing her back, bare above and below the standard-issue running bra she's wearing. She has the softest skin I've ever felt, and it's at odds with the personality I've come to know and yes, love. And that's when I hear it, quietly spoken but audible.
"I love you."
I can't speak. Hell, for a moment I can't even breathe. I want to tell her the same, but I can't say a word for the knot in my throat. I tighten my arms around her, listening to her soft and contented sigh, and that's when I realize that she didn't say it to hear it back. I don't know why she did say it, but there's no question in her voice, or expectant stillness from her body. And she already knows how I feel; I've been telling her for weeks, both with actions and words. More words now aren't necessary.
So I don't speak, but rather hold her, and enjoy her. She fades out again, her body relaxing completely, and this time I can't help but follow. She'll be here when I wake up, I realize. She's not going anywhere. And neither am I.
The end J