She feels his hand slide into hers, and she relaxes just a little. He has always been the one to give her the unexpected gifts.
Kara sits, knees pulled up to her chest, and curls her toes in the wet earth. The grass is tall, towering above her head, shielding her from the world.
She hears him approach from behind but remains still, eyes focused determinedly ahead. The sun is setting. She wonders distantly if he's late for dinner, if his mother will come looking soon. If her father will ever come looking for her.
He sits carefully next to her – his mother just mended those pants, Kara knows – and says nothing, just listens with her. The yelling has stopped, there is only crying now. There is nothing left to throw, to break.
Kara is grateful for the growing silence.
She is sleeping, and then she is not. There's more pain than she anticipated, and she allows a groan to escape. Someone calls for the doctor. For a squadron of Viper pilots, her bunkmates look distinctly panicked.
She's tough, but this is more than she can take quietly. He helps her sit up, and offers her water to drink. The others start offering pillows, blankets, towels, anything to make her comfortable.
He holds her hand, and whispers "I love you" into her hair.
He invites her to dinner, the night her father finally leaves. Kara will be staying; her father may be stronger, but she takes a certain comfort in the predictability of her mother's rages and cannot abandon it.
She sits at the table, and his mother and brother are kind to her and do not ask about her family. Mrs. Adama makes popcorn for them afterwards, and the three teenagers sit together on the back porch and watch the stars.
Her father will be remarried within a year, and will have another family, another child, another life. Kara knows her father will never hold her again. Her mother will be home when she wakes up in the morning.
He walks her home.
He is carrying her, taking her to the life station, and she's too dizzy to open her eyes. She wants to cry, but the great Starbuck doesn't cry. This is harder than she thought it would be. She settles for twisting his shirt in her grip, digging her nails into his back.
She applies to the academy but lists the Adama's address as her own so that her mother won't know. He brings her the response when it arrives.
He does not comment about his own plans for the future, only scans the house to make sure her mother is gone and pulls the letter from his backpack. He'd put it between two of his text books so that it wouldn't wrinkle, she notices.
It feels like bad news but she sucks in a breath and opens it anyway and the letter starts congratulations and there's the first installment of her scholarships so that she can buy her uniform and books…
He smiles.
She misses her Viper. It's been far too long since she's flown. Even being blown to bits by frakking Cylons would be better than this.
Everything is too fast, too bright, too rough. The pain radiates up her back. She needs to get out of these wet clothes. She needs lay down. She needs meds, and knows there aren't any. She's going to do this the natural way.
Flying is natural. This is messy.
The brothers arrive at the airstrip and search her out together. They look good, walking side by side, in uniform. Kara grins and comments; the temptation is irresistible. She gives them the tour, just for kicks.
Later, "…you'll be together for a while…" he murmurs in her ear. She frowns slightly, not understanding why that is important in this context, at this moment.
And then she comprehends. She has always had at least one Adama near. She has never been alone.
He grips her hand when the doctor finally says "Push, Lieutenant" and she is and she grits her teeth and it's too much and she can't –
There is a heartbeat of silence, and then a cry, and she grins because everything is ending and beginning again. She can hear him laughing.
After Zak dies, his father is the Adama that remains near. Despite the estrangement between father and son, Kara is sure Lee had something to do with it. He has always been the one to give her the unexpected gifts. The ones you don't know are coming and cannot anticipate needing until they're offered.
The Old Man holds his granddaughter for a moment, then places her carefully back in Kara's arms and kisses the new mama's forehead. Lee is sitting beside her on the bed, arm around her shoulders and grinning like an idiot, and Kara knows that when she falls asleep Apollo will walk their child all around pilot's quarters, showing her around.
She cradles her daughter close and breathes in the sweet baby smell. Lee has always been the one to give her the unexpected gifts.