The new Commander of Air Group on board the Battlestar Galactica yawned slightly, and wondered where he could find another cup of coffee. Or an ounce's worth of excitement. Seven hours into an inspection and repair shift on the flight deck, he was tired, restless and bored out of his frakking skull.

Lee Adama looked over the shoulders of two members of the deck crew, whose names still alluded him, and then backed off before they perceived him to be hovering. He'd seen enough hovering personnel as a lieutenant, and plotted the immenent demise of a handful of instructors who had seen fit to poise themselves right over his shoulder. As a result, he'd earned a great respect for personal space, and who needed it the most. Deck crews working in close quarters definitely fit the description.

He looked down at his clipboard, and realized with a strong sense of relief they were down to the last repair slated for his shift. At least, the last repair they had the equipment and parts for, and the personnel to fix. Seven hours worth of hard work by his crew had bought a certain amount of satisfaction, and a small rush of despair when he realized he'd go through the same drill tommorrow, like he had in the ten days before.

Since jumping out of charted space into the Prolmar Sector, Lee had been getting a hands-on and very humbling education in command. He'd been immediately swamped with more duties than he could've thought possible, the least of which was supervising and helping out with the numerous repairs on the ships they had remaining.

And that was the easy part. There were flight schedules to fill out, personnel matters to deal with and coordination with CIC on at least 10 different projects designed to shore up supplies, find trained pilots and establish a decent amount of security on their only remaining military ship. More often than not, there were two jobs of equal value demanding him and only him. He'd been working the last week on three to four hours of sleep a night, and the little bit of exercise he got on his morning run with Starbuck.

How Spencer Jackson hadn't lost his mind as CAG was a complete mystery. At least he thought the man's name was Spencer Jackson. Everyone -- a bunch of fresh-faced, unfamiliar faces whose names he couldn't keep straight -- just called him Ripper. And since the man's name plate had been removed from his office door within a day of the attacks, he'd been running on his admittedly overloaded memory.

Between the names, the bureaucracy and the paperwork, he felt ready to file for a berth on a psychiatric ship, if they even had one. He hissed a soft sigh. All of this was excluding the extra work he was currently avoiding, like getting to personally know his pilots, enjoy some downtime and Gods forbidding, grabbing a few hours sleep.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to find himself face-to-shoulder with Chief Tyrol.

"Chief?" He squared his shoulders and tried to look respectful. He liked Tyrol, as capable a chief as he'd ever met. But the man scared the hell out of him. A full foot taller, Lee knew the man hadn't forgotten their encounter when Lee had first come aboard. Tyrol didn't look like he was holding a grudge; in fact, it looked like the chief was going above and beyond the call of duty to support his new CAG. But Lee didn't know for sure. That uncertainty nagged as him, and forced him to draw his shoulders a little squarer whenever the two worked together.

"Just some papers to sign off on for the inspection tommorrow." Tyrol looked as exhausted as Lee felt. To boot, he was covered in grease and lubricant, the result of several hours of work before Lee had come on shift. Lee knew he'd be here for several more.

As Lee signed the first paper in the small stack, the chief spoke up.

"You're still coming with us, right, sir?"

"Wouldn't miss it." The inspection tour didn't promise much in terms of excitement, but it would at least be a chance to possibly solve some of the numbers problems with their ships. They had 18 flight-capable Vipers, all with some degree of battle damage from the last attack. Two Raptors in good condition, and a shuttlecraft that had brought on board for ferrying personnel to and from the Galactica during the museum refit. They all needed time and attention from an overworked, undermanned staff.

If tommorrow's inspection tour of the Hephaestus paid off, they might be able to add a handful of shuttlecraft to the patrol schedule. Of course, first they would have to be refitted to Chief Tyrol's exact specifications, and then meet Lee's inspection standards. It could take them weeks to get the ships ready for a combat patrol. But they were ships.

And he would be flying, at least for a little while. The prospect pumped a rush of adrenaline into his system as he went through the last of the papers and felt another yawn creep over his features. He needed to get off the deck for a few hours, and maybe get something to eat. Then he would crawl into bed early. Maybe. He suspected everyone was operating on the same level of exhaustion he was. And if they didn't sleep, he owed it to them to match their dedication.

"I'll be in my office, Chief." He let a bemused expression cross his features. "Don't stay here all night."

The chief offered a sympathetic smile and tipped a relaxed salute his direction. Lee took that as his cue to leave while he could, before the chief and his crew found more work for him. Though, he had to admit, he'd rather be imitating a grease monkey than sorting through the paperwork that was sure to be piled on his desk.

He wandered out the door to the corridor, and aimed himself down the hallway towards command-level quarters. He hadn't wanted to take over CAG quarters, but then again, he hadn't wanted to start sleeping with his flight squadron, either. They needed a break from him as much as he needed a little privacy. So, he'd accepted the quarters with as much good grace as he could muster.

He shoved open the door to his office without looking, grabbing for the clipboard hung by the door that held the day's progress evaluations.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Great Captain Lee Adama." Lee's head flew up to find Starbuck sitting at his desk, her feet kicked up on the edge and an unlit cigar in her mouth. She looked perfectly at home.

"They even gave you an office." She stretched backward in the chair and crossed her feet at the ankles, her heels resting on a pile of flimsies. "I figured you had to have one down here someplace, since you're spending every waking hour someplace other than quarters or CIC."

Lee caught the tone in her voice, and knew immediately he was in trouble. He wasn't sure what he'd done -- or if he'd done anything at all -- but she was spoiling for a fight. That normally meant one thing with Kara -- he was in for an ass-chewing.

"Starbuck..." He heaved a sigh, and gave her a half-hearted glare. He wanted to kick her ass out of here. He wasn't in the mood for this tonight. "Well, what?"

"How about starting with your flight squadron...sir." She all but spat out the last word, her tone shifting from conversational to confrontational. A shiver went down his spine. Her back was up and she was in a lot fouler mood than he had thought.

Shit.

"What problem? I haven't seen anything..."

"That's because you haven't been there to see it." Kara leaned her head backwards and addressed the ceiling. "Half the squadron is scared shitless, trying to figure out what exactly you expect of them and when the frakkin' hammer's going to fall. The other half sees the 'Great Lee Adama,' son of the their commander and the biggest stuffed shirt on the ship."

Lee's face flushed bright red, both in anger and in embarrassment. "Good old Kara. Blunt as always." An utterly humorless smile crept onto his face. "Some things never change."

Kara coughed politely. "Bullshit. You mean *you* never change. You just don't see anything unless it's right in front of your nose, do you?" She snorted with derision. "Do you have an idea how much the people on this ship respect your father?"

"Of course I do!" How could he miss it? He had very little leeway on this ship because of it. He had some damned good reasons for not socializing with his flight crew, not the least of which was the fact he was the commander's son. He knew all too well what the crew of the ship thought of his father, and what would happen if they knew the full extent of the problems that existed between him and their illustrious commander. So far, it hadn't been an issue.

Or at least, he hadn't thought it had been. He leaned back against the wall and thunked his head against it. He felt like hitting something, and right now, Kara was the closest target. The problem was, he didn't want the brawl it would turn into, or the bruises and busted lip.

"Kara, get out of here." He opened his eyes and shot her a look. "Please."

"I'm not finished." He could see her trying to keep her emotions in check, an enormous effort given how truly pissed off she seemed to be. "They have no idea what to make of you. You're the commander's son, and the two of you don't socialize, you don't talk. Hell, the two of you can barely stand to be in the same room with each other. You might as well be strangers."

She stopped for a moment, and seemed to swallow hard and think before plowing forward. When she did, her voice was a few levels lower, softer somehow.

"Can't the two of you just talk?" She stopped and swallowed hard. "Dammit, Lee. It's not like you're holding me responsible. And it's my fault, if it's anyone's."

"It's different with you." And really, it was. When Starbuck had confessed to passing Zak through basic flight, it had never occurred to him to blame her. Sure, there hadn't really been time to think about it, but with Kara, assigning guilt would be pointless. He knew how much she had loved his brother, and he couldn't hold her responsible. Yet it felt natural to blame his father. Or it had. After the past week, he had no idea how to feel anymore.

"Why?" Starbuck's face was twisted in honest pain. "Lee ... it's not just the squadron. The whole ship would've had to be blind to miss what was going on between you and your father when you came on board." She hissed a breath, and finally rolled her eyes. "What is it with you two? You're not fighting, but..."

"It's better now." Lee couldn't bring himself to look at her. It was a half-truth at best, but he didn't know what else to say. This whole conversation was making him intensely uncomfortable. A little bit of irritation bubbled up in his throat. "I don't ... I don't want to do this now. Why are you here?"

"Because someone needs to get you two to talk!" He forced his gaze to meet hers. "It's not just about me, or your father, or Zak. You two have... dammit, you've always been like this. He loves you. If he didn't, he wouldn't care like he did. And he does care. You can't keep this up forever."

Lee felt his face burn, and his stomach twist into a knot.

"Maybe it's not me keeping this up. Did you stop to think about that?" That was the simple truth. Lee felt his face twist in something between a grimace and a grim smile. "I can't fix this. Maybe I never could." He looked at the ceiling and then back towards her. "I don't know how."

Kara rolled her eyes, and pushed off and away from the desk.

"Lee, he almost lost you, twice! If you think that doesn't count for something, you're wrong. What more do you two need?"

"I don't know!" Lee didn't want to have this conversation. He couldn't bring himself to tell her what he was feeling, how his father had hurt him the night of the jump. How he'd started to find a way, and then had been cut off. He didn't even know how to feel about it. Part of him was hurt, but the other part of him was relieved.

Gods. He didn't have to answer to anyone, least of all her. A familiar bitterness crept into his voice. "Maybe my father does. Why don't you go ask him? I'm sure he'd love to have this conversation."

"At least he'd-"

"Why do you have to stand up for him?" He cut her off brutally. The pain and misery in his stomach wound itself into a tight knot, and he fought to keep the accusation out of his voice, and ended up with a mirthless humor instead. "You always do. Why can't you just admit maybe he's wrong? That he made a mistake?"

"Why can't you admit that you both have?" Kara fired back without even pausing to take a breath. Her traditionally sardonic tone bled into her voice, and Lee finally found himself getting angry. "I know what happened after Zak's funeral, Lee. I saw it. You couldn't have created a bigger chasm if you tried!"

"I meant to!" The words ripped out of his soul, blind fury behind them. He was losing it, and he didn't even care. He didn't even stop to think. "Dammit, Kara, he took him from me!"

There was a long moment of stunned silence. Kara recoiled slightly, like he'd physically hit her. With a rush, he realized he might as well have struck her. But the words were enough. He pushed himself away from the wall, and opened his mouth to apologize, but Kara spoke before he could.

"No, HE didn't. I did that." She clambered to her feet and stumbled for the door. Lee reached out a hand to catch her, but she shied away from him. He winced when she stopped and came around to face him. Her face was a mix of misery, guilt and raw pain.

"You're a real asshole, Lee. Too bad I've hit my quota for striking superiors already."

And then she was gone, pulling the hatch shut behind her. Lee didn't even make a move for the now-empty chair. Instead, he closed his eyes, put his head back against the wall, and smacked the back of his skull against the base-wall metal several times. Hard. This, on top of everything else.

He fought the urge pound his head further, and instead aimed for the bed in the back corner. To hell with his paperwork. He was going to close his eyes, and maybe this would go away for a few hours. Because right now, Starbuck's words had hit too close to home in too many ways.

He didn't have the defenses left to deal with what she had accused him of, and more importantly, what she hadn't.