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Author: JPBryant
Characters: Sharon/Helo
Rating: Mature, for descriptions of violence, language and sexual situations.
Spoilers: Through 'A Measure of Salvation", everything after that is AU.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: After rescuing Hera from the Cylons, Helo and Sharon try to start a new life. Set after "A Measure of Salvation", it goes completely AU after that.
A/N: The eleventh of seventeen chapters to the story, I'll be posting them as I finish them. Thanks to wintergreen126, Lightn, and Jazmin22 - I can't thank them enough for all the time they put into helping me with this.

Chapter 11

He held his daughters, one in each arm. Hera in his left and Hestia in his right.

He looked at Hestia, so much smaller than her older sister, brought into the universe only days before. Hera rested quietly against him, her curly locks tickling his neck as she studied her new sibling.

He turned his attention to the other occupant of the kitchen. Her silver-grey hair curled over her shoulders, and he wondered if Hera's would look the same in fifty years. Looking back to his daughters, he admired them each in turn. He had never seen anything so wonderful in his entire life.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" he asked.

The older woman didn't answer immediately, preoccupied with washing the dishes in the sink.

"In their own way," she replied after a moment, her attention still focused on cleaning up the evening meal.

He looked up at her, unhappy with the answer. "What does that mean? In their own way?" he asked. "They're part you."

"They are what they are," she said after another small pause. "Different."

"No," he replied. "They're just kids."

"You don't really believe that do you, Karl?" She turned off the water and reached up to dry her hands on a towel. "You know that's not true."

Hestia cried softly, and he set Hera down to focus on the mewling infant. He cradled his youngest daughter in his arms, trying to soothe her, but she continued to cry.

"I know everything I need to," he said. "They're my children, and I love them. That's all that matters. I hoped you would understand."

She turned away from the sink and looked at him.

"I understand, Karl," she said softly. "How could I not?"

He looked down at the girl in his arms, then to Hera standing beside him. "But you don't love them," he said, unable to hide the sadness he felt.

She walked slowly over to him, resting a hand on his arm. "Is it so important to you?"

"Yes," he whispered. "They need a family."

"They have their mother," she replied.

He looked up at the woman who had brought him into existence, and remembered another woman who had done the same.

"Sharon," he said, and the world turned black.

He tried to pull Hestia close to his chest, but his arms were empty. He tried to find Hera in the darkness, but there was nothing to see.

I've lost them.

Panic coursed through him.

"Sharon," he cried.

He felt a hand rest gently on his forehead, ice cold against his burning flesh. His body trembled uncontrollably.

"I'm here," a voice said.

His eyes were open, but still he saw nothing.

"Sharon?" he repeated, his teeth rattling as he tried to say her name.

"I'm here, Helo," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'm here."

The sound of her voice and the feel of her touch cut through the fire and pain that consumed him. The fear that had filled him moments ago faded, though he could no longer remember why he had been afraid, or what had banished his fear. He tried to recall what he had forgotten, but the thought was lost before it was finished.

The heat was unbearable.

The air itself burned around him, though the small fire in the center of the room was barely large enough to illuminate it. Flickering in the darkness, the pale orange light of the flame reflected off the white stone walls.

He stepped closer to the fire and the woman tending it, the heat buffeting against his skin as the flames danced.

"Welcome," she greeted him.

He didn't reply, unable to focus through the inferno that surrounded him. Pushing through the blazing air, he reached the edge of the fire and looked at the woman across from him.

"Please," she said, gesturing to the floor. "Sit."

He did as she asked, crossing his legs and taking a seat on the stone. The heat from the flames licked at his face as sweat gathered and fell from his brow.

"I wanted to thank you," she said, the light from the flames catching in her eyes. "Thank you, Karl Agathon, for taking care of my home."

He nodded silently as a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.

"I used to take such things for granted," she continued, looking back to her fire and tending it with a long staff. "Before your wife and her people tried to extinguish me and my kin from the universe."

He shook his head, drops of perspiration falling to the floor as he found the ability to speak.

"You're a god," he said. "You can't die."

"We are only what people believe we are," she replied. "Without believers, we are nothing."

Every breath of the blistering air brought a searing pain to his lungs, but he pushed the sensation from his mind as he tried to concentrate on the woman's words.

"You, on the other hand, are defined by your choices," she continued. "And your choices have taken you from the path you and your family were meant for."

"We made the choices we had to," he replied.

She lifted her eyes from the fire and looked at him through the flames.

"But every choice has a price," she said.

The heat continued to exhaust life from him, and he struggled to remain upright as he spoke.

"We've paid for our choices already," he managed, catching himself with his hands as he collapsed forward. "No one can deny that. Not even the Gods."

He looked back at her to see she smiled softly, a smile of compassion and pity.

"No, we cannot," she said, and the fire died, leaving the room in darkness.

But though the light of the fire was gone, the heat persisted. His body was slick with sweat, the sheets beneath him cold and wet. It hurt to breath, so he tried not to.

He opened his eyes, and there was the faintest glimmer of light.

She was there, sitting in a chair beside him. Her head rested on the bed, cushioned by her crossed arms, and he could hear the sound of her breath, slow and even.

He tried to call her name, but the world faded before the sound could leave his lips.

Rising from the bed, he made his way slowly across the room and back. She hadn't come back yet, and he was beginning to worry. She had never been late, never been gone long enough for him to fear she wouldn't return.

He glanced up at the clock on the wall, but the hands had stopped moving.

Pacing back and forth, he sat back down on the bed and tried to calm himself. A set of eyes watched him as he waited, but he had grown used to their constant presence, and did his best to ignore them.

One, two, three, four...

He counted the rivets in the metal floor, until a shadow appeared over his shoulder and brought him to his feet.

She carried Hera in her arms as she approached the wall of steel and glass. But he knew something was wrong the moment he saw her. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, sunken into the dark circles that surrounded them. She tried to smile as she lifted the receiver, but there was no happiness in the expression.

Walking across the cell, he picked up the receiver on his side of the wall.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

He saw that she was on the verge of tears and hated that he couldn't reach her, hold her like he wanted to.

"I have to leave, Helo," she said quietly. "I have to go, now."

"Wh..." His voice caught in his throat, fear welling up inside him. "What?"

"I need to leave Helo," she said.

His pulse quickened as she spoke. She and Hera were all he had, everything he had left. And now she was leaving.

"What are you talking about, Sharon?" he asked, unable to hide the anxiety her words had created. But her expression remained unchanged, as though she hadn't heard him.

"I've waited as long as I can," she continued. "I need to find food for Hera."

"Sharon, wait-"

"I'm going to take the ship," she said, oblivious to his objection. "I know we decided not to, but I'm not feeling so well myself. I don't think I could make it there and back."

He pressed his hand against the glass wall and looked down at his wife. She had grown bigger since he last saw her, bigger than she had ever been with Hera. She had trouble carrying their daughter over the bulge.

"Sharon," he pleaded into the receiver. "Wait for me."

But again she was unable to hear his desperate need.

"I'll be back before sunset," she said.

"Sharon-"

"I promise."

He dropped the receiver and shouted her name, banging on the glass with his fists, the sound echoing loudly off the four walls of his cell.

He watched as she hung the phone up calmly, then knelt down to set their daughter on the ground. She kissed Hera lightly on the cheek, smiling at the little girl and brushing her hair from her face. Leaning over, she whispered something in Hera's ear, then stood and looked back at him one last time.

"Sharon," he said softly, his forehead resting against the glass wall.

Without another word, she turned and walked away.

---

"Helo."

He woke to small but steady tugging on his arm. His eyes opened slowly, and he was greeted by the light of the setting sun fading slowly from the room.

He blinked twice, and took a breath.

I need to leave Helo.

"Helo," he heard a voice say. Lying on his back, he turned his head and saw his daughter kneeling on the chair beside him, her tiny hand gripping his bicep.

"Hera," he tried to say, but no sound came out. It hurt to speak, but he tried again. "Hera," he managed, the skin on his lips cracking when he smiled at her.

She tugged his arm again. "Hungry," she said.

I've waited as long as I can.

He found the task of pushing himself off the bed to be almost beyond him, the muscles in his arms barely having the strength necessary. They trembled from the effort, but he finally managed to sit up and swing his legs off the side of the bed.

"Sharon," he called out, the sound barely loud enough to reach the other side of the room.

His face itched, and he reached up to scratch his neck and chin, discovering a thick layer of stubble covering both. It hurt to breathe, and the pain radiated from the left side of his chest. Looking down, he saw a set of sutures just below his collar bone, a field of badly bruised flesh surrounding the wound.

Standing up slowly, he made his way towards the stairs, with Hera following closely behind. His legs wobbled uncertainly as he took each step one at a time, holding onto the handrail as firmly as he could.

Hera stood beside him as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and when he turned to search the rooms, the world began to spin. Falling to a knee, he closed his eyes to try and stop the motion.

"Hungry," Hera said again from behind him. "I'm hungry."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the urge to vomit forced it shut. A moment later, a set of dry-heaves overtook him, and a surge of bile burned his already aching esophagus. He let the mix of saliva and acids slip from his lips as he tried to regain control of his body.

When he was finally able, he stood back up, leaning against the wall and taking a few painful breaths. He had never felt so battered or weak in his entire life, but he found it impossible to focus on the pathetic condition of his own body.

"Sharon," he called out again, ignoring the pain that it caused.

Mustering his energy, he stepped out onto the porch and stared into the silent twilight. He held onto the railing to keep himself standing.

"Where's mommy?" Hera asked, looking up at him through her dark eyes.

He knelt down beside her, steadying himself with his hand as he reached the wooden deck. There was fear in her eyes, a fear felt inside himself.

I'm taking the ship, Helo.

"How long has she been gone, Hera?" he asked.

Hera shrugged. "Long."

A chill ran down his spine as heard his daughter's answer. Swallowing painfully, he tried to smile for her.

"Mommy will be back real soon, honey," he said, nodding reassuringly. "Let's find you some food, okay?"

He opened the door and waited for her to go inside. Looking back out from the porch, he searched desperately, but there was nothing to see.

Grabbing the lantern from the front room, he turned it on and led Hera to the kitchen. She scrambled into one of the chairs at the large table, and waited for him. Opening the cabinets, he found them almost completely bare.

In the last cabinet, he found a few protein bars and pulled them out. Snapping off a piece, he offered it to Hera. Making no effort to hide her dislike, she ate it anyways, chewing slowly and taking her time between swallows.

He broke the rest of the bar into small pieces and set them on the table in front of her. Sitting down beside her, he opened another bar, and took a bite himself.

I don't think I could make it there and back.

He found himself pushing open the front door, and stepping back out onto the porch. Fear and helplessness flooded through him as he stared into the dark.

"Sharon!" he shouted, tearing the soft flesh of his throat. "Sharon!"

The door creaked opened behind him, and he turned to see Hera trying to squeeze through, her hands full of pieces of protein bar.

"I'm sorry, Hera," he said quickly, realizing he had forgotten her. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to leave you."

She didn't say anything, but walked to the top step of the porch and sat down. Spreading the bits of food in her lap, she stared out into the night.

He joined his daughter on the porch step, and silently they searched together for her mother.

Time passed, and every moment he sat upright was a moment his frail body protested. But he never left the porch or laid back, for fear that he would miss her return. Hera ate in silence, dividing her attention equally between her meal and a point on the distant horizon. He tried to figure out what she was looking at, but whatever she saw there eluded him.

The heavens revolved slowly above them, as the night wore on, but neither took note of the beauty. He glanced to the stars from time to time, but only in a hopeless search for the lights of the stolen Cylon ship. Listening to the silent night, he thought he heard the sound of the ship's engines time after time, standing up on one occasion to get a glimpse of a ship that wasn't there.

It was in the early morning hours when Hera fell asleep against him, her head resting on his thigh. Somehow he found the strength to carry her up to bed and tuck her in, and then returned to the porch on unsteady legs and collapsed there.

And when the sun first peeked over the horizon, he stared into it, letting the image burn into his retinas.

I'll be back before sunset.

He closed his eyes, but the image remained.

I promise.

Memories came unbidden and he tried to push them away; the sight of her smile, the sound of her laugh, the smell of her skin. He needed them all.

And they were gone.

Standing up, he felt the warmth of the Caprican sun on his cold skin. But the heat it offered was secondary to the light it provided.

He went inside and emptied his pack, making room for medicine and blankets. Grabbing what was left of the protein bars, he threw them in as well, then headed upstairs and changed into his fatigues.

Every motion hurt, each step as unsure as the last, but he ignored it all.

"Hera," he said, leaning over her bed and shaking her gently. "Wake up, Hera."

Her eyes opened slowly, then searched the room.

"Where's mommy?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"I don't know," he whispered, lifting her out of the bed.

Dressing her warmly, he followed Hera as she walked down the stairs, then picked up his pack from the front room. They stepped out into the cool morning air, and he said goodbye to their home.

---

He let Hera set the pace as they walked down the mountain. It was slow, too slow, but he didn't think his body was capable of more. Focusing on each step, he centered his mind on the progress instead of the pain.

It took more than two hours to make it down to the base of the hill, a trip that normally took him thirty minutes. The morning sun rose steadily higher into the sky, the long shadows of dawn growing shorter with each passing hour. He kept his eyes open for any sign of Sharon or the ship, but there was nothing to see beyond the familiar fields and trees that marked the path down to the town.

Hera had begun to slow down by the time they reached the floor of the valley, and half-way into town she stopped completely. She didn't cry or make a sound as exhaustion made it impossible for her to go any further; she simply sat and stared into the distance.

"Come on, Hera," he encouraged her gently. Kneeling beside her, he ran a hand over her back. "We're almost there," he said.

She looked up at him but said nothing. Looking down at his little girl, he knew she had no more energy than he did.

"You did good, Hera," he said, smiling at her.

With an even breath, he took in her in his hands and lifted her into his arms. A pain shot through his left side, but he didn't let her go or set her down.

"Hold onto me," he said, his breathing labored as the pain persisted. She took a fistful of his clothing in each hand, and did as he asked. "Let's go," he whispered.

He lost track of the number times he had to stop, and by noon, there was nothing left in his stomach. No food, no water, no bile; all of it had been left on the path behind them. But after each stop, he found the last ounce of energy he needed to lift his daughter off the ground and continue on.

It was early afternoon by the time they reached town, and Hera had fallen asleep on his back. He tried not to wake her as he walked down the empty streets, silent except for the sound of his feet on the pavement.

Shops and homes of all types lined the main street, all empty and owner-less. At every intersection he stopped to look down the side-streets for any sign of the ship, each search proving as fruitless as the last, until he reached the center of town.

Making the last turn onto the market square, he lifted his hand to shield his eyes from sun, and suddenly he found it was no longer difficult to breathe; it was completely impossible.

Shining brightly in the afternoon sun, the ship rested beside a lifeless fountain in the middle of the square. Its rear hatch hung wide open, the long ramp resting on the cobblestone ground.

"Sharon," he called out as he jogged toward the ship, every ache and pain forgotten.

The metal grates of the ramp rattled loudly as he stepped onto them, echoing loudly through the ship's cabin. Reaching the top of the ramp, he nearly tripped over a can of food, kicking it across the deck of the ship.

The top of the ramp was littered with food and supplies, an overturned cardboard box lying nearby. Seven other boxes sat neatly against the wall, stacked perfectly together, just as Sharon would. At his feet, a smashed jar of preserved fruit sat in a puddle of liquid, the broken shards of glass mixing with the rest of the contents.

He turned to look around the empty square, dead buildings surrounding him on all four sides.

"Sharon," he cried out desperately.

But there was no answer, no sign; nothing to help him find his way. Just as there had never been.

He set Hera down as gently as he could, dropping her the last six inches. Walking slowly to the front of the ship, he saw no sign of his wife, or what might have happened to her.

Sitting in the pilot's seat, he dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes.

He heard a sound behind him and turned to see Hera standing where he had left her at the top of the ramp. She stared out into the distance, then cupped her hands around her mouth in imitation of her father.

"Sharon" she cried as loud as she could.

The sound of her name leaving Hera's lips wrecked him. Standing up, he walked over to the girl who needed Sharon as much as he did.

"Hera," he whispered, walking up behind his daughter. "Come with me."

Hera followed him as he walked down the ramp. He headed towards the nearest building, lifted his sidearm, and shot the lock off the front door. Stepping inside, he found no trace of Sharon, and moved to the next building.

He knew it might take days to search every building. He didn't care if it took weeks.

The next shop was as empty as the last, but he didn't stop. Building after building he repeated the process; kicking in doors, smashing shop glass and shooting his way into each store and home. He made no effort to hide his presence, praying she was near enough to hear, and not caring if anyone else did.

After a few hours he stopped long enough to feed his daughter. She devoured the chocolate bars and canned peaches as he stared out across the town. He had no appetite himself, his body having been pushed beyond anything that food could help repair. But he would worry about that when found her, not before.

"Hera," he said without turning from the window. "Try to eat fast, okay, honey?"

She didn't reply. He looked back to repeat himself, but she wasn't there.

"Hera?" he called out, dashing back into the main hallway of the house. Looking back and forth, he caught sight of the storm door swinging shut, and Hera standing just outside it. He walked over and followed her out. "Hera, don't wander away like that, okay? You scare me when you..."

His voice trailed off as Hera stepped away and began to walk out into the empty street. She looked out to the west, focusing on something he couldn't see as she continued to walk away.

"Hera, stop," he said, catching up with her and lifting her off the ground.

She screamed as he held her, her nails digging into the flesh of his arms, but her eyes stayed fixed on a point unseen. He set down the screaming girl to examine the bloody scratches she had left on his arm, and the moment he did so, she continued on her path.

He stood in place, watching as his daughter walked with purpose away from him. He considered stopping her again, but didn't. She seemed to know where she wanted to go, which was more than he could say for his own aimless search.

Following after her, he looked up into the sky to see the sun sitting low on the horizon. The walk into town had taken too long, and soon their search would continue by night. But Hera seemed unconcerned with time or distance or anything other than her destination.

"Where are we going?" he asked, walking behind his daughter. He didn't expect an answer, but he got one.

"Mommy," she said without looking back.

The single word held all the power it had the first time he heard her say it. His eyes looked up immediately, following his daughter's gaze intently.

They crossed back through the market square, and he thought Hera might stop there beside the ship, but she didn't even pause, instead continuing towards the other side of town. The sun fell lower and lower until it disappeared completely beneath the horizon, but just before it did, a familiar street came into view.

She stopped and pointed down the street, then looked up at him.

He knew the street, he knew where it led, and he prayed he wasn't too late. Picking Hera up off the ground, he ran as fast as he could down the darkened path; every pain was forgotten as he realized how close she was.

The temple doors were open, and the last rays of light painted the white walls of the pantheon in gold.

"Sharon," he shouted as he reached the entrance and set Hera down.

He didn't draw his sidearm or pause as he stepped through the doorway, all logic and ration stripped away by a different kind of fear.

A fear that stopped him a moment later.

"Sharon," he whispered.

Her lifeless from rested at the base of the altar, her naked body wrapped in a brown blanket. Her bare arms and legs were covered in dry blood, as was the blanket itself. Her dark hair was matted against her skin and the cold stone floor.

Rushing to her side, he knelt beside her and pressed his hand against the cold skin of her neck.

But before he could register a pulse, her eyes blinked open.

Her face was expressionless as she woke, staring across the stone, and then her eyes moved to his. She stared up at him for a long moment, and then a tear fell from her eye. She turned away and buried her face in the blanket as a small sob racked her body.

"Sharon," he said, squeezing her bare shoulder. "I'm here, Sharon."

She shook her head as more tears fell, her sobs and cries growing louder and echoing through the chamber. She folded in on herself, trying to escape his touch and hide in the blanket.

"It's okay," he whispered, kneeling low over her body.

"Helo," she cried, curling away from him. "I got sick."

"Sharon, don't-"

"I got sick," she bawled, grabbing her hair with her fists as she sobbed, hiding her face from him. "I started to bleed."

"Sharon, please stop," he pleaded, knowing what she would say if he let her. He couldn't bear to hear it. A tear slid down his cheek and fell on the blanket. "Don't say it, Sharon," he begged.

"I came here," she continued, her body shaking as she cried. "I came here to pray."

Beside her body, something was wrapped carefully in her black fatigues.

"Sharon," he whispered, another tear falling from his eye. "Sharon, everything's gonna be okay."

"The baby," she said between sobs.

He held her tight, trying to contain his grief, trying to ease her pain.

"Listen to me," he said, pressing his forehead against her temple. "You're going to be alright Sharon, I promise."

"I lost our baby," she cried, screaming into the blanket.

"It's okay," a soft voice materialized, and he realized Hera was beside them. The little girl crawled next to her mother and looked into her eyes. "Don't cry mommy."

Sharon took her daughter in her blood stained arms, pulling her close as another wail echoed into the night.

--- End Chapter 11 ---