Title : Break
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13 for violence
Summary : He should have known then and there that it would all end with a stupid attempt at taking over the ship.
Spoilers : Everything aired so far (up to 3x11) is fair game.
Pairings : Lee/Dee, glimpses of Lee/Kara, but the pairings aren't the point of the story.
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN. Huge thanks to my beta, Joey, who gave this a look even though BSG is not her fandom of choice.
Part Four
"Everyone breaks in the end," one of Lee's teachers used to say, in War College.
Everyone talks.
Everyone screams and begs and offers information—anything—to make it stop.
It's just a matter of keeping at it long enough.
Lee remembers that, unsaid but very strong, was his belief that he and his classmates would hold on indefinitely, that they were stronger than that, that they wouldn't break.
He had been wrong of course—not that Lee would have said so, even if his buddies were still alive.
Oh, sure, he didn't give the bad guys what they wanted, but he knows he was about to, and that's almost as shameful as actually doing it. It makes him feel like a fraud every time the marines salute him; it makes him feel like screaming every time his pilots tell the tale of yet another adventure Lee managed to escape with his skin intact.
He's learning now, almost a decade later, that his teacher had been right on the breaking part.
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His father is keeping a close eye on him, and being surprisingly obvious about it, too.
Lee can see the worried glances and wishes he could reassure his father, but nothing comes to mind—at least, nothing that isn't a blatant lie.
If the Admiral notices the deepening circles and the increasingly shaky hands, though, he doesn't say anything.
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His pilots don't complain when Lee refuses to socialize with them anymore, don't complain when he snaps at them, don't even look surprised or angry or anything the one time he yells at Racetrack and Starbuck for five minutes on the flight deck, a day when his fuse is even shorter than it usually is these days.
Lee can tell they all expected him to blow up eventually and that it almost reassures them to see him so damned pissed, and frak if that doesn't anger him even more.
Racetrack and Starbuck take the scolding without comment, Racetrack with her head down, Kara with a frown and a concerned expression and none of her usual blatant insubordination. He almost wants her to slap him, call him Captain Tightass, and make a quip about superior assholes. He hates that she doesn't.
When he's done ranting, Lee storms off to his office, slams the door behind him and squeezes his fists.
The urge to pound something is nearly irresistible.
The last thing he needs are a few broken bones, so he resists.
It passes, eventually.
He wishes it didn't.
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Unsurprisingly, Kara is the one who decides that enough is enough.
Lee had been waiting for this moment, had started making bets with himself on how long it would take for her to kick his ass.
"Everyone out!" Kara yells, barging into the rec room.
Everyone clears without a backward glance, leaving Lee face to face with a smiling Kara and a bottle of what will surely prove to be the most disgusting moonshine Lee has ever drunk.
From the way no one complained at being thrown out, Lee is ready to bet that it was all a setup from the beginning.
He doesn't know if he should be angry at them all for conspiring or touched that they care enough to do so.
He wishes he could talk about it with Dee, and for a moment, he's pissed as hell at everyone—everyone on the ship, his dead wife, and himself. Mostly himself, because he and Dee were barely talking anymore, and who the hell is he to miss her now, after what he did?
Kara is watching him like she studies her equipment before climbing into the cockpit of a viper, and the attention is starting to make Lee uneasy.
"I know what you're doing," she says when Lee refuses to say the first word.
"What am I doing?" he asks, truly curious.
He and Starbuck don't talk.
Not about Zak, not about their friendship, not about the near-annihilation of their entire way of life.
Certainly not about feelings, romantic or otherwise.
Isn't that how they both ended up getting married to other people, for the sake of pissing each other off?
Isn't that why they were both unfaithful?
"You know, Lee," she says, in her cut-the-crap voice. She's the only one who's not treating him like he might break, and despite everything, he's more grateful for her at this moment than he'd care to admit.
She sits next to him, takes a gulp of alcohol, groans, "Tyrol outdid himself here."
She hands him the bottle and he eyes it hesitantly.
"Oh for… Loosen up, Adama. No one will bust your ass for it, and it might even make you relax for two seconds. How you can always be so uptight, I'll never understand."
He takes a swallow, mostly to shut her up, and grimaces as the alcohol burns its way from his throat to his stomach.
Kara's right. Tyrol did outdo himself.
"So, how long are you going to be this frakked up?" Kara asks, her voice as neutral and uninterested as if she was asking whether he wants some company on his morning run.
He takes two long gulps of alcohol this time, then groans and hits his head on the table as the headache shoots through his brain.
Ow!
Kara chuckles, grabbing the bottle. "Lightweight."
He raises his head enough to glare at her, then reaches out to the bottle. She keeps it just out of his reach, insisting. "How long?"
He drops his hand and closes his eyes, suddenly drained.
He can feel her watching him, can't quite picture what her face looks like—frowning? Concerned? Amused? Teasing?
He could always tell what Dee's face looked like, even in the dark, even with his back turned to her.
He can never tell with Starbuck. Not anymore.
"Lee." Kara's hand closes on his, squeezes once, which shocks him enough that he looks at her again. "Was this a bad idea?"
"It wouldn't be if you actually let me get through with it." He gestures to the bottle.
With a small, sad smile, she hands it over to him. "You're going to be sick as hell tomorrow," she says.
"I don't care."
"You still have to share."
He meets her gaze, then. "I don't care."
This time, she doesn't stop him from drinking.
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By the time they've finished the bottle, Lee's head is resting on Kara's shoulder.
For the first time in forever, it doesn't feel like it means he's betraying Dee.
"You can't keep pushing people away," Kara says. "Me, your dad, we can take it. But the rest of the crew needs you."
The irony of being lectured about responsibility by none other than Kara Thrace is enough to send Lee on an embarrassing fit of giggles. She scowls half-heartedly at him until he's finished. "I mean it. We're the only ones left, Lee. If we try to keep one another at bay, trying not to let anyone too close, what's the point? Let's just surrender to the Cylons, it'll make things easier on everyone."
Since when do you want anyone to be close to you? he wants to ask.
Since when do you care about companionship?
He doesn't speak aloud. He's too drunk, too tired, and it would be mostly undeserved. He doesn't know much about Kara, but what he does know is that she's just about as frakked up as he is.
He leans in closer, closing his eyes. How long has it been since he has felt at ease with her? It feels like months.
She' s still stuck in a marriage she won't back out of, he's still traumatized, he might as well admit it, after seeing his wife murdered in front of him.
There's no reason why this should make anything feel better, but it does.
Kara is still his oldest friend, no matter what else there may be between them.
She's the last link to his past—the last person alive, aside from his father, who knew Zak, and who knew what Lee and Zak were like together.
"That hangover is going to kill us," he says.
"I know."
He sighs. "I'm tired."
"I know," she repeats, softly.
He squeezes his eyes shut when they start to burn. He doesn't want to lose it, not even in private, not even if it's only Kara and him.
He falls asleep against her without speaking another word.
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"How's the hangover?" his father asks him the next day. He invited Lee over to talk and, Lee suspects, to force some food upon him in the process.
His father seems amused every time Lee flinches from harsh sounds, or bright lights—both of which, it turns out, can be found in abundance on a battlestar.
"Great," Lee says. "Just great." He rests his head against the cushions of the couch. "Incidentally, is there anyone on board who didn't know that she was going to get me drunk?"
"No."
It has been hours since he tried to drink himself into oblivion and it still echoes uncomfortably every time someone talks.
It has been days since, and he's back to seeing Dee's eyes, just before the bastard pulled the trigger.
Worse, the questions have started to nag at him again.
Would Dee have kept silent? Would she have allowed someone to kill him in cold blood?
Would Lee have allowed Starbuck, would he have allowed his father or the president, to die that way?
Would his father have allowed terrorists to kill him for the sake of security?
"Son, if it was you out there, we'd never leave."
"It's just the way things work on a battlestar," his father says. Concern tinges his tone, and that, more than anything, drives home how worried he is.
Lee doesn't blame him. He knows how he looks, and he's more aware than ever of the glances people give him when he walks through Galactica's hallways.
"Lee—" his father starts, just as Lee says, "Look—"
They both stop and share a rueful smile.
Obviously, they'll never get the hang of this communication thing.
"What happened was—"
Lee tries to guess what his father will say. Unfortunate? A tragedy? Another battle lost?
"—horrible, and everyone knows you're not just going to bounce back from it as if nothing happened."
"I know."
"But understand that we're worried, and you're not giving us any clue as to how to help you."
A loaded silence falls on the room. Lee's father eventually gets up and starts setting the table, leaving Lee alone with his thoughts.
He misses Dee more than he thought possible, her last moments playing again and again in his mind, making wish he had done a thousand things differently, and the truth is, Lee has never reacted well to pain.
Kara's right. He is pushing everyone away.
It's so much easier to be angry than it is to deal with loss and move on.
He did the same thing when Zak died, and almost lost his father in the process.
He's doing it again, and his father and Kara still try to reach out to him—which means a lot, coming from two people who are about as bad at expressing concern and love as Lee is—and frankly, at this point, even he is growing annoyed with himself and his self-destructive coping mechanisms.
By the time Lee's father says "Let's eat," the silence has grown uncomfortable enough that Lee offers, "Things weren't great between us." Would you have allowed them to kill me, dad?
Once upon a time, he would have asked that question.
Frak, once upon a time, he did ask that question.
He won't today.
It wouldn't be fair to force his father to make that decision, not even here, not even if it doesn't really count.
"I'm not sure…" Lee starts, then trails off, because there's just no way he can say it out loud.
Not that his father needs the extended explanation. "Don't be stupid, Lee. She was your wife, and no matter what your relationship was at the end, you were still close. Anyone could see that. You didn't let her die."
Lee finds himself on his knees, throwing up in the commander's bathroom, before he can even process what made him react that way, and how he went from there to here.
His father follows, putting a hand on his shoulder. In other circumstances, Lee would be embarrassed.
When he finally stops, exhausted, and leans back against the cold wall, panting, his father crouches next to him.
Lee ignores him, burying his head in his hands, tears threatening again.
What the hell is wrong with him?
He hasn't cried in years.
Even the holocaust didn't make him lose it—there wasn't time for such indulgences as grieving. One would think that after the near-extinction of humanity, a single life wouldn't make a difference to anyone.
It does.
His father's hand is still resting unsteadily on his arm, as if he could somehow make it all better, and Lee takes a few deep breaths, desperate to remain in control.
It's a struggle, but he manages not to start bawling like a kid in front of his father and CO. Small victories are all that's left these days, and he'll take this one.
"Sorry," he says after a while, once he feels like he can speak without cracking.
His father doesn't acknowledge the apology, deep in thought. Eventually, he says, "She was a soldier too, don't forget that. And a damn good one. She made her choice as well." His voice is uncertain, almost as if he's wondering whether the words will do more harm than good.
Lee tries to shake his head, thinking that it's not that simple, and that it doesn't excuse the mistakes he made.
It's not so much obeying orders and allowing others to die that Lee can't forgive himself for. He'll find a way to live with it, just like he lives with the Olympic Carrier, and with the mutiny, and even with Cain.
What he's not sure he can live with is the thought that Dee believed he didn't love her.
It's that he was trapped between two women he loved, and couldn't find it in him to do anything about it.
It's that she managed to forgive him, when he knows he'll never forgive himself for what he did, and what he failed to do.
It's that her dying—and he hates himself for thinking that—almost makes his life simpler.
"Don't take that away from her, Lee. She was a fighter, same as you are." His father gets to his feet, slowly, and extends his hand to Lee. "I'm sorry I can't do more to help you with this. I wish there was something I could do."
Lee takes the proffered hand and allows his father to pull him to his feet.
They head back to the table together.
"Will you be okay?" Adama asks, once they've taken their seats again.
Lee nods hesitantly. It's not like he has a choice. They're so pitifully short on pilots, and on experienced officers...
Perhaps that's the hardest thing, since the Cylons' attack—in the past, they were at least allowed the luxury to take time to recover from their wounds, physical and otherwise. These days, they have to pick up the pieces and keep on going, or die trying.
"You know, if you want to talk..."
It suddenly occurs to Lee how difficult this must be for his father as well. How does his father manage to hold it together when Lee is held hostage, beaten to a pulp, or drifting in space in nothing but a flight suit, in the middle of a space battle, not answering his comm.? And how much is it costing him to reach out right now, when it goes against his instincts?
Adamas are not known for their communication abilities. Not when it's personal, at any rate.
Lee sure can testify to that fact.
"I know." They share a long look, and Lee hopes he conveys everything he can't say.
His father nods, gestures at the rapidly cooling food on the table, and for a little while, it almost looks like things will be fine.
Lee knows it won't last, knows that it will take long before he's over it, but for now, the feeling of normality is all he really cares about.
And maybe, just maybe, the best way to atone for the way things ended between them is to get over it and start living again, one way or the other. She has given him forgiveness when he didn't deserve it, the least he can do is try to honor her memory and not give up.
It doesn't seem like it's enough, but it's all he can do.
His father is watching him, his face unreadable. Lee swallows thickly. "Thanks," he manages to say.
"Just remember that there are people you can turn to," his father concludes.
Lee nods.
He tends to forget, he knows.
Whenever he hurts, he retreats and lashes out at anyone who tries to help, pushes his friends and his family away and then blames them for leaving.
It's a side of himself he has been trying to fight for most of the past three years.
Surviving Dee's death isn't going to be the problem, Lee knows that as well as his father does.
Surviving it relatively whole, without letting his own personal demons win, that's going to be the challenge.
Fortunately, the Adamas have always been good at facing challenges.
His father is obviously waiting for an answer, so Lee says, "I won't forget."
It rings like a promise in the quiet room, and that's a promise Lee intends to keep.
end