Another Way
Chapter 4: Home and Family
Somewhere else…
It hurt. Breathing. Thinking. Lights. Sounds. Smells. Touches.
Then it stopped.
Everything was… okay.
Not perfect – but good.
No more pain.
No more past sins clouding the here and now.
In fact, the past was the past. Whatever had gone on before did not matter in the slightest. She was… safe. Safe as the definition of the word stood in the dictionary. For the first time in a long time – a very long time, in fact; she knew she was more physically safe than before the end of the worlds. More emotionally secure than before she said 'yes' to Zak's marriage proposal. There was no sense of danger urging her to fight-or-flight like there was when she met Lee Adama for the first time. Her mother's drunken slurs and acts fell away like they had never been said in the first place. In fact, the memory of the last time she felt this safe was playing out in her mind. She was being lifted up into her father's arms despite being too old to be carried. She had hid behind her father when she felt too shy to say hello to a friend of his they met on the way to the marketplace. The smell of his cologne wreathed around her when she buried his face in his chest and slipped her hands underneath his arms. Her father whispered to her that it was okay that she was being shy, that she had not done anything wrong by not saying hello and that she did not have to do anything she did not want to do.
That kind of safe was what she was wrapped in as an unspoken question was asked of her in the most silent of voices.
In fact, her father's voice and his words were what echoed around her while she contemplated her answer.
You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Kara.
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Walking into the hanger bay, everyone was so intently focused on doing their jobs that none announced that the Commander and the XO were on the deck.
Two raptors had lengths of twisted parachute material lying on the nearly empty deck between their noses. The bulkhead doors were re-opened and a lift was dragging forward a hunk of metal partially melted by tylium fire, twisted in other places with the after affects of being super-cooled too quickly by the frigid temperatures of space. A broad red stripe running from the front of the wreckage and ending where a hollow cavity could just be seen was the only indication that what he was looking at was once a Viper. Just inside the bulkhead he found what he was looking for: his family – the crew of the Battlestar. The smell of singed hair, burned clothing and the invisible acrid scents of ozone prickled the inside of his nose.
Looking past the specialists scurrying about, nodding in silent acknowledgement at their accomplishment as he crossed the hanger bay, he deliberately filtered out the sounds of an active deck, emergency equipment being hauled, and orders being issued. There was one voice he needed to hear. Two, if he were to tell the truth. But one he counted on in order to find the other.
He heard it.
Up ahead and to the right.
Words that pierced the cacophony of a hanger crew re-establishing order in the wake of an emergency.
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"Lee! Give me a hand!"
Helo was out of breath. The adrenaline reserves he tapped in order to carry Starbuck out of the landing pod while running at full speed was waning – fast. Her head lolled against his shoulder unchecked during their escape and more than once he worried that he was compounding whatever injuries she must have sustained by hauling both their carcasses out of there, but there was no other choice. There was no way he was going to leave her behind. Apollo and the Chief had all they could handle making sure everyone got clear of the fire and inside the bulkhead doors before the area was vented. Not to mention if she came to and found herself in someone's arms she did not immediately recognize, Cottle would have to bring a stretcher built for two – one for her and the person she incapacitated. Friendship was one thing. More than once, he had been there when she had saved their collective asses by using her unorthodox thinking, unflagging courage or her blatant refusal to take 'no' for an answer. Muscle strain was a small price to pay to keep a friend, fellow pilot, a hell of a Triad, Pyramid, woman and human being out of Hades' hands.
Making eye contact with Chief Tyrol across a piece of equipment they were manually moving, Galen answered the Captain's question with a nod in the direction where Helo was slowing to a stop. "Go. I got this. If I need you, I'll call you."
Setting his end down carefully, Lee barely glanced at the Chief before breathing in and sprinting away. Tyrol saved Starbuck and Lee saved Cally. They were square – for now.
Coming up on Helo, Lee could see Karl struggling to keep Kara in his arms. Even for a man the size of Agathon, the events of the last few minutes would be draining on anyone regardless of how much he could bench press. Starbuck was no lightweight. She was five-feet-six-inches of long lines and toned muscles. She was sculpted a lot like her Viper: clean, elegant lines and proudly defiant power. Sliding both his arms underneath her knees, he lifted her lower half free until she was cradled between the both of them.
Stooping down at the same time, her bottom and lower back were the first parts of her body they set down. Helo was mincing his steps backwards, getting ready to rest her shoulders when Apollo's voice cut in.
"Helo – stop! Her shoulder is dislocated."
"Copy that, Apollo." Adjusting his grip, Helo angled his chest so that her good shoulder was set down first. Looking down at her face as her head rolled to the side and her cheek touched the deck, Helo suppressed a shudder. He knew the pain of a dislocated shoulder. For Starbuck to be indifferent to that kind of pain meant one of two things in his book. One: she was really out of it, like comatose out of it. Two: something else was wrong with her that was greater than a joint popped out of place. He did not bother coming up with a third variable – the combination of 'one' and 'two' were enough to get his imagination going as to what was wrong with his friend.
"How's her knee?" Helo asked.
Keeping her knees together, Lee set both legs down – the right one nestled against the left as a buffer – on the deck at the same time as Helo let go of her good shoulder. Gingerly feeling up her calf and applying slight pressure as he probed her right knee, he could not feel any excess fluid around her patella through her flight suit.
"It seems to be okay." Pivoting on his knees and crawling up along side her, Lee looked across Kara's prone form and locked his eyes with Helo's. "Go – get the medic over here. I'll stay with her."
"No time, Sir – she's stopped breathing again!"
Ripping at her flight suit, Lee used brute force to split the zipper and break the buckles. Trading the potential cost to her shoulder for the more immediate need to get her breathing again, the material was spread wide to reveal a pair of sweaty double tanks, evidence of the mental strain and the physical toll that took hold of Starbuck when she struggled to bring her plane to safety.
Seeing Helo take his position over her chest, Lee cupped her chin with one hand and held it while his other hand slipped behind her head to tilt her neck back so that her airway would be completely unobstructed. Pinching her nose, Lee puffed two rescue breaths into Kara. Karl saw her chest rise with Lee's air in her only to fall back when it rushed out.
Reaching for her wrist, Helo saw the pattern of her Viper's throttle embedded in the skin of her palm. Framing the back for her hand against his fingers, he used his thumb to feel for her pulse.
Lee read Helo's grim expression for what it was – Kara's heart had stopped.
He was calm to the point of detachment. This, he know how to do. Rescue breathing, CPR, advanced first aid. That was all part of his training. Sliding into automatic was saving his mind and emotions. It kept the questions and panic that whispered in his ears and around his heart at bay.
Helo counted out five compressions and Lee followed with two rescue breaths.
The sound of Karl's counting crowed in his ears. Taking a deep breath, Lee puffed two more breaths into Kara.
"Come on Starbuck – fight!" Helo ordered.
Lee watched Kara's ribcage flex under Helo's hands. Closing his eyes, he pulled breath from his soul and blew it into Kara's unresponsive body when Helo counted to 'five' for the third time. Lifting his head, Lee's eyes fixated on where Helo's thumb draped against the thinnest part of Kara's wrist.
"I've got a pulse!" Helo announced. Sitting back on his heels, his hands entwined to re-start compressions if necessary, Helo waited for Apollo to do his job: keep Starbuck breathing until the medic could get there.
Drawing a breath that filled both his lungs to bursting, Lee pushed more air into Starbuck's chest and held the seal against her lips. In his mind, it was one thing to jump start Kara's heart, he needed to get her soul to breathe. Using the last of his own air, he puffed a third breath deeper into her chest, flooding her entire body with his need for her to live. Her sudden exhale had him drawing back sharply. Blood and froth were spit onto the hanger deck as Kara's lungs began expanding and falling raggedly on their own.
A hand coming out of nowhere and giving his shoulder a re-assuring squeeze had him jumping to his feet and falling under the gaze of his father.
"Son, Helo – step back." Seeing blood on Lee's chin and on the flight deck near Lee's feet Adama's voice became even quieter. "Are you all right?"
"It's not mine." Lee said. The events of the past twelve minutes were etched into every locked muscle in his body as he swiped at the trail of Kara's blood that clung to his face.
"How long has she been out?" The sound of squealing, ball-jointed wheels and the scent of cigarettes teased his senses as Doc Cottle elbowed his way past Lee as an orderly and a nurse crouched down next to Kara and started attending to her.
"I don't know. She came to for a moment when we lifted her out of her Viper, but beyond that …" Lee answered the doctor's question. Tubing for an IV line was being played out by the orderly. "It took about two minutes to restart her heart."
"What about her breathing? How long was she without oxygen?"
"It was about forty-five seconds later before she started breathing on her own. But Doc, when I was doing mouth-to-mouth …" Lee started to explain.
"Yes?"
"My mouth filled with blood – her blood. I think her lungs are flooded." For the first time since his boots hit the deck, an edge of fear underscored Lee's words.
"Doctor Cottle?" The attending nurse anxiously interrupted the Captain. "I cannot raise a vein to start the line."
Watching the doctor rend Starbuck's flight suit even more, he saw Cottle lift her tanks and press a hand against her abdomen. "It's not coming from her lungs." Looking at the three men, he said, "She's hot."
Tossing his medical bag at Lee, Cottle snapped at the orderlies that had followed him down from sickbay.
"Load her up! She is bleeding out!"
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His shift ended three hours ago and Kara was still in surgery.
Thumping his head against the wall was a poor substitute for pacing, but at the moment his father had the floor and Doc Cottle's office was not big enough for both of them to be on their feet.
Clean up on the hanger bay went smoothly. As much as he felt like Tigh was an albatross around his father's neck, the XO was efficient in ordering what needed to be done to get the Battlestar back to alert-readiness. Tyrol had Cally occupied re-sealing the holes that had been carved into the Raptors and Helo was overseeing the re-construction of the split parachutes.
All through his shift, the story of Starbuck landing her crippled Viper raced like a wildfire through the Galactica rumour mill. Everywhere he went, he was either asked for more details about what happened or someone approached him with what they thought were juicy bits of 'inside information' that the C.A.G. might not have heard yet. One report that crossed his desk came from the Aerilon Maiden. The sensors from that ship clocked Starbuck doing eight g's as she pulled her bird across their stern.
Kat, Monkey Boy, Skid Mark and Hot Dog had already checked in with the sickbay duty nurse, rolled up their sleeves and donated blood and plasma in the name of Starbuck. Kara bringing in her Viper and being alive enough to end up on Doc Cottle's operating table was enough to revitalize the crews' morale in a way that all the pep-talks, destroyed Raiders and Colonial Day celebrations did not. Pep talks were only effectual if they spoke to some aspect of someone's soul. Raiders meant Cylons and Cylons were robots – sentient, yes – but robots just the same. Kill one and ten more can be made before one nugget gets his wings. Colonial Day was a once-a-year event in which the sparkle of the evening wanes as the date slips further into memory. But Starbuck, circling the fleet as to try to keep herself from destroying the Galactica, the Guardian of the Fleet, was being held up as the Protector of the Guardian. But, the most interesting aspect was that her past mistakes were not being glossed over. It was the fact that she did what she did despite of everything she had done before that boosted the spirits of more than forty-seven thousand souls from twelve different worlds. Drinking, gambling, smoking, AWOL, befriending a 'toaster', insubordination, being on the brink of a court-marshal more than once – all that factored into how an everyday person, with their own set of troubles and baggage, can ensure the continuation of the human race.
Kara Thrace was no ordinary person. She was the best pilot in the fleet – and a contender for that title before the worlds ended. She was up-and-coming at the Academy when he was already embroiled in War College, but he had heard about her. And not because of what had happened between her and Major What's His Face. That little incident might have cost Starbuck her place at the elite Nova Squadron table, but it did earn her a planet-side teaching gig. What was doled out as punishment turned out to be a gift. As well as a family: the Adama family. Zak fell in love, Lee found a kindred spirit, his mother found a project and the Old Man finally found a daughter that encapsulated everything he ever envisioned for his own two sons.
It was Kara – being loud, comfortable and completely oblivious that their father was standing right behind her when she put her foot in her mouth – that gave Bill Adama a new nick-name. He remembered the feeling of a full-body flush spreading from his fingers to his toes as Kara, having his brother completely at her mercy for some infraction struggling to get free, teasing Zak that not even his Old Man could get him out of 'this one' as his father looked on at his son being trounced by a girl in his own back yard. Lee froze; Zak started to sputter and refocused his efforts to get free of Kara's grip. Kara, as only she could do, immobilized Zak further, looked at his father, gave him this … look. She asked him, point blank, the mighty William Adama, if she was right. Lee could still see his father evaluate Zak's position, Kara's form as she kept Zak pinned in that position and the fact that Lee had not intervened before inclining his head at Kara, smiling at the fact that she had the upper hand with all three of them and saying, "As you were,". After that, he, Zak and Kara would refer to his father as The Old Man in private and then more loosely amongst themselves in public. From there, it spread.
It was her propensity for nick-naming – both disparagingly and encouragingly – that 'ensured' all her nuggets got such personalized call signs. In certain circumstances, she even re-christened certain pilots with new call signs. There were two things he never asked her about call signs. The first was how she got hers – he could not piece together how Starbuck equalled Kara Thrace. The other was the call sign she gave Zak. Lee knew Zak had to have had one, and that Kara would have been the one to give it to him, but he never asked her what it was and she had never volunteered that bit of information. The only thing he did know – because he knew Kara – was that whatever that call sign was, no one else would ever be assigned that name. That would never happen. Not in this lifetime or the next.
"What are you thinking about?" Bill asked Lee.
A ghost of a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.
"She came in to my office yesterday promising to singe off a nugget's back hair with her lighter if I did not change his call sign."
"Because?" Adama prompted. Sickbay was not one of his favourite places and hearing Lee's story about Starbuck's latest 'mission' was going to be good for him to take his mind off the smell of antiseptic.
"He clogged the drain in the forward head to the point that it backed up. Seelix was scheduled to make a Raptor run, transferring personnel from The Intrepid to The Rising Star and as she was getting ready, she slipped and fell, straining her ankle." Seeing his father's up-raised eyebrow, Lee answered his question. "Seelix is fine – a cold compress and elevation had her back on rotation by today's mid-shift. But Kara, coming off of C.A.P, never got a chance to shed her flight suit before she beat a path back to the hanger deck and made the run."
"And?" Adama knew something was missing from the story. Starbuck was a little hot headed but she loved to fly. Making an extra run – even if she was butt-tired – meant more time in the sky and that meant a happier Starbuck.
"Dad – think about it. Starbuck – on the Rising Star – but being restricted to the hanger bay. No Triad, no booze, no stogies and having to be nice to people," Lee ticked off on his fingers everything she was denied that defined who she was.
"And the best part, what really got her riled up," Lee could still see her, striding across his office, with her hands on her hips, laughing at herself as her need for a pound of Monkey Boy's flesh became their mutual amusement when Lee pointed out to her, and now is father, what was making him smile at a time like this. "She did it to herself – she did not check the mission profile beyond seeing that it was a run to the Rising Star. You should have heard her comments over the comm when she was told that she had to stay with her Raptor and wait for the civilian staff persons to arrive on the hanger deck."
Both men shared a rueful smile over the mental image of Starbuck grinding her teeth the whole time she was on that ship and having to do 'the pretty' in front of people who would not appreciate how one of Galactica's finest could make the word 'frak' be an adjective, adverb, noun, verb and someone's first, last and middle name all in one sentence.
Adama shook his head. "No good deed goes unpunished."
Lee's head snapped up in surprise at his father's words. "That's what she said."
Shooting a sidelong glance at his son, Adama gravelled voice was wry. "She would have – she taught that saying to me."
"She's seizing!" A female's voice cut across sickbay.
"By the Gods, Thrace – make up your mind. Are you going to live or die on my table?" The sound of Cottle's voice cursing a string of expletives and snapping at his staff chased the levity out of the room.
Their girl was in trouble and all they could do was look at each other and to themselves.
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Whatever she decided was going to be the right choice. For once, there was no wrong option. No need to depend on what felt right or felt wrong. A couple of times she had thought she had made up her mind, only to stop and enjoy the peace and quiet that stretched around her.
It was just like her father had told her – she did not have to do anything she did not want to do.
There were no Cylons chasing her, wanting her for some sick, twisted, toaster-centric machination. There was not a squadron of pilots counting on her. There was not the emotional and physical draw that Lee exuded that spoke to her soul and frightened her heart in this place. Kara, Lieutenant Thrace and Starbuck were one person – not three facets of the same woman in this place. She was the nine year old girl, whose life was as perfect as a nine-year old's should be, being reassured that no matter what she did, it would be perfect.
There was no tunnel, no bright light, and no private transport waiting for her. There was no squaring of her shoulders, deep breaths or walking off.
It was just her, closing her eyes and making up her mind.
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A Heavy Raider transport was on approach to the Baystar. Off the port bow, a squadron of Attack Raiders that were flying escort veered off and rounded the massive ship.
Docking and powering down, it was several minutes before the exit portal swung open and the ramp extended. At the base of the ramp, Doral, Leoben and D'Anna were waiting in attendance.
God was truly blessing them this day. They could feel it collectively. One of their brothers had been called home to do His divine work and aid them in their mission.
Sharon was the first to step foot on the Baystar. The humbleness she felt was etched in her every motion as she stopped at the foot of the ramp, turned and looked expectantly up into the darkened passenger area of the Heavy Raider.
A series of genuine smiles spread across the four faces of the Cylon human models. In turn, they all greeted their long sequestered brother.
"Welcome back, Number Two."
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