Title: "The Weight is a Gift"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Kara, with a little bit of everyone else
Spoilers: "Rapture" but veers AU with a blink-and-miss-it reference from "Maelstrom"
Length: Part II: B of III
Summary: Everyone has to grow up sometime, even Kara Thrace.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Author's Note: I know the updates have been kind of slow going, but I'm a grad student/teacher and my work load just doubled in the past few weeks so I've been squeezing in updates between planning lessons and grading papers. Thank you again for the wonderful support for this fic. I'm really enjoying writing it, and I'm glad so many readers are enjoying me efforts. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.
FIVE
Lee comes through the way he always does, and Kara spends the majority of her time in the CIC. The Fleet rounded the Ionian Nebula a few days earlier, and she's been assigned to Gaeta, helping him guide the ships through star clusters and space debris. She's accustomed to planning military missions and it's an adjustment to steer a fleet of civilians to safety and home. She's never wanted to lose a pilot, but it's a fact of life in the military. It isn't an option to lose a civilian ship. With so few people to carry out what's left of the human race, every life matters. She knows, better than others, how much those lives matter.
It's awkward, sharing space with Gaeta and all the others playing for Team Dualla. It's more awkward sharing space with Dee herself. They keep to their sides of the command center, but it's impossible to ignore Dee's voice calmly relaying orders to the Admiral, just like it's impossible to ignore her steadily growing bulk taking up residence before the mission board.
The old man watches her across the CIC, catching how her body no longer twists and bends between the narrow aisles, and her belly keeps bumping the mission board when she leans over to rearrange the pattern of civilian ships. After an hour or so Gaeta takes pity on her and moves the ships on her order, and her cheeks flame and she can't meet the eyes of a crew that already hates her, because she used to fly vipers through the end of the world and now she can't move a piece of plastic six inches across a graph board.
If she hadn't seen hell when she'd landed on what was left of Caprica, she'd be sure this grounded existence is her personal version of Hades.
On the morning of the third day of her new life they lose their first pilot since she threw up processed algae and the bottom fell out of her world. The cylons have found them, followed them, and they've barely figured out what the nebula means before Dee's steady voice is calling out coordinates of a dradis contact, and there's an explosion, and then a scream over the wire, and it all goes silent.
It takes a full thirty seconds for someone to react, and then Adama's quietly asking for the location of the search and rescue birds and Dee's calling the rest of the squadron home and everyone else turns back to their jobs while she stands before the big board, holding a model of the Rising Star and shaking.
She's lost pilots before – it's a fact of her job – but never like this. Helo has taken over her status as number two to the CAG, and Lee no longer consults her about missions and CAP rotations. The only time she sees the people who used to make up her life are the rare occasions she ventures into the gym, and even then it's not without risking a lecture because the last time she took her frustrations out on the heavy bag she forgot the newfound weight dragging her down and the reverb from the first punch came at her like a thousand tons of pressure and hit her square in the belly and knocked her flat on her ass. She'd been fine, the thing in her belly had been fine, and Lee had been fine after he'd dragged her to her feet and yelled at her all the way to Doc Cottle's, but her life hadn't been fine.
She remembers the last time a pilot had died on her watch, and she'd watched his bird explode and said a prayer for his trip to Elysium, and turned her anger on the sucker who'd taken out one of her own. She'd brought down seven raiders that last time, and Kat had lent her the golden mug to commemorate the occasion. She'd emerged from her viper sweaty and smelly, but vindicated because she'd known those bats out of hell wouldn't be able to harm another human fighting so desperately to live.
When Mako's bird disappears in a burst of debris and flame she can't see but knows too well, the only thing she can do is listen to his screams while someone else picks up the pieces.
Her fingers close around the Rising Star and her knuckles turn white while Gaeta starts talking about an open channel between two meteors and out of the corner of her eye the old man shakes his head when the search and rescue team comes back empty handed. People – her people – are dying out there and all she can't lift a finger to help.
It isn't fair. It just isn't fair.
Gaeta's calling for her and she shakes her head and releases her grip on the model ship, and like a constant reminder of how good and well she's ruined her life, the thing in her belly kicks its presence and thuds silently against the rim of the map. She grimaces, shoves it all out of her mind, and tries to focus on the task at hand. She pushes the Rising Star through the channel and murmurs her agreement because the plan works.
Kara takes in the rest of the civilian fleet laid out before her and forces herself to focus and lead them to safety because they're her people now.
---
Three days after Mako's death the old man calls her into his office for a private conference. She assumes it has something to do with her job performance because she's still adjusting to saving the Fleet without her viper and sharing space with Tigh and feeling Dee's eyes boring into the back of her head. She knows she's doing okay, but feels she can do better, and prepares a speech while she treads through the corridors to Adama's private quarters.
The president isn't there, but Kara can smell a hint of her perfume in the air and the old man is smiling as he helps her to her seat. She doesn't bother protesting that she can do it herself. She's getting bigger with each passing day and running out of things to wear and thankful her bedroom consists of a bottom bunk because there's no way she'll be able to climb into the top ones for much longer.
"How are you feeling?" Adama asks her when she's settled into his couch and pondering how she'll climb out again when the meeting is over.
It's a standard question, one she's asked on a daily basis, and she has a stock answer already prepared. "I'm fine, sir," she says. "Some days are better than others."
Adama smiles indulgently, the paternal pride that's been missing from their relationship slowly creeping across his face. "Caroline was sick as a dog with Zak. She couldn't keep anything down for the first three months, and then it was guacamole and peanut butter until the day he was born."
Kara wrinkles her nose and they both laugh. "Still," she says through a giggle. "After living on processed algae for the last four months, guacamole and peanut butter sounds pretty tasty." She pauses for a moment, waits for the laughter to die down. "What about Lee?" She's not sure she really wants to know the answer, but she has to ask. She wants to know if every ounce of weight went straight to Caroline's butt, or if she craved peppermint ice cream or if he kicked extra hard right after a hot shower. She doubts Adama can tell her what she wants to hear, but she has to try.
Adama pauses too, and watches her as the smile drops from his face and eases into a longing smile. "Lee was easy."
She has to laugh, because it's exactly what she expected. "Why am I not surprised?" she mumbles under her breath and there's a similar expression on Adama's face.
"What about you, Kara?" he asks. "What are you feeling?"
She frowns because he just asked her the same question. "I just told you, I'm fine."
That paternal expression is back on his face and it's so much like it used to be that the irritation instantly slips away. "Physically, you might be fine, but how are you feeling, really feeling?" He reaches out and rests his hand on hers. "How does Kara Thrace feel about everything that's happened in her life?"
It would be easy, so easy, to tell him how terrified and scared and frustrated and angry and empty her life has become, but she's Kara Thrace and she cries for no one. Instead, she pastes on a smile and tells him that her life is different but she's adjusting and getting used to things. "I like working in the CIC," she lies. "I'm glad I can still help."
He nods but doesn't believe her. "What are you planning on doing when the baby is born?" he asks and she prides herself that she doesn't visibly react when he says that one particular word. She'd practiced, right after CAP changes when the fresh batch were shooting through the tubes and the exhausted pilots were dragging their tired bodies home, and the only people in the head were herself and the mirrors. She'd watched ten versions of herself say it and flinch and shudder and suck in pained breaths. She'd said it again, and again, until she could say it and hear it and breathe it and it wasn't any more than a word.
Words are meaningless. It's the actions that hold value.
When the Admiral asks her what her plans are, she pushes up the corners of that fake smile and tells him she's still considering her options. "I've heard there's an excellent daycare center on the Nymphiad," she says. "When I go back to CAP duty, I'll figure out an arrangement there." She keeps her voice calm and steady, like Dee on duty, and prides herself on a job well done.
"So you're planning on raising the baby on your own?" Adama's face is as blank as her tone, and she can't interpret what he's getting at.
"What other choice do I have?" she asks and winces, inwardly like she's practiced, because she can't quite keep the bitterness out of her tone and it's like her emotions are lit up on a billboard in downtown Caprica City for all to see.
"This is why I wanted to talk to you. I think there's an alternate solution."
She's slow to respond and winces again because the lights are flashing on her billboard and Kara Thrace never lays herself out to be this exposed. "What do you mean?" she manages to say, and the lights dim a bit because the emptiness is back in her tone.
"There's a couple on the Andromedan who'd like to start a family, and are looking to adopt. I already spoke to them, and they're lovely people." He looks up to meet her eyes and smile. "You'll like them. Nothing is set, but if you'd like, I can arrange a conference and you can meet them."
"You want me to give away baby." It's less a question and more a statement and she doesn't care about the emotion in her voice because she's too shocked to care.
His hand is back on her wrist, and his fingers lock and hold her shaking hand steady until she meets his eyes. His are soft and gentle, the way she remembers her father's. "I'm giving you an out, Kara. I'm not asking you to do this. I'm letting you know that if you want, the option is there. It's your choice."
Five months she's lugged herself around Galactica with the thing in her belly weighing her down, and never once considered that it wouldn't be hers to shoulder forever. She always assumed it was the gods' way of punishing her for loving a man who belonged to another woman and loving a man she betrayed time and time again and making a mockery of vows she promised to hold sacred, but now there's a light at the end of her tunnel.
She remembers another thing her mother gave her, before she learned that pain is love and the only person who can save her is herself, and hears her mother's words in her head, that the gods created sin so she might know forgiveness. She can't erase her mistakes, but she can prevent them from happening again.
She's not meant to be a mother; she's meant to save the world.
"Okay," she smiles, laughs even. "Okay."
For an instant, just an instant, the smile drops from Adama's face but he forces it back before she's sure it really happened and squeezes her hand with both of his. "I'll make the arrangements."
There's a spring in her step that's been missing the past few weeks, and she's able to pull herself off the couch on her own. She thanks the admiral and salutes, and she's at the hatch before he speaks to her again.
"Captain Thrace," he says, all traces of her father gone from his eyes. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"
She hears her mother's words in her head and her fingers smashing in the doorjamb and she knows in her bones that another person doesn't need to take on the cancer that's Kara Thrace. She straightens her back and hauls herself to her full height, military precision directing her posture, and assures him that she's made up her mind. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
It's her voice that betrays her, and she doesn't need a blinking, flashing billboard to highlight the tremble that runs through her lie.
---
She likes David and Molly Taylor from the moment she lays eyes on them. Molly has blonde hair and bright eyes, and David has the warmest smile she's ever seen as he clasps her hands between his and tells her how honored he is to meet her.
"Wow, a pilot," Molly says when they're seated around Adama's private quarters, the president and old man looking on indulgently from the in back. "We're so thankful for all you've done for us," Molly adds. "You're a real hero, you know?"
Kara swallows thickly and resists the urge to rest on a hand on her belly where the thing inside is kicking. She's no one's hero anymore, but given time she thinks she can claw her way back to the top. "Thank you," she says in return and asks them what they do for a living. It's a stupid question, because careers don't exist anymore, but they both play along like it's a Caprican night shooting starbeams outside their window and not endless reaches of empty space.
Molly tells her that she's an artist, and David confesses a university attempt at Pyramid that evolved into a law career after a knee injury pushed him out of the running for the pros. Kara swallows the coincidence and tries to concentrate on the positive, that they're good people who've been married ten years and survived the end of the world and still believe in hope enough to think there's a future for a family. She believes it's a sign that these people are she and Lee and Sam all rolled into one, but without the baggage dragging them down.
She spends another half an hour listening to them talk about their dreams for the future, and they emphasize how that future is possible because of her. She smiles through it and feels Adama's eyes on her and after thirty minutes she stands because she has a shift in the CIC and needs to visit the head at least twice before it starts. She's heard enough to know these strangers are capable of everything she'll only fail at.
The Taylors are every kind of gracious as they say their goodbyes and a team of marines escort them to a shuttle back to their ship, but when Kara tries to stand to make her own way out, she can't quite lift herself off the couch. It's the president whose hand pulls her to her feet and asks her if she's all right.
The floor feels unsteady beneath her feet, and there's nothing about her weight that's any different than it was ten minutes ago, but she feels off balance, like she might fall.
Roslin holds her elbow while she finds her footing, adjusts to the world around her. "Captain Thrace, do you need a moment?"
"I'll be fine," Kara says because the response is automatic but it sounds hollow, even to her own ears. She blinks and the room is the same, but it looks a little different.
The Admiral takes her hand from Roslin's grip and escorts her to the doorway, squeezing her shoulder as the hatch springs open. "Kara, are you sure?" he asks and she forces the nod because she knows it's the right thing to do.
"It's for the best," she insists and forces her voice to sound like she means it.
She killed Zak, she killed Lee's marriage, and it's only a matter of time before she kills what's left of Sam – she can't ruin someone else.
---
She tells Lee and Sam together, and it's not unlike the last time she dropped a bomb on them. Sam sprawls in his chair in mismatched civvies, and Lee's back is ramrod straight even as he sinks inside his dress blues. They couldn't be more different, even as they gaze back at her with twin pairs of blue eyes and wait for her to drop the ball.
"I'm giving it up for adoption," she says and doesn't elaborate or explain further.
This time, Lee is the first to speak. "Kara, no. You can't make this decision for all of us."
She hopes, prays, Sam will back her up like a good spouse should but he's already more a father than a husband and his first priority is no longer her. "Kara, I agree. We can work this out."
Kara wants to scream but she can't, and her breath hisses between her lips and the sound is bitter and filled with four months of boiling frustration. "There's nothing to work out. My decision is final."
Kara's heard that Lee's been sticking his nose in the preparation for Baltar's trial, but it's still a surprise to her when he busts out with legal arguments. "We have rights, Kara," he says softly.
She wants to cry, but settles for a laugh instead. "One of you have rights, and we don't know which one." She looks pointedly at Sam. "You're Pyramid player whose wife might be knocked up by another guy." She looks at Lee and she doesn't want to say it but she has to say it because it's the argument that matters. "I can't forget what happened after Pegasus, Lee." Her voice is soft now, but steady and firm and she boldly meets the betrayal that flashes through his eyes. "I wish things were different, I really do. I wish I could wake up every morning and climb into my viper and shoot the hell out of those monsters, but I can't. I wish this hadn't happened, but it did. I wish we could do this, but it's not possible."
She sighs and feels the tears trembling behind her eyes because the broken expressions on both their faces is making this so much harder than she thought it would be, but she keeps holding firm. She blinks rapidly and the tears fall back a little bit, enough to get through this, because she her hormones are out of whack and the tiniest thing makes her spill like a leaky faucet, and she's practiced how to get through it like she's practiced everything else. "These people can give it a good life, a real family." Her voice breaks a little on the last word, but she won't look at either of them for fear of seeing the same aching feeling reflected in their eyes. "That's what we want, right?"
They don't fight her on it because she's right, at least about the last part. They both love the thing in her belly far more than she does, and they want what's best for it. She tells them about Molly and David Taylor, and Sam laughs at Dave's fallen Pyramid career and Lee lights up just the tiniest bit upon learning he's a lawyer, and both of them smile when she talks about Molly's art. Sam says they sound like wonderful people, and Lee says they sound nice. Neither of them sound like they mean it, but neither protest either.
They both look broken when Sam leaves to catch his shuttle, and Lee heads to the flight deck for the next CAP.
Sam kisses her forehead and his stomach bumps her belly and he rests a hand there for a moment even though the thing nestled there stays silent. He has to go because his shuttle is about to leave and the terms of his probation forbid him overstay his welcome. He'll be back at the end of the week for two-day stay, and she knows he'll try change her mind, spin tails of Sammy and Kara and baby makes three and adventures of the happy family Anders. She watches his retreating form, grateful she has a few days before weathering the storm.
Lee hangs around for an extra minute as Sam's footsteps rattle down the causeway, his shoulder propped up against the door. She tries to slip around him on her way to the CIC, but he's quick, even without her added weight, and he angles his body in front of her as she tries to slide past.
"Kara, we need to talk about this," he says and the betrayal his gone from his eyes and replaced with anger.
"Nothing to talk about," she insists. "My mind is made up." She decides to pick an argument from his personal playbook. "I'm the legal parent, Lee. Without definite paternity, Colonial law says I have sole custody. I get to choose, and I choose this."
If he makes the connection, he doesn't mention it. "Kara, come on! I'll work with you. We can split custody – split it three ways if that's what you want – but you can't just exchange our baby the way you do vipers."
She shudders, because Lee and Kara and baby makes three isn't a possibility in any reality. She was promised to his brother, and she married another man. Divorce isn't an option, but neither is a family Adama.
"Lee," she whispers. "We can't do this."
His lip trembles a little and his eyes crinkle and she knows the mighty Lee Adama is going to break down. "Kara, please don't do this to me."
Her eyes well up too and this time all the practice doesn't matter in the slightest because the tears spill down her cheeks and her shoulders shake and she cries like she hasn't cried since that first day four months ago. She feels Lee's arms slip around her and his stomach bumps her belly and the thing nestled in there kicks against the thin layer of skin and muscle separating them. She hears Lee suck in a breath and it eases out next to her ear, warm and familiar and alive. "Kara, don't take this away."
She closes her eyes and feels Lee's heart beating with hers, the thing between them kicking in time, and it sneaks up on her before she can suppress the feeling, duty and obligation and even a little bit of love. She's filled to the brim with ugly things and Lee's not even sure he wants to be alive and neither of them can hope to give a future to something so innocent and blameless.
She pulls away and his hand lingers over the expanse of her belly, the baby that may or may not be his beating furiously against a maybe father's fingers. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm its mother, and I need to do what's best."
Actions might hold value, but words aren't entirely meaningless either. It's the first time she's used the word and it's probably the last, but she says it because it's the only word that matters.
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