Those Who Lift Each Other

by lls-mutant

When the Cylons attacked, the kids of New Directions were on board the Cybele, on their way to the All-Colony Show Choir Competition. Now they're members of the Fleet, being chased by the Cylons and trying to deal with the day-to-day struggles of a life after the worlds end.

9. Down to the Ground

"You look ridiculous," Tom said as they stood in the landing bay, waiting for a Raptor.

Kurt looked down at his outfit, mildly offended. "I'm not ridiculous," he said. "This outfit was featured in Caprican Style. All right, so it was two years ago, but most of the Fleet is not overly discerning when it comes to high fashion."

"I'm certainly not. Explain it to me."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "The cut alone is worth noting. The pleats in the pants make them-"

"Never mind. I'm sorry I asked." Tom shoved his hands into his leather jacket. "We're going down to check out an uninhabited planet. You think really safari gear is a good idea?"

"It's not actually safari gear," Kurt said. "It's just a motif. An interpretation, if you will. You know, if you would actually venture out of the world of gray suits and boring ties-"

"I could wear my prison jumpsuit again."

Kurt shuddered. "You really do know just what to say to repulse me, don't you? That orange is not your color, and I don't ever want to see you near it again. At least you let me alter your suits so they fit properly."

"That's different." Tom checked his watch. "Where the frak is Gaius?"

"I'm here." Kurt and Tom both turned around to see President Baltar approaching with another man in tow. Both of them were wearing military BDUs, which looked mildly ludicrous on Baltar and admittedly good on his companion. Kurt wasn't remotely in the market, but he did look at Baltar's friend with a certain interest. He was about the same height as Kurt, and he couldn't have been more than ten years older. He had dark, short hair, olive skin, and thick, dark eyebrows that rivaled Blaine's, although they were better groomed. That last observation was a sharp, painful reminder and Kurt looked away for a moment.

"Oh. Right." Baltar was remembering his manners. "Felix, I don't believe you've met Tom's aide de camp, Kurt Hummel." He turned to Kurt. "Mr. Gaeta will be joining our administration once his discharge from the military is finalized." Kurt nodded, surprised to find that there was a lump in his throat that he couldn't speak around. All over eyebrows.

In the Raptor on the way down to the planet, Kurt was able to get his feelings back under control. It helped that he could hear Gaeta talking quietly to a couple of the Marines, and his voice and laughter sounded absolutely nothing like Blaine. Then the Raptor landed and Kurt was able to step out into sunshine, and he forgot about everything.

For the past nine months, life had been recycled air and fluorescent lights. Constant darkness and night outside the windows, the stale smell of people living in close quarters, and the sort of dryness that made the inside of his nose crack and his lips chap and destroyed his skin. Now he was down here on New Caprica, and for the first time in almost a year, fresh air flooded his lungs. A stiff breeze ruffled his hair and made him shiver, and when he stepped out of the Raptor, gravel and dried mud crunched beneath his boots.

"Welcome to New Caprica," Tom said.

***

There was grass under their feet. There were low mountains in the distance that looked stark and blue against the light. There was a river in front of them and a river behind them; Baltar had chosen a delta as a landing site. "What if it floods?" Kurt asked.

"It won't. You can see where the high water lines are," Gaeta said. He pointed in a general direction. "There have already been significant studies as to which area will be most habitable, and even the Admiral agrees that this delta looks the most promising."

"Yes, well, we must consider the opinion of the Admiral," Baltar said, making a sour sort of face. "But to answer your question, Kurt, we have done some preliminary geological and meteorological studies that indicate that a settlement here would be quite safe from flooding."

"Oh." The way they were all looking at him made Kurt feel like he should have known that. He shook it off and moved on, falling into step beside Gaeta as they walked over the rough grasses.

"So," Kurt said, when Gaeta didn't say anything. "You're the President's aide."

"Yes." Gaeta was scanning the horizon.

"What made you leave the world of drab military uniforms and testosterone for the slippery realm of politics?" Kurt asked, clasping his hands behind him as they walked.

"It was a good opportunity," Gaeta said shortly. "Gaius, have you seen any evidence of wildlife? The survey team said that there were quite a few animal species present." He picked up his speed so he joined Tom and Baltar, leaving Kurt behind.

Kurt was about to comment when the grass rustling caught his eye. He stopped for a minute, straining to see as the other three continued forward. It would make sense if there were woodchucks or groundhogs or other woodland creatures. He'd seen reports about some sort of big rodent type things that the ground crews had- The creature came into view, and Kurt screamed.

The other three whirled. "What? What is it?" Tom asked, hustling back, a gun in his hand. Kurt had had no idea he had a gun with him, and that only made him panic more.

"Right there," he said, pointing and backing up.

They peered into the grass, and Gaeta leaned down to examine it more closely. "It's a tarantula."

"YES!" Kurt said. "Exactly."

Gaeta rolled his eyes. "The survey team brought back several of these," he said, picking it up and letting it scamper over his hand. "I dissected one myself. They're harmless."

"They are big and hairy and disgusting, and on Gemenon if one bit you it… it…." Kurt found he was shaking. Tom looked amused, but Gaeta's exasperated expression hadn't changed. "It's a tarantula," was all he could manage to say to finish.

"Yes. Come on. Keep up, will you?" Tom asked. "We've got a lot to do." He put his gun back in his pocket and started walking. Gaeta put the tarantula back on the ground, which made Kurt squeak and tense up until the tarantula ran the other way, and then joined Tom.

"Are you all right?" Baltar asked Kurt.

Kurt took a deep breath. "Yes," he said. "It's rather embarrassing, really, but I really don't like spiders."

"I completely understand," Baltar said. "I am fine with the arachnid family, but if it had been a snake, I assure you that my reaction would have been quite similar. Maybe not so high-pitched, but I really can't stand the things."

It made Kurt feel a lot better that someone else got it. "Thanks."

Baltar smiled at him. "I must say," he said, "I've been meaning to ask you about something for quite some time. Your taste in clothing is striking, and I have noticed that your clothing always exquisitely fitted."

"Thank you," Kurt said, immensely gratified that anyone had noticed. "I do all my own alterations."

"Really?" Baltar seemed impressed by that. "Can you do them for other people as well?" When Kurt nodded, he continued, "I simply cannot find a tailor in this Fleet that is up to the standards I have come to expect."

"Which is an absolute crime, I agree," Kurt said enthusiastically. "It's shameful, really. Just because the world has ended is no excuse for fashion to come to a standstill. Especially for someone like you."

"Yes! Finally. Someone understands the importance of the public face." Baltar patted him on the back. "I do see why Tom hired you, although I'm surprised you haven't gotten him out of those dull gray suits."

"Not for a lack of trying," Kurt sighed ruefully. "But I'm sure we can come up with something more striking and Presidential for you."

They worked until the sun started to set, bathing the sky with a soft pink glow. "Well?" Tom asked Kurt as they walked back to the Raptor. "What do you think?"

"Cold and gritty and tarantula-infested," Kurt said. Gaeta glared at him, but Tom only laughed and clapped Kurt on the shoulder.

"So fresh air, sunshine, ground under your feet, and sky over your head lose against tarantulas?"

"I never said that," Kurt said. "Believe me, New Caprica is perfect scarf weather. And there are few things I like more than a scarf."

"Finding those silver linings wherever you can, huh?" Tom teased. "Come on. Let's get back up. In a few weeks, we'll be down here for good."

***

Burt closed the box and ran tape across the top. "You ready for this?" he asked Carole, who was helping him pack up his workshop.

"No," she said sourly. "But it doesn't look like we have a choice." She was bagging nuts and bolts, labeling them with a thick black marker. "I still can't believe we're giving up on Earth."

"Yeah, well, that's what the President orders," Burt said with a shrug. He'd spent so much time trying to avoid the subject of politics he'd never really had a chance to decide who he preferred. Carole had been so ardently pro-Roslin and Kurt was obviously in the Baltar camp… Burt had really, really envied Finn hiding out on the Galactica. But they'd survived the election with Carole and Kurt still on speaking terms, and Burt was more than ready to put the whole thing behind them. After all, there wasn't much they could do about it now. "It's got its upsides," he pointed out. "Like that you won't be going over to the Daru Mozu for four days at a time anymore."

Carole softened with a smile. "That's true. That right there is worth it. I know we won't have our family back under the same roof, but-"

"But Kurt will be down there, and Finn will visit," Burt finished for her. Funny about that, really. He'd always assumed it was Finn who would be staying close to home and Kurt who would be making those weekend pilgrimages. "It's like it would have been back on Gemenon."

"Mmm." Carole sat back on her heels. "Except we've got a whole host of other kids. Do you ever feel like we should just legally adopt them all?"

"They're all adults. It's not like we even really see much of Sam and Rya, and they are legally ours."

Carole raised an eyebrow. "I see them," she reminded him. "And I know they're adults. But they're all still so young."

Physically, maybe. Burt thought about Santana and Puck and Mercedes in their uniforms and Quinn and her infirmary and Rachel and her reporting and Artie hunched over the radio, people calling for him to come fix their communications. Lauren with her haunted eyes and long silences, because she'd seen more than any of them. Mike and Tina expecting a baby, Sam and Rya actually married, and hell, Kurt was practically a widower. It wasn't what Burt would have thought if Blaine had died on Gemenon, but yeah, as things stood, it was pretty much true. Even Finn, who had gotten off lighter than anyone in New Directions, had a new confidence when he came to the Cybele. They might all be young physically, but Burt didn't think they were so young in other ways anymore.

Carole either didn't notice his moody silence or knew better than to prod right now. "I think that's almost it," she said as she put the last baggie of bolts into a box and closed it up. "They'll take the work bench down without it being unassembled, right?"

"Right. That's what they said, anyway." Burt smiled. "Wonder how long it will be before I can actually set up a real shop. You know, with a building."

"A long time," Carole said dryly. "Are you sure you want to do this? You know they'd pay you well on the construction crews."

"I'm sure. And after all the trouble Kurt went through to get me a business permit, I'm not turning back now."

Carole searched his face one more time, then nodded. "I'll go start on our personal things, all right?" She leaned over and kissed Burt on the lips. "I'll see you in the room. Just think, tomorrow night we're going to be alone. We haven't had a night alone in ten months."

"That's right, and you'd better be prepared," Burt said, winking at her. He swatted her on the ass as she left the workshop, but as her laughter trailed down the hall, the smile leeched from his face and he sat down on one of the bigger boxes.

"Are you okay, Mr. H?" Brittany came in, bearing tape and a few more boxes.

"Yeah." Burt shook himself. "Yeah, I am."

Brittany handed him the tape. "Are you excited?" she asked. "About going down there?"

"I should be." Burt sighed. "I keep telling myself I am."

"I tell myself that, too," Brittany said. "But I'm not a very good listener." Burt chuckled at that, and Brittany looked around the workshop. "You didn't take the pictures down."

"Not yet. Thought I could use some help with that."

She smiled. Burt had gotten to the point where those smiles from Brittany had the same effect on his heart as smiles from Finn. Together, they started taking down the pictures.

There were a lot of them, when you got right down to it. Brittany had started it, finding pictures of cats. Then one day, a picture of New Directions showed up, taken at the Colonial Day performance. Burt managed to get a picture of himself, Carole, Finn, and Kurt and put that up, and that opened the floodgate. Any time a picture appeared of someone from New Directions, it found its way to the walls of Burt's workshop. Snapshots, newspaper clippings, even a sketch or two. These were their family.

"I wish we could take the door to our room, too," Brittany said as she took down a picture of her, Rachel, Mercedes, Tina, and Quinn all celebrating Santana's promotion to lieutenant. "It won't be home without that yellow door."

"Yeah," Burt said, looking at the picture he was holding of Will, Sue, and Shannon making faces. "I was thinking the same thing."

"We can put these up though, right? In the workshop on New Caprica?" Brittany said.

Burt smiled. "You'd better believe it. Come on. Let's finish this up."

***

Before her decommissioning, the Galactica had been shunted off to non-combat missions. More specifically, her missions had been in the form of disaster relief. Which might not have been the most glamorous or exciting thing, but it did mean that the Galactica had a storage bay full of disaster relief pods. Tents, cots, supplies for making rudimentary bathrooms and group showers, generators, and other small necessities were brought down to New Caprica. Overnight, the settlement sprung up in neat, orderly rows.

The settlement was primitive by any standards, and Kurt was most definitely not fond of living in a tent, even if the tent was high enough that he could stand straight and large enough that he'd eventually get a roommate. The bathroom facilities didn't even bear thinking about. But where there was a settlement there was trade. Where there was trade, there was a market, which meant shopping.

"You need something that says vice president," Kurt said, eyeing the sales racks of castoffs critically. "Something that emphasizes rugged masculinity and authority. Something that says aloof and dangerous, but at the same time, approachable."

"No, I need something that says warm and dry," Tom said, shivering in the drizzle that had started. "I like my leather jacket, Kurt. Leave it alone."

Kurt made a face, but left the rack and fell into step beside Tom. "I wish you'd dress just a little better. You're a good-looking and powerful man. You should emphasize that. It's important."

"So you keep telling me. Believe me, I've gotten the message."

"You just choose to ignore it."

"Precisely."

They walked through the marketplace together. It wasn't much of a marketplace yet, of course. Right now, it was a wide row of tables and makeshift stalls. But in a few months, it would be more than that, and in a few years, there would be actual storefronts. Kurt shivered with excitement.

About a quarter of the Fleet's population was now on the ground. There were other shoppers, and people who just gathered there for conversation. Kurt noticed that several people were grouped together around someone who was selling coffee, clutching their warm cups as they shivered. Someday, that person could have a coffee shop and he and Blaine-

"You okay?" Tom asked. "You just went pale."

"I'm fine," Kurt said, waving it away. "I just saw that coat." He pointed to a man wearing a plaid monstrosity. "If you ever dress like that, I will kill you."

Tom laughed, and the knot in Kurt's lungs and chest started to ease out again. By the time they made it to the other end of the market, Kurt was starting to feel normal. When he caught sight of President Baltar walking with Gaeta dogging his footsteps, he was sufficiently himself to notice that Gaeta was absolutely checking out Baltar when Baltar had his head turned.

Tom spotted them and lifted a hand in greeting. Kurt thought he'd go over to speak with them, but instead, Tom turned to one of the tables and began studying the pots that were on display. Kurt looked back at Baltar and Gaeta. Their heads were close together now, and Baltar's hand was on Gaeta's shoulder. Even from here, Kurt could see the way Gaeta's eyes lit up. He could understand the attraction- Baltar was a very intelligent, very good-looking man- but Kurt had seen several women in and out of his company. He was pretty sure that Baltar wasn't the commitment type.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "What are you whistling?"

"I was? It was just a song."

Tom followed his gaze back to where Baltar and Gaeta were standing. "Sing me the lyrics." When Kurt opened his mouth to protest, Tom fixed him with that look. "Kurt. Lyrics. Now."

With a sigh, Kurt sang the refrain of "Bad Romance." Tom listened, his face impassive except the corner of his mouth twitched up at one point. When Kurt finished, Tom sighed.

"Look," he said, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles, and gesturing for them to walk on. "It is a spectacularly bad idea for Gaius to have Gaeta as his aide, and it has every potential to be a complete disaster. It's obvious that Gaeta's in love with Gaius, and I'm pretty sure Gaius would frak a light socket if it got him off. But you keep out of it."

"I wasn't-"

"I'm warning you, Kurt. Keep out of it. Pretend it's not happening. I don't want you making snide comments or singing inappropriate lyrics or even so much as cracking a smirk around the two of them. Do your job and ignore it, so when it all blows up something in this government will still function. Remember, this is a step, all right? Our ultimate goal is the Presidency."

"Yes, sir," Kurt sighed. Trust Tom to take all the fun out of everything. "Hey, there's one more clothing vendor down here. Maybe we can find you a new jacket there."

Tom closed his eyes and groaned.

***

A tent wasn't Burt's first choice for a shop, especially since one of the pieces of equipment he had managed to get his hands on was a small acetylene torch for welding. Canvas was a lot more flammable than Burt liked, but that was the only option. Everything was canvas, at least for now, except for the water treatment facility and the power substation.

At the other end of the tent city, the construction crews would soon begin working on the first apartment complex. Burt had seriously considered joining the crews. There was no question he'd be useful. There might not be a lot of cars on New Caprica, but Burt could use tools and figure out systems, and in the past year of doing handyman work on the Cybele, he'd picked up a lot. The work would be constant, the pay might be better (once that system got figured out), and the hours might be more regular. But in the end, Burt had decided not to. He'd worked too hard for his shop on Gemenon and owning his own business had meant too much to him to let it go without trying.

Kurt had managed to get a tent assigned to Burt, right near the marketplace. It was a good-sized tent, too. Burt and Brittany divided it into two parts; the small, front area where they could help customers, and the large back area that served as a workshop. A small table that Burt had put together out of Brittany's bunk from the Cybele served as a place to help customers. Burt and Brittany spent a couple of frustrating days cutting flaps into the canvas to make windows that could be zippered shut, so more light could be let into the shop. The business permit was displayed prominently, and they'd hung all the pictures back up, and the best part was the sign outside the tent. Hummel Repair and Odd Jobs. Not the most creative name for a business (although it beat Brittany's suggestions, all of which involved unicorns, glitter, and cats), but it was descriptive, and Burt knew he'd have to rely on word of mouth anyway.

And word of mouth spread. Space heater repairs alone would have kept him in business, but people also needed ways to cook their food and light their tents, preferably that didn't involve flames. There were drainage problems and windbreaks. While there were some carpenters in New Caprica that could do far nicer work than he could, Burt found that there were a lot of people looking for basic furniture and they didn't care how bad it looked, as long as it was sturdy and didn't cost them a lot. Finding work on New Caprica wasn't hard.

Some people paid him in cubits, some in barter. Not that cubits always meant that much anymore, but enough people were still using them that they meant something, plus it was easier to pay Brittany that way. Burt had no real idea what a fair wage for Brit would be, but as long as she could eat, Brittany didn't seem to care too much. After all, it wasn't like she had rent to pay, and there wasn't much to be had in the way of entertainment or shopping.

The tent that he and Carole shared wasn't much different from his workshop tent, although it was smaller. They'd managed to get a large mattress, and Burt built a low, sturdy bedframe for it. It was once of the nicest beds on New Caprica, especially after they added a thick quilt and two pillows. Brittany didn't stay with them- she shared a tent with Quinn, over near where the medical community had set up shop.

It wasn't the life he had on Lima, but Burt recognized that it was pretty damn close. His own home of a sort, his own business, his family nearby. It was the best facsimile of life before the attacks that anyone got, and Burt was grateful for his luck.

***

"That should do you," Burt said, dusting his hands off automatically and looking around. It had taken him and Brit several days of sore shoulders, pricked fingers, and headaches to figure out how to put four of the small tents together to make such a large one.

"Thanks," Will said, standing in the center of the empty tent. He was wearing a thick, heavy sweater with a bulky neck that Kurt would either love or mock- Burt could never tell which. "I suppose the next thing we need to do is figure out how to make desks."

"How many students are you figuring on having anyway?" Burt asked.

"Not as many as I'd like," Will said with a sigh. "The kids I was teaching on the Cybele for sure, and there should be more. But a lot of kids that should still be in school are… well, apprenticing, for lack of a better word."

"Makes sense," Burt said with a shrug.

"I know. I just wanted better for them, you know?"

Burt was saved from having to answer that by Brittany and Sue coming in. Sue looked around the tent with distaste. "This is it?"

"This is it, Sue. Well, for now. We'll get some more supplies down in the next shipment," Will said, clapping his hands together.

"If Roslin doesn't steal them all first," Sue muttered.

Burt rolled his eyes and gestured to Brittany. "Everything all secure outside?"

"I think so. I pounded them in as hard as I could, but the ground is really hard. Mike called it hoarfrost. I think that's really sexist."

"Something like that." Burt sighed. Sometimes it was worth explaining things to Brit, and sometimes it wasn't. This definitely wasn't the former, especially since Burt wasn't sure Mike was so right about that. New Caprica was cold and the ground was hard, but Burt recognized clay when he saw it, and there was a hell of a lot of clay in the ground. In the middle of the tent, Sue and Will were arguing about whether or not music should be taught or dropped. Unsurprisingly, Sue was saying that music was a waste of resources. Burt sighed. "Let's go."

The high school tent was set up on the corner of what was a group of tents. There was a bare spot behind it, and then Roslin's elementary school across the way. Tina and Mike had come down a few days ago and were setting up shop in a tent nearby as well. The shouts of children indicated that they weren't going to be the only daycare in the area.

"We should build a park," Brittany suggested. "With slides. That big space would be perfect for it."

Burt looked at her with respect. "That's a great idea. Start thinking about some ideas, okay? I'll talk to Kurt about getting materials for it."

They walked back towards the tent that served as their workshop. "If you want to come over for dinner tonight-" Burt began, but Brittany shook her head.

"No, thank you. It's family night for you." She patted his arm. "Besides, I said I'd take a look at Mr. Lampkin's cat. He's worried about the effect an alien diet will have on Lance's digestive system."

The sad thing, Burt thought as he watched Brittany walk off, was there was a time where that sentence wouldn't have made any sense, or he would have at least thought it was funny. Now he walked back to his home tent thinking that it was a crazy world when Brittany was moonlighting as a vet.

Carole was home when he got there, cooking over a small camp stove. "Smells good," he said, ducking inside the tent and kissing her soundly. "The boys here yet?"

"They're hiding in the back," Carole said dryly.

"Sorry. It was a dumb question." The tents were large enough that the roof was several feet over Burt's head, but with furniture, there was barely room to move. The double wide cot took up almost half the tent alone, loaded down with warn blankets. Their clothes were in crates they'd moved down from the Cybele, and they'd managed to snag a table and two chairs. "How was the plant?" Burt asked Carole.

Carole stirred the pot. "Lousy," she said. "After nine months- more, for a lot of them- of working on a tylium ship, changing gears entirely and moving to water treatment is practically rocket science for some of these people. I don't know who to be more frustrated with- the people who've had to have the system explained to them three times a day or the President who thought moving the Daru Mozu workers was a good idea."

"Go for the workers, at least tonight," he suggested. He adjusted the flame in the oil lamp that they were using until the power station was fully operational and lines were strung across the settlement. "Kurt will defend Baltar, and I'd rather Finn and I didn't have to keep you and Kurt from tearing out each others' hair."

"Like Kurt would ever forgive me for messing up his hair," Carole said, laughing. "You're right. It's so rare all four of us get to be together- I don't want to ruin it." Burt knew exactly what she meant. When he heard the laughter outside the tent, Burt didn't move, but he wanted to jump up and run to his boys and let them in.

"I'm just saying," Finn said as he pushed the tent flap aside. "Grand Heat 2 was better than the first one."

"If you're so simple that all you require for entertainment is explosions," Kurt responded.

"You just like the first one better because James Handy took off his shirt."

"It's a valid reason!" Kurt turned to Carole. "You agree with me, don't you, Carole?"

"Absolutely." Carole kissed Kurt on the cheek, and then hugged Finn. "Is it still cold out?"

"It wasn't bad when I landed, but now that the sun's going down it's getting colder." Finn was wearing his BDUs. Carole's hand lingered on the drab green fabric when she thought Burt wasn't watching. "Is it just me, or is it colder than it was last month?"

"It's not just you," Carole said. "It's been getting colder." She shot a glare at Kurt, who unfortunately caught it.

"We can't control the weather, Carole."

"We didn't have to land here, though."

"Hey! How 'bout that ship they landed today, huh?" Finn asked, right as Burt said, "Brittany had a great idea today."

Both Carole and Kurt were aware they were being distracted- Burt saw it in the look they exchanged. Fortunately, they both looked tolerantly amused. "What was Brittany's great idea?" Carole asked.

"She wants to build a park for the kids by the schools."

Kurt perked up. "That is a great idea," he said. Carole was nodding, too. Burt sighed with relief. Crisis averted.

They talked about the playground, with Finn and Kurt comparing what pieces of equipment had been their favorites as children. (Finn had favored the merry-go-rounds, while Kurt had preferred the swings. Burt made a note to try to make sure both were on that playground.) The conversation wasn't deep, but it had never needed to be. It was enough just to have the four of them crowded around a tiny table, the flickering lamp making the light look warmer. The thick canvas walls kept the wind out, and the air warmed up. But the best part was listening to his family laugh. Kurt and Finn bickering, Carole affectionately teasing them both… Burt was aware he was probably the luckiest man left alive.

Afterwards, he and Kurt walked through the streets of New Caprica, braving the wind. "Glad you came out with me," Burt told Kurt. "I know it's nice to get the whole family together, but it's nice to give Carole and Finn a little time together, too."

"I'll never say no to a walk," Kurt said, burrowing deeper into his scarf. "And you need it. It's good for your heart."

Burt knew Kurt too well to take offense. Instead, he looked around at the dark forms of tents and the bare lights strung over the walkway. The wind had picked up, and here and there they could hear other voices. There were a lot of tents empty yet, but every day, more filled up.

"How are you doing?" Burt asked Kurt as they walked. "About Blaine, I mean?"

Kurt's face got that careful look Burt knew meant the question was hard for him to answer. "I should be doing better," Kurt said. "I mean, he was only back for less than twenty four hours, right?" He laughed, not covering up his real feelings at all. "It shouldn't be such a big deal."

"Yeah, but it is," Burt said. He put a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "You know, if you ever want to talk…."

"I know," Kurt said. Burt thought that might be the end of it, but Kurt drew in a shuddering breath. "It's just... when does it stop hurting so much? When did you get over Mom?"

"I don't know," Burt answered honestly. "And I never got over your mom. I'll always love her. You know that."

"I know. But you love Carole-"

"Yeah."

"But how did you do that?" Kurt asked. "How did you get to that point where you could even think about anyone else again?"

Burt rubbed his chin. "Time," he said finally. "It took a lot of time. I was with your mom longer than you were with Blaine, but the way you lost Blaine twice… you've gotta give yourself time, Kurt."

"I know."

"Until then…." Burt shrugged. "I had you. And the garage. Without those two things, it would have been even harder. Best I can tell you is find something you can get lost in, you know? I mean, you're the aide to the Vice President, right? That's a big job. Focus on that, and in time, the rest of it will take care of itself."

Kurt nodded. "Thanks, Dad."

"Any time. And while you're at it, see if you can get me and Brit some stuff for that park, will you?"

Kurt smiled at him. "I'll make it my top priority."

"Good. Come on. Let's do a row or two more and then we'll go see what your brother and Carole are up to." Burt slung his arm around Kurt's shoulders, squeezing tight as they walked through the cold night.

***

Colonial One had been one of the first ships to land permanently, and it still housed offices, serving as the seat for the government. The first time that Kurt had been in the President's office with its big desk and flags, he'd been a little taken aback. Now he was getting used to it, especially as he sat at a table next to Tom, Gaeta and Baltar sitting across from them.

Kurt rarely spoke up in meetings with Baltar. His job was to take in information and repeat it on request, not to volunteer new ideas. But this playground idea was important to his father, and he'd promised him. So he made his pitch, not just to Tom but to Baltar as well.

"A park," Tom said, giving Kurt a level look.

"A playground," Kurt said, lifting his chin. "I think it's actually a very good idea. It would be a small project, but it's the kind of thing people like. Sort of the equivalent of kissing babies."

Tom templed his fingers and rested them against his lips. Baltar was looking out the window. Gaeta frowned.

"There are other priorities," Gaeta said. "The construction of the power station, the expansion and improvement of the water reclamation station, and the construction of the hospital and housing all are more urgent requirements."

"But it's a playground," Kurt said. "It's not a major endeavor. The supplies would be minimal." He pushed the list his father had given him to the center of the table. Gaeta waited for a moment, and when neither Baltar nor Tom reached for the list, picked it up himself. His frown deepened as he read it, and once again Kurt wondered why Mercedes had been so insistent that he and Gaeta would get along. Nothing ever made Mr. Smallest Details there happy.

"Back on the Colonies this would have been minimal," Gaeta finally agreed. "But with the state of resources here, it's not. Not to mention the labor."

"It would be my father and his assistant building it in their spare time," Kurt said crossly. "And maybe some of the rest of New Directions." Most of whom weren't down here quite yet, but Gaeta didn't have to know that. "It wouldn't be a…what did you call it? A distraction?"

Gaeta frowned. "I didn't call it that."

"You certainly implied it." Kurt glanced over at Tom, but Tom was just watching with hooded eyes. "I don't meant to be a giant cliché, but it is for the children."

"And won't someone please think of the children," Gaeta said sarcastically. "Look, I'm not saying that it's a terrible idea. It's a great idea, and if we had more resources, I would not be opposing it. But the problem is the severe lack of resources available immediately and the other crucial needs for the community. There are other projects that must take priority."

"But-"

"Why don't you two work this out on your own time?" Tom cut in. "Do you agree, Gaius?"

"What?" Baltar startled into attention. "Yes, yes. I am sure you two can work this matter out and come to a conclusion that will satisfy everyone. Let's move along the agenda, shall we?"

"But-" Kurt began, but Tom shook his head. Be quiet. He fell back against his seat, back into his role, and the meeting moved on.

He pounced on Tom the minute they left the office. "I know I shouldn't have spoken up, but it really is a good idea. It wouldn't take that much, and the amount of good will and good press something like that could buy-"

"I never said I was against it," Tom said smoothly, steering them towards his office.

Kurt's brows furrowed. "You didn't speak up for it."

"I know I didn't." Tom opened the door and held it for Kurt. "It's a playground. I think you can fight this battle yourself." Tom sounded confident, not patronizing.

The Vice Presidential office was much nicer than the office that Tom had kept on the Astral Queen. It was big enough that Tom's desk could be along one wall, with Kurt's desk in the corner. There was a bookcase with a few ragged books, a painting of Sagittaron, and an old couch along the other wall. It lacked any elegance, but it was kind of homey. They'd made an effort to find an office for Kurt, but the only possibility was an actual broom closet, and aside from the symbolism, Kurt was pretty sure he couldn't fit in there away. He entered the office and sat down at his desk, thinking. There were no regular newspapers to speak of right now, and what news there was would not be covering the debates and discussions of two aides. If he lost, no one would ever know.

"I guess I could do it," Kurt said hesitantly.

"I'm sure you could." Tom had lost interest and was reading a report now. "It's a small project, and really only involves getting around Gaeta and Baltar."

Kurt nodded slowly. "All right.

"You need to start somewhere." Tom looked up. "And for what it's worth, my cubits are on you. Consider this your first practical class in political negotiations."

***

"So?" Kurt asked, leaning against the doorframe of Gaeta's small office.

Gaeta looked up irritably from his work. "So what?"

"We need to discuss this playground," Kurt said, pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of Gaeta's desk. "There's got to be a way we can work it out."

"I've gone over the numbers and there's not," Gaeta said tersely.

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Kurt said. "My father built a climbing wall over on the Cybele out of spare pipes."

"Which would be needed for the water distribution system."

"I'm sure we could dismantle some crates-"

"And use the wood in the construction of the hospital." Gaeta wasn't budging an inch. Kurt sat back in the chair with a sigh.

"You really are against this, aren't you?"

Gaeta put his pen down. "I'm not against it. I'm just saying that it is not the top priority right now. I'm not saying let's never build a playground ever. It's just not going to happen before a few other projects. What is so hard to understand about that?"

"I understand it perfectly well. I just think that you're overestimating how much we need spare tubing and a couple of beams."

"Well, if you ever paid attention in math and science classes, you'd be able to understand the estimates," Gaeta snapped.

"Well, if you ever paid attention to the people around you, you'd know that this would go a long way in making the administration look good." Kurt was annoyed. "I don't see what's so hard to understand about that."

"Because it's not just about staying in office."

"Well, how do you expect to do anything if we're not in office?"

"We have years," Gaeta said curtly. "We've only just started."

"With Cloud 9 blowing up and a divide between the military and the President. It's not exactly a good start, here, Gaeta."

"And delaying any of these vital projects will only make it worse, Hummel."

"Perception matters!"

"So do results!"

"Hey! What's going on in here?" An analyst poked his head in. "Would you two please keep it down? We're trying to have a meeting."

"Sorry," Kurt said. "We were just debating."

"Sounds more like you were tearing each others' heads off," the analyst grumbled. "Keep it down," he repeated, then closed the door.

Kurt and Gaeta stared at each other. Finally, Gaeta picked up his pen. "I have work to do," he said stiffly.

"So do I," Kurt shot back. He turned on his heel and headed for the door. "This discussion isn't over."

"Yes it is."

"It's not." Kurt slammed the door before Gaeta could get the last word in. It was not over. Kurt had made a promise to his father, and he was going to keep it. He just had to figure out how.

***

He managed to find Finn by waiting at the landing field for a shipment of medical supplies from the Galactica. It never failed to amaze Kurt how much older Finn looked in his flight uniform. It made him glad that they were stepbrothers now, or Kurt was pretty sure his breath would have caught in his throat when Finn turned around and smiled at him. "Hey, Kurt. What's up?"

"You're supposed to help bring some of the greenhouse materials in two days, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why?"

Kurt grabbed his arm and led him away a little, so no one could hear them. "Could you… botch the landing a little?"

Finn's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

Kurt shrugged. "Botch the landing. Just enough to, erm, break some glass."

"Kurt-"

"Finn. The glass can be recycled, and then we might be able to use the other materials for the playground Dad wants to build. For the kids, Finn. Think of the children."

"I can't believe you just said that," Finn groaned. "Does Burt know about this?"

"No, and I'd owe you another favor not to tell him."

"That brings the count up to what now?" Finn teased, reaching out to ruffle Kurt's hair. Kurt dodged away, one finger held up in warning.

"You do that and it counts as one of your favors."

"For breaking glass and essentially stealing building equipment?"

"Repurposing," Kurt corrected him. "And yes. I want to impress on you just how big a thing I'm asking you to do."

"Yeah, I got that when you asked me to lie to my commanding officer." Finn sighed. "I'll see what I can do, Kurt. If I can make it look like it happened by accident, I'll do it. But I'm not getting in trouble over this."

"Fair enough," Kurt said, sticking out his hand. Finn stared at him for a moment, and then suddenly lunged in and ruffled Kurt's hair. Kurt squawked. "That's one of your favors!"

"Doesn't matter," Finn said. "It was worth it."

***

The day of the landing had been mercifully windy. Kurt managed to find his way to Baltar's office that evening. Baltar was more than eager to see him, especially since Kurt had made the meeting under the pretext of altering some of Baltar's clothes. Even though Kurt was willing to spend a good portion of his own salary and tradable assets on clothing, it amazed him how much Baltar had managed to accumulate. A good portion of it was draped around the office as Baltar stood on a stool, impatiently waiting as Kurt prepped his supplies.

"Don't move," Kurt ordered, getting down on his knees. "I don't want to prick you."

"Mmm. You know, that could be taken several interesting ways."

Kurt ignored that and focused instead on the hem of the pants. He finished up and then sat back on his heels. "I think that should do it."

Baltar looked down. "Yes. Yes, that will do nicely. Thank you, Kurt."

"You can take them off now," Kurt said. "I'll hem them tonight."

"You don't have other plans?" Baltar asked.

Kurt shook his head. "No. My friends are…" he trailed off. They all had other plans, other lives. Kurt forced a smile. "No. No other plans."

"That's a shame," Baltar said. His eyes lingered on Kurt's face for a long moment. Kurt met his eyes, and Baltar smiled. "So tell me, Kurt. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Actually, there is, sir," he said. Baltar leaned in, smiling and interested. "It's the playground," Kurt said.

"The playground?" Baltar pulled back, looking oddly disappointed. "I'm sorry. What?"

"The playground that Gaeta and I have been discussing," Kurt said. "The one my father wants to build, but he needs the supplies."

"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course." He still had a vague look in his eyes, like the conversation had taken a turn he really hadn't expected.

"You do remember, don't you?" Kurt asked. He wouldn't put it past Baltar to have forgotten.

"Of course I remember," Baltar said, offended. "I just don't understand what the problem is."

"Certain… people," Kurt began, careful not to say Gaeta, "insist that there are no materials to spare. But I heard that one of the greenhouse-"

"Yes, I heard about that," Baltar cut in. "I believe the glass shattered on the trip down- some Raptor pilot made quite the mess of a landing- and without the glass, the supplies are useless." He tapped his lips and then nodded sharply. "Yes. Take those, then."

"You're serious?" Kurt asked breathlessly, clasping his hands together in an expression of gratitude. "We can have the supplies?"

"Talk to Felix about it," Baltar said. He still seemed completely removed from the situation. He cocked his head, studying Kurt intently. "Kurt, exactly how old are you?"

"Nineteen. I know, it seems old to be excited about a playground, but it's important to my father." It had worked. Kurt couldn't believe it had worked so well.

"It's not the playground I was thinking of," Baltar muttered, but Kurt barely heard him. He was planning out what exactly he was going to say to Gaeta. It had taken over a month to fulfill the promise to his father, but he was going to fulfill it.

"Thank you, sir," Kurt said, folding Gaius's pants and backing towards the door. "I promise- you won't be sorry."

Baltar winked at him. "We'll see. But you'll owe me."

"Of course." Kurt couldn't wait to get out of there and rub it in Gaeta's face.

***

It had taken a month, but now Burt and Brittany stood in the middle of the little space framed by school and daycare tents, a pile of supplies at their disposal and plans in their hands. Brittany looked especially excited.

"We need swings," she said. "I love swings."

Kids were watching, here and there. Laura Roslin was trying to herd her elementary school children into the tent that served as their school, but little faces kept popping out. Mike and Tina had brought their crew outside for the morning, and the children were running and shouting with excitement.

"Need some help?"

Burt turned around to see Will and Shannon standing there, a small army of teenagers behind them. "I thought this was class time," he said.

Shannon smiled. "They're going to need to know how to build on New Caprica, Hummel."

"And they volunteered," Will said, nodding at their students. "You've got all the labor you need right here."

Burt smiled. "All right, then." He picked up a shovel, marked out a spot, and broke ground. "Let's get started."

All around him, he saw smiles.

***

"It's amazing, Dad," Kurt said later, surveying the playground with the smile that Burt loved. "You did a great job."

"Yeah, well, I had a lot of help," Burt admitted. "Can I ask what took so long to get the materials?"

Kurt's face changed and he sighed heavily. "You can ask," he said, settling on a swing. "But I can't promise an answer."

"Politics, huh?" Burt said sympathetically, sitting on the swing next to him.

Kurt nodded, tracing patterns in the grit with his toes. "I just never realized all of the maneuvering I'd have to do just to get a playground built."

"You didn't know that before?" Burt asked, mildly amused. "You've been working for Zarek for almost a year now."

"Yes, but it's different being in the actual administration," Kurt admitted. "I was used to fighting with people when we weren't the ones in charge. I expected things would be different now that we are."

"Ah." Burt leaned against the swing's chain. For all that Kurt seemed so grown up and liked to talk like he was, he looked so young sitting here on the swing, confused and frustrated. It reminded Burt so much of days of taking Kurt to the park as a child.

"You know," he said, leaning back and starting to swing a little, "just occurred to me that I might be taking grandkids here someday."

"Oh?" Kurt looked amused. "Is Rachel pregnant now?"

"Not that I know of. She'd better not be," Burt said with a laugh. "I did say 'someday.' What I was getting at more is that when it comes time for me to have grandkids, we're still going to be here."

"Oh. Yes. Although New Caprica will look a lot different by then."

He looked happy at the thought. Burt knew Kurt was still grieving Blaine, but it was a relief to see that the mere mention of grandkids didn't send him spiraling into a depression. Maybe he was getting better. Burt hoped so. Fifty thousand people was a lot of people- there had to be some guy in that number that Kurt could love, and who would love Kurt back. The thought of bringing Kurt's child to a playground made Burt's throat close up, but in a good way.

He was aware that Kurt was watching him. "I'm sure it will," Burt said hastily, covering up his own thoughts. "Come on. Help me give these swings a test run." It didn't matter that kids had been on them all day. Burt had Kurt to himself, for once being a child instead of too-young adult. He wasn't going to waste it.

***

"Hummel." Gaeta grabbed Kurt by the arm and yanked him into his office. "I need to speak with you now."

"I sort of gathered that," Kurt said as Gaeta shut the door. "The pulling me gave it a-"

"I saw the schedule for the greenhouse materials shipment."

Kurt stopped. "Excuse me?"

"The Raptor schedule for the greenhouse materials shipment." Gaeta crossed the small room and stood behind his desk, leaning over it to glare at Kurt. "A pilot answering to the callsign 'Twinkletoes' was flying down the materials for Greenhouse 17."

Kurt shrugged. "So?"

"Twinkletoes' real name is Finn Hudson. Which you know, since he's your stepbrother."

Kurt crossed his arms and gave Gaeta his best deadpan stare. "I didn't realize that you were into hosting mystery theater dinners, too. Really, we could put together quite the affair between the two of us."

Gaeta practically snarled at him. "Finn Hudson hasn't botched a landing since his nugget days. He was always good at landings."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Because it was my job to know. I knew what the pilots were capable of."

"Oh, please," Kurt snapped back, trying not to show his nervousness. "So maybe he never botched a landing in space, but it was windy that day. He never flew a Raptor until he joined up. He's never tried to land on a planet before, until we got here."

"He botched that landing on purpose so the glass would shatter and you could take those materials!"

"Prove it!" Kurt shouted. "Nothing like that happened!"

"I will report this," Gaeta warned him, straightening back up and stalking over to the door. "You are not going to get away with this."

"What, because I control the weather now?" Kurt sniffed and held his head high as he stormed past Gaeta and out the door. "Good luck. Watch out for the rain I'm sending tomorrow!" The door slammed behind him.

He knew. Frak it- Gaeta knew. Kurt had a bad feeling about how this was all going to play out for him.

***

"Did you do it?"

Kurt had been thinking about what order to pack up his desk in when Tom walked in. He startled to attention. "Did I do what?"

"Did you convince your stepbrother to botch his landing so the glass would break and you could take the materials?"

"It was windy that day," Kurt tried. Tom just stared at him with that look, and Kurt sighed. "Yes."

He was expecting fury, or lectures, or a demand to leave. He was expecting anger. What he was not expecting was for Tom to burst out laughing, and to come over, take Kurt by the cheeks, and kiss his forehead.

"What…?"

"Brilliant," Tom pronounced. "Absolutely brilliant. I knew you'd come up with a way to get around him if you really wanted to badly enough. Very well done, Kurt. I'm impressed."

"You're not mad?" Kurt asked incredulously.

Tom shrugged. "It was one greenhouse's worth of materials. Granted, you try that specific trick again or on me and I will be furious, but no. I'm not mad."

"Oh." He hadn't been expecting that. "But it was dishonest."

"It was shrewd," Tom corrected. "This is politics, Kurt. You dirty your hands so you can deliver your promises- their freedoms- to the people who elected you. When you are in politics, you are a living sacrifice, and sometimes you must trust that the good you hope to accomplish will outweigh the negatives. You tarnish your soul so you can bring them that shining dream."

Kurt nodded. "Right," he said, because he had learned that that was the best way to deal with Tom when he got into one of these purple-prose moods. But Kurt also knew he had a point- he had seen Roslin's face the day she'd banned abortion and what it had cost her.

Tom was still laughing. "Come on," he said, gesturing for Kurt to take a seat next to him. "We have this Quorum meeting in two hours, and I want to go over some notes with you. Let's see if we can find you another project, since you did so admirably with this one."

The Cybele was strangely quiet now, floating in orbit. Kurt, Tina, Rachel, and Quinn made the pilgrimage up to find Artie and Puck waiting for them.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn asked, staring at Puck in surprise. "I wouldn't think you'd care about performance outfits."

"Huh? I don't," Puck said cheerfully. "I just came over to see my boy Artie here." His eyes lingered thoughtfully on Kurt, and Kurt had the suspicion that there was something else going on.

"It's so quiet," Kurt said, instead of asking Puck what the hell was going through his head.

"Yeah, it's just a few of us up here anymore. It's kind of nice," Artie said, wheeling in front of them as they made their way from docking bay to New Directions' old room. "I've pretty much got the place to myself. And all the hot water I want!"

That caused a groan of envy from the delegation that had come up from New Caprica, and Tina teasingly smacked him. "I might have to shower while we're up here just for that," she said longingly.

"Hey. Spaceships have their perks." Artie looked extremely smug right now,

The yellow door leading to the room made Kurt smile, and when Artie opened the door, a surprising wave of homesickness washed over him. All of the bunks were cleared out now except for Artie's- the room was full of bare wood and piping. But the brightly painted designs and glow-in-the-dark stars were still there, and the room didn't look as depressing as it could have.

"I think they're still in bags under the beds," Rachel said. She dropped to her knees and began pulling out garment bags from under the bunk that Burt and Carole had shared. "I've got them!" Kurt hurried to help her dump the huge bags on the bed.

"Wait, what are these again?" Puck asked.

"Our outfits for the All-Colony Show Choir Competition," Rachel said. "We never did anything with them, and I thought we could wear them for our performance at Founders' Day."

"Sweet." Puck unzipped one of the bags. He started rifling through them, and tossed Kurt the one labeled with his name. Kurt stared at the fabric in amazement. It was cheap polyester, a black shirt with a black tie and a bright blue vest. It was tacky and flimsy and horrible, and he'd never been so glad to see it in his life.

"How am I ever going to get this on?" Tina said, holding up her own dress. The girls' dresses were the same blue as the vests, with a silver band across waistline. Unfortunately, they were also an A-line this year, not an empire waist, which definitely presented a problem with Tina's belly.

"A lot of these aren't going to fit," Lauren said, putting her bag down and finding her own costume. "Mine's too big."

"Shut up," Tina scowled.

Kurt put his own outfit down and hurried over, examining the girls' dresses. "This is going to be tough," he said happily. "We can't just do a simple swap, can we?" Lauren had lost weight, but not enough to fit into Tina's dress. "What else have we got to work with?"

"I don't know, but Tina's not the only one not fitting into her costume," Artie said. Kurt frowned, and Artie nodded at Puck, who had whipped off his own shirt and was now wearing his New Directions shirt. The fact that Puck had bulked up in his time in the Marines was extremely obvious, especially in the biceps and the chest.

"Do not move," Kurt ordered him sharply.

"What?" Puck paused in doing up his tie. "Is there a bomb in here or something?"

"If you move, you are going to split your sleeves."

"Huh?" Puck looked down. "Oh. That. It's fine."

"Fine!?" Kurt was appalled. "Have you even looked at those seams?"

Puck shrugged, and as he did, there was the sound of tearing fabric. Kurt hissed in pain, but Puck just smirked. "Calm down," Puck said. "I know exactly how to take care of this one." He reached over and ripped off a sleeve. Kurt let out an inarticulate scream.

"Puck!" Quinn laughed. "What are you going to wear?"

"Who needs sleeves?"

"In New Caprica weather?" Tina asked with a shiver. "Everybody."

"Nah. I'll be dancing." Puck did a particularly bad body roll, causing the girls to shriek with laughter and Artie to shake his head. Kurt laughed with the rest of them, but at the same time flipped through the outfits. Brittany's and Quinn's and Rachel's would be fine, Santana and Mercedes would probably need modifications, Sam had gotten thinner, Mike's was fine, Finn's would need to be let out, Artie's was fine, Blaine's-

Blaine's. There it was, under Kurt's hands. Blaine's show choir costume. He picked it up and smelled it. The cloth mostly smelled like dust and polyester, but underneath that there was an elusive whiff of the aftershave Blaine used. For just a second, Blaine was there again, smiling at Kurt, and Kurt could feel the warmth of Blaine's cheek against his and the solidity of the muscles in his back under his hands.

"Kurt." Artie touched his elbow. "Kurt? Are you okay?"

The feeling of homesickness intensified, and Kurt sat down on a bunk slowly, still clutching the costume. "Yes," he said, his voice sounding to him like it was coming from a great distance away. "I'm okay."

"Really? Because you're white. Like, really white." Artie looked down at the outfit in Kurt's hands. "Oh."

The look of naked sympathy on Artie's face was almost too much to bear. Kurt took a deep breath, lifted a chin, and set Blaine's outfit aside. "It looks like I have a lot of work to do."

"You don't have to do it alone," Tina said. "I could help you."

Kurt shook his head. "No. It's good for me. The tent gets awfully quiet at night."

"Speaking of which, Kurt? Can I talk to you?" Puck asked. He held the door open, and more curious than anything else, Kurt followed him out into the hall.

Puck really looked a lot different than he had a year ago. The mohawk was still gone, although he kept his head closely shaved. The muscles were bigger and Puck was even leaner, but what had changed the most was the expression on in his face. For all the bleating that went on in New Directions about "learning to be a man," Kurt was never as sure that he'd seen someone grow up as he was when he stood in the hall facing Noah Puckerman. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It's about living situations."

Kurt frowned. "What about it?"

"You've heard they're discharging the Marines after this Founders' Day thing, right?" Kurt nodded. "And from what I hear, tents are running low on New Caprica. They've asked us to gang up with other people if we can."

"I know. I typed the memo."

"Oh. Right. Well, anyway, I was thinking… wanna be roomies?"

The request took him by complete surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Roommates. Share a tent. Come on- you're supposed to be smart. You can get this."

"Yes, but why me?" Kurt asked.

Puck shrugged. "Who else? Finn's staying on Galactica and Artie is staying on the Cybele. Sam's shacked up with Rya, and same with Mike and Tina. It's just you and me from New Directions."

"So I'm the only game in town." Kurt leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "What about Lauren?"

"Well, she'll be coming over a lot," Puck said. "I think. I don't know. She's still not so sure. Right now she wants to keep living with Rachel."

Something vulnerable flashed across Puck's face, something that reminded Kurt that once the two of them had spent a lot of nights drinking together, trying to deal with a common pain. Only Puck had gotten a miracle, Kurt thought sourly, while he'd just gotten his heart broken again.

But there were other issues as well. "I remember when I was on the Pyramid team for a few weeks," Kurt said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "I seem to recall you hiding behind lockers because you were afraid I would… what was the phrase you used? 'Gawk at your junk.'" Puck grimaced. "And then there were Slushees for being a 'flaming homo', the dumpster tosses for dressing-"

"All right, I get it," Puck cut him off. "I'm sorry, okay? I thought you knew that."

"I did," Kurt admitted. "But you have to admit, I've never exactly been 'one of the guys.'"

Puck looked frustrated. "That was then, okay? I just thought it would good for both of us to have the company."

"What about any of the other Marines?"

"If I have to, yeah, that's what I'll do. But I thought we were family, too."

Kurt looked over Puck's shoulder at the closed yellow door. He could hear the girls and Artie laughing at something behind it. The truth was, he missed living in that room, with all of New Directions. As crowded as it could be, and as much as the lack of privacy had been disturbing, Kurt missed it. And right now, the thought of going down to New Caprica and spending the night alone in his cold tent, with the silence and the air around him and the feel of Blaine's outfit on his hands and nothing to distract him… the thought was less than appealing. It would be a lot better if someone was there- and even better, someone who understood what he was going through. Puck was the closest he was ever going to get.

"All right," Kurt said. "Let's do it."

"Great." Puck's smile was warm, and Kurt smiled back.

***

Founder's Day was bright and warm, at least by New Caprica standards. "Four months," Carole said. "It took us four months to break ground on any permanent buildings."

"Hey. These things do take time. And if nothing else it's nice to celebrate something." Burt took Carole's hand as they walked to the celebration. A platform had been erected as a stage earlier that week, and now it was hung with the flags of the Colonies and bright colors. The flags fluttered in the stiff breeze that came in off the rivers. "And I'm looking forward to hearing all the kids sing together again."

Carole brightened at that. "I am, too. That's easily the best part. Well, that and Finn coming down." Her smile widened even more. "I think he's staying overnight, too."

"Yeah, like we'll see him," Burt muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." Burt decided it was wisest not to mention the conversation he'd had with Brittany last night. She'd explained the complicated system the kids had worked out to make sure everyone had a place to sleep that night, which basically resulted in most of the kids having sex. There were things Carole just didn't need to know. Hell, if he'd known what Brittany was going to tell him, he'd have told her there were things that he didn't need to know.

There were a lot of familiar faces in the crowd. People from the Cybele, neighbors from New Caprica, people Carole worked with at the water treatment facility, and Shannon, Will, and Sue standing in a little group. Schuester looked happy, Shannon had a small smile playing on her lips, and Sue had her arms crossed and was glaring at the world. Rya was also standing with them, looking a little awkward and uncertain. When she saw Burt and Carole, she brightened considerably and bounced a little on her toes.

"You got here in time! They're about to start!"

"You mean we didn't miss Baltar's speech?" Carole teased, affecting a fake pout. "That's too bad."

"Ha ha." Rya nudged her, and then turned eagerly back to the stage. "I've been dying to see New Directions sing all together. I saw their special on the television back around Colonial Day, and I've heard their songs on the wireless, but I've never gotten to see them perform live. I'm so excited- I always thought… oh my gods."

"What's wrong?" Burt asked.

"I sound like a groupie."

"Actually, you sound like a teenage girl," Burt said.

"Burt!" Carole swatted him.

"What? She is a teenage girl! It's nice to hear her sound like one!" Rya and Carole exchanged commiserating glances, but Burt meant it.

He didn't have a lot of time to dwell on it, though, because Tina and Mercedes took the center stage, with Artie and Sam playing guitars off to the side. . Kurt had done some miracle on Tina's dress so that it both fit and looked good. The noise of the crowd died down expectantly, and the girls smiled at each other. Burt knew them well enough to know they were loving every second of this.

Tina and Mercedes started singing some song about the dog days being over. As the song went on, the other kids began coming up from behind the stage, jumping into a very enthusiastic dance routine. Burt was pretty sure this wasn't the routine intended for the competition. None of the kids seemed to be quite doing the same dance, but they all got a minute to take the attention and shine, and their dance seemed to be more of a celebration than anything else. It sure got the audience moving.

The song ended and the crowd applauded. Burt could see Baltar with a few of his cronies over to the side of the audience. Baltar was smiling and applauding enthusiastically, but the younger man standing at his elbow was frowning. His frown only deepened as Kurt and Rachel took the center stage and began singing their duet about happy days and getting happy or whatever it was. They sounded so damn good together, it was a shame they weren't up there performing all the time. Burt applauded as enthusiastically as everyone else when the song was over.

The last song was one Burt actually knew- it was from a movie he'd taken Kurt to years ago. Kurt hadn't been overly entranced by the robot story and had fallen asleep, but Burt had kind of loved it. He remembered this song playing over the credits as he'd tried to pretend he wasn't crying and as Kurt had slept against his arm, a warm, trusting weight. Burt had always liked that song, but he loved the kids' version of the song even more, especially since each kid got a couple lines to sing and a moment in the spotlight.

"You know," Carole said when the song ended and the kids were taking their bows, "it's just really nice to see them all together again. It's been a while."

"Blaine's funeral, probably," Burt realized. He cringed at that.

The kids left the stage, triumphant and waving to the audience as they ran off. Probably not very professional, but the energy was there. The lackey who hadn't smiled stepped up to the podium, and Burt finally remembered that his name was Gaeta. He gave a glowing introduction to Baltar that he seemed to genuinely believe in, and then the President of the Colonies took the stage. Beside Burt, Carole hissed. He nudged her sharply, and she gave him a guilty smile before subsiding into silence.

Burt didn't really listen to the speech, which seemed to be all big words and generalities anyway. Instead, he looked around at the people around them. So much hope, so much laughter, so much life. He was glad to see it. The months on the ground already had taught him that New Caprica life wasn't going to be easy, and humanity needed all the hope it could get.

***

A lot of the day was a blur for Kurt- a blur of hand-shaking and people talking, promises and plans and Quorum representatives and ministers mixed with regular people telling him how wonderful the music was. It was a heady combination, and Kurt was on top of the world.

The formal ceremony had long since wound down, and Kurt had been released from both official duties and singing, although New Directions stuck together. It had been a good day, with everyone together and everyone happy. There was laughter, gossip, alcohol, and food, and now that night had fallen, there was music and there was dancing. The platform had been cleared and strung with lanterns and was now serving as a dance floor, although Kurt wasn't quite sure where the music was coming from. Like everyone else, he'd had more than a few drinks.

"Dance with me!" Mercedes insisted, pulling Kurt into a fast, complicated number. Kurt gamely joined her, his hand on her waist as they stumbled through the steps. The dance was a set dance, which meant a lot of switching of partners, particularly with the pair across the set. The woman was vaguely familiar, small and dark with large, liquid eyes. Kurt liked dancing with her, and it was clear that she and Mercedes knew each other from the way they grinned at each other. Automatically, Kurt looked across the set to smile at her partner, but his smile froze on his lips. It was Gaeta.

The music and the dance ended, and the woman grabbed Mercedes by the wrist and pulled her over to the side to talk, leaving Kurt awkward and partnerless in the middle of the dance floor. The music started again, and Kurt scampered over to the side before he could be trampled. Unfortunately, he found himself standing next to Gaeta. Gaeta stared at him for a long moment and Kurt stared back. Finally Gaeta nodded stiffly. Kurt felt like he'd won something and couldn't help smirking in return. They watched the girls talking together. They talked easily, and even from across the dance floor Kurt felt a little left out and lonely.

"So. Is she your girlfriend?" Kurt asked, partly to bait Gaeta, and partly just because the silence between them was becoming overwhelming.

Gaeta looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. "If by that you mean that she is a girl and my friend, yes. That's Lieutenant Dualla."

The name rang a bell from days of calling Galactica, and Kurt frowned. "Dualla. I thought she was a petty officer."

"She was. She was promoted."

"Ah."

They both fell silent again. Mercedes and Dualla looked over at them, and then both burst into smothered giggles. It was clear they were talking about the two of them, and Kurt's cheeks began to burn. "Is it because they're both communications officers?" he blurted.

Gaeta raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Do communications officers have their own secret code or something? Are they all in cahoots, ready to take over the world and punish the rest of us? Or at least laugh at us? Because I'm pretty sure they're laughing at us. Or plotting."

"No. Communications officers have to be, like, the lamest people in the worlds. Believe me. I know." Santana caught Kurt off guard, coming up behind him. She had changed out of her New Directions costume and back into her uniform, although she had the jacket off and tied around her waist. She draped her arm around Kurt's shoulders, proof of just how drunk she was. "Pilots are where it's at. Even Brit knows that."

Kurt tried to remove her arm politely. "Where is Brittany, anyway?"

Santana pointed to the band. Rachel must have smacked down the singer and commandeered the microphone. She had Brittany and Tina singing backup for her. Kurt rolled his eyes. "I should have known."

"I know, right? The world ends, and Rachel still hogs the spotlight. Oh, look. Here comes a walking case of syphilis."

Gaeta scowled at her, but Kurt honestly had no idea what Santana was referring to until he saw President Baltar approaching them. Automatically, he straightened up, adjusting his cuffs and his tie. Baltar looked right through him to the man standing beside him.

"Ah, Mr. Gaeta. There you are."

Gaeta smiled widely. "What can I do for you, Gai- Mr. President?" Kurt glanced at Santana, and he definitely knew that cat-ready-to-pounce expression on her face.

"I was wondering if you had time to go over some figures," Baltar said. "I know that it's the middle of a party, but I was thinking-"

"Of course, sir." Gaeta glanced at his watch, but Kurt would bet money he didn't see the numbers on it. "We can go whenever you like. I have time now, if you want."

"That would suit. Come along." Gaeta looked over the moon, and he turned away from Kurt and Santana without a word. Baltar, however, noticed and winked at them. As they walked away, he put a hand on Gaeta's lower back, and Kurt was almost positive it was for some strange show. He led Gaeta away from the party with a very clear intent. Kurt's eyes met Santana's, and both of them cracked up.

"Did that really just happen?" Kurt asked, when he could speak again.

"Yes, the President of the Colonies left the party to go nail his assistant," Santana said. "Although what he sees in him is beyond me."

"What Gaeta sees in Baltar or what Baltar sees in Gaeta?"

"Both. Either. Take your pick. Come on, let's go find hot people to dance with." Santana grabbed Kurt's hand. Kurt didn't really care to dance anymore, but he let her pull him anyway. Rachel now had half of New Directions up with her singing "Raise Your Glass," and it seemed like half of the Galactica crowd was trying to out-sing them. Everyone was drunk, everyone was hooking up, and everyone was happy in this world that they were building. Kurt decided that for tonight, at least, that would be enough for him.

***

Somewhere- Burt had no idea of where- Brittany had found a strand of bells. She'd attached it to the main flap of their tent, so they jingled whenever someone came in, like right now. "I'll be with you in a minute," Burt called, soldering a connection. He finished, blew on the wet solder, and then looked up. He was surprised to see Tom Zarek standing in his shop, examining his surroundings interestedly. "Mr. Zarek. What can I do for you?"

Zarek smiled. "I heard that you were someone to talk to if I actually wanted a bed frame that was more than a metal cot."

"I am." Burt couldn't help feeling a little relieved- he'd been worried it had to do with Kurt. He came over to the table and pulled out a pad. "I don't suppose you have dimensions, do you?"

Zarek blinked at him, and then rubbed the back of his neck apologetically. "Er, no. I'm afraid I don't."

Burt looked at his watch. He had an appointment to install a windbreak at an older couple's tent in a half hour, so there was no time to just go to Zarek's tent and get the measurements. "Send the dimensions with Kurt," he said. "Length and width, maybe some idea of depth. You got an idea of what you want?"

"Just something that keeps the mattress off the ground. Maybe up to here if you can manage it." Zarek indicated the top of his thigh. "After twenty years in prison, just having something that doesn't squeak when I sit down on it seems like a luxury."

"It would." Burt had never really thought about that, but it made sense. Zarek's life had probably actually improved in its way.

Zarek must have sensed his thoughts. "Not that I would wish the destruction of humanity on my fellow men as a price for my freedom," he chuckled. "But it certainly is the proverbial silver lining."

"I guess. I can't complain much myself," Burt said. "I've got my family."

"Kurt says that you've remarried?"

"Yeah, but that was a while ago. Kurt's mom died when he was a kid. You didn't know that?"

Zarek frowned. "Now that you mention it, I did. Kurt doesn't talk about it much."

"Yeah, well." Burt didn't like to, either. He decided to change the subject. "Hey, I wanted to say thank you. About the playground, you know? I know you went to bat for Kurt on that one."

"No, I didn't. Kurt did that all by himself."

"Really?" Burt was impressed. "I know he had to fight a bit for it, so I just sort of assumed-"

"Kurt's learned a lot in a year."

"I guess so. I know it's not what he planned on, but it seems to be good for him. Mostly, anyway."

Zarek nodded. "He has a knack for negotiation, if I'm honest."

"Course he does." Burt laughed. "You should see how that kid can shake money out of me. Sometimes I didn't even know how much I gave him until I checked my wallet the next day."

"So that's where he gets it from," Zarek said. "I wondered. So you're not a negotiator?"

"Of course I'm a negotiator. I was a mechanic. I'm just no good at it when it comes to my own kid. Most parents are like that." Burt frowned. "Did- do you have kids?" It was a touchy question, but he was curious.

Zarek shook his head. "No, not that I ever knew of, at least." He winked, but then his face turned serious again. "I never had the chance. I suppose it never would have happened- it's harder to be ready to die for what you believe in when you have something so important to live for. It was probably for the best."

"Yeah. Guess that's a problem when you pick 'political martyr' as a career."

He had no idea what had possessed him to say it- probably Carole's influence, really. And for a terrible moment he thought that Zarek would be furious. But Zarek laughed, much to Burt's relief. "I think most people consider political martyr as an epitaph as opposed to a job description, but I suppose that might be true." He was still chuckling. "I don't suppose that you and your wife would like to join me for dinner some night? I suspect we might get along quite well."

To Burt's surprise, he had the same feeling. "I would," he said regretfully, "but I don't think it would go well with you and Carole. She was a pretty ardent Roslin supporter during the election."

Zarek smiled easily. "Another time, then. Well, I won't take up too much more of your time. I'll send the measurements with Kurt."

"All right. Once you get them to me, it should be about a week." Zarek nodded his thanks and headed out of the tent. Burt watched him go, kind of wishing he'd said yes. It certainly would have made Kurt happy, anyway.

Thinking of Kurt made Burt realize that it had been a while since he'd seen him. Since the last time they'd had dinner almost a week ago, actually. He frowned. Kurt was still… different. Burt knew the signs of grief well enough to know what was bothering his son, but he also couldn't help but think that Kurt should be starting to feel a little better. He wished he could really talk to Kurt, see what was going on in his head, but Kurt wasn't really letting him in. From what Burt could gather, Kurt spent a lot of time either at work or alone these days. The first didn't worry him so much, but the second really did.

Sighing, he turned back to his work. Kurt would be okay, and eventually, this thing about Blaine would sort itself out. Or at least, he sure as hell hoped so.

***

Kurt's tent didn't have much in it, but it did have a dresser and a sheet hanging in a corner to make something of a closet. There was also an old desk- rickety, but bigger than the one he had on Colonial One in the corner of Zarek's office, a bed with thick (albeit sadly mismatched) blankets, and a decent hot plate. Since Founder's Day, he'd also managed to get a second cot and dresser for Puck. He couldn't believe how much he was looking forward to it. Kurt had found the silence of being alone after so long rather oppressive.

"All right!" Puck said, tossing a heavy canvas bag down onto the empty cot. "It's time to party!"

Kurt looked up from his work and glanced at his watch. "You're joking."

"Nope. Look what I snagged from the Galactica." Puck plunked the bottle of whiskey down on Kurt's desk. "Come on, man. It's our first night as roomies. We've got to get drunk to celebrate!"

"You'd get drunk to celebrate an especially good bowel movement," Kurt said dryly. But he put his pen down anyway, dug through the crates, and found two glasses.

"Classy." Puck smirked as Kurt set the glasses down. "I was just going to drink straight from the bottle."

"Why does this not surprise me?" He smiled to take the sting from his words, not that Puck really noticed there was supposed to be one. He picked up the bottle and poured, then took a sip from his own glass and made a face. "This is terrible."

"Yeah, but it's strong," Puck said, sitting down on his cot. "You like that, right?"

"Yes," Kurt admitted. "I do. You'd better not be too hung over if you're working security tomorrow. They start early." Puck dismissed that with a snort and a wave. Kurt sighed and changed the subejct. "So when can I expect to be kicked out because Lauren's coming over?"

"Not quite sure yet," Puck said, throwing himself back on the cot with a sigh. "I thought she'd be okay with it by now, you know?" He launched into the tale of how Lauren was still gunshy about being with a stud like him after all the shit she'd been through on Caprica. Kurt nodded with a sympathetic face and half a mind, the rest of his attention wandering to what it might have been like for him and Blaine. The way Blaine had clung to him when he'd come to the Galactica… Kurt was pretty sure it would have been different. That if Blaine was alive, he would be down here and they'd be living together and Kurt would probably even have a ring on his hand and-

"It doesn't bother you, does it?" Puck asked suddenly.

"What?" Kurt took another sip. The whiskey had lost that pleasant burn, but it also had lost the worst of the shoe polish taste.

"Me talking about Lauren. I know that she and Blaine-"

"Nope." Kurt downed the rest of his drink in one long, smooth gulp.

"It's just that even though she's back, everything's crazy and shit. Everything they saw and did on Caprica really frakked her up."

"I know," Kurt said. "I have been listening, even though if I appear to be wallowing in the most Katarisian of manners." Puck stared at him blankly. "He's a poet," Kurt said. No response. "We spent half of last semester on him?" Still no response, and Kurt sat back. "Never mind. My point is, I listen."

Puck made one last attempt at consideration. "If it bothers you, you can tell me."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Have you ever known me to be reluctant about expressing what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah, you've got a point. Glad to see you're cutting loose a little, though, and having a little fun." He gestured at the drink in Kurt's hand. "You deserve it."

You deserve it. The words shot through Kurt and made him sit up a little straighter. "Yes," he said. "I do."

Puck leaned over and poured Kurt more whiskey. "And this is going to be just what the doctor ordered. Bottoms up."

***

The water treatment plant was small, probably too small for what the community needed for real water. It was clear the plant had been slapped together quickly. Burt didn't know much about concrete, but he was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to crack after a couple of months.

He found Carole on a narrow bridge that extended between two low, flat tanks. She was looking down into one of the tanks, frowning.

"Everything okay?" he asked her.

She startled, but when she realized that it was him she softened into a smile. "Not really," she admitted. "You do not want to know what I think I just spotted in that tank."

"Tell me it was an alligator."

Carole laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "It was an alligator," she said. "Believe me. You want to believe that more than the alternative. What's going on?"

He held up his bag. "I brought you lunch."

"You're the best." She kissed his cheek. "Come on. Let's go on out and have a picnic in the fresh New Caprican air." Her voice was loaded with sarcasm, but Burt brushed that aside. The plant had a kind of nasty, sulphurous smell to it, and it was actually a pretty nice day by New Caprican standards.

"Hey, Carole." A tall, thin man with red hair stopped her. "I need your signatures on the shift paperwork by two today. We've got to get it submitted."

"I'm on it, Xeno," Carole said with a sigh. "They'll be there."

"Good. Because President Baltar said-"

"Believe me, I know what Baltar said. I'm on it." She sounded a lot more snappish. "And I've got the shifts for next week done as well."

Xeno drew back. "Oh. Okay. All right then." He looked at Burt, who shrugged. You didn't mess with Carole when she was on the job. This guy would figure that out soon enough. "I'll see you later then."

"That's Xeno Fenner," Carole said as she and Burt continued on their way. "He was over on the Hitei Khan. "

"Seems like he underestimates you a bit," Burt said.

"You think?" Carole rolled her eyes. "Neither of us are happy about this assignment, but the best we can do is- what is it, Sam?"

"Sorry to interrupt." Sam handed Carole a slip. "I've got the reports from waste tank two. You're not going to like them."

Carole took the paper from him and made a face, recoiling for effect. "You're right." She frowned. "Get Hubert and Krassis on that right away. Tell them to get the drain open, and if they have to go scuba diving, I want that unclogged by the end of the day, or things are going to get really disgusting in the northwest section of the settlement. Also, go up to Colonial One and tell Kurt or Gaeta- you'll never get in with Baltar- to send the word to the northwest section that the toilets will be out of commission for the day and to use the ones in the nearest quadrant. And for the gods' sake, make sure that tanks one and three are fully operational, or we'll be up to our ears in shit." Sam nodded and ran off, and Burt stared at Carole. "What?"

"Nothing," Burt said with a little incredulous laugh. "Just you are incredibly, amazingly hot right now."

Carole laughed. "Talking about shit and drainage? I never knew you were such a romantic, Burt."

"Well, let me steal you out of here before anyone else comes demanding your time." He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the plant, this time finally making it out into the gray sunshine and brisk air. He led her down to the gravelly bank of the river, a short distance from the plant. As they left, the fact that Carole visibly relaxed did not escape his notice.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked her once they both had their sandwiches.

Carole swallowed the bite she was chewing and settled down on a rock. "It is," she said. "I know I've made no secret of the fact I don't like Baltar or New Caprica, but there are ways that we could make it work better."

"Like what?" Burt asked, sitting down next to her.

"Bringing the Demetrius down here, for a start," Carole said. "We'd have to retrofit it, and I've been told it would need a lot of modification for land use, but it would be something more than what we've got now. From what I understand, this treatment facility just isn't going to be enough for the size of the community." She sighed, picking up a pebble and tossing it into the river. "Everyone's so eager to get down here and get off those spaceships that it seems like no one's really thinking about the best way to do this."

"I don't know," Burt said. "Galactica knows what they're doing. And the other things they're focusing on are really important, too."

"Galactica knows how to deal with war. We're not at war anymore." Carole shook her head. "Which is another thing. Now that we're here, the way people are reacting. They think it's over. They think that they've been through this horrible thing and that they deserve to rest. That they deserve special treatment because they've lost so much."

Burt thought about that. "Guess I can see that."

"I can, too, but the problem is that there's no one to give that special treatment. Even people like you and me- we might have our kids and each other, but we've still lost so much. And with a place like New Caprica, no one can just sit back. Although I feel like an ass when I'm telling that to my crew, because they deserve to be able to do just that."

Burt sighed. "We could just run away."

"What, and live like mountain men in the hills of New Caprica? Don't tempt me." Carole leaned her head on Burt's shoulder. "I know I just have to get through this beginning part. Just promise me that there will be more moments like this to make it bearable."

Burt put his arm around her, holding her close. "There will always be moments like this. Always. I promise."

***

Living with Puck was nowhere near as horrible as Kurt had feared it would be when Puck had proposed the idea. Kurt had known he was a last resort, but at the same time, their relationship had changed a lot since the attack on the Colonies. The two of them had spent a lot of nights together, trying to work through a common pain. Of course, Puck had gotten a miracle, Kurt thought sourly. He'd just gotten his heart broken again. But Puck had grown up a lot, too. He wasn't a complete slob, and he didn't host too many loud parties. His security job kept him pretty busy, and he seemed happy with it. Kurt thought that things were going really well until one morning when Puck cornered him before Kurt went to work.

"How the hell did anyone ever sleep in the same room as you?"

Kurt paused in tying his tie. "Excuse me?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you talk in your sleep?"

"No, I don't."

"Like hell you don't. You so do- believe me. I had to listen to it all last night. You were practically frakking screaming."

"What was I saying?"

Puck's face changed a bit. "What do you think?" Kurt looked away. "Seriously. No one has ever mentioned this to you before?"

"Everyone has nightmares," Kurt said, still looking at the canvas wall of their tent. "Especially these days."

"Yeah, well, next time I'm waking you up," Puck said. "I don't care if it's the middle of the night."

"Whatever. I have to get to work." Kurt wasn't sure if he liked the idea of Puck waking him out of those nightmares or not.

Puck wasn't the only one bothering him, though. "Are you all right?" Tom asked him one day out of the blue.

Kurt barely looked up from his work. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you haven't said a word about my leather jacket for over a week."

"Maybe I recognize a lost cause when I see it." Kurt shrugged.

"Right. Or you're plotting to steal it while I sleep." Tom frowned. "Kurt, if you need someone to talk to-"

"Oh, my gods, you are not sitting me down and saying this." Kurt was horrified. "We do not have that kind of relationship."

Tom looked just as horrified. "No! No, no. No, I mean, if you need to talk to someone and you need an hour or two in your week to do it, we can arrange it."

Kurt relaxed. "I suppose I'm grateful you're just offering me time off to go see a shrink, not to be one. Honestly, I'm fine. Really." He sat up straighter and began slipping a piece of paper into the antiquated typewriter that he used. "I'm fine."

"All right, but the offer still stands."

Tom Zarek was not someone who brought things like this up. Kurt ignored that, and shook his head and started typing. The sound of the keys was oddly soothing, and he lost himself in the letters that appeared before his eyes.

***

Dinners might not be on the same nights all the time, but they still happened at least once a week. Burt cherished those nights he had Kurt and Finn at the table. Usually, they were good nights. But tonight, Finn was quiet. "What's bugging you, kiddo?"

"It's Rachel," Finn said with a heavy sigh.

"What about her? She's not pregnant, is she?" That wouldn't shock Burt at all.

"No! No!" Finn looked both terrified and embarrassed. "Why would you think that?"

Burt shrugged, and Carole leaned forward. "What is it, honey? Is something wrong with Rachel?"

"Sort of," Finn said. "The thing is, she doesn't have a job anymore, ever since Cloud 9 blew up."

"I thought she was going to apply to the newspaper," Carole said.

"She did. They didn't want her."

"Oh." Carole looked at Burt. Neither of them quite knew what to say to that. "Well, I'm sure she can find another job."

"That's just it," Finn said. "She's tried. But there are no more positions allotted in the schools. Mike and Tina are barely making enough to feed themselves with their daycare, so she can't work there. And she kinda faints when she sees blood."

"So there are other jobs, aren't there?"

"Well, not a lot of them. I mean, I guess there will be, but…" Finn looked uncomfortable. "She got a assigned to a construction crew."

"Oh." Burt had to admit, he didn't really see the tragedy there. Sure, it wasn't Rachel's first choice, but a job was a job, and construction was honest work.

"Does she even know which end of the hammer to hold?" Kurt asked. The words were caustic, but he looked troubled as well.

"Ha ha. You know she's done some set work. I guess that's what got her put there in the first place."

"Well, honey," Carole said, putting a hand on Finn's arm. "That's the government now." She flicked a glance at Kurt. "People are assigned where they're needed, unless they have another job."

"Yeah, but, she's Rachel," Finn said. "She should be singing on a stage somewhere."

"Well, the faster we get building, the sooner there'll be a stage for her to sing on," Burt said. "Look, I get it, Finn. This isn't what she wanted. I think everybody's got a bit of that going on. But it doesn't have to last forever. Once some of this stuff gets built, she'll be able to find another job. Everybody's got to do things they don't want to do."

"You don't," Finn said sulkily, stabbing at his plate.

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause my job actually does something." Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Kurt and Carole exchanging panicked glances. Nice to see them united for something about once, he thought sourly. Let them see how it felt to be stuck in the middle. "Singing on a stage doesn't get buildings put up or get people fed, and that's what we need right now."

"But she's better than that!" Finn said, frustrated.

"Nice, Finn. Real nice," Carole said caustically, and Burt knew that he'd won at least one ally with that outburst of Finn's. "Glad you think that highly of your parents."

"I didn't say- I mean-" Finn threw down his fork, frustrated. "I'm just saying that it's Rachel."

"I notice you don't cry over Brittany working in your father's shop instead of dancing," Carole pointed out.

"It's not- you just don't get it!" Finn threw his fork down and stormed out.

"You know," Burt said into the silence, "I keep forgetting that you guys are still kids. Every now and then, I get reminded."

Kurt rolled his eyes at him. "I'll go talk to him." He put down his own cutlery and had the presence of mind to grab a jacket before he followed Finn out into the night. Burt and Carole exchanged commiserating glances.

"It's not that I want Rachel to be miserable-" Carole began.

"No, I get it," Burt cut her off. "It's been over a year. They should be getting used to the idea now that things have changed."

"And that the worst problems of Lima weren't manual labor." Carole put her fork down and sighed, leaning her cheek on her hand. "I always wanted more for Finn than the life we were living. But what I wanted was for him not to live that day-to-day, paycheck-to-paycheck existence. I wanted him to be able to enjoy his life, not have to spend every minute about bills and where the next mortgage payment was coming from. That was what I meant by 'better'."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Burt said. "I know Kurt always wanted to get out of Lima and I got that, but there were other reasons."

Carole nodded. They ate in silence for a while, until the flap moved and let in a blast of cold air, as well as Finn and Kurt.

"Sorry," Finn said stiffly, sitting back down at the table.

"It's all right," Burt said as Kurt settled down more primly. "You better?"

"Yeah." Finn was still staring at his plate, not quite meeting Burt's eye. "I'm fine."

He wasn't, but Burt decided to let it go, especially when Kurt said, "So. Who's up for splitting this bottle of wine that Grayson gave me for helping him with her proposal?" and produced a bottle from his satchel. Carole squealed and nearly knocked over the table, and even though Burt was a beer man, he couldn't help his own smile. Decent liquor was hard to come by these days, and although the bottle would have been cheap back on the Colonies, right now, it was something of a treasure.

Carole and Kurt began figuring out how to open the bottle and what glasses they should drink it from. Both of them looked happy and flushed, and it reminded Burt that yeah, this was his family. He turned to his stepson, who was still sulking, and touched his arm. "Hey. We okay?"

Finn looked up, and for a moment, he looked very young and vulnerable again as he searched Burt's face for approval. He must have found it, because Finn nodded. "Yeah," he said, smiling a little half-smile. "We're okay."

"Good." Burt sat back. "It'll all work out, Finn. Just give it time."

"Yeah," Finn said. "I know." He seemed to be looking at Kurt as he spoke, but when Burt checked again, he decided he was just imagining it.

***

The ubiquitous "Supply" was a series of huge, cavernous freight storage compartments of three landed ships. A lot of the Fleet's food was stored there, as well as cigarettes, alcohol, basic first aid supplies, sanitary supplies, paper, and any other disposable items, as well as items that were recovered from ships. Burt went up to Supply quite often, because it was one of the better places to locate parts and pieces, and occasional tools. He was deep in thought, puzzling over a problem with a () a customer had brought him, when a familiar, far-to-cheery voice greeted him.

"Mr. Hummel!"

Burt snapped out of his thoughts to see Rachel standing behind the counter, all smiles. He was so surprised that he forgot to be polite. "What are you doing here? I thought that you were assigned to a construction crew.

"I was. But Kurt talked to some people and told them about my inestimable skills and how valuable of a contribution I can make, and here I am." She spread her hands in front of her, indicating the supply counter.

"So, wait. Kurt got you this job?"

"Well, I am quite qualified," Rachel said with an indignant sniff. "And I am something of a Fleet presence- my boss has seen my reporting and she did quite like it." Rachel's gaze shifted to the side, and Burt suspected "quite like it" was a Rachel-term for "didn't laugh in my face." "But yes. Kurt was my primary reference." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and pulled out a pad. "Now. What can I help you with?"

It wasn't that Rachel was bad at the job. She got him what he needed, the forms were filled out, and Burt knew it would probably make going to Supply a lot more tolerable in the future. But the fact that Kurt had pulled strings to get Rachel this job bothered him a little. He told Kurt that the next time he saw him, but Kurt just shrugged.

"Isn't that exactly what networking is?" Kurt asked. "Making connections so that later, people are willing to help you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"That's all it was. Rachel was perfectly qualified for the job." Kurt shrugged again. "Just like you're perfectly qualified to run your own business."

"Yeah, well-"

"Besides," Kurt continued. "I owed Finn a favor. Helping Rachel find a job was the least I could do."

"Yeah." Burt frowned. It was really hard to put his finger on what was bothering him. If they'd been back on Lima, it wouldn't have bothered him at all. Maybe he was just thinking about it too much. Yeah, that was probably it. It was all just networking and friends helping friends.

***

The alarm went off. "You're an asshole," Puck muttered, turning over and pulling the pillow over his head.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Kurt wasn't exactly thrilled to be up at this hour either, but he didn't have a choice. He turned the alarm off and pushed off the covers, wishing he could just stay in bed. The tent wasn't too bad, but the bare dirt floor was cold, and when he managed to get outside, the sun was only just breaking over the horizon.

He was at the door of Colonial One fishing for his ID in his satchel when Gaeta said, "Excuse me."

"Good morning," Kurt replied stiffly, stepping aside. Gaeta already had his own identification out. He beeped himself in and opened the door as Kurt fumbled for his own.

"I see you've become a human resources expert now."

Kurt stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"I saw that you made a request for a friend of yours to be put in supply."

"Okay, now you're just being petty," Kurt snapped. "Everyone does that, and it's not like she wasn't more qualified to handle supply than do construction work. Believe me, Rachel Berry on a construction site would be a nightmare for anyone working there."

Gaeta stalking in the door without another word, and Kurt assumed he'd won that round. He followed Gaeta in. "While we're on the subject, I don't suppose you had a chance to look over the latest draft of the supply guidelines that I left on your desk last night."

"As a matter of fact, I did." Gaeta gestured for Kurt to follow him to his office. "I have… concerns."

"You always have concerns," Kurt muttered. "How did you manage to read it all last night? Don't you have a life?"

"No," Gaeta said shortly, unlocking his office. He dropped his own case next to his desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. There was more red handwriting on them than black type. Kurt stared at it for a long moment, and then looked up at Gaeta.

"You're joking."

"Not in the least. Several sections are questionable under the Articles, and several others go against Caprican law."

"Who said anything about sticking to Caprican law?" Kurt sneered.

"Not to mention that your grammar is atrocious," Gaeta continued as if Kurt hadn't spoken. "You desperately need a college writing class."

"Well, take that issue up with the Cylons. I'm sure they'll be delighted that in addition to destroying humanity, they're helping to destroy language arts."

Gaeta sighed heavily. "You really enjoy being obtuse, don't you? In fact, I-" A giggle from the hallway cut him off. He went still- extremely still- and his face turned pale. Curious, Kurt turned around to see who could possibly have that effect on him.

He didn't know the woman. She was young, probably only few years older than Kurt, and tall and thin. She had long hair and a tight, wrinkled skirt, and most importantly, she was leaning on the arm of Gaius Baltar, who was laughing with her. And there was no way- absolutely no way- that anyone could assume anything other than that they had spent the night together, especially as she nibbled his ear. Kurt snapped back around to face Gaeta.

It was all there, written across Gaeta's face. Gaeta knew exactly what had happened, and Kurt could see exactly what that knowledge had done to him. For a moment, Kurt felt intense sympathy, especially as Gaeta visibly pulled himself together, lifting his head up and focusing his eyes back on the paper.

"As you can see," Gaeta said, his voice surprisingly even, "I've marked several passages where the Quorum should have issues, and that the President will under no circumstances approve. This proposal is too close to a prison rationing system."

"I'm sure the Vice President will appreciate your analogy," Kurt said, taking the proposal back. He hesitated. "Do you… do you need anything?"

"I need to do my work." Gaeta pulled out his chair. Kurt stood awkwardly for a long moment, and then nodded. After all, he and Gaeta weren't close. As much as the movies might say this was the moment for them to confide in each other and pull out the ice cream, Kurt knew enough to know that wasn't how real life worked. He stepped back. "If you-"

"I'll be fine, Hummel," Gaeta said, already getting a pen out and writing a list on a pad. "Report to the Vice President. I'm sure he's actually waiting."

Kurt nodded and left. He wasn't sure why he felt a tug. Gaeta meant nothing to him. In fact, Kurt had known this day would come and had assumed that popcorn would be involved as he watched the destruction of a professional rival. Sympathy hadn't figured in much. But then, Kurt knew exactly how it felt to lose someone, to have life kick you in the balls.

Screw that. Everyone knew what that felt like, and Gaeta was no different. Gaeta had made it clear that this changed nothing. Kurt pulled his shoulders back, raised his chin, and took the proposal back to his desk. He had a lot to go through before he met with Tom.

"So how many of the kids do you think we'll catch here tonight?" Carole shouted to Burt as they made their way into the bar tent. It was loud, smoky, and crowded, and easily the warmest place on New Caprica.

"I'd say at least four," Burt bet. He scanned the crowd, and sure enough, he spotted Mike, Puck, and Sam talking with what looked like were probably some of Puck's marine buddies. "You see a table?"

"Not really, but I- oh!" Carole waved, and Burt followed her gaze. It took him a moment to recognize Xeno Fenner. He was sitting at a table with four other people, pointing to a pitcher of something in the center of the table. Carole grabbed Burt by the arm and elbowed them a path to get over there.

"Carole!' Xeno's smile was warm as they approached. "Have a seat."

The man who sat next to Xeno looked vaguely familiar to Burt. He extended his hand first to Carole, then to Burt. "Galen Tyrol. And this is my wife Cally."

"Burt Hummel. We've met."

Burt didn't recognize the young man sitting next to Tyrol. He stood up an offered his hand. "James Lymon, but everybody calls me Jammer."

"Nice to meet you, kid," Burt said as he shook Jammer's hand, and then sat down next to Carole.

"Congratulations on your election, Galen," Carole said, taking off her coat and sitting on it. "Union president, huh? That's pretty big."

"Yeah. Too bad it doesn't pay." Tyrol poured them both drinks. "How've you been, Hummel?"

Burt shrugged. "Can't complain."

"Of course you can complain," Xeno said bitterly. "We're on New Caprica. Carole- have you heard the rumors about the labor shortage for construction? They want to move some of our workers over to the crews."

"Wait, I thought they were just cutting positions at plant," Jammer said. "Consolidating.

"They are," Cally said. "And opening positions on the construction crews. Where do you think all those people out of a job are going to go?"

Jammer shrugged. "A job's a job."

"Yeah, but you actually know which end of a hammer to hold," Cally pointed out. "Besides, it's not like the military, where people should be ordered around into positions. It sets a dangerous precedent."

"And it's a terrible idea," Carole added. "We're working at capacity as it is."

"Won't stop them," Cally predicted glumly.

"Which means we'll have to extend the shifts of the people who stay," Carole said with a sigh. The two women exchanged commiserating glances.

"Be nice if the government could sort their asses from their elbows," Xeno muttered, picking up his glass. "How the hell are we supposed to get anything done when they keep changing the orders from day to day?"

"Rumor has it that Zarek and Baltar are at each other's throats half the time," Jammer said, looking like he was relishing the gossip. "I guess the honeymoon's over."

"Yeah, well, they're both a pair of idiots," Tyrol said with a shrug. "Either way, Gaeta says he's pretty sure that this labor reassignment thing is a go. I guess if they could get more construction workers, it wouldn't be such an issue." Tyrol frowned. "You're not on the construction crews, are you, Hummel?"

"Nah. I've got a repair shop over near the marketplace," Burt said.

Xeno whistled through his teeth. "I heard it was hard to get private businesses approved. How'd you rate that?"

Burt shrugged. "It's a repair shop," he pointed out. "Not like I don't have a lot of work."

"And our son works for the Vice President," Carole added dryly.

"That'd do it," Jammer said.

"Nah. Burt's right," Galen said. "Lots of repair work. But man, we could use you over on the crews."

"They can contract me if they need me. I like being independent. I've had my own business for years- and since we've been on these ships. I'd rather not stop now."

"Well, keep it in mind," Tyrol said. "We really can use every worker we can get."

"I will," Burt said, but the idea still wasn't appealing. He understood, and he wasn't against actually doing the work, but it just felt like it would be a death of a dream, and of himself.

***

"You don't mind, do you?" Burt asked Carole as they headed home later.

Carole looked like she had to focus on walking. "I don't mind what?"

"That I don't join the construction crews."

"Why would I mind?" Carole asked. "It's not like any more money would really help us, and besides, owning your own business has always been so important to you. I don't mind at all."

Burt smiled and wrapped his arm around Carole's shoulders. He'd known her answer even before he asked the question, but he was still glad to hear it.

***

He wasn't getting better.

Kurt had thought that the nightmares about Blaine would decrease, and that the pain would lessen. After all, that was what had happened the first time. But they weren't going away, and neither was anything else. It was related to Blaine- he knew it- and he had to do something to make it stop. Which explained why he was here, outside the tent of someone he hadn't spoken to in months. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and knocked on the pole.

"Yes?" The woman who answered was vaguely familiar, with long, messy blonde hair and a scowl.

"I'm looking for Sam Anders," Kurt told her.

She moved aside. "He just went to the head down the street. Come on in."

Kurt followed her in. The tent was warm and close and cluttered, with mismatched blankets on the bed and a beaded curtain on the back wall. The woman put a kettle on the hot plate and then extended her hand. "Kara Thrace."

"Kurt Hummel." Her hand was rough with calluses. He recognized her name now, though- he'd read it often enough in news reports and heard Finn and Santana and Mercedes talking about her. Starbuck.

"How do you know Sammy?" She was making conversation and it was exactly the sort of question Kurt might have asked someone who showed up looking for Puck, but it was so hard to answer.

"We… he knew someone I knew. On Caprica."

"Yeah?" Kara shook her head. "That was a frakked up place, Caprica. Even before the Cylons hit it. You from there?"

"No, I'm from-" Kurt stopped, because the tent flap opened and Sam Anders came in. He saw Kurt and stopped dead, recognition lighting his eyes.

"Hello," he said quietly. Gently.

Kara looked surprised, staring at Sam like she thought he was crazy. "There something I should know?"

Sam ignored her. "Kurt, right?" Kurt nodded. "Yeah, I thought so. How can I help you?"

"I just… I just had some questions." Oddly enough, Kurt found that if he looked at Kara instead of Sam, he could talk much more steadily. "About Caprica. About Blaine."

"Oh. If you want, Kara could lea-"

"Maybe I should have asked before," Kurt overrode him. "But I just… I sort of didn't want to know. But I can't… he's still…" he swallowed. "What was it like down there?"

Sam sighed heavily. "You don't want to know that, Kurt."

"I do. That's the thing. I thought he was dead for almost a year, and then I get him back and I think we'll be together, but before I find out anything about that year… he dies. I loved him so much, and I know so little. I don't know what it was like for him or what he was thinking or feeling- I don't even know where he slept or what he ate. And I can't help thinking that if I just knew a little more, maybe it would help me. Maybe I could let him go because there wouldn't be all this mystery."

"Or maybe it would make things worse," Sam said. "Look, Caprica was… it was hard."

"I know that," Kurt said evenly. "It's not enough."

Sam sighed. "I don't know what you want-"

"A high school," Kara said suddenly, setting an empty mug down on a table. "They lived in a high school."

"Kara-"

"They slept in classrooms, and most of them didn't have beds. But they had blankets on the floor." She poured hot water into Kurt's mug and dropped a tea bag in. "They ate in the cafeteria, and about half the windows were broken. It was in a very wooded area."

"I see." Kurt tightened his hands around his mug and looked directly at Kara's face now. She wouldn't flinch away from the truth, and he knew it. "How often did the Cylons attack?"

"They didn't attack the school at all until the end. It was the Resistance attacking them."

Kara continued talking, painting a factual, merciless picture of Caprica. Kurt gathered that she hadn't been there long, but she told him everything that he wanted to know. As she spoke, Sam sat back, arms crossed, eyes dark. The mug of tea cooled under Kurt's hands as he let everything wash over him.

"Did you meet Blaine?" he asked when Kara stopped talking. "He was my age, shorter than me, curls, and extremely good-looking?"

"Probably, but I don't remember him. Sorry, kid."

Kurt turned to Sam. "Please. Tell me about Blaine." His voice was more even than he would have imagined it.

"He was a good kid," Sam said finally, "but he was just that- a kid. It took him quite a while to adjust to how things were." He was trying to be as unemotional as Kara was, but he couldn't do it. His face wasn't quite right, and it gave away the fact that Caprica was still a wound that was unhealed. "Can I ask you something? Why me? Why not Shannon?"

"You sang at Blaine's funeral," Kurt said. "You told me later he taught you 'Blackbird'. It just made sense."

"Shannon knew him better."

"And she knows me." Kurt turned to Kara again. "It's different when she knows both of us."

Kara nodded stiffly, and Kurt could see it on her face- she understood. She completely understood what he'd wanted- a cold, impartial, factual account of Blaine's last days that he could take away, without the speaker seeing anything in his face and stopping because they were worried about hurting him more. Someone who could tell him the truth. Sam Anders couldn't do that, because the truth still hurt him. And knowing that- knowing that whatever Sam thought about Blaine and Caprica actually hurt him…. It wouldn't help, would it? As the realization that Sam couldn't help him sunk in, Kurt just felt very, very heavy, and very, very tired. It must have shown on his face, because Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Kurt stood up. "Thank you." He turned to Kara, who smiled grimly. "Thank you," he repeated.

Kara shrugged. "I'm sorry I can't help you more."

"It's all right." Kurt pulled himself up straighter, lifting his chin. "I should go. I have a lot more work to get done tonight."

"Listen, if there is anything I can do," Sam said. "If you want to talk about this later or something-"

"No. That's all right. Thank you." Kurt forced a smile. "Goodbye." He was out of the tent before either of them could say another word.

The air was cold on his face as he walked back to his own tent, and the wetness on his cheeks made the cold worse. He focused on that, on how his skin would be chapped and dry, instead of the sinking feeling in his stomach and the aching emptiness in his soul.

***

The bells rang, and when Burt saw the new arrival, he couldn't help grinning. "Hey, Galen. How are you?"

"All right." Galen ran a hand through his already messed up hair. "Tired."

"Yeah? How's Cally? She holding up okay?"

"She is, but she's not sleeping, which means-"

"Which means you're not sleeping," Burt finished for him. They both laughed. "So what can I do for you?"

"Listen, we've got a problem down at the site," Galen said. "The crane's down."

"Oh, frak."

"Yeah, that's what I said. I can see where the problem is, but it's really a two man job to try to fix it. Normally, I'd haul Cally in on something like this, but Doc Cottle said she's not supposed to be doing heavy lifting. You said you're open to contract, and that you were a mechanic back on Gemenon?"

He didn't even have to think about it. "Brit, I'm going down to the construction site."

Brittany poked her head out of the back. "All right. What do you want me to do if Mr. Warnitz comes in?"

"Get the specs from him, and make sure he pays you half upfront. Got it?" Brit nodded, and Burt reached behind the table and grabbed his toolbox. "I'd almost pay you to actually work on a real engine again. Let's go."

Working with Tyrol on the crane was easy. Burt had his shop, and Brit was great, but it was different, having someone who understood engines to work with. By the time the sun set, they had the crane going again.

"I've missed that," Burt admitted as the engine turned over. "I like my job, but it's just not the same."

"You know, if you were on the construction crews, you could play with heavy machinery all the time," Galen said.

Burt snorted. "You trying to tempt me?"

"Yes." Galen sighed. "I've got some of my guys down from the Galactica, but part of the deal when the Old Man let me and Cally muster out and come down here was that I didn't get to take some of the others. My best crew members are still up in space. I've found a few others that know their stuff, but I could use a few more. Make my life a lot easier."

"You're offering me a job," Burt said. "I mean, you're really offering me a job."

Galen shrugged. "Yeah. Guess I am. Or, at least, a more regular contract, if we could figure out how to make it work. I know you want to stay independent."

"Yeah."

"But your kid- you said he works for Zarek, right? He could help you get it through?"

"I could ask," Burt said dubiously.

"I'm serious," Galen pressed. "Think about it. I know one person isn't going to tip the scales of society or anything like that, but we really could use you."

Burt nodded. "I'll think about it." He still couldn't let the idea of his own shop go, but contracting with the government… that was big. He could do that, if the government would let it happen.

***

Getting a contract turned out to be a lot harder than Burt thought.

First, there was the paper trail and the red tape. They were told that they needed to see Hilbert over in the construction organization. Hilbert thought it was a great idea, but independent contracting wasn't something they'd had to deal with yet on New Caprica, and he couldn't really help them, but maybe Stallis could? Stallis had absolutely no idea why Hilbert would send them to her since her duties focused around the operation of the electrical substation, but maybe Gavin could help them out.

"Look," Burt said at the seventh office he went to, "just tell me no."

"Excuse me?" the clerk said. "But I thought you wanted to be able to contract with the labor crews."

"I do! But if you guys aren't going to give me the damn contract, just tell me no instead of sending me running around from office to office until I give up. This red tape is bullshit."

The clerk looked offended. "Mr.-" he glanced at the paper again, "Mr. Hummel, sir, I assure you that I'm trying to help you."

"Then just tell me what I need to do! Who do we see about this?"

The clerk pushed his glasses up his nose with a sigh. "I told you. You need to go to-" he was interrupted by a knock on the door. At first he looked irritated, but when he saw who it was, the clerk straightened up a bit. "Mister," there was a long pause, "Hummel," the clerk finished weakly.

"The Vice President needs the engineer's report on his desk by three o'clock today."

"He'll have it."

Kurt looked between his father and the clerk. "What's going on?"

"Er, nothing, Mr. Hummel."

"Really?" Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Dad? What are you doing here?" The clerk cringed on the word 'dad.'

"Tyrol and I have been trying to get something set up that I can contract with the construction crews but keep my business. But I can't give anyone in this frakking building to give me a straight answer." It felt ridiculous, complaining about this to his son, but he was so frustrated that the answer burst out of him.

And maybe for the best. Kurt turned on the clerk. "Is this true?"

"Well, I-"

"It had better not be. Because any idiot should know that, in order for the government to hire an independent contractor in a labor-hour contract, form 286-B and form 5C-94 must be filled out. Those forms can be obtained from the Small Business Liasons Officer, who is…?" he paused, arms crossed, one hip thrust out, eyebrow up.

The clerk swallowed. "Um, Gina Hayworth?"

"Right. Gina Hayworth. And once they fill out those two forms, they need signatures from Yesmef, Omi, and Smith. Right?"

"I guess. I-"

"And I would think," Kurt overrode him, "that any planning clerk worth his job would know this, wouldn't you?"

"Kurt," Burt began. "Don't-" but the clerk was already scampering off to get the relevant forms. Kurt turned back to Burt, his face full of satisfied pride.

"That should get you started." Kurt took Burt's arm and led him out of the office into the hall. "I'll take you through it. I've got an hour."

Burt snorted. "An hour. You think you can get me through this in an hour?"

"No, but I can get my three o'clock meeting postponed in an hour, and that will give me a little more time." Kurt smiled at him. "We'll get your contract done before the end of the day."

Burt breathed out slowly. "Thanks, kiddo." Kurt smiled smugly, patting Burt's hand.

It did go a lot easier with Kurt at his side. People actually answered Kurt's questions, and moved to help him when he said he needed something. "You really that important?" Burt asked incredulously, when the third person folded under Kurt's verbal barrage.

"Not me," Kurt admitted. "Tom. But they know that without me, they don't get in to see Tom."

"Thought they'd be more inclined to see Baltar," Burt said.

Kurt held his gaze evenly. "And what do you think Carole would be telling you about that right now?"

"That Baltar doesn't get a thing done? Sure, but I didn't think you'd be saying it."

Kurt looked away. "I'm not. I'm just saying that Tom is a very important man in this administration, and that people know it. Most people, anyway." He frowned. "I think we just have a few more steps, and then you'll be all set. Come on. Let's go make a few more aides and clerks tremble in their horrendously unfashionable boots."

***

"You did it? How the hell- last time I talked to you, it looked hopeless." Galen was staring in awe at the completed contract.

"Yeah, well. Guess that's what having a son in the administration does for you." Burt shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You'd think a few years of military service would have the same effect," Galen said bitterly, turning a page. "Nice to know Baltar's so appreciative of that." Burt wasn't sure what to say to that, but Galen looked like he was in another world. "You know, with you having this contract, you're technically a member of the crew. You could join the union."

"I don't know," Burt began.

"It would give you some protection and some bargaining room," Galen pointed out.

"That's why I just got a contract. That's not something a lot of people can say," Burt said. "I've got more security than most people do."

"Security that's only worth the paper it's printed on. A contract meant something on the Colonies, when there were courts to uphold it."

"There are courts here."

"Yeah, but how many of them can take on the government and win?"

"Let me think about it," Burt said. It was becoming his stock answer. It seemed like everyone wanted him to pick a side. Burt had thought they were done with sides when the Cylons stopped chasing them, when the election was over, when everything settled into place on New Caprica. Guess they weren't. "I'll think about it," he said again. "But I've got some work to get done. Union, contract, or nothing, I don't get paid unless I do that."

"Good point," Galen laughed. "I'll see you on the site tomorrow."

***

Kurt trekked out of Colonial One and into the cold night. His shoulders hurt and his eyes were sore, but the exhaustion went even deeper than that. All he wanted to do was curl up in his bed with a book and a cup of something hot, read for a half hour, and then sleep as long as he could. However, the light in the tent indicated that that probably wasn't going to happen. He flipped it open and slipped inside. Lauren was sitting on Puck's bed, a glass of something alcoholic in her hand. Puck was sitting in Kurt's chair, elbows on his knees, listening to her intently.

"So they had us pinned down and the truck was fifty yards away. There was no way we were all going to make it- there were like, thirty of those mechanical toasters, and we just had the one grenade. So some of us covered and Sara ran for it. You should have seen her- the girl was fast. But they got her anyway." Lauren took a deep swig out of her glass. "One of the Centurions blew a hole through her, and she didn't die right away. Even when we were shooting I could see her…" Lauren drank again, and Kurt listened, paralyzed.

Puck reached out towards Lauren, and then pulled his hand back. "Was she the first one? That died, I mean?"

"Nah," Lauren said. "This was after that raid that took out half the Resistance. I didn't even know her that well."

"So what did you guys do?"

Lauren shrugged. "We shot at them until we thinned them out a little, and then we tried for the truck again. Blaine ran for it. He got the truck going, and we all got on. The whole way back to the school I thought they were going to get us from behind," Lauren was saying. "Anthony, Sean and I sat in the back on rear guard." She laughed. "At one point, Anthony got carsick and had to hurl because the roads were so bad. Sean and I had to hold him up so he didn't fall out and split his head open while he was yakking."

She laughed and Puck laughed with her, but Kurt just stood frozen until Puck finally noticed him standing there. "Hey! Didn't see you come in. Come on- come have a drink with us." Both he and Lauren smiled, and Kurt knew the invitation was real. But the conversation was one he just couldn't handle right now.

"No, thanks for the offer," he said, fumbling for some clothes, "but I have to get back up to Colonial One. Lots of work. I just wanted clothes for tomorrow."

Puck snorted. "You just want to take a shower up there tomorrow instead of in the showers down here."

"So I don't like mud." Kurt was surprised how normal he sounded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, if you change your mind, knock before you come in." Puck waggled his eyebrows, and Kurt rolled his eyes back, and then stepped back out into the cold.

He could stay, Kurt knew that. Maybe he should stay. Maybe hearing about all the things that happened to Blaine on Caprica and those nine months apart would help him. Maybe once he got through the worst of it, hearing those stories would fill in some gaps and maybe even patch some holes. Maybe it would help. Then again, it probably wouldn't. Because he'd heard enough from Lauren and Coach Bieste to know that there was nothing good about Caprica.

Colonial One was almost entirely dark and empty when he returned. Kurt was grateful for that. They had a few blankets, and the old couch was comfortable. He let himself in and headed towards Tom's office.

"Hello?"

Kurt froze. "It's just me," he shouted back.

He should have recognized the voice immediately. Gaius Baltar came out from his office, looking around quizzically. His face brightened when he recognized Kurt. "Oh. Hello. I thought you'd gone home for the evening."

"No. I'm here."

"Well, that's rather odd, because I seem to recall a conversation with Tom Zarek where he complained that you were most definitely not getting enough sleep. He told me that he had ordered you to go home and take some time off."

"Oh." Kurt arched an eyebrow. "What else did he say?"

He clasped his hands behind his back, approaching Kurt with a knowing sort of smile. "You are very inquisitive, aren't you? Do you really care that much what other people say about you?" The tone of his voice was light and teasing.

"I care what my boss says about me," Kurt said, letting himself tease back.

"So you do care what I think." Baltar winked. He was so coy that Kurt couldn't help laughing.

"Yes," he said. "I care what you think."

"Mmm." Baltar raised an eyebrow. "You look… you look a little worse for the wear. Usually you're so put together. Are you all right?" Kurt opened his mouth to say he was fine, but nothing came out. "Kurt?" His voice was still stuck, and now tears were burning behind his eyes.

Baltar looked alarmed. "Come in," he said, opening the door to his office. "Come in here. I have just the thing…."

Kurt followed. Baltar's office was messy- scattered papers and an ashtray in the corner. There was another small desk that Gaeta used in here, and the neatness of that desk only emphasized how cluttered the President's desk was. There was also the couch against the wall of windows, and Baltar gestured for Kurt to sit on that. Kurt obeyed, and Baltar opened a liquor cabinet in the corner of the room and began mixing two drinks.

"So, tell me. What's troubling you?" Baltar said when he sat on the couch, handing Kurt a heavy glass of cut crystal.

The drink was strong. On the other hand, Kurt had certainly tasted enough bad booze to know that it was comprised of extremely good liquor. He made a little noise of appreciation, and Baltar smiled back. "I don't really want to talk about it," he said.

"Well, that's certainly permissible," Baltar said, looking pleased. "We can talk about something else while we drink. I suspect the drink will do you more good than conversation, anyway. Speaking of which, you have been conspicuously absent at several of my more recent functions."

Functions. Baltar's… parties. Kurt had heard about them, but had never gone. "I didn't know I was invited."

"Kurt." Baltar put his hand on Kurt's knee, which was just… weird. But then, Baltar was Caprican, not Gemenese. Kurt jumped, but he didn't pull away, especially as Baltar leaned in a little, a conspiring twinkle in his eye. "You're always welcome." He sat back. "In fact, it might really do you some good. Get your mind off other matters."

"Mmm." Kurt sipped his drink again. The worst of the bitterness was gone, but so was the best of the warmth.

"You should come more often," Baltar pressed. "You're young, you're attractive, and you're very smart. You should be networking and rubbing elbows with people who could really improve your career."

"I'm the aide to the Vice President," Kurt pointed out. "I do quite a bit of that already."

"Yes. But you have to consider that Tom might not always be the horse to bet on. This is politics, and the landscape changes constantly. That is, I suppose, what some see as the beauty of it." Baltar rolled his eyes and knocked back his drink, then got up to pour another. This time, he brought the bottle back and set it on the table in front of them. "You need to form other strong connections, with others who can help you."

Kurt had the feeling that pointing out that he regularly attended Quorum meetings and dealt with key people in the labor union was not the response Baltar was looking for. So instead, he just nodded, trying to conceal his skepticism and probably failing miserably.

Baltar didn't seem to notice, however. He slumped a little on the couch, crossing his legs sloppily. "You know, it's really a shame that we haven't had more time like this. It's nice to be able to get to know my staff."

"It's been almost half a year. You've gotten to know me."

"Yes, I know that you're one of the best hands with a needle and thread left in existence, and one of the few who truly appreciates that not all men want to look like they wandered off a ranch or a military vessel. I know that you work quite hard at your job, but being an aide to a politician- even the vice president of the Colonies- was not your original ambition. And I know that you have a beautiful voice, because I've heard you sing. It's quite remarkable, you know."

"Thank you."

"You are quite remarkable, you know." Baltar sat up and leaned forward, and his hand settled on Kurt's knee again. "I mean that. There is a certain… beauty about you that others can miss." Kurt stared at him, his mouth hanging slightly open. Apparently Baltar took that as flattered shock, because he leaned in and kissed him.

For a long moment, Kurt could only sit there, shocked into stillness. Baltar's kiss was firm but gentle, and his hand came up to caress Kurt's cheek. Nothing at all tentative. Smooth. Kurt pulled away.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asked.

Baltar laughed in a manner that was obviously supposed to be both self-deprecating and charming. "I thought it would be obvious. I was kissing you."

"No." Kurt scooted back. "No. You weren't."

"I assure you, I was. I'm a very intelligent man, Kurt. I am quite aware of what a kiss is." But he was smiling. "And I'm quite sure that you do, too." Kurt nodded, still staring at Baltar like he was insane. Baltar's smile slipped a notch. "You have been kissed before, right?"

Kurt goggled at him. "You don't know? I thought everyone knew about-"

"Oh, yes. That's right. How could I forget that charming little story? I'm so sorry." Kurt shrugged. "So you have been kissed."

"Yes."

"So this isn't virginal shyness."

"No." Kurt couldn't help laughing a little at that. "Definitely not." He might have only had one partner, but he and Blaine had done plenty of exploring together. But the feeling of someone that wasn't Blaine kissing him was definitely new. "I just… you're the President."

"Exactly," Baltar said with a smile. "I am the most powerful man in the world." His voice was pitched low and sensual. He leaned in.

"Wait," Kurt said, sitting up straighter and moving back. "You're serious? You're really trying to get me into bed?"

"I'd think that was obvious."

"No." The word came out of Kurt's mouth before he could even think about it. "No."

Baltar looked offended. Not like Karofsky had looked that one time, but instead almost downcast, like he was wounded. "You're my boss," Kurt reminded him. "That's what you said at the beginning. And… oh my. I'm in trouble, aren't I? I just turned down the President that I work for. Oh no. I'm so fired."

"No. You're not. I'm just… incredulous." Baltar backed up, giving Kurt his space. "You are a man who appreciates the finer things in life. I just assumed that it meant you were interested in the luxury of pleasure."

"Um, right. No. Not really. I mean…" Kurt kept edging away. "Thank you for the drink. Really, sir. I appreciate it. But I really did come back here to get some work done. I…" he cast around for why he had to be here now. "I had to make a call up to the Galactica," he said. "And the reception is best now."

"By all means." Baltar was composing himself quickly, although Kurt could see that he was still deeply offended. But he didn't appear angry. Kurt decided it was best to get out of there before that changed. He hastily dropped something between a curtsy and a bow, more just because he wasn't sure what the etiquette was for refusing to sleep with the President, and then turned and practically ran.

***

"I'm serious, Mercedes," Kurt laughed "He thinks sleeping with him is a luxury."

"You're joking. You are absolutely joking. There is no way he said that. That's just too much, even for Baltar." Mercedes' voice was crackly over the wire.

"No. I swear, Mercedes. He really said that." Kurt sat back and his chair creaked dangerously. He'd originally had no real thought of calling the Galactica, but when he retreated to his office, he realized it was the perfect idea. It turned out to be more perfect than he knew. Mercedes' voice and laugh was the exact balm he needed. "I'm just worried it's going to get me in trouble and he's going to fire me."

"He won't," Mercedes said. "Baltar isn't subtle enough to do it without going through Zarek, and Zarek would just laugh at him. Besides, for him to be upset means he'd have to admit you didn't want to sleep with him. He's probably in there right now calling up some blonde to smooth over his wounded ego."

"And you would know this because…."

"Hello, the whole CIC knows. We've only had to listen to Gaeta on the subject for the past year. Well, listen to Dee. Gaeta doesn't talk about it, but Dee spills. Hey, speaking of that, what about you and Gaeta?"

"Mercedes-"

"No, I know. I'm just teasing you. I still don't understand why you were so gung-ho for electing him."

"Who, Gaeta?" Kurt asked, putting his feet up on his desk.

"No, Baltar. We all knew he was a floozy."

"Yes, but since when does that impact how someone does their job?"

"And Baltar does such a stellar job as President," Mercedes said dryly. "The last time we talked you spent the whole time complaining that it took him two weeks to approve of a materials-scouting mission. And the time before that you were telling me all the things he was still saying about Admiral Adama. Face it, Kurt, your President sucks."

Kurt sighed. "I have to admit that I didn't think he'd be quite this bad."

"Well, what were you expecting?"

"I thought- Tom thought- he'd lose interest after a few months. That he'd be content just to have the position and the authority and the parties and all that, and he'd leave all the real work to us. We were expecting the playboy. What we weren't expecting was for him to fight us."

"Imagine that. Baltar has a mind of his own!"

"Ha ha."

"You could try blackmail," Mercedes suggested.

"I've thought about that, but there isn't anything I've found that Baltar's ashamed of."

"Kurt, it was a joke."

"I know."

"You sound serious."

"Mmm." He tapped his fingers against the desk. "You know, talking about the people he sleeps with doesn't work. But maybe if I put it out there that he hit on me and I wouldn't sleep with him…."

"On the off chance that you're not joking, don't do that, Kurt," Mercedes said sternly. "It will only be trouble for you."

"I was completely joking," Kurt lied.

"You could try recruiting Gaeta," Mercedes suggested. "I know you guys don't get along, but he really is a good guy."

"So you say," Kurt said dryly. "But he's completely in Baltar's pocket."

"Hello, Baltar's sleeping with other people. Gaeta's madly in love with him. That's, like, the perfect recipe for the scorned man to screw over the President. Come on! You can use this!"

"Maybe you should be the one in politics."

"I'd do a better job than Gaius Baltar."

"Hey! He's your President, too."

"Not my fault," Mercedes said cheerfully. "Besides, I answer to the Admiral first." Kurt blew a raspberry at her, and Mercedes laughed. "Speaking of which, the Colonel's on shift in a few minutes, and I don't really feel like getting busted. Not that anyone cares up here anymore, but still."

"No, you should go." Kurt wished she was close enough to hug. "I miss you, Mercedes."

"Aww, I miss you, too, Kurt. Listen, take care of yourself down there, okay? And trust me- talk to Gaeta. He really could help you."

"I'll keep it in mind. Bye." Kurt hung up the receiver.

The office seemed silent in the aftermath of his conversation with Mercedes. Kurt got up to stretch his legs, and looked out one of the small, round windows at the settlement below Colonial One. It was dark outside- a lot darker than it ever got in Lima. There were points of light, but they were fewer and farther between than they should be.

Everything was farther behind than it should be.

Kurt peeked out into the hall. Most of the lights were off, so he decided to take the risk and made his way down to the kitchen. As long as he didn't encounter Baltar, he was fine. He was in luck- the halls and the kitchen were empty.

There wasn't real milk anymore, but there was dehydrated powder. It didn't taste particularly good, but with enough vanilla, cinnamon and sugar, it was tolerable. Kurt made himself a cup, heating it slowly in a small pot, and leaned against the counter as he waited. He was tired.

He poured his milk into a mug and made his way back to the office. He settled on the couch. If nothing else, the warmth of the milk helped relax him. What a night. Between…whatever that was back in the tent with Lauren and Puck, and Baltar hitting on him, and talking to Mercedes… Kurt drained his mug and lay down on the old, broken couch. If nothing else, sleeping here meant he'd get a hot shower in the morning. There had to be some little perk to this night.

***

At one point, there might have been rules about who the bar tent would serve. There might still be- Kurt thought he should know that as a member of the administration. But at least one bartender had given up on them, and there were nights that New Directions knew that they could get served without any questions. Kurt usually liked those nights, with all of them that could make it grouped around the table, shoulder to shoulder, but tonight he just felt tired. Part of it was because he'd been up so late talking to Mercedes the night before, but he knew it was more than that. The others didn't seem to notice though- they had other things on their minds.

"So you're going to help deliver Tina's baby?" Sam asked Quinn incredulously. "Really?"

Quinn sipped her drink. "Dr. Robert's orders," she said lightly.

"And you're okay with this?" Sam asked Tina.

"If it means I get this baby out of me and get to drink alcohol again some day, yes," Tina said, making a face at her glass of water. "If I ever needed a drink, it was today."

Mike nodded. "Potty training is pure evil."

"It shouldn't be much longer, should it?" Puck asked. "I thought the baby was supposed to be here yesterday."

"It was," Tina said sourly. Everyone laughed.

"Hey, wait." Quinn's eyes narrowed and she leaned forward and examined a necklace that Tina was wearing. "Is that…?"

Rachel broke in, excited. "Is that an engagement pendant?"

"It is," Tina said happily. She looked at Mike and took his hand. "I finally asked Mike to marry me."

"You finally said yes," Mike said, and kissed her on the cheek. "I asked you first."

"I just wanted to do it on my terms," Tina said, glowing. A round of congratulations broke out, and then the table fell rather surprisingly silent. Kurt found that everyone was looking at him.

"What?"

"Aren't you supposed to be bouncing in your seat right about now squealing about proposals and weddings?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah, I kind of thought you'd start planning it already," Mike said. He looked a little guilty and then mouthed I was kind of counting on it.

"Oh. Sorry." Kurt snapped out of it. "I am sorry. I don't know what came over me. Yes. I am excited. What are you going to wear?" he asked Tina.

Tina launched into an assessment of her clothing, and Kurt listened, nodding enthusiastically and rejecting ideas. He was happy for them- everyone was happy for them, especially since Mike and Tina were so obviously happy. But he kept playing with the soma bracelet around his wrist, and when he left the bar that night, he didn't think of the wedding at all.

***

Carole entered the tent, tossing her heavy coat to the side. Burt had been in bed but not sleeping. "Hey. You okay?" He glanced at the clock by his bedside. Two fifty four- long past when Carole was due home. "What's wrong?"

"We're definitely losing a third of the workers."

Burt sat up. "What? What happened?"

"Oh, nothing like that. Everyone's okay." Carole ran her hands through her hair. "But they're behind on construction of the apartment complex. So some idiot decided that they need more labor, and pulled from our plant."

"Oh." Burt rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow. "Wait. How the hell is that supposed to work?"

"Longer shifts for the workers. What do you think?"

Burt groaned and fell back against the bed. "And let me guess. You get to break the good news."

"How'd you ever figure that out?" Carole thumped down on her side of the bed. "It's not fair."

"That you have to tell them? I'll say." Burt turned on his back and snaked an arm around Carole. She shifted so she was under the covers and rested her head on his shoulder.

"It's not just that. It's that all these people now have to make up the work that we're losing. It's that these people who were water treatment workers- who were finally getting the hang of their jobs- now have to go do something else. And nobody will get a raise, no one will get extra… but if you don't show up, your basic rations are gone."

"The union's going to be howling," Burt said darkly.

"That's the worst of it. They deserve to howl. They should howl. But I- we- have no power to change it. It's government orders."

Burt cringed. "Ouch."

"Yeah." Carole sighed. "I might be late home for dinner tomorrow night. I'm pretty sure I'm not getting out on time."

"I'll say. I'll cook."

Carole kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, hon. You're about the only thing worthwhile on this lousy excuse for a planet."

Burt wasn't sure he'd go quite that far, but he was far too wise of a man to argue right now.

***

"You need to do something," Burt told Kurt the next day.

Kurt rolled his eyes and leaned back against the scaffolding near the work site. "I don't know what you expect me to do."

"Talk to Zarek. Talk to Baltar."

"I've talked to Zarek. He agrees with you."

"So? Talk to Baltar, then. Make him see reason."

"Have you met Gaius Baltar, Dad? He considers himself the most intelligent man left in existence."

"Well, he is, isn't he?"

"In some things, yes. But he knows it. Which means a kid with a high school education isn't going to change his mind about anything. If I even got to speak to him anyway."

"Too low ranking?" Burt asked.

"That's part of it." Kurt pressed his lips together. "Baltar's got… priorities."

"Yeah, and that's something else I've been wanting to talk to you about. You aren't going to those parties I hear about up on Colonial One are you?" Kurt looked away. "Kurt…."

"What? I have to go to some of them, Dad. It's networking."

"It's trouble. I've heard rumors about them. They sound pretty wild, and not just booze."

"Like I would do anything besides have a few drinks," Kurt said huffily. "I'm not getting into trouble. I promise."

"Yeah, well, I worry. It's a father's job." Kurt rolled his eyes again. "Listen, if you can see the chance to say anything-"

"I will," Kurt cut him off. "But it's not going to happen."

"Yeah," Burt said with a sigh. "I'm getting that message."

***

The conversation was still on his mind the next day. "At least people have work," Brittany said when Burt told her a simplified version of the story. "And the apartment complex won't grow on its own. I tried watering it, just in case, but I'm pretty sure it won't work."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." On one level, it certainly did make sense. But Burt couldn't help being annoyed. The union's points were valid, and no one seemed to be getting that. He shook his head and tried to work on the bookkeeping, but the bells jangling to announce a guest distracted him.

"Brittany? Mr. H?"

Brittany looked up. "What's going on, Sam?"

Sam looked frantic, but at the same time, happy. "It's Tina. She's in labor, and the doctor says the baby will be here soon."

Burt couldn't help smiling. "Well, it's about damn time."

***

Not all of New Directions was waiting outside the medical tent when Burt and Brittany got there, but only because several of them were still on board spaceships. Those who weren't were there. Quinn let them into the tent an hour later, and Mike came forward carrying the baby, walking like he was walking on eggshells. The kids crowded around him, all eager for the first glimpse of the baby. Mike was glowing, not willing to let the baby out of his arms. Tina, on the other hand, just looked like she wanted to sleep for a year.

"So what's this big guy's name?" Puck asked, tickling a blanket-swathed foot.

"Well, we think we know," Mike began, "but we wanted to ask Kurt."

"Me?" Kurt looked surprised. "It's your baby. Name him whatever you want."

Tina pushed herself up to sitting. Kurt got the hint and moved over to her bedside. "The thing is," Tina said, taking Kurt's hand, "we wanted to ask you… we'd really like to name him Blaine."

"If that's okay with you," Mike added hurriedly.

"It's…" Kurt looked back and forth between Mike and Tina, and then to the baby himself. "It's your baby," he said again, trying to sound formal. But between the tears streaking his face and the trembling in his voice, no one was fooled. Tina pulled him down into a tight hug.

"What's the middle name?" Burt asked, more to break the tension than anything else.

"Michael," Tina answered proudly.

"Blaine Michael Cohen-Chang," Mike said.

"Very nice," Carole said, her voice radiating approval, and the eager inspection of the newest member of the New Directions family began again.

Burt was not at all surprised when Sam and Rya were the first to leave. He imagined that this was all very painful for them. He also wasn't surprised when Kurt slipped away soon after. He tried to follow, but Kurt was walking so quickly that Burt got the message- he didn't want to talk. He stood out in the relative quiet of the open air, and he was surprised when the next defector came: Quinn. She'd cleaned herself up some and she looked understandably tired, but at the same time, her face was so lined and haggard that in the dim lights she looked ten years older.

"You okay?" Burt asked as she stopped by him.

Quinn was looking straight ahead as she drew in a deep, shaking breath. "Yes," she said finally. "I'm glad it was a boy."

"Really? Why?"

Quinn exhaled slowly. "I don't know. I feel like it's a message from the Gods. That there's never going to be another Beth. That I don't have to worry about that."

Burt's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what Quinn was saying. "You were worried about Beth coming back?" he hazarded.

"I was worried that every time I delivered a baby- any baby- I would think of Beth. That I would want them to be Beth," Quinn clarified. "Don't get me wrong, I wish Beth hadn't died," she added with a bitter laugh, "but I can't look at every baby and see her and expect to stay sane."

Burt had thought these kids were too young for a lot of the things they did. They were too young to be soldiers, pilots, and Marines, putting their lives on the line. They were too young to be crucial lynchpins in the communications systems of the Fleet, too young to be aides to politicians, too young to be doctors. They were too young to get married, too young to have babies, too young to lose parents, and too young to die. But it hit him hardest when he realized that they were too young to lose a child already, even if that child was one they had given up. He wished he could hug Quinn, but the way she stood made it clear that she did not want to be touched.

"Yeah," he contented himself with saying. "I'm glad it was a boy, too."

***

Blaine. They named the baby Blaine. Kurt paced back and forth in the small tent, turning on his heel and wiping away the tears that kept spilling down his cheeks. Was it ever going to go away? Every time he thought he was safe, every time he thought it was over and he was getting better….

He wasn't mad at Tina and Mike. He'd meant what he said- it was their baby- and anyway, Mike and Blaine had been close. He wasn't mad at all. That's what he didn't understand.

The bottle was on Puck's bedside table, and Kurt was sure Puck would understand (if he even noticed). He grabbed it and poured out a drink with a shaking hand, then knocked the glass back. The whiskey burned on the way down, making his eyes water. He gulped air, and then poured himself another glass. The whiskey began to spread warmth through his body, and he began to relax. He sat down on his bed, cradling the glass in his hands.

The shock began receding as his insides became numb, and Kurt knew it was like the first time he'd seen Gaeta's eyebrows. They'd been a reminder that had come at him from left field and hit him hard, but now, he never even noticed them. In time, he wouldn't even think of his Blaine when he saw that baby- the name would belong to the baby alone. It was going to be okay. It was just the now, just this moment.

He finished his drink and kicked off his shoes, curling up under the covers. He wasn't sure he wanted to be awake when Puck came home, and he certainly didn't want to talk about it. The best solution was probably to go to sleep, and maybe when he woke up, things would be better.

***

"We need to talk about something," Puck informed Kurt when he came home from work.

"What?" Kurt asked, rubbing his neck and shoulder. "Don't tell me you're getting on my back about the labor agreements as well."

"Huh? No. Why should I give a shit about that?" Puck was rummaging through his whole six shirts. "We're not dealing with it. It's about tonight."

"What about tonight?" Kurt said. "I really just want to go to bed early."

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of the thing. Lauren said she'd spend the night tonight."

"Oh."

"And it's the first time since she came up from Caprica, you know? So, yeah. Would you mind getting lost?"

Kurt closed his eyes. "No. Fine."

"Great. Because it's about time." Puck looked so frakking happy. Kurt turned away and began sorting through his own clothes, packing a bag. "And it's not like it's so bad, right? She said you can use her bed. And you and Rachel get along and shit."

"I know."

"Dude. You knew this was going to happen."

"I didn't say anything!" Kurt protested.

"Yeah, but you're thinking it."

"I'm not! I'm not thinking what you think I'm thinking."

"You are. Look, Kurt, I get it, okay? You think I don't think about Beth all the time? I know it's hard. But you've got to get on with your life, man."

Kurt slammed a shirt down in anger. "When did I say a single word about Blaine?" he snapped. "I am tired, Puck. I am tired and it has been a very long day of listening to people argue and trying to sort things out and trying to corner the President long enough to get some straight answers with regards to the- oh, why am I even telling you? My point is, Puck, this has nothing to do with Lauren or Blaine and everything to do with the fact that I am frakking tired!"

His voice had risen to a shout by the end, and Puck stepped back, hands up. "Okay, okay. You don't have to shout. Frak, you could have just said."

"You didn't have to assume." Kurt finished packing and pulled the bag up on his shoulder. "I assume I can come home tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"Good." Puck was watching him like an angry, hurt puppy dog. Kurt sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that. It just really has been a long day."

"Yeah. Yeah, I get that." Puck held out his hand in a fist-bump style. "We cool?"

Kurt bumped his fist against Puck's. "We're fine," he said. He headed out into the dim light of evening.

Rachel was waiting for him, excited and bouncy when he arrived. "I've got it all planned out. First, we'll figure out songs that I can sing for when they start open mike night at the bar tent, and second, we'll figure out how to get them to start it. I'm sure you can pass some ruling or something."

"Your knowledge of basic civics is appalling," Kurt said, but Rachel's plans were like a balm on his soul. He settled down on Lauren's bed. It was made, although not neatly, with a faded quilt and no pillow. Rachel, in all her glory, was off in her own world, talking about songs and appropriate lyrics and being the voice of an apocalypse. Kurt laid back and listened to her talking, making little humming noises until he drifted off to sleep.

He woke hours later in a cold sweat, lurching out of bed and sitting up straight. The lamp was still burning, and Rachel grabbed his arm.

"Kurt! Are you okay?" She sat down on the bed beside him, her body warm in the cold air of the tent.

"I… I…."

Rachel's face was a mask of sympathy. "A bad dream." It wasn't a question.

"You knew?"

"You were talking."

That news didn't help. "Puck said he'd wake me up if he ever heard me doing that again."

If possible, the sympathy actually increased on Rachel's face. "He doesn't know what to say."

He stared at her. "You've talked about me. You've all talked about me."

"Well, of course. We're worried about you."

"Why is everybody so worried about me? I'm fine! I've been going to work! I've been getting things done! I still eat, I still get dressed- I am still living my life!"

"I know. But you're not you."

"Who is anymore?" His heart was finally starting to slow down. "After everything everyone has been through, who could possibly have not changed?"

"Your dream was about Blaine, wasn't it?" Rachel said. Kurt looked away. "It's just… you were calling his name."

His eyes burned hot, and he had to swallow several times before he could answer her. "It's just every time I think I'm getting better, it hits me out of nowhere like that and I can't even- what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get over this?"

"We'll help you, Kurt."

"How? How will you help me? Can you make this stop?" Kurt demanded, turning back to her. "Can you just rip my heart out of my chest and make it stop hurting? Can you make me forget him- even though I already am?"

"You're not forgetting him!"

"I am! I can't remember exactly how he smelled and I can't feel his sweater under my cheek and I can't even hear his voice! Not like I used to be able to! This is what happens when someone dies, Rachel! I know!"

"Yes, I know, your mom, but-"

"Not just my mom! I know what it's like when Blaine dies, all right? I know how it feels to find myself forgetting him and how it feels when I let him go, and I don't want to do that again!"

"Kurt-"

"I don't want to do that again, Rachel!" Kurt repeated. "It's not fair!"

Rachel was crying now. "No," she said. "It's not."

Something about the way she said that shot through him. Maybe it was because she was so calm, maybe because for once, Rachel wasn't making it all about her. She sat there watching him, shivering a little in the cold night air, her eyes reflecting back the little bit of light from the lamp.

"It's not fair," Rachel repeated. "And you shouldn't have to go through this. But you're not going through it alone. We all want to help you."

Kurt realized he'd better pull himself together. Rachel looked really upset now, like he was going to jump off a bridge (not that New Caprica had them) or finding Puck's gun or something like that. Kurt took a deep, shaking breath, trying to get himself under control. Because as bad as losing Blaine like this hurt, he had no intention of doing anything like that.

"I'm okay."

"Kurt…" Rachel came closer, hesitated, and then when Kurt didn't pull away, hugged him. He let her, and after a moment, he hugged her back. The truth was it felt good, and it did calm him down a lot. He hugged her tighter, and when he pulled away, they were both wiping their eyes.

"Better?" Rachel asked, as if he should be.

"Not really, no," Kurt admitted. "But back to where I was."

"If you want to talk about it-"

"I don't. I'll be all right, Rachel. Everyone else is."

"No one is, Kurt. And it's okay to need-"

"I'm fine."

This time Rachel backed off. They sat there in silence, and then Rachel put her arm around his shoulders, and Kurt leaned his head against hers. "Do you want me to stay right here for the night?" Rachel asked. "With you, I mean?"

Kurt sighed. "I'm probably not going to sleep."

"I don't mind."

She was warm. Kurt sighed. "All right." He lay down, pulling her with him, and together they snuggled up under Lauren's covers. "Thanks, Rachel."

"Any time." Rachel tucked her head under his chin.

Kurt was sure he would stay awake, the images from his dream constantly going through his mind. But Rachel's warmth and slow breathing was soothing, and he was asleep before he knew it.

"You look tired, Mr. H," Brittany said when Burt came in from a job.

"I am. I was up all last night."

"Oh. Sex?"

Burt snorted. "Not because I had it."

"Neighbors?" Brittany asked sympathetically. "I know sometimes when Santana comes down, we get a little loud."

Burt closed his eyes for a long moment and then opened them. "No," he said, resigned to the fact Brittany was gong to tell him more about her sex life than he ever wanted to know. "Mike and Tina's baby. Blaine was up for a couple hours last night. I gave them a hand."

"With the sex?" Brittany asked, confused. Burt was about to reply when he was saved by Sam rushing inside, doubled over and gasping for breath.

"There's been an accident at the plant."

Burt was on his feet immediately. "Carole?"

"She's not hurt. But a lot of other people are."

"Brit, stay with the shop. Sam, let's go."

The plant was in a mild state of chaos when they got there. An entire walkway had collapsed. Burt could see where the supports had snapped. The impact of the crashing walkway and broken the walls of one of the tanks, and there were several inches of standing, filthy water throughout the plant.

"It's not just the people hurt," Sam said, picking his way through the water. "This is going to shut down the sewage to three different sections of the settlements, and the overload in the other sectors could foul up the works even more.

"Shit."

Sam's grin was small and crooked. "Yeah. That's kind of our problem."

Burt saw Carole standing with a few others. Her hair was a mess and she was sweaty and there was a streak of grime and blood on one cheek, but she looked unhurt. His breath came out in a woosh, and he felt a little calmer and better able to deal with the situation.

"Hummel!"

Burt turned. "Galen. Didn't know you were working here."

"I'm not. I got called in from the construction site." Tyrol surveyed the wreckage. "Think we can get this mess put back together?"

"When do they want it by?"

"Right now."

Burt whistled through his teeth. The thing was, straight construction wasn't really his area of expertise. He could build a bookshelf and make stairs and put up a park, but a structure that people had to walk across safely was another story altogether. "We could use a few- what do you call them? The structural guys?"

"Mechanical engineers? No kidding. Looks like we're going to need some better materials, too. That concrete support there…" he trailed off, pointing. The two of them went closer to investigate. Burt didn't know much about concrete, but he was pretty sure that it wasn't supposed to crumble like that.

"This is going to take a hell of a lot of work to get it back up," he muttered.

Tyrol nodded. "And it looks like we're the ones doing the job. Come on. Let's get figuring this out." And whether Burt wanted to be or not, he was on the job.

***

The job took two weeks. And it had to be done, so no one ever talked about payment. And then all the red tape, all the frustration, all the people not willing to give them answers and no one knowing what the hell was going on- all of that began again.

"Come on," Galen insisted when they cornered Xeno Fenner. "We've been working on this job for two weeks. You must have some idea!"

"I've been trying!" Xeno insisted. "But I keep getting sent from office to office, or told I needed approval weeks in advance, or that the building materials weren't budgeted for and-"

"The hell with this," Burt growled, and stormed out of the office.

"What the frak- where are you going?" Galen caught up with him.

"Straight to Colonial One," Burt said. "I know just who we need to see."

***

Kurt was furious. It wasn't just that his father wasn't being paid, but also definitely the principle of the thing. There never should have been any question in terms of payment, and he cursed the Sanitation Committee for not setting this up sooner, like when the catwalk crumbled two weeks ago. He spent the entire day going from office to office, harassing people into giving him forms, badgering people to sign off. Now all that was needed was one last signature, and Kurt did not have the patience for this fight at all.

"Look. It's not that hard!" Kurt said, for what felt like the millionth time. "Just get him to sign off on the labor guidelines!"

"How? Buy taking his hand and making him write his name?" Gaeta shot back. "If that was legal, I would!"

"It's your job," Kurt said, leaning back against the file cabinet in Gaeta's cramped office. "This isn't fair."

"You don't think I know that? I've got Galen Tyrol after me, too. I know it's not fair." Gaeta picked up a packet of papers and waved it in front of Kurt. "What do you want me to do?"

"You? You're the one still sleeping with him," Kurt said caustically. "Use it."

"Oh, so you think that means I can get Gaius to do whatever I want?" Gaeta snapped the words out, ruffling some papers for emphasis.

"Of course." Kurt waved a hand in exasperation. "Just hold out on him. Or offer to do something he wants."

"Spoken like a true romantic expert." There was pain in Gaeta's voice and face as he said that, but he leaned forward, ready for combat. "You've seen the 'interns.' You know it's not exclusive with us. If you think I've got that kind of power, you're delusional. I've got no more power over Gaius than you do."

Kurt nearly stamped his foot in frustration. "Then get him to approve this! It's my father, Gaeta!"

"I am trying!" Gaeta roared. "What do you want from me? I am doing what I can, but the President is extremely busy and-"

"You mean that half the time he's hung over, a quarter of the time he's drunk, and the rest of the time he's completely disinterested in anything having to do with politics!"

"No! I mean that-" Gaeta fumbled. "I mean that he-" Kurt crossed his arms and smirked, waiting for Gaeta to say it. He didn't. "He will sign it."

Kurt sighed. "When?"

"Excuse me?"

"When? When can I expect this mythological signing to take place?"

"It will happen." Gaeta was visibly pulling himself back into the smooth, professional face he presented every day. It wasn't often that Kurt rattled him quite this badly. Kurt sighed.

"You and Baltar-" he began, but Gaeta cut him off.

"This is not me and Gaius. This is an administration, not a war. In case you've missed it, Hummel, the four of us are all on the same team. And if you'd stop looking down the road and stay in the present, you would see that!"

Kurt drew back. "I do see that."

"You don't. You look at this administration and you see what you can accomplish. What's going to further you and Zarek and your own agenda. That's not how democracy works. That's not what's going to make New Caprica work."

Kurt snapped himself into a straighter posture. "Then remind Baltar of that," he said. "Because I'm pretty sure he's the one who's forgotten, since the rest of us want those guidelines signed." He pulled himself together. "And tell him to shave more often. You have the worst case of beard burn." Taking advantage of Gaeta's furious silence, Kurt stormed out of the room.

***

Burt was showing Brittany how to solder a connection when Kurt came into the shop, looking exhauted. "Dad?"

Burt's stomach sank. "Bad news?"

Kurt's smile started slow and then spread to his whole face, and he extended a handful of money. Burt jumped up and hugged him, and Brittany squealed. "I knew you'd do it!" Kurt nodded. He looked so tired though.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

Kurt waved it off. "Fine. Just… it's been one of those days." He gave a little laugh. "One of those weeks."

"You really had to twist some arms to get this, didn't you?" Burt had suspected as much, but he needed confirmation. Kurt just shrugged, but that was enough. "Thank you, Kurt. I appreciate it." Burt hugged him, and Kurt hugged him back tightly. He held on a lot longer than he normally would, and Burt wished he understood what was going on.

"You want to come over for dinner tonight?" he asked as he released Kurt. "Sam and Rya are coming, and I think Mike and Tina and the baby."

"I'd like to, Dad, but I have a lot to catch up on today. Can I take a rain check?"

"Course. You're welcome any time. You know that."

"Thanks. Well, I need to go find Tyrol, and then I'd better get back to work. I'll see you later." He waggled his fingers at Brittany in a goodbye wave, then disappeared. Burt watched him go, frowning.

"He seem okay to you?" he asked Brittany.
Brittany shook her head. "Not really. But he's been going on, just like everybody else."

"Yeah."

"At least he paid you," Brittany said. "No one thought he was going to be able to do that, did they?"

Burt nodded. That right there was a whole other issue, and it was one that he realized he was going to have to deal with in a different way. Kurt might not always be in the government, and Burt needed a better way of making sure he had some security than relying on his son. It was time to take actions of his own.

***

"I've got a question for you," Burt said as he slid into bed beside Carole.

"That doesn't sound good." Carole eyed him suspiciously. "What is it?"

"How would you feel if I joined the union?"

Carole sat up. "The union?"

"Yeah, I mean, I know it puts us on opposite sides of the picket lines and all that…" Burt tried to joke, but it fell flat. "Yeah. The union. Galen Tyrol's been on me about it, and the thing is, he's right. There's no really good reason for me not to join, except that it feels a little weird to me that you can't. I mean, if we were back on Lima it wouldn't matter no matter what, 'cause we're not in the same business. But on New Caprica…."

"Except the thing is," Carole said slowly when Burt petered out, "it's not me you're up against."

"Yeah, well, I'm not working over at your plant. But still-"

"That's not what I mean." Carole sighed. "Burt, you know I agree with the union's goals, right? I want to see people's rights protected. That people should be paid, and that they should have some security, that when they're hired and trained for a job, that's the job they'll be doing."

"Well, yeah. Back on Lima, you were in the union." Burt shrugged. "I'm really mostly joking about us being on different sides."

"Good. Because I don't have a problem with you joining the union, but Kurt might. No one's said it yet, but the union isn't about labor versus management. It's about workers versus the government."

"It's about protecting peoples' interests," Burt said.

Carole snorted. "From who? The Cylons?"

"I get it," Burt said curtly. He stared down at the blanket and then sighed. "I'm gonna have to talk to Kurt about this."

Carole laid a sympathetic hand over his. "Should I hide the cutlery?"

Burt chuckled. "Nah. He can take it. And if he doesn't, that's his problem." He kissed Carole goodnight and turned off the lamp. He had no idea if Kurt would take the news easily or not, but he'd find out tomorrow.

***

"You're overreacting," Kurt said. They were walking down the marketplace, looking for a vendor selling something for lunch.

"I'm overreacting? I've lived with you for all your teenage years, and you tell me I'm overreacting?" Burt said, laughing.

Kurt shrugged. "Well, you are. Really, Dad, I don't see any reason for either of us to be upset over this. It's the union, not a secret terrorist organization. Look- there's Xiaolin Ma and her soup. Let's get some before it's gone. So what's Brittany going to do?"

"She'd be union, too, I guess," Burt said. "I hadn't really thought about it. It's her decision." Kurt's incredulous expression spoke volumes. Burt sighed. "Yeah. She'll be joining, I guess. I don't know. As long as the business is going, Brit's okay. She just has to deal with me."

"Which is comforting," Kurt said. "I'd work for you in a second, if you did something that involved the least bit of style or finesse."

"Gee, thanks, kiddo." Burt shook his head. Fortunately, they were at the front of the line.

"I've got it, Dad," Kurt insisted, slapping down the money. Burt started to argue, but Kurt just shook his head. "It's a celebration, right?"

"I don't know about that," Burt said, taking his mug of soup. "I'm just joining the union."

"But it's a good thing," Kurt said, blowing across his own mug. "I mean, the reason you were so upset about telling me is because labor relations have been less than ideal."

"Yeah, those are the exact words your stepmother uses," Burt muttered sarcastically.

"We can make this work," Kurt continued, only a twinkle in his eye betraying that he'd heard Burt's comment. "We'll actually listen to each other."

"You're my teenaged son," Burt said. "When was the last time you listened to me?" But he was laughing. Kurt was right. They cared about each other enough to actually take the time and patience to work things out, to really communicate. Together, maybe they could get something hammered out. They probably wouldn't change the world, but maybe they'd make it a little bit better.

***

"So it was a lousy day?" Puck asked Kurt as Kurt finished the last of his drink.

"It was. Between all the idiots in the government and just… everything…." Kurt shook his head, and Puck didn't even need to ask him to elaborate. "I just want it to get better. I want everything to get better."

"You know what you need?"

"I need another drink," Kurt said, peering mournfully into his empty glass.

"You need another drink," Puck agreed. He sloshed the whiskey into the glass. "There. Another drink. But you also need to get yourself frakked."

Kurt groaned and dropped his head forward. "I don't."

"You do. Look, I get it. You're afraid of moving on."

"Oh no. Here comes the drunk psychologist." Kurt flopped back on his bed, and then curled around his pillow. "Should I tell you about my mother?"

"No, you should shut up and listen to me, because I am the god of getting laid."

"Which is why we're getting drunk together tonight."

"Do you want my advice or not?" Puck demanded.

Kurt gave him his best flat whatever look. "Just don't sing it."

"Okay." Puck moved to the edge of his bed and leaned forward like some sex guru. "The thing is, you've gotta frak someone you don't give a shit about. Someone you don't even like."

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Because you don't want to meet someone you do like and then frak up the sex," Puck explained. "Right now, you don't want to have sex because you know it's going to suck. You don't even want to look at anyone because you know it's all going to suck. So get it over with. Find some guy and frak his brains out and it will suck, but you won't care because you don't give a shit about him."

Kurt knew he had to be drunk, because Puck was making sense. A lot of sense, actually. He thought about it. "Who?" he finally asked. "I'm not used to this. How do I find someone?"

"I told you, Santana's got this really hot friend up on Pegasus. This guy is smoking, and totally hot for dudes. Santana says he's a good guy, too."

Kurt frowned. "Not if he's a good guy."

Puck's eyes practically bugged out. "What? Why not?"

"There are under fifty thousand people left, right? How many of them are gay men who are not completely and utterly repulsive? Come on," Kurt prompted when Puck didn't answer. "You're the one with the 'mad math skillz'."

Puck frowned. "Probably not that many," he admitted.

"Right. And if this goes as badly as I think it might, this guy isn't going to want to frak me ever again, right?" Puck nodded. "So do you think I'm going to waste a good, hot guy on a rebound frak?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah. That's a good point," Puck agreed. "So who are you going to find? Come on, you've got to have some offers."

"You're ridiculous," Kurt said, lying down on his bed. The bed was starting to spin. "Absolutely ridiculous."

"Yeah, but I'm right. Find someone and frak 'em, and that'll get you over the hump. So to speak." Puck was chuckling at his own cleverness. Kurt ignored him. But at the same time, part of him admitted that Puck had a point. That same part of him also pointed out that if he ever wanted to follow through with it, there was an option. Kurt had never considered it seriously before, but for what was prescribing, it might work perfectly. He'd have to think about it more, once he could actually thing. But for now, he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the floating feeling of drunkenness that made it hard to think about anything else.

***

The apartment complex was taking shape, a dark, stunted bulk against the gray backdrop of New Caprica's low mountains. Only two floors had been added so far, and the apartments were nothing more than concrete walls, or in most cases, steel frames, but even the promise of the building was encouraging.

"I can't wait for the apartments to be done," Brittany said as they began setting up. "Even if I still have to still live with Quinn."

"What's wrong with living with Quinn?" Burt asked, checking his acetylene levels.

Brittany shrugged. "She smokes. She's not Santana. And she brings her work home. I'm pretty sure that means organs."

"Or case files," Burt said, shaking his head. "I'll just be happy to live someplace with heat again. I almost forget what it feels like to be warm. Heat and a hot shower. At least, if we get these heating ducts into place. Come on. I need to help me brace these before I weld them." Not that Burt had known the first thing about heating ducts. But he could handle a torch, and that had been enough for Galen Tyrol to pull him in for the day.

They were just getting everything into place when they heard the crashing of boards and the screams. Burt and Brittany both ran out of the apartment where they were working just in time to see the crowd gathering. Burt nudged her. "Run to the med tent and get a doctor." Brittany nodded and took off, running at top speed. Burt elbowed his way through the crowd to see what had happened.

No one was dead- that was the first thing Burt noticed, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. But there was a man lying on the ground moaning in pain, and the way his leg was bent made it pretty clear why. His jeans were stained with blood, and it looked like he had a few other nasty injuries as well. Above them, a broken board swung erratically in the stiff breeze. It looked like the scaffolding had broken.

It seemed like a long time, but the spell was broken by Brittany pushing through the crowd, pulling Quinn along after her. Burt pulled in a breath- of all the doctors, Quinn probably wasn't the best one for something this severe. But Quinn's eyes raked over the man on the ground, taking in the situation, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and professional. "Get me a long, thin board, some rags or some rope." She fished something out of her pocket. "I'm going to dope you," she told the man on the ground, and pressed it against his neck. Instantly, the man's face cleared and he passed out. Finally, a few people brought a stretcher over and the man was removed, headed for the medical tent to set what looked like a very nasty broken leg. Burt got a good view as they passed, and he had to say that Quinn had a much stronger stomach than he did.

The horrified silence among the crew was slowly broke with little snatches of conversation and whispered speculation. Little by little, people left the site of the accident and got back to work. But a pall hung over the site all day, and Burt couldn't shake the heavy feeling.

The med tent was on his way home, and so he stopped in after work. He found Quinn in a small cubicle, smoking a cigarette as she took notes on a giant text book.

"Those things'll kill you," he said, nodding at her cigarette.

"I know. I'm training to be a doctor." Quinn's tone was dry and sarcastic. She took a deep drag on the cigarette, looking straight at Burt. "It's kind of covered in the books."

"Well, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't say something about it," Burt said.

Quinn looked mildly amused. "You really do think that you're still the chaperone, don't you? Or sort of the dad of New Directions?" Burt was going to argue with her, but her expression softened into a smile. "It's sweet."

"Well, good." Burt was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. Quinn had always put him on edge. He met her well after hearing the whole story of Beth and Finn and Puck, which certainly hadn't given him the best impression of her, and then the fact that he was pretty sure that she'd been dating one of the other guys when she and Finn got back together a second time. He also had the impression that Quinn had never thought much of him. He got that impression now, as Quinn sat in her chair staring at him, waiting to speak. He dug his hands into his pockets and charged forward.

"Look, I just wanted to know… I wanted to tell you that you did real good with that guy out there on the site," Burt said.

"Thank you."

"I was wondering how he was doing."

"I can't tell you that," Quinn said with a sigh. "You're not a relative."

"Is he alive?"

Quinn sighed heavily. "Yes."

He knew that was all he was going to get out of her. He looked at her more closely. She looked tired, her hair pulled back into a lank, unadorned ponytail and deep circles marring the skin under her eyes. There was dried blood on her white coat, and her hands were so dry that there were deep cracks in the fingers. "You did good today, kiddo," Burt said again, clapping Quinn on the shoulder.

"Thank you." Quinn's smile was thin. "I hate to be rude, but I…" she gestured at her textbook.

"Yeah, right." Burt backed away. "Thanks for letting me know, Quinn."

"You're welcome." She was back at her studying before he even left the tent. Burt shook his head. It was a tough life, being a doctor on a planet like this.

***

Burt was in his shop working on rewiring a space heater when then bells jingled impatiently. "There's a problem," Galen said with no preamble, coming in and sitting down across from Burt.

"What is it?"

"It's Lasser."

It took Burt a moment to remember who Lasser was, that he was the guy who'd fallen from the scaffolding three days ago and broken his leg. "He okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. But there's a problem."

"So you said." Burt carefully soldered a wire into place. "Want to tell me what it is?"

"Workmen's compensation," Galen said. "It doesn't exist."

"That's ridiculous. It's got to exist," Burt said.

Galen shook his head. "Nope. Not without a signed labor agreement. The way the construction labor crews are organized, we report directly to the government. And it's not like there's much of a system to begin with."

"Frak." Burt put his soldering iron down. "It really hasn't come up all this time? What about back when the walkway collapsed?"

"People either died or had family that helped. Or neighbors. I don't know- does it matter? There's got to be some sort of formal system in place."

"You're right," Burt said. He sighed and pushed his hat back. "Tell you what. I'll go on up to Colonial One and talk to Kurt. See what he's got to say before we really start pushing it. Might be that he can help us with the wording and who to talk to.

"Okay. I'll take a crack at Gaeta tonight, too," Galen said, and then shook his head. "Workman's comp. Never even thought that would be such an issue."

"Never thought a lot of things would be an issue," Burt agreed. "But we'll get it worked out. Kurt will listen to me."

***

"Dad. It's not that I don't agree with you," Kurt said, his voice strained as he tried to keep his patience. "It's just that the idea of simply putting someone like Mr. Lasser on straight rations isn't going to fly with President Baltar. We'll never get him to sign a labor agreement that involves that."

"That's ridiculous," Burt said bluntly. They were sitting in Zarek's office, Kurt at his desk and Burt on the broken-down couch. Zarek was out at some meeting, and they had the office to themselves. Both of them had drunk two cups of coffee, and Burt had a feeling that the caffeine wasn't helping anyone's mood.

"I know it is," Kurt said. "But he already won't sign anything guaranteeing that people can stay in the jobs they're assigned to because he thinks that people should just be able to pick up a new skill like that." Kurt snapped his fingers.

"But they can't."

"I know this. You know this. Gaius Baltar refuses to acknowledge it. You have to remember, Dad, he's a genius." Kurt glanced at the door, like he was afraid someone would come in.

"Yeah, well I'm not, and neither are most of the people in this town. We can't just sit down and learn a new skill, and there aren't many desk jobs to sit down at!"

"I know!" Kurt pressed his lips together tightly for a long moment, and Burt knew he was biting back whatever he wanted to say. "Look. There is no workman's comp system."

"I know! That's what we're doing! We're trying to come up with one!" Burt was just as frustrated as Kurt.

"And I don't know why you think I have that kind of power!"

"I've seen you get things done here before!"

"I've gotten people to do their jobs," Kurt said. "I haven't been able to propose policy change!"

"You got them to build that playground!" Burt protested.

"A playground isn't the same thing as a workman's compensation policy?"

"Why not?" Burt asked. "I get that they're two different things, Kurt. But you changed minds when you wanted that playground. You did that. You can do it now!"

"I had to change two minds for the playground." Kurt picked up his coffee cup, realized it was empty, and set it back down with a decisive clink. "I'd have to change a lot more minds for a workman's compensation policy, and a lot of those people aren't going to listen to a glorified secretary, even if I do work for the Vice President."

"Well, you don't know that until you start trying," Burt said.

Kurt frowned and looked away. He picked up his coffee mug again, set it down, and then stood up. "I'll be right back. I need to use the bathroom."

Use the bathroom or calm down. Burt let him go- they both needed a break. He sat back on the couch himself, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes.

"Kurt's right, you know."

Burt jumped and looked around. Zarek was leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed as he watched him. "How much were you listening to?" Burt asked him.

"Quite a bit. It was interesting, actually. It's not that often I get to see how Kurt's doing without me over his shoulder. It's like giving a student a test."

Burt grunted. "Did he pass?"

"He did, which, given his answer to you, I'm sure you're not completely thrilled about." Zarek came in and sat down in his own chair. "And he's right. People aren't going to listen to him."

"You obviously just did," Burt said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Unless you're going to tell me you've been fighting this one for a while."

Zarek laughed. "Normally, I'd try to convince you that I have, but I think you know better. But I wasn't listening to Kurt. I was listening to you. Part of the problem Kurt has is his youth. He's a very intelligent young man, but the fact is that the Quorum members aren't going to let a kid who's barely in his twenties tell them what to do. Kurt's got two strikes against him before he even begins. He needs a champion. Someone older and wiser, that people will sit up and listen to you."

"So you're gonna start fighting for this?" Burt asked.

"I've been fighting. I've been at odds with Gaius Baltar for months now."

"Yeah. So I've heard."

Zarek smirked. "Not really, believe me." He stood up and went over to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup of the bitter, overheated coffee. He offered the pot to Burt, who shook his head. "We've had a lot of difficulty with Gaius, as you no doubt know. I must confess, I didn't anticipate all of them. I assumed that Gaius would get bored." Zarek chuckled a little. "I thought that he would go off and do… whatever Gaius does."

"Why'd you support him then?" Burt asked.

Zarek didn't answer. He didn't need to, because the answer formed clearly in Burt's mind. If the President didn't do his job, the work would fall to… the work would fall to the Vice President. Oh.

"Did you know that the last impeachment of the President of the Colonies was fifty four years ago? In our two thousand year history, there have been twenty three recorded impeachments."

"Wait." Burt sat back and stared at Zarek, who had gotten up and was looking out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "Are you saying-"

"I'm just talking history, Burt. Just history. Of course, there are some who would say, 'this has all happened before, and this will all happen again.' But I find that sort of scriptural belief to be irrelevant to governing a populace. Although I suppose others may think differently." He shrugged, rocking back on his heels. "Of those twenty three presidents that were impeached, seventeen were impeached because of a vote of no-confidence."

There was a knock on the door, and Burt looked to see Kurt hovering, waiting to make sure Zarek was done. Zarek grinned widely. "Come on in, Kurt. Your father and I were just discussing history."

"Right. History. By the way, on my way back I ran into Playa. She wants to talk to you about the press conference tomorrow."

"Find fifteen minutes for her in the schedule, will you?"

Burt got the hint and stood up. "I won't take up any more of your time," he said, grabbing his jacket and eager to get out of there. "Kurt, we'll see you for dinner in a couple of nights?"

"Only if you can get Finn to actually leave me some food this time." Kurt smiled and hugged Burt goodbye. His hug was a little stiff, but Burt barely noticed. Zarek's words were still playing in his mind.

He left Colonial One and stepped out into the cold, clear air of New Caprica, hoping it would clear his head. It didn't. The past two hours were still heavy in his head, and the past ten minutes were still just as confusing. With the feeling he was about to get a lot deeper than he wanted to, Burt shook his head and headed home.

***

"He really said that?" Shannon asked. "He really started talking about impeachment and votes of no-confidence?"

"Yeah, he really said that." Burt shook his head. "The thing is, I don't get why he's telling me that. It's not like I'm on the Quorum."

They were sitting in the high school tent. Carole was still stuck at work- she'd sent a message with a runner that she'd be several hours late. Burt perched on a high stool, watching Schuester grade papers as Shannon made soup. It smelled even better than Carole's, which was saying something.

"Well, it's clear what he wants you to do, Cueball," Sue said. "He wants you and your band of merry men to help give him a reason to impeach Baltar."

"What the frak?" Burt asked. "No. There's no way he was saying something like that. And even if he was, there's no way in hell I'm gonna be able to find something that someone in that government can- and that's even if I was going to do it!"

"Well, if people want to get rid of Baltar, that's the legal way to do it," Schuester said. "Make him look as bad as possible."

"Better than shootin' him in the head," Shannon pointed out.

"Yeah, but Zarek was Baltar's campaign manager," Burt said.

"Oh, wake up and smell the politics!" Sue snapped. "Didn't you find it odd at all that Zarek himself didn't run? He didn't run because he knew that he couldn't win, not after blowing up that building all those years ago. So he needed a front, and he crouched down and hid behind Baltar and his psuedo-intellectual looks and his flowing hair that is the envy of our good friend William here. The fact that that is a mystery to you further increases my belief that auto exhaust fumes cause brain damage."

"I thought he was really smart," Shannon said, looking at the others. "I mean, he's Dr. Gaius Baltar. Half the time I don't understand a word that comes out of his mouth."

"Hardly an accomplishment."

"Impeachment, though," Burt said, getting back to the point. "By a vote of no-confidence. Why the hell is he telling me this?"

"Oh, I don't know, Mr. Labor Union. Got any clues?"

Schuester looked up from his grading. "Sue, you're joking."

"Despite my conviction that you wouldn't know a joke if it danced naked in front of you- and good gods, don't let me picture your reaction to that- I'm not joking. If you can't see that he wants to set Baltar up for impeachment and needs someone sufficiently removed from him to get the ball rolling, well, then, you're so myopic you should be wearing glasses even thicker than Wheels does."

It wasn't that Burt hadn't put the pieces together before Sue said that, rather, it was that he didn't want to put the pieces together. Zarek was asking him to make trouble somehow- enough trouble that Baltar would be viewed as incompetent. And that was going to have to be a hell of a lot of trouble.

Like, work stopping kind of trouble. Protest kind of trouble. Strike kind of trouble.

"So, Wanda the Welder, are you going to do it?"

Burt really wasn't sure how to answer that.

***

There was yet another party on Colonial One. Kurt wasn't even sure if there was a reason for it, aside from Baltar wanting to have one. Normally, he would have either avoided it or gone for a half-hour or so.

"Are you going to come tonight?" Baltar asked him. "I think it could be very beneficial for you."

Beneficial. This time, Kurt didn't look away. "Yes," he said. "I think I just might."

Baltar smiled.

***

Kurt dressed carefully for Baltar's party. It was supposed to be a big one, and there would be a lot of people there that he might want to impress. Not that leaving the party with Baltar would impress anyone, he was sure, but there would be time before that. Puck was out that night, probably with Lauren, and Kurt was just as glad. If Puck was here egging him on, Kurt had the feeling he'd come to his senses and lose his nerve. With a last look in the mirror and a last adjustment to his tie, he took a deep breath and headed out into the night.

He couldn't hear the party from outside Colonial One, but he could see the lights and the silhouettes of the people inside. He swallowed hard, and then entered the ship.

The smell of alcohol assaulted him, and the sound of voices and music. The music wasn't like he'd imagined- not hard, driving dance music. Instead, it was instrumental, classical… classy. The thought made him giggle.

There were a lot of familiar faces, but not necessarily the people he was expecting. The Quorum representatives, the advisors, the cabinet- a few of them were there, but not many. He thought he spotted Tom, but he veered away. He didn't need to answer to Tom tonight. However, the support staff and the interns were there, as well as a lot of people that Kurt had no idea how they related to the administration, but were definitely attractive.

He headed straight for the bar. There was no way he could do this if he wasn't drunk, and whoever was mixing the drinks seemed intent on helping him reach his goal. His first drink was so strong that even Puck might have turned his nose up at it, but Kurt drank it down as quickly as he could.

"Having a good time?"

Kurt nearly jumped out of his skin as Baltar appeared beside him. "Oh. Hi." It was a testament to the strength of the drink that that felt like clever dialogue.

Baltar noticed his cup was empty. "Let me get you another," he said, commandeering Kurt's cup and handing it over to the bartender. Somehow, the drink that was returned seemed even stronger, and that was when Kurt knew that Baltar was still intent on getting him into bed.

The room began to blur. It was a pleasant sort of blur, warm and cozy, the kind that highlighted the laughter and the colors of the crowd. It was exactly the sort of drunk that Kurt wanted to be, where his mind was so numb he couldn't think, and he couldn't bring up pictures in his mind. He was aware that Baltar was at his side all night, with the predatory triumph of a lion about to make a kill. No, not a lion, Baltar wasn't anything like a lion. More like a… a weasel. Kurt giggled again.

"What's so funny?" Baltar asked, eager to share the joke.

Aware that likening the man to a weasel would kill his plan, Kurt tried to make a serious expression. "Nothing," he said.

Baltar pouted for a moment, and then tugged Kurt closer. "We could leave," he said, his lips right against Kurt's ear. "I think we've been here long enough, don't you?"

The nervous pit in his stomach that Kurt had been all evening sharpened. "I think so." He let Baltar take his hand and pull him from the room, back into his private office.

Baltar didn't kiss anything like Blaine, Kurt discovered when the door shut behind them. In fact, aside from their height, Baltar was nothing like Blaine in bed. Well, not bed. Before Kurt knew it, he was being hoisted up onto a desk, Baltar working at buttons and pins and layers. Baltar knew exactly what he was doing, but to Kurt, it still seemed like fumbling hands and awkwardness until he was turned around, his hands braced on the desk in front of him as Baltar frakked him from behind.

This was what I wanted, he told himself, looking down at the papers scattered across the desk and the familiar handwriting. This is what I need. After this is over, I can go on. The sex wasn't bad, especially as he let his body take over and respond. But the sensations were dulled and his eyes stayed fixed on the desk. The pens were lined up and the papers were in a neat stack, the top one being a list of building supplies. The handwriting was familiar, and Kurt tried to think where he'd seen it before. It finally hit him that it was Felix Gaeta's handwriting, and that that's exactly whose desk they were frakking on. Something about the naughtiness of that thought was enough to get him really going, and that was what he was thinking about when he came.

They curled up afterwards on the couch, Baltar's head in Kurt's lap. It was hot and sticky and kind of uncomfortable, but Kurt was too tired to move. He made himself as comfortable as he could, grateful that Baltar was passed out and softly snoring.

This first time after Blaine was over. This was what he had wanted- what he had chosen. Kurt closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, telling himself he was never going to look back and regret this.

Never.

***

The morning came with a pounding head and a boatload of regret. It also came with two very, very angry people standing over them.

"Oh my gods." Heedless of the President of the Colonies' head on his lap, Kurt leapt off the couch and scurried for his pants, his shirt- anything that would shield him from the disapproving glare of Tom Zarek and the fury of Felix Gaeta. "Oh my gods. This is not what it looks like."

"Oh?" Tom asked, arms crossed as he arched his eyebrows. "Let me guess. You were playing triad." Kurt flushed, and Tom's glare deepened. "It's exactly what it looks like."

"Oh gods," was the only thing Kurt could think of to say. He felt like he was going to be sick. Given all of the alcohol he'd had last night and the massive hangover he had now, it was really more a question of when and where than if. He just hoped he could wait until he was out of Tom's view.

Tom was glaring at him, reminding Kurt all too well of when his own father had caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. The disappointment cut deep. And as for Gaeta… Kurt found he couldn't even look at Gaeta, because the expression on his face hurt in a very different way. What had seemed like a good idea last night now filled him with complete and utter shame. He couldn't even speak- he just pulled on the minimum clothing possible and hurried out the door.

Out in the hall, he took a minute to compose himself and pull his clothing closed. Away from the others he was able to take a few deep breaths and calm down a little. Through the closed door, he could hear Tom and Baltar arguing. That surprised him a little, and he couldn't help stepping closer to hear better.

"Do you have any idea who is father is?" Tom demanded.

"Who his father is? What is this, Sagittaron four hundred years ago?" Baltar asked. "Kurt is an adult, and as such, I really don't care."

"Well, you should. His father is Burt Hummel. Who is, might I remind you, still very much alive and likely to take a flame thrower to Colonial One if he finds out you got his son drunk and slept with him."

"That is not what happened!" Baltar shot back, panicked. "I assure you that it was entirely consensual and-"

"So you say," Tom said. "But do you think Hummel is going to give you the chance to finish that sentence? Let me make it clear, Gaius. I usually don't care who you frak, and I don't give a shit what you have to say for yourself. But when you frak with my assistant, then you're frakking with my reputation and my staff, and the job that I want them doing. Then, I care. Frak anyone else, but stay the hell away from my assistant. Understood?"

Baltar sniffed. "You don't have to be so dramatic about it. The experience wasn't worth repeating anyway."

Kurt stuck his tongue out at the closed door, but pulled it back in hastily as the door opened and Tom emerged. He stopped short and drew up.

"Listening the whole time?" Kurt shrugged, and Tom sighed. "Of course you were. That's one of the reasons I hired you." Some of the anger had faded, but none of the disappointment, and none of the sternness. "What I told Baltar goes for you, too. Stay away from him. It took long enough to put you back together after Blaine died, but at least that was out of my control. This isn't."

Kurt drew himself up. "My sex life is not under your control, or your concern."

"You're right. But how you handle yourself afterwards is. I'm serious, Kurt. I had sympathy for you with Blaine. I won't for Baltar. Frak him again and I'll find myself a new assistant."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now go home and get cleaned up. There's a Quorum meeting later and the last thing I need is you over my shoulder with the 'just frakked' look you've got going. You'd better be back here on time." Tom cast him one last disappointed glare before stalking off and disappearing around the corner. Kurt was about the leave when the door to Tom's office opened. He stopped, and found himself face to face with Sue Sylvester.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. At first Kurt thought that Tom and Sue had had an early meeting, but the way Sue was adjusting her track suit and the way her hair was messed up said this was something else entirely. Kurt thought as hard as his pounding head would let him, and dimly remembered that he might have seen her at the party.

"Porcelain," Sue said, like they were meeting in the halls of McKinley.

"Coach," Kurt said back, doing his best to affect the same tone.

Sue raised her eyebrows, and then both of them turned. To Kurt's mild horror, he found that they were walking the same direction.

"Headed back to work?" Kurt asked.

"Of course. And you?"

"Have an errand to run."

"Right." Sue obviously didn't believe him, but she didn't press, either. Kurt kept walking and trying not to focus on the fact that he was doing the walk of shame with Sue Sylvester.

The bright sunlight and the cold fresh air outside helped, especially as it blew away the worst of the stale alcohol smell from last night. Kurt winced because he'd forgotten his jacket, but he was grateful for the escape from Colonial One all the same. Outside of the ship, Coach Sylvester looked different- more triumphant than humiliated. Smug. Like bagging the Vice President of the Colonies was something she wanted to do, and considered a notch on her bedpost. Kurt was fairly certain that sleeping with the Vice President was a more difficult feat to accomplish than sleeping with the President was. Probably better, too.

Oh gods. That was not where his mind needed to go.

"You look more sickly pale than you ever have, Porcelain," Sue said. "Better watch out that you don't catch something off that skeeze of yours."

"I'm fine," Kurt said flatly.

"Mmm. So you'll be boasting about this particular conquest until the cows come home."

Kurt's cheeks flared red. "No. And, um, if you could not-"

"What?" Sue arched an eyebrow. "Don't want word of this getting to Daddy Dearest? Can't say I blame you there, Porcelain, although I'm sure your boss would love it. Let Mr. Caveman come in with his flamethrower or shotgun and take out the President, then you and Zarek can run the world. Of course, then you wouldn't have Baltar to blame every time the pair of you frak up, but I'm sure you can work around that."

"I don't want my father hearing because it is my own business," Kurt said stiffly. "It's not something he needs to know about."

"I don't know. I hear a lot of people would be happy to see Baltar gone." Sue raised her eyebrows again, her hands clasped behind her back. "Including you two. See you later, Porcelain."

"He doesn't actually have a shotgun," Kurt shouted after her, and then sighed. Shit.

His head was still throbbing when he returned to Colonial One an hour and a half later, showered and dressed in fresh clothing. The Quorum meeting had already started, and Tom's glare of disapproval as Kurt slipped into his seat was more galling than anything else.

"What did I miss?" he whispered to Gaeta.

Gaeta acted like he hadn't spoken. Oh. Of course he would. Kurt didn't really know why he'd even bothered to ask.

The meeting dragged on and on. Kurt kept writing, but the words went from ears to hand without stopping in his brain at all. He was painfully aware of Gaeta sitting stiffly beside him, his own pad filling up with his rapid, neat handwriting. Gaeta had the loudest silence that Kurt had ever heard.

As much as he hated to admit it, Kurt knew that he had to say something to Gaeta. If Gaeta refused to speak to him, Tom would kill Kurt, and Kurt knew it. Kurt might be a good assistant, but he did not have the access to Baltar that Gaeta did, and last night sure as hell wouldn't change that. So when the meeting ended, Kurt followed Gaeta to his small office, catching the door right before Gaeta slammed it in his face.

"Look," Kurt said to Gaeta's back. "I know you're mad at me right now. I just wanted… I wanted to say I'm sorry."

No answer. Gaeta's back was still to him.

"I'm sorry."

Still no answer.

"If it helps, you're better off without him," Kurt offered. "You could do better. Not sure with who, since there aren't exactly many young, attractive single men into men around, but you could do better. For all that we don't like each other, you're not difficult to look at."

"My desk," Gaeta said.

Kurt blinked. "Excuse me?"

Gaeta turned around. "You want to frak Gaius Baltar? Fine. Frak Gaius Baltar. Half the world is, apparently. I don't care about that. But on my desk? Really, Hummel?"

"How did you-"

Gaeta pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and threw it at Kurt's face. The paper bounced off Kurt's temple, and Kurt knelt down to pick it up. At first, he could discern absolutely no meaning in it- it was just a list of materials. But as he pulled it apart, it stuck, like something had been spilled on it and was gluing it together. The list was familiar, and he realized it was the one he had been reading last night. Kurt realized what substance had glued the paper together, and shrieked a little and tossed it away.

"You kept that in your pocket? What is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you? My DESK, Hummel! Gaius has a bed! It's ten feet away! You could have at least used that and not rubbed my face in it!"

"Well, excuse me for not thinking of you while I was trying to work out some issues!"

"Work your frakking issues out someplace else! This is the seat of government, not a therapist's office or a brothel!" Gaeta shouted, his fists clenched at his side.

"Look who's talking!" Kurt shouted back. "How many nights have you been in here frakking your boss? It's no wonder we can't ever get you to go against him, when pissing him off might cost you the chance to suck his dick!"

The minute the words were out of his mouth, Kurt knew he'd gone too far. Just by the words alone- usually he was nowhere near that crass. But the expression on Gaeta's face was even worse. His eyes were blazing with anger and the tendons in his neck stood out, and Kurt took a step back because he was sure Gaeta wouldn't mind seeing him dead right now.

"Get out," Gaeta ordered him.

There was no way Gaeta wanted an apology, and for the most part, Kurt really didn't feel like apologizing anymore. It wouldn't do any good, anyway. So he nodded and swept out the best he could, dignity mostly intact.

He didn't start trembling until he was safe in the bathroom, out of sight from everyone. This had not gone well at all.

"That looks like the most boring reading ever," Carole said, leaning over Burt's shoulder.

Burt rubbed his eyes. "It is," he admitted. "At least the language. But it's the new labor agreement."

"Really? The one with the workman's comp improvements?" Carole looked at the document with new respect. "You've got a copy?"

"Tyrol gave me one," Burt said. "He's taking it to Baltar tomorrow."

Carole slid into the chair across from him. "Are you going with him?"

"Nah. He's taking a couple of the people from Galactica. But I know Kurt was happy with the agreement, so that's good. And he said Zarek was happy with it, too." He wondered if Zarek had abandoned the idea of making trouble for Baltar. He hadn't said another word about it to Burt, and he'd been just as civil and friendly as always when the met. It was kind of creeping Burt out a bit, if he was honest, because he really wasn't sure what the expectations were- or how angry Zarek would be if he refused to do whatever Zarek wanted him to do. "Just as well. I really don't know how much help I'd be around Baltar. He doesn't talk sense half the time."

Carole giggled. "I have to say, I'll be glad to have this agreement signed. It's not perfect, but it would give us all some sort of security. A system."

"Yeah. It'll definitely be a good thing," Burt said. "You wishing you were on the union side?"

"I am on the union's side," Carole said staunchly. "Just because I'm management doesn't change that."

Burt leaned forward and kissed her. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

***

"He didn't sign it!" Galen stormed into Burt's workshop, practically pulling out his hair. "That frakker Gaius Baltar-"

"He wouldn't sign it?"

"Wouldn't sign it. Tore the damn thing up and told us to get our asses back to work. Said that we should be grateful."

"For what?" Burt asked.

"Grateful because thanks to him, there are no Cylon attacks. Which, yeah, great. We're alive. But we're not gonna stay that way if we have to keep working under- ARGH!" Galen began pacing again. "I swear to the gods I thought I was going to get through to him this time! I had the statistics, I had the cases- frakking Gaeta helped me put together the damn argument! It should have been foolproof! But logic didn't matter, because that frakker was too out of it to even listen! Everything was in one ear and out the other!"

"So… where does that leave us?" Burt asked. "What does he want changed?"

"Everything. He wouldn't give in on a damned thing. And Gaeta's there talking at him, and Zarek, and he still- you know what else? He's got half the Quorum singing the same frakking song!" Galen whirled. "Half of them! He's got them convinced that this is all a load of horseshit and that these labor regulations aren't worth the paper they're printed on!"

That was more worrisome. Burt had hoped that with enough pressure from the Quorum, Baltar would cave. But if the Quorum wasn't putting on pressure, they were screwed. "How's everyone going to take it?" Galen's only answer to that was a derisive snort, which Burt should have expected. He knew how the union was going to take it. They weren't going to like it at all.

"Well," he said, once Galen had paced himself into some semblance of calm. "What do we do next?"

"I don't know." Galen heaved a sigh. "There's always…" his eyes met Burt's, and Burt knew the word he was thinking. Strike.

"The problem with that is, we do it, no building gets done," Burt said slowly. "And winter's coming."

"I know."

"And no one gets paid. Which means we'd better have some means of feeding all these people."

Galen sighed again. "I know."

"It's not a good idea."

"I know." Galen made a useless little gesture with his hands. "The problem is, it might be our only idea."

Burt sighed. "I know."

***

Kurt looked terrible when he showed up for dinner Friday night, pale, flat, and wearing the same outfit he'd had on when Burt had caught sight of him two days ago. "You getting enough sleep?" Burt asked him.

"I am, although Lauren's bed isn't always comfortable." Kurt gave a grim smile at Burt's confusion. "Puck and Lauren are back together. Sort of, anyway."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Carole asked, setting the food on the table. "Finn, get the silverware, will you?"

"It's awesome," Finn said. "He's always been crazy about her."

"I was thinking more that it was a good sign that Lauren was doing better," Carole said testily. Finn shrugged apologetically.

"Between Lauren and Puck getting back together and Mike and Tina settling in with Blaine and getting married, I'd say things are going pretty good," Burt said. He was met with two death glares, one from Carole and one from Kurt. Finn, he noticed, was focused entirely on the food.

For a while, the only sound in the tent was cutlery on plates. Finally, Carole set hers down with an angry sigh. "Kurt," she said, pushing her plate away, "we need to talk."

Oh, shit. But then, maybe this was good, Carole taking it on honestly like this, especially when Kurt set his own fork down.

"I'm listening."

"Baltar refused to sign the revised labor agreement. That means that there improvements to the worker's compensation plan won't be legal, and it means that positions- that people an be moved around by the whim of the government."

"I'm aware of that, Carole. I wasn't happy about it either."

"You took away a third of our crew for the construction crews!" Carole pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I know that you didn't do that. Not you, personally."

"No," Kurt said stiffly. "I didn't. I type the memos. I don't make the decisions."

"But how can you?" she asked. "How can you continue to work for these people, Kurt? They have no idea what they are doing, the orders that come down keep conflicting, and the whole thing is just a mess!"

"So walking away instead of trying to help fix things would be the solution?" Kurt asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did. That's what I'd be doing if I left my job."

"You just said you didn't have any power," Carole pointed out. "So it's not like you could fix things anyway, even if you stayed."

Burt met Finn's eyes across the table. Immediately, the two of them launched into well-worn diversion tactics.

"How is Blaine doing anyway?" Finn tried. "I haven't had a chance to talk to Mike or Tina in ages."

"I think he's sleeping better now," Burt said. "Isn't that what Mike said, Carole?"

"I wouldn't know," Carole answered, still glaring at Kurt. "I haven't seen anyone who's not at the plant in the past three weeks."

Kurt sighed. "Look, I know it's a problem," he said. "But the fact that construction is going so slowly on the apartments is a problem, too. It's getting colder, and things like pneumonia and consumption are going around, and they've been killing people. Pneumonia and consumption! Those haven't been fatal in the Colonies in… in years! We need to get some of these people inside for the winter! Especially people like Mike and Tina," he added purposefully, "who have young children!"

"That doesn't change that you're breaking the backs of other people!"

"I'm not doing it personally! I'm not the one not signing the agreement!"

"You're working for the people who are!"

"So you think I should just walk out?"

"Yes!" Carole yelled. "I think you should! There comes a point where you have to, Kurt! Because that administration is incompetent-"

"So what would it do?" Kurt yelled. "What would me walking out do, Carole? What would it fix, if one assistant walked out?"

"Probably nothing! You're right, okay? It would probably do nothing! But then at least I could look at you and know that you are on our side!" Her voice rang through the tent, and everything fell silent.

"You really think that?" Kurt asked, and Burt could tell that Carole had hurt him to the core. "After everything I've done, you really think I'm not on your side? Fine." He pushed out his chair and grabbed his coat. "I'm going."

"Kurt-" Carole began.

Kurt kissed Burt on the cheek. "I'll see you all at the wedding. I'd better go." With that he flounced out into the night.

"Carole-" Burt said.

"I know. I know. I just… I…" Carole sank down and cradled her forehead on her hands. "I know it's not his fault, Burt, but you've seen the hours everyone at the plant has been working!"

He'd seen the hours she had been working. He was suddenly very tired. "It will be okay, Carole. There's an answer."

"An answer? What kind of answer?" Finn asked.

Burt looked at Carole, exhausted and heartsick at the table. This wasn't about politics anymore. This was about people's lives. And people couldn't go on living like this- they had to be heard. Burt thought of Carole and the hours she'd been working, and Sam and Rya. Rachel being moved to a clerk's job, but a whole hell of a lot of other people being given no say in what work they were being assigned to do. And Brit- what would happen to Brittany if anything ever happened to Burt.

Hell with this. It was time to take action.

"The government can't help us. Kurt can't help us, because they won't help us. So maybe it's time we make them listen. Maybe it's time we start talking about a strike."

***

"You ready?" Puck asked Kurt, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Kurt frowned into the small, spotted glass, trying to adjust his tie. "Not quite yet."

"Come on!" Puck insisted, practically pulling him towards the entrance of their tent. "We need to hurry! I have a very important role in this ceremony!"

"One, 'baby bearer' is a title that you made up yourself," Kurt said sourly. "And two, they can't start without me, since I'm the one that makes it legal."

"Oh, shut up," Puck said good-naturedly. "Your tie is fine. Let's go." With a sigh, Kurt let Puck pull him out of the tent.

At least it was a nice day. It was cold, but the sun was out and the sky was blue. Kurt had finally admitted that the weather on New Caprica varied between "bad" and "miserable", so he was glad that Tina and Mike had lucked out to get one of the eight nice days apparently allotted for the year. Kurt trudged along after Puck, trying to get himself into a good mood.

"So," Puck said cheerfully, "you ever gonna tell me where you were three nights ago?"

"No."

"Come on." Puck slung an arm around Kurt's shoulder. "You can tell me. Who am I gonna tell?"

"Everybody." Kurt grabbed Puck's hand and removed his arm from his shoulder. "I'm not telling. Are we picking up Lauren and Rachel?"

"Yeah.."

Lauren and Rachel were waiting for them. Rachel was wearing a blue dress, had on her best pair of shoes, and her hair was down and loose. Lauren was dressed much more conservatively and had her hair in braids, but her smile was just as wide as Rachel's. To be honest, the way things were going, Kurt wouldn't be surprised if chirping birds joined them in this walk.

"We should sing," Rachel said, slipping in between Puck and Kurt and looping her arms through theirs.

"We are singing," Kurt pointed out. "At the ceremony."

"Do you really think that's what she meant, Hummel?" Lauren asked.

"I was hoping."

"Dude, Rachel is pretty much suggesting that we go skipping down the streets of New Caprica singing and dancing," Puck pointed out. "I thought that sort of thing was right up your alley." Kurt stared at him, and Puck shrugged. "What? It is."

It was, and that was the problem. Kurt forced a smile. "You're right," he said, and took a deep breath before turning to Rachel. "What are we singing?"

Rachel started in on "Going to the Chapel", and Puck immediately joined in. Which was strange enough, because it was Puck, a guy who at one point would have rather died than sing and dance in front of people. Lauren added her voice, and Kurt reluctantly took the harmony. Rachel was glowing, especially as people turned to watch them walk by. Probably not because of their voices, Kurt thought sourly, but because of the spectacle they were making. That thought annoyed him, and he sang louder, because when had he ever been concerned about people watching him like that?

The wedding was being held down by the river. When they arrived, a good half of New Directions was already there, but there were also a lot of people from the Cybele. Kurt hadn't quite realized just how well liked Tina and Mike were, although it made sense. He stood back for a moment, just taking in the scene. It was nice to see people so happy for a change. And he wasn't imagining it that their grins slipped a notch or two when they looked at him.

"There he is!" Puck shouted, immediately turning into a dripping pile of mush as Mike came over with baby Blaine. "Who's a big boy? The best boy ever, right? Except for your Uncle Puck." He took the baby from Mike easily, cuddling him close.

"My gods," Kurt said, standing back and watching Puck coo over the baby. "I wish I'd known about this in high school. I could have just stopped him from throwing me in the dumpster by handing him a baby."

Rachel didn't laugh. Instead, she put a hand on Kurt's arm. "Are you okay?"

He shook her off. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

"Do you want to go see the baby?"

"No." To Kurt's relief, he spotted Finn, Santana, and Mercedes approaching, and he grabbed Rachel's arm. "Let's go say hi to them."

"But you can't avoid-" Rachel began, and then saw exactly who Kurt was talking about. "All right." She took a few steps with him, but ran the rest of them straight to Finn, who picked her up and hugged her tight. Santana made a gagging motion, and Kurt couldn't help smirking. Like she wouldn't do the same thing as soon as she saw Brittany. He rolled his eyes at Mercedes, and she barely stifled a giggle.

"I have to ask," Kurt said when Santana was dragged off to help Artie make his way over the rough ground. "Why the dress grays? You used to dress well, Mercedes."

"And the uniforms are hot," Mercedes said.

"Those double tank monstrosities will never be flattering or make sense," Kurt corrected her firmly.

"I'm wearing my jacket over the tanks, genius." Mercedes shook her head. "And the dress grays are hot, so there. Besides, I didn't bring anything with me that's really appropriate for a wedding."

"You could have traded for something."

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a decent dress in my size in this Fleet?" Mercedes demanded. "There are a lot of other things I'd rather trade for. I can wear my dress grays. Santana and Finn are, too. And you can't tell me that Finn doesn't look good in those."

"And Santana looks even better, although it does pain me to admit it," Kurt said with a sigh. "I swear, you will all be the death of me."

Mercedes giggled. "Stop bitching about military fashion and turn around. You obviously wore a fabulous enough outfit for the two of us." Kurt spun obligingly, showing off the blazer he had remodeled. Mercedes' appreciative applause made it completely worth the effort.

"Come on!" Rachel and Finn were back by them. "They're starting!" Rachel said excitedly.

Kurt held his arm out to Mercedes and they jockeyed their way to a place up front. The site looked fantastic. They were down on the rocky shore, with the river as a backdrop to the ceremony. Mr. Schuester was standing with his back to the river, smiling and wearing his best vest. He grinned at them and winked, and Mercedes waggled her fingertips back. "I can't believe he still manages to find vests," she whispered, and they both giggled.

Artie was providing the music with Sam's old guitar. Kurt remembered Tina once saying how much she would have loved a harp for a processional, and momentarily felt bad that she had to make do with a beat-up acoustic guitar. But then he spotted, her, and he couldn't feel pity in the glow of Tina's smile.

Tina was wearing a black lace dress with a wide white color, and a dark shawl draped around her shoulders. She was walking with Sam, their arms laced together, although when she passed Carole she reached out and squeezed her hand. Kurt saw his stepmother's smile and for the first time, he realized that if he ever got married, Carole would be walking him down the aisle with his father. The thought took him by surprise, and he almost missed Mike's entrance.

Tina was radiant, but Mike almost put her to shame with the way he was smiling. He practically bounced up to Will, and it was only the strong arm of Coach Beiste that kept him on the ground. Kurt had helped Mike pick out his wedding outfit, and although Mike had refused to wear a hat, he'd at least adopted Kurt's idea of a fancy scarf around his neck as a cold-weather version of a tie. It was flattering, and Mike looked at least as good as Tina, if Kurt said so himself.

The bride and groom reached Mr. Schuester, who was performing the actual ceremony. Not that it was legal- Kurt's signature as a public notary was what would make them married in the eyes of the government- but both Tina and Mike had insisted. Kurt shifted uncomfortably, ready for a long, drawn out, sentimental service. Next to him, Mercedes nudged him with her shoulder, either as a show of support or a reminder to pay attention. He decided to take it as the former.

He was prepared for the wedding to be painful for him. After all, he'd really thought that one day it might be him and Blaine standing up there, and if Blaine had survived Caprica, it probably would have been. He'd been able to see it so clearly, to the point where he could feel Blaine's hands in his and hear his voice.

He'd thought that Blaine's ghost would be with him today, or at least the longing. Instead, he felt mostly dead inside, except when Tina and Mike kissed. Then he couldn't help smiling and clapping along with all of the others.

Mr. Schuester finished the ceremony, and it was Kurt's turn to sign the certificate with a flourish, then pass it to Tina and Mike to add their own names, as they became Tina and Michael Cohen-Chang. Puck was waving little Blaine's arm, everyone was clapping and Mike and Tina were glowing, but as Kurt took a step back he just felt that dim deadness spread over him again.

Receptions on New Caprica were nothing like they had been on Gemenon. Two years ago, his father had had a fancy dinner with filet mignon and chicken breast, a huge cake, dancing and music, and presents that were luxuries rather than necessities. On New Caprica, there was no catering service, and presents tended to be recycled or ragged. There was no meal for Tina and Mike's wedding, although Quinn's wedding present to them had been a fruit cake that she'd bought and probably paid dearly for. Artie had rigged up a sound system with a wireless which was a true luxury for a New Caprican wedding, and it didn't take long for the dancing to begin.

"Come on," Mercedes said, grabbing Kurt's hand and pulling him to the middle of the impromptu dance floor. "It's a party."

It was easy to dance with Mercedes and laugh about old glee choreography. The others were dancing as well, and Kurt found he'd missed those days, when they'd all danced together. He got his dance with the bride, and to his pleased surprise, a dance with the groom as well. He retreated to the sidelines after, watching the people dancing and just trying to enjoy everything.

"You're not dancing?" Finn asked as he stopped by Kurt, a glass of something in his hand.

Kurt was flippant. "I know. Puck promised me a dance, but he seems to be taken up by another man." He pointed to where Puck was twirling with baby Blaine, swooping him around in a way that would probably make Tina smack him upside the head.

"Yeah, I see that," Finn said with a little laugh. He took another sip of his drink, his eyes on the couples. "You okay?"

Kurt shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be? We're at a wedding, it's a nice day, there's even cake…" he held up his slice to illustrate his point.

"Yeah, but you seem really out of it," Finn said.

"Mmm."

"Hey, listen," Finn said, when things stretched too long, "I have to go up to Galactica in a bit. I've only got the Raptor for so long, but I'm coming back down tomorrow with a supply run and I'll have a spare seat. You want to come up tonight and hang out? I know we can't get warm milk- well, we can, but it's that dehydrated stuff and it tastes really bad- but we can find something else."

Kurt nodded slowly. "All right," he said.

"Awesome." Finn pounded him on the back. "We'll leave in an hour, okay?"

"Okay."

Finn grinned at him one more time and then turned away to talk to someone else, and Kurt settled back in with a smile.

***

They ended up playing cards in Finn's rack, sitting at the table in the middle of the room. Finn waited three games before he finally opened his big mouth. "So what's going on with you? Everyone said you've been kind of out of it."

"Who's everyone?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

"Dude, don't change the subject. Even I could see it tonight. Something's off. What's going on?"

Kurt sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I guess if I was going to go with the vernacular, I'd say I can't seem to 'get my groove back.'" He made a pair of air quotes and rolled his eyes as he said it, even if it was the perfect summation. "I know Blaine's gone, and I accept that, but it just keeps… shouldn't I be doing better by now?"

"How bad are you doing?" Finn asked.

"Really bad," Kurt admitted. He chewed his lip, looking down at the cards on the table. "I had a one night stand."

"So? No offense, but I always figured you'd have a few once you and Blaine broke up and you went to college."

Kurt shot him a glare. "Thank you for your faith in our relationship." Finn shrugged, and Kurt decided there was no point in arguing. "I know," he conceded. "And if that had happened, I probably would have. It's not the one night stand part that bothers me."

"What bothers you, then?"

"I slept with Baltar."

Finn clearly didn't know what to make of that. "Oh."

"It's not just that he's the President," Kurt explained. "I just… I don't even like him. At all."

"But you voted for him!"

"And I'm kind of regretting that," Kurt admitted. "He's… he doesn't do anything, Finn. He sits in that office all day and talks about how great he is and how the Cylons haven't come back and he makes it impossible for us to get anything done, because he thinks everyone should do things exactly his way. Like, because he's this great scientist, he knows what's best for everyone on the planet." Kurt snorted. "When people don't agree with them, he doesn't try to convince them he's right or even listen to what they have to say- he just throws a fit. Plus, his hair is rather disgusting and he smokes and he really isn't as attractive as he used to be."

"So why did you do it?"

"I don't know," Kurt said, putting the cards down and falling back on the bed, curling up. "I thought maybe it would help me get over Blaine. De-romanticize it or something. And all it's done is make things worse."

Finn stared at Kurt for a long time, until Kurt had to look down, aware that he was on the verge of tears. Then Finn put his cards down definitively. "Come on."

"What? Where?"

"Just come on." Finn stood up and held his hand out to Kurt. "I think this will help."

They walked through the deserted halls of the Galactica together. Kurt looked around curiously. The last time he'd been here it had been bustling with activity and life, but now it just seemed tired and dead. They turned a corner, and Kurt stopped short. The hall in front of them was covered with pictures.

"Finn…"

"I've never brought you here before, have I?" Finn said. Kurt shook his head. Both walls were covered. Not just covered, but covered in layers. All those faces, notes, names, candles, scraps of memory… "Finn."

Finn took Kurt's hand and squeezed it. "Come on."

Finn led him down the hall about two thirds of the way and then stopped. At first, Kurt didn't know what he was supposed to be looking for, and then Lauren's face caught his eye. "What's she doing up here?"

"Guess that should come down, but I kind of left it for Puck. I don't know how much he comes here anymore," Finn said. Kurt thought probably not that much since Puck was on the ground, but he didn't say anything. His eyes were too busy searching out other faces.

There weren't many he knew. There was Lauren, of course, and there was a picture of Ms. Pillsbury that was grainy and small, like someone had printed it off a phone. Mercedes' entire family- Kurt recognized her parents and her brother. Then he couldn't avoid looking at it anymore, and his eyes finally landed on the picture of Blaine.

The picture was torn in half, and Kurt knew why. Finn had carefully torn Kurt out of it, although his arms were still visible around Blaine's neck. It was taken here on the Galactica, when they'd greeted each other. Kurt had heard that a picture like this had existed, but he'd never really paid attention to it. He reached up and touched Blaine lightly, trailing his fingers down the picture.

"I know you used to go to your mom's grave," Finn said quietly. "I always knew when you went, because you'd come home looking sad, but you'd seem kind of peaceful. And I've been thinking that you never had a chance to visit Blaine's grave. I know he doesn't have a real one, at least, not where his body is. But this is what that's for- the Memorial hallway, I mean. I thought it might help you to come here."

There was a lump in Kurt's throat and he couldn't speak. He kept tracing the picture like he used to trace the letters carved into his mother's headstone, until the pictures all blurred in his vision.

Finn was quiet.

"I just want… I just want to move on," Kurt admitted, his voice thick with grief. "I want to, but I can't. I want-" he broke down crying, and Finn wrapped his arms around him. Kurt held on tight, crying into Finn's shoulder until his ribs hurt. It wasn't pleasant, but it felt good. Like lancing a wound and letting everything out, like going to his mother's grave used to feel. Finn just held him, not saying anything and letting Kurt cry.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said when he finally pulled away. "Your jacket is going to need washed." He brushed ineffectually at the damp stain on Finn's BDU jacket.

"No worries." Finn peered closely at Kurt's face. "Feel a little better?"

"No. Not really. Finn… would you think less of me if I… if I found someone to talk to on New Caprica?"

"What, you mean like Puck or something? He's a good listener, you know. And I know Rachel can get kind of crazy and scary, but you guys-"

"No, I mean a therapist. Someone who really knows what they're doing. I'm not getting better, Finn. And I should be."

"Oh." Finn's face brightened with understanding. "Yeah, no. I wouldn't think less of you at all. I think that's a really good idea, actually."

"You do?" Although now that he'd said it, Kurt knew the truth. It was. It was exactly what he needed to do.

"Yeah. I also think," Finn smiled slowly, "that we should go get drunk. Really drunk. I'll set the alarm so you can wake up in time to take a shower up here-"

"You are a god," Kurt interrupted.

"-And then we'll find Mercedes and some of the others and get as drunk as we can. Sounds good?"

"Sounds great. Finn?"

"Yeah?"

Kurt hugged him. "Thanks."

"Any time, bro," Finn said, hugging him back.

***

The tent was crowded with workers. Burt between Carole and Brittany, looking around. So many people.

He'd brought the idea of a strike to Galen, and had been given no answer, just a very grim sort of expression that meant Galen already had a plan. Burt strongly suspected he knew what it was, but Galen didn't say.

He could feel it here in the tent, though. All the discontent, all the unrest… everything that had been building. He'd been spared a lot of the misery because of Kurt, but he'd seen the problems in the administration. New Caprica simply wasn't working, and there had to be a way to fix it.

Up on the platform, Tyrol was trying to impose order, shouting for quiet. The crowd was so riled up it was hard, until Cally just burst out with a loud, "Hey, shut the frak up!" The crowd, surprised, settled down.

Tyrol looked nervous- more nervous than Burt had ever seen him, although the man was not in any way a gifted speaker. But when he did speak, his words went straight to the heart of the problem, to what everyone wanted to hear.

"When you elected me union President, I promised I would keep us working, keep benefits flowing. But most of all, keep this city alive. I promised we would stay on the job. But there comes a time when you realize that the engine you've built with your blood and your sweat and your tears is being used for something so foul, so perverted that it makes you sick in your heart." There was noise from the audience, cheers that were threatening to break free. But Tyrol gestured for them to be held in, at least until the end.

"And it's then that you must throw your body on the gears and on the levers and on the machine itself and make it stop. And you have to show the people who run it, the people who control it, that unless we're free, that machine will be prevented from working at all."

The last words were like a match to dry kindling. "Strike!" someone yelled, and the chant was quickly picked up and built, until the entire tent echoed with the force of it.

"Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!"

Burt's bones vibrated to the rhythm, and his heart started pounding faster. Strike. One way or another, this was going to change things for good.

***

Kurt's head was pounding when Finn dropped him off, but he stood on the edge of the airfield and watched Finn's Raptor lift off, heading back up to the Galactica, and he felt better than he had in a long time. He figured he'd go home, change, and then go down to the medical tent and talk to Quinn. She would help him find someone, and then he could go up to Colonial One and get a little work done. He technically had the day off, but there was so much to do that no one would argue.

He was walking up the hill to the med tent when he saw them. He stood staring for a long moment, praying that it was the pilots doing a Raptor drill. But it wasn't.

The ships streaked across the sky, leaving jet streams and landing out of his sight. Kurt hadn't looked out the window often during attacks, but he still knew what the ships looked like. He recognized the heavy, bulky raiders and the sharp crescents shapes. For a long moment his mind wouldn't process it, but that didn't change the truth.

The Cylons had found them.