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.

10. Tricked By the Future You Picked

Gaius Baltar surrendered to the Cylons.

The news was around the settlement in a matter of minutes. Burt had known there was no hope- the Centurions tramping through the market place and the ships flying overhead had announced that. What he didn't know was what had happened. Was the Fleet destroyed? The Galactica? Was Finn- no. He wasn't going to think about that right now, because there was no reason to believe that the whole settlement wouldn't be blown to bits at any minute. If Finn was dead, he might be the lucky one.

The real question was, what happened now?

Everyone had been ordered back to their tents by a detached voice over the loudspeaker system. Burt and Carole had obeyed, because what else could they do? They had no idea of where anyone else was, and machines who had destroyed the Colonies had a way of making them cooperate.

"We should find the kids," Carole said as they huddled in their tent. "As many of them as we can. We should-"

There was shouting outside, and the rattle of guns, imprecise, accompanied by human shouting, and the answer of the ordered firing of Centurions. Screaming. The fight was over quickly, but the screaming went on. Carole's face was pale, and she reached out for Burt's hand. He gripped hers tightly, mouth pressed closed tightly as the screaming finally began to die away. He wasn't surprised that people would resist, and he didn't blame them, but the message was clear. Fall in line or be killed.

There was one name in the forefront of Burt's mind, one person who he desperately needed to see, to assure himself that he was all right. But Burt had no idea if he could get to Kurt, even if he could get out of this tent. Kurt would be up in Colonial One, which meant…. He had no frakking clue what that meant, except that Burt was terrified.

They heard gunfire again, and he wrapped his arm around Carole as she buried her face in his shoulder. They were just going to have to wait. They had no idea if Finn was alive, they had no idea if Kurt was alive, they had no idea if they themselves would be alive in an hour. They clung to each other, the only comfort they could find in their fear.

***

Baltar's office was crowded with every member of the human government, as well as several Cylons. Kurt sat on the couch between Tom and a Quorum representative, trying to huddle in on himself and to keep from just jumping up and running away. He'd never been so scared in his life, especially with the Cylons standing in the room. A Six was addressing the assemblage.

"This is not a conquering force or an attempt to exterminate the human race," she said. "This is God's plan. He wants us to live in peace, to atone for our sins by forming this new alliance with humanity." She believed. It was clear she believed in this God and her words. And if Kurt only listened to her, he might believe that this was all right. But she wasn't the only one speaking.

"However, let's be honest with ourselves, shall we?" a One broke in. He was an old man, dressed in black, leaning against Baltar's desk. "This 'new society' will take time to be built. Time and… certain cooperation. Compromises. Sacrifices."

"On whose side?" Tom stood up, his arms crossed and his face steady and hard.

A Three raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Whose side will be making compromises and sacrifices? We've heard the guns going off outside already."

"Only in defense," the Three said. "This is a nonviolent and peaceful-"

"There is no nonviolent way to deprive people of their freedom."

"That's not what we're here to do," an Eight said.

Tom raised his head defiantly. "If you think that your living here is in any way in accordance with the people's wishes, you are deluding yourself. There is no way that the people will not rise up against you, and the only way you can accomplish this so-called peaceful coexistence is through violence, coercion, and force. And you are asking us to be party to that."

"Technically, we're not asking," a One pointed out. "As you say, the only way we can accomplish our goals is through violence, coercion, and force, and frankly, those all sound like pretty good ideas to me."

"I won't do it."

Kurt stared up at Tom, frozen. His heart was pounding hard and his mouth went dry, and very suddenly it occurred to him how very, very much he liked his boss and how badly he really did not want him to die.

"Well, now." The One smiled. It was an oily smile, and the meaning behind it was clear. "Are you volunteering to be our first demonstration, Mr. Zarek?"

"Tom." Baltar stood up. "Don't do this. This is not worth your life."

Tom gave a little choked laugh. "Not worth my life, Gaius? You do remember who I am and what I have done, right? Did you ever think that any of it was a ploy? A joke? I have always been willing to sacrifice my life for the good of the people- for their freedoms and their rights. Why should now be any different?"

"Because it won't matter!" Baltar said, looking around at the Cylons frantically. "Because if you die here, they won't leave! It won't accomplish anything!"

"I'll take that chance, Gaius. At least then I shall die with my soul intact."

Don't do this, Kurt wanted to beg him. Please. Don't do this. But the words wouldn't come out of his mouth, and he could only sit on, paralyzed.

Tom broke that paralysis when he touched Kurt's shoulder. "Are you coming with me? Or are you staying here and going along with this madness?"

"My father…" Kurt croaked out, and suddenly that freed him. "My father has a weak heart. If I died…." Was it an excuse or the truth? Kurt didn't know. All he knew was that there was disappointment in Tom's eyes when he looked at him.

"Enough of this," the One said. "Shoot him."

"No!" An Eight and the believer Six both protested. "That's not how this is supposed to work!" the Eight said.

"Well, then, take him to some sort of prison," the One said, waving a hand dismissively. He looked at the Four and Five that had been standing silent all this time. "Do we even have one?"

"I'm sure the humans have some sort of disciplinary measures," the Four said. They looked at Baltar.

Baltar's shoulders slumped. "There's the Astral Queen," he said. "A former prison ship. We've been using that for detainment purposes."

"It will have to do for now. Throw him into a cell on this Astral Queen, and we'll deal with him later. Anyone else?"

The rest of the administration remained silent. Kurt couldn't look anyone in the eye, but if he'd been able to he would have noticed that no one else could, either. The Four and the Five flanked Tom, who held his wrists out in a resigned sort of way. Kurt was a little surprised that Tom didn't go kicking and screaming, but maybe he'd realized that there was some truth in what Baltar said, that his death would accomplish nothing. The room was silent as Tom was led out, and Kurt didn't realize he was shaking until the door slammed.

The One watched them go, and then turned back to face the human administration. "Good. Now that that's settled, let's get to work."

***

"Carole Hudson."

Burt and Carole both froze as a man who looked exactly like Simon O'Neill threw open their tent flap and walked in, the morning sun behind him. It had been a long, terrifying night spent isolated in their tent with no clear idea of what was happening. Burt tightened his grip on Carole's hand as she stood to answer.

"Yes?"

The Four looked at a clipboard in his hand. "You're management in the water treatment facility."

Carole drew herself up. "Yes."

"Come with me."

Burt jumped to his feet. "Where are you taking her?"

The Four smiled, just a little bit, like he saw Burt's fear and thought it ridiculous, even though he knew the root cause. "To work, of course. She'll be home in twelve hours."

Burt automatically glanced at his watch. It was about the time Carole would normally leave. "I'll hold you to that," he growled.

"As long as no one makes trouble, you're fine," the Four said. "Hudson. Let's go."

"Wait." Burt grabbed his own coat. "I want to come with you."

"Excuse me?" the Four asked.

"I want to know that you're telling me the truth, and I'm not gonna believe it unless I see her go into that plant with my own eyes. You can walk me to work after, if you want."

The Four shrugged. "Fine. If you insist." He held the tent flap open and bowed mockingly. "After you."

Carole slipped her arm through Burt's and he covered her hand, and they walked through the streets of New Caprica with the Four right behind them. Carole was pressed close against him, and his own heart was pounding so hard he was sure the Four could hear it. There were others in the streets, both human and Cylon, and both skinjobs and Centurions, but it didn't have the air of business as usual.

The Four didn't redirect them at all as they walked to the water treatment facility, and when they arrived, he inclined his head for Carole to go in. So it was true. Burt breathed a little easier. Carole leaned in and he kissed her goodbye, then the Four cleared his throat and Carole headed into the plant. Safe.

Brittany was in the shop when Burt arrived. The Four left, uninterested ever since his main errand was complete, and as soon as he was gone Burt crossed the shop and hugged Brit to him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Brittany said, pulling away. "I'm just- she's dead, isn't she? Santana?"

"Hey, we don't know that. They could have jumped away."

"They wouldn't," Brittany said. "Santana wouldn't leave me here."

Burt drew a deep breath. "They would," he said. "It stands to reason, right? That they'd run away and come back to get us later? We've got to believe that, Brit, that they got away. Okay?" He cupped her cheek, and Brittany nodded. "Good girl. Now come on. We've got work to do." Burt wasn't sure if anyone would pick up the orders or not, but if nothing else working would keep him and Brittany busy and their minds off what was going on outside. He pulled out a space heater that they were piecing together from old parts. "Come on. Let's see what we can do with this bad boy, okay?"

The work wouldn't help much, but it might just be enough to get them through the day.

***

Kurt huddled on the couch in Tom's office, taking deep breaths and reminding himself that he was still alive, even after an entire day and night of Cylon occupation. Not only was he alive, but he'd looked out the windows and there was no wholesale slaughter in the streets. There were humans moving around down there. And even Tom was still alive. Kurt shuddered. He didn't want to think of Tom, and the disappointment on his face when Kurt had stayed in the office, not following him to the Astral Queen in a show of rebellion.

The door opened, and Kurt stiffened and automatically turned to see who was coming in. It was one of the Fives. He sauntered in, looking around the room with an air of propriety. He ran his hand over Tom's desk, made a face, and then looked around again. His gaze fell on Kurt and he grinned. Kurt drew back.

"Hello."

The Five could kill him, and then what would happen to his father? He had to speak. "Hello," Kurt managed to croak out.

"This office is terrible," the Five complained, his hands clasped behind him as he rocked back on his heels. "Old, awkward, and clunky. It's such a shame that humans don't have any appreciation of aesthetic flare." He smiled again. "In fact, the only thing worthwhile in this office is you." The Five stepped closer, eyeing him predatorily. Kurt shrank back against the couch as the Five came nearer and nearer, stopping well within Kurt's personal space. He reached out and fingered the lapel of Kurt's blazer, and Kurt's breath stopped completely.

"This jacket," the Five said, "it's really quite remarkable. I love the color."

It was the last thing Kurt expected to hear. "Thank you."

"Really. The red is just fantastic." The Five sighed and stepped back, and Kurt could breathe again. The Five clapped his hands together.

"So," he said, when Kurt didn't say anything, "I've been informed that you come with the office. Which is a nice touch, I admit. Not all of us rate an assistant."

"Oh." Well, if he was an assistant still, he wasn't dying. "What do you do… sir?"

"Sir." The Five brightened at that. "I like that. Well… Kurt, am I right? Kurt. You and I are going to be running the distributions."

Kurt's brows furrowed. "What does that entail?"

"Rations, mainly. Supply. A lot of other tedious but necessary jobs. A waste of my flair, and apparently of yours, but we want to make sure everything is fair, don't we?" There didn't seem to be room to disagree, so Kurt nodded. "Good. Now." The Five pulled out Tom's chair and sat down. Kurt cringed and looked away. "Let's get to work."

***

The day crept by. For the most part, people didn't come into the shop, although Burt wasn't surprised when Galen Tyrol did.

"You guys okay?" Galen asked. Burt nodded, and Galen leaned closer. "You heard the Fleet jumped away?"

"They really got away?" Relief flooded him.

"Yeah. Don't know if it'll do us any good, but they're out there."

"I want to believe that," Burt said. Not that it would do much good. Two battlestars couldn't do much against the entire Cylon Fleet.

"Take care of yourselves and hold tight," Tyrol said before he slipped off again. Already, Burt could see that this man was a soldier, and he was gearing up for some sort of fight. Humanity wouldn't bow that easily.

As the afternoon wore on, Burt and Brittany heard other sounds from outside. People in the streets, some even talking. Centurions marching by. The siren-type noise from Colonial One to indicate the end of the shift.

"Should we go home?" Brittany asked.

Burt frowned. "Maybe. But maybe we should…" he looked outside into the streets. People were moving about. Their heads were down and their hands were in pockets, but they were moving, unhampered by the Cylons. "Maybe we should go over to the high school tent."

Brittany nodded and pulled on her coat. "You don't think the Fleet will have gone around to the other side of New Caprica, do you? Like an eclipse?"

"The Cylons would pick them up this close," Burt said. He pulled on his jacket and adjusted his hat. "Let's go. And stay close to me, you got it?"

They stepped out into the street, and even though nothing was happening, Burt cringed. It felt as if they would be shot at any moment. But no one seemed to notice them, and they joined the traffic of other people walking.

The high school tent wasn't far away. Burt didn't know why they were headed there- it wasn't like there had been any sort of message- but it seemed right. And when they entered, he knew it was right, because not only were Will, Shannon, and Sue there, but Carole, Sam, Rya, Rachel, Lauren, Puck, and Mike and Tina with Blaine. The only two missing were Kurt and Quinn.

"Burt." Carole hugged him first, followed by Shannon, and Sue draped an arm around Brittany.

"Everyone okay?" Burt asked.

"Any word about Kurt?" Carole asked. Burt shook his head, and Shannon clapped him on the shoulder silently while Schuester pressed his lips together sadly. Burt wanted to yell that Kurt wasn't dead, but he had no idea.

"A whole lot of them came into Supply and took over," Rachel said. "They were awful- just awful."

"What do you expect?" Lauren asked. "They're toasters."

"But to see them up close like that! I never realized they were so creepy." Rachel shivered.

"How'd you not know? You knew one," Puck said. "I saw that Biers chick from TV walking around. She's a frakking Cylon."

"So's the priest that married us," Rya said, looking up at Sam. "Although we've known that one for a while."

"The Centurions are the worst," Tina said. "I can handle the ones that look human."

"They kept talking about how they're coming in peace," Mike said hopefully. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

"We've already seen them shoot to kill," Sue said, breaking in and staring Mike down. "There's no use pretending. If you all want to live in delusion about great societies and 'we come in peace', be my guest. But let's not fool ourselves and think that people aren't going to die."

"I was just saying," Mike mumbled, looking away. Tina rubbed his arm, and Burt couldn't blame him. Yeah, it would be nice to believe that the Cylons meant all that stuff about peace. But Sue was right: it already wasn't happening.

The tent flap opened and everybody went on edge, relaxing again when they saw that it was Kurt coming in. Burt sighed with relief, especially as Kurt came right to him. Burt hugged him tightly enough that Kurt's back cracked.

Kurt pulled back first. "Are you okay, Dad?"

"Me? I'm not the one up there in Colonial One. What's going on up there?"

"Is everyone dead?" Brittany asked. "Are you a ghost?"

Kurt shook his head. His face was pale, but he looked unhurt. Knowing Kurt was safe and that Finn probably was too and Carole was here and everyone else… a weight lifted off Burt's heart a little, and he could breathe again.

Schuester cleared his throat. "I'm glad you guys are all okay," he said, and Burt realized he was slipping into that teacher mode of his. "And since everyone's here, I think we should talk about how we can keep it that way."

"You think that's gonna happen?" Puck said. "Because I can tell you, I'm not sitting tight while those frakking toasters crush us." Lauren nodded.

Schuester sighed. "Look. Puck. I know that you-"

"You know what?" Puck asked. "Just in case you've forgotten, Mr. Schue, none of us are kids anymore. I'm twenty-one. I don't have to answer to you just because you're a teacher."

"I didn't say that you did! But you have a tendency to be impulsive, and that's going to get you killed!" Schuester looked around at the whole group. "The last thing I want- the last thing- is for anything to happen to any one of you."

"But what's going to happen?" Rachel asked. "How long is this going to be?"

"I don't know, Rachel."

"They think they're here for good," Kurt said. "They think they can live in peace with us."

"Like hell they can," Puck growled.

"I didn't say it would work. I just said that that was their goal."

A lot of arguing and discussion broke out, with people worrying and trying to reassure themselves that this wasn't going to be as terrible as they all knew it was going to be. Burt took the moment to take Kurt over to the side. Carole followed.

"Listen," he said, staring at Kurt like it was the last time he'd ever see him. "I don't like you being up there on Colonial One."

"I know, but I can't just quit. They won't let me."

"I know." Burt cut that off before Kurt could go any further. "And that's exactly what I want to talk to you about." Burt took Kurt by the shoulders. "Look. Whatever happens during this occupation, you're a kid, okay? You're my kid. And you're gonna have to do what you have to do to stay alive."

Kurt's eyes widened and he looked over at Carole. Carole nodded. "Your dad's right, honey," she said. "Working in the administration and so close to them…" she bit her lip. "You're in more danger than any of us."

"I'll be all right," Kurt said, but without any conviction.

"You will be." Burt's fingers tightened around Kurt's shoulders. "Because whatever you have to do to stay alive up there, you do it. Got that? You do whatever it takes."

"But-"

"Kurt. You're a low-level assistant. You're a kid. They're not going to ask you to do anything too big," Burt said. Carole nodded. "They're going to roll over you and make their own decisions, and if you argue or try to play the hero, they're going to shoot you and find someone else who will do it. You got that? You keep your head down and you do what they tell you and you stay alive."

Kurt looked from him to Carole, and his face looked so desperate and upset. Like he would be asked to shoot someone or walk through the settlement snatching food out of the hands of orphans. Burt had no clear idea how the occupation was going to go, but he did know that there were a lot of people they'd turn to before they looked to Kurt to do stuff like that. "Just keep your head down, okay?" he repeated. "Promise me."

"I promise."

Burt pulled him close and hugged him tight, and then released him to Carole. All the tension of the last few months was gone from the air between the two of them. No one knew what was coming with this occupation, but one thing Burt and Carole both knew was that the most important thing about it was getting their family through it alive.

***

People were beginning to leave. Kurt hung back. On the one hand, he didn't want to remember that humiliating morning a week ago involving Baltar. On the other hand, Sue deserved to know. Kurt pulled her over to the corner of the tent as the people who remained continued their discussions.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Porcelain?" Sue asked, once they were out of earshot of everyone else.

Kurt took a deep breath. "They took Tom away," he said, his voice shaking. "They've got him over on the Astral Queen."

"So?"

"So? But you- the other day- I saw-"

"You saw me leaving a booty call. That's all it was." She crossed her arms and stared straight at him, challenging him. "I'm not sure what you want me to do with this information."

The words exploded out of Kurt. "Get him out!"

"And how do you expect me to that?"

"I don't know! If I knew, I'd do it! I've already lost Blaine twice- I can't do the same thing with Tom!" To his horror, Kurt felt tears welling up. Sue gawked at him for a long moment, and then snorted and put a patronizing hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"I don't care if he gets out or not. But you obviously do. The best I can tell you is don't call too much attention to it. Don't let the Cylons think he's too important to you, or they will use it, just like I used Lee Adama's famous love of noodles to get him to hand over a small arsenal to me when we settled on this craphole. Worry about yourself right now. Because up there on that tin can, you're going to be the one who needs it."

Kurt nodded. He noticed his father looking in their direction and did his best to pull himself together. The last thing Kurt wanted was for his dad to worry about him. More than he would, anyway. He took a deep breath, wiped his face on the cuffs of his sleeve, and nodded. "Thank you."

Tom and Blaine were both heavy on his mind as he made his way home, tense and nervous as he walked through the streets. If Blaine was here, he'd at least have someone to hold on to. Kurt closed his eyes momentarily. If Blaine was here… Kurt couldn't even imagine how being pinned down by the Cylons on a planet would affect him. It would be like being plunged right back into the hell that was Caprica, only worse. The thought choked him, because he really did not want to think that maybe it was better that Blaine was dead than here for this. He forced that thought sternly from his mind and entered his tent.

Quinn was sitting on his bed.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt blurted, because Quinn was the one person who hadn't gone to the high school tent. "Not that I'm not glad to see you alive, but-"

"The Fours are in the medical tent," Quinn said. She wiped her cheeks with the palms of her hands, and Kurt realized she'd been crying. Very delicately and gracefully, but crying all the same. "One even told me to call him Simon."

"Oh."

"Is this what it was like for you?" Quinn asked, and Kurt winced. "Is this what it's like to love someone and think they're dead and then to have them come back, but not really? He looked just like the Simon I worked with. Every detail. But he didn't know me. That's when I knew he wasn't real."

"Then it's not the same," Kurt said. "Blaine was real."

"So was Simon. The Simon I worked with, I mean. He was real," Quinn said. She wiped her nose and lifted her chin. "It turns out he's really dead. He didn't resurrect." She shuddered on the word.

"You asked?"

Quinn shrugged. "Wouldn't you?" Her eyes bored into Kurt, and he sighed.

"Yes." He sat down next to her. "So what are the Cylons doing in the med tent?"

"Being doctors, if you can believe that," Quinn said. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes. Kurt impulsively reached over put a hand over them. Quinn gave him a dirty look, but put them away. "They want to know more about human life, and to be fair, which I don't want to be, they seem to be pretty good at it already."

Kurt didn't even want to think about how the Cylons had come by that knowledge. "Is it all of them?"

"No. Just the Fours." Quinn shook her head. "You'd think one or two of the other numbers would be interested, but it's just the Fours."

"It's all of them up on Colonial One," Kurt said. "In fact, I-" He was interrupted by Puck exploding into the tent.

"Kurt. Quinn." Puck nodded at them and went straight to his bed, dropping to his knees and looking under the mattress. Kurt and Quinn watched him like he was insane.

"Please tell me we don't have roaches," Kurt said. "Believe me, I think that would be the final thing to tip me over the edge."

"Roaches?" Quinn asked. "Really? That would be what tips you over the edge today?"

"Aha!" Puck was triumphant. "I knew I still had it."

"What is that?" Kurt demanded.

"A gun, dumbass," Puck said.

"I wasn't being literal," Kurt said dryly, but he eyed the gun in Puck's hands with trepidation. It was a big one, too, bigger than the pistol that Puck carried for security and left locked on the Astral Queen when he wasn't on duty. "What I really meant was where did it come from?"

"Then you should have asked that instead. It was a souvenir. All the Marines took a few. I've got more." This time, Puck lay flat on his stomach on the dirt floor and pulled out a big box from under his bed. He flung it open and smiled. Kurt leaned forward and saw several boxes of ammunition, some grenades, and two smaller guns. Puck's smile was huge. "Come to papa, babies."

"What are you doing? You're going to get in trouble," Quinn said.

Puck looked up at her, all traces of his smile gone. "Do you really think that people are just going to lie down and let the frakking toasters walk all over us?"

"It's not like there's much we can do," Quinn said. "The Fleet jumped away."

"So? There's people on the ground."

"With what? Are you planning on throwing rocks at the Cylons?"

"Did you just miss the guns I pulled out from under my bed? I was kind of planning on shooting those."

"And getting yourself killed." Kurt was on Quinn's side. "What are those guns going to do, Puckerman? The Cylons resurrect."

"Yeah, but I hear it hurts a lot when they die." Puck didn't smile as he said it. He put the gun back in the case, clicked it shut, and shoved it back under the bed. "And you two can stop gaping at me like that. I'm not going to go out into the street screaming and taking Cylons out left and right."

"Then what are you going to do?" Kurt asked.

"Fight 'em till we can't fight 'em anymore," Puck said, sitting back on his heels.

"That doesn't even make sense," Quinn said. "How are you going to fight them?"

Puck just grinned. "You'll see."

***

Burt had told Kurt to keep his head down and do whatever it took to stay alive, but that was for Kurt. Burt wasn't in the habit of letting people push him around, and neither was Carole. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that people would be planning to get rid of the Cylons already, and both Burt and Carole wanted in. It only took one short conversation with Galen to find out who was running this operation.

Burt had heard about Colonel Tigh from Finn and Mercedes, but had never met him. From their attitude and jokes Burt had somehow pictured Tigh as fat, with a bad comb-over and a slightly vacant expression, even though he'd seen the man on television. He wasn't quite expecting the hard, lean man who Galen introduced them to, whose eyes raked over both Burt and Carole assessingly, immediately cataloguing how they could be of the most use.

"Either of you know how to use a gun?" was the first real sentence he said.

"Not so much," Burt admitted.

"Yes." Carole's voice was clear and definite. Burt blinked, amazed. Carole shrugged. "I did biathalon back in high school. I got pretty good with a rifle."

"What kind?" Tigh asked.

"I liked the Shilen DGV."

Tigh smiled. "Good taste. Anything else?"

"Chris and I used to go on dates to the shooting range, especially when he was in the Fleet. Handguns and rifles."

Of course. Now that she said it, Burt remembered Carole mentioning both of those bits way back. It just wasn't something they talked about. Tigh was really interested though. "You any good as a shot?"

"Had to aim to miss a few times, or Chris got annoyed."

Galen and Burt both laughed at that, and even Tigh grinned. "Good. You'll be of use, then. And you?" he said, turning to Burt.

"I could learn," Burt offered.

Tigh snorted. "Where? You think the Cylons are going to let us set up firing ranges for practice?"

"Fair enough. But there are more ways of taking out toasters than just guns."

Galen nodded. "He's right about that, Colonel. Some of them are more efficient, too."

"Efficient as you can be against an enemy that doesn't die." Tigh scowled, but his scowl was one of thought, not of disgust. "You're right, Chief. And I'm guessing a mechanic could figure out some clever ways of wiring things up, am I right?"

"Let's talk clear. You mean like bombs, right?"

"I mean bombs. I mean remote triggers. You think you can do that sort of stuff?"

"Don't know much about bombs, but I've picked up a lot about wiring," Burt said. "And that's all stuff you can learn in a tent. And I've got a workshop and a lot of tools that the Cylons aren't using yet."

Tigh nodded. "All right. You're in. We'll be in touch."

***

Somewhere in his head, Kurt had visions of himself, Gaeta, and Baltar rising above their differences and banding together under Cylon oppression. It took all of three days for him to realize that wasn't going to happen.

Baltar was worse than useless. As much as Kurt hated it, he could understand why Baltar surrendered. Resistance would not have sent the Cylons away. But the surrender pulled all the life from Baltar. He retreated behind his desk, mumbling, drinking, and definitely not showering. But even that horrid offense against hygiene was nothing compared to the fact that Baltar immediately started sleeping with a Six.

The Six was called Caprica for some bizarre reason. Kurt didn't ask why. All he knew was that she was the most fervent believer in the idea that the Cylons were here to live in peace with humans. She was the one who talked about God's will with a glow in her eyes and sincerity on her face, and Kurt hated her. But Baltar… it didn't even take the end of the first day for Baltar to have her back in his bedroom. There would be no resistance to the Cylons at all from Baltar.

Gaeta was another matter. He hated the Cylons too, Kurt could see it written all over him. But he cooperated, which made sense. The administration had to do what they were told, because otherwise the Cylons would just kill or imprison them and put other people in their place, accomplishing nothing. After all, that was what had happened to Tom. And Kurt knew Gaeta didn't enjoy it. But instead of reaching out and finding any sort of companionship among the humans, Gaeta retreated into himself until he was just his job. He was just an empty shell following orders, and Kurt couldn't speak to him at all.

No Gaeta, no Baltar, no Tom. The last one made Kurt's heart physically ache. He wasn't even sure if Tom was still alive, although he supposed he was. In the few days that they'd been here, the Cylons had taken over the incomplete apartment building and already made huge strides on the construction. The walls were already rising higher and a huge fence was put up around the place. Kurt had heard that the Cylons would live there, but a big block of what was already built was being converted into a detention center to house prisoners. If the Cylons wanted people like Tom dead, there would be no need for prisons.

Tom was on his mind when he trudged into the office, ready to sit at his old desk with a new boss. "That's an interesting sweater," Doral said as Kurt sat down.

Kurt didn't answer. It was something Tom often said, and generally led to a bit of teasing about the way he dressed, and with this bright yellow sweater, a "serious discussion" on why the bright orange of Tom's prison jumpsuit was unacceptable but Kurt looking like a lemon was highly fashionable. It was a show of affection, and Kurt knew it. He didn't want it corrupted by this… this toaster. He clenched his jaw and stared down at his desk.

"I mean it," Doral continued, apparently sincere. "It really is interesting. The color is very compelling. It's something that many of the other models don't understand- bold colors make a statement." Kurt looked at Doral's hideous, badly-cut blue jacket and said nothing. Doral noticed him looking. "You agree, don't you?"

Kurt took a deep breath. "I agree."

"But you don't think much of what I'm wearing." Kurt wasn't sure how to answer that. He fumbled for an answer, and Doral sat back, eyes glinting at his confusion. "Don't worry," he finally said. "You won't get shot if you tell me you don't like it." Apparently the relief on his face answered Doral's question about the jacket. Doral looked down, fingering the lapels. "What's wrong with it?"

Could Cylons be sincere? Kurt wasn't sure, but there was something on Doral's face that made Kurt think he really wanted to know. "It's not the color," Kurt heard himself saying. "It's the cut. And what you have it paired with. The seams are shoddy, the shoulders don't fit right, the collar of the shirt is too high, and the pants take the color from bold to forcibly reminding one of toilet bowl cleaner."

"Well, I did ask." Doral didn't look pleased, but Kurt was pretty sure it wasn't a dangerous sort of displeasure. He narrowed his eyes, tapping his fingers against the desk, and studying Kurt. "So what makes it different that you can wear such a bright, bold color and pull it off? I don't understand."

"There's more to it than color." The words came out against his will as Doral stood up and paced, listening intently. "Like I said, fit matters. So does the quality of the fabric. The cut of the garment. What it's paired with."

"Interesting." Doral came to the front of Kurt's desk. "I'm not sure that I agree, but I do find it interesting." Doral leaned forward and touched Kurt's sweater. Kurt flinched back, and Doral raised one eyebrow mockingly. The message was clear- stay still. Kurt froze, and Doral ran his fingers over the fabric. He tapped Kurt's chest in a manner that forcibly reminded Kurt of that day that Karofsky had taken the wedding cake topper, and then stepped back. Silence hung between them. Kurt wanted to look away because Doral's expression terrified him, but was afraid to look away because he had no idea what was about to happen. But Doral stepped back. "Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to get back to work?"

Kurt turned back to his desk, letting his breath out in a relieved whoosh as Doral sat back down. The papers shook in his hands, and it took a great deal of focus to read the words. But after a while, the monotony of the paperwork calmed him.

The office was ponderously quiet. Even when he and Tom had both been absorbed in their work, it hadn't been like this. There'd been the rustle of pages turning and the sounds of pens or Kurt's typewriter, coffee cups clinking and occasional noises from either of them. Doral was silent. It made all those little normal office sounds so much louder.

The morning dragged on, and Kurt began to relax a little more. There were forms and memos and notes from Cylon meetings that he was expected to type up and distribute. Kurt noticed sourly that a race of machines had taken very quickly to bureaucracy. He finished typing a long, involved memo on ration procedures, and then picked up the next item. It was a list. He automatically loaded the paper in and began typing. It wasn't until he was halfway through that he realized it was a list of names.

"Is something wrong?" Doral asked.

Kurt realized he'd stopped typing and was staring that the list in shock. "What is this?"

Doral got up and looked over Kurt's shoulder. "Oh, that." He leaned down, examining the names that Kurt had already typed. "There are some citizens that we want to keep a closer eye on, that's all. Some that we need to get to know, that might require… extra convincing to make sure this 'grand civilization' goes smoothly. A small matter, really."

A lot of the names were familiar, but Kurt couldn't place them. Fischer. Maldonaldo. Nowart. He didn't know any of them, and couldn't figure out where he'd heard them until he saw right name in bold handwriting. Puckerman, Noah. They were all Marines, and Puck's name was right there on that list.

"You don't have to question him," Kurt blurted. "I live with him. I know him."

Doral raised his eyebrows. "Who?" He leaned over closer so that he could see which name Kurt was pointing to. His chest brushed against Kurt's shoulder, but Kurt steeled himself against flinching away. "Noah Puckerman," Doral read. "Well, he sounds like a very respectable young man, just from his name and your passionate plea. Nevertheless, I think a conversation is in order."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Haven't you heard the will of God? We come in peace." Doral snorted. He still didn't stand up. "We're just going to talk. We might have to hold him for a few nights-"

"A few nights?!"

"But I'm sure he'll answer our questions satisfactorily."

Questions. Kurt could only guess what kind of questions those would be. And like Tom, Puck would rather die before cooperating. Kurt knew that- the evidence was in a box of guns under Puck's bed and a grim look on Puck's face as he told Quinn and Kurt he had every intention of fighting. Puck couldn't die. Kurt had lost Blaine, he'd probably lost Tom… he wasn't losing Puck, too.

"You don't have to question him," Kurt said, turning in his seat. "You don't. I- I know Puckerman. I promise."

"You promise." Doral leaned back a little, a mocking smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "You promise. That's touching, if not remotely useful."

"What would be useful?" Kurt blurted.

Doral leaned back even further, his eyes raking over Kurt's torso. Kurt swallowed hard, but then Doral reached out and fingered the fabric of Kurt's sweater again. "Bold colors," he said. "And I do see what you mean about the fabric."

"My sweater?" Kurt hesitated for only a second. He loved that sweater, but up against Puck being tossed into prison and possibly dying, the choice was simple. "You can have it. I'll even alter it so it fits you perfectly. Just please- believe me when I say you can keep Puckerman off your list."

"Is this a bribe, Mr. Hummel?" Kurt's throat closed with fear that he'd misread the situation, but he nodded. Doral smiled. "Good. Just so we're clear." He extended his hand. Kurt fumbled with the buttons and slipped the garment off his shoulders, handing it over. Doral put it on, an air of satisfaction about him.

"It's a little big in the shoulders," Kurt said. "I can take it in for you tomorrow. I'll bring my sewing kit in. My real one, I mean- not just the one I have for emergencies."

"Mmm." Doral was twisting around, trying to take in the effect. Kurt privately thought it looked just as ridiculous on him as the teal jacket had, but Doral was so pleased that Kurt wasn't going to say anything. "Finish your work," Doral said, sitting back down. "And make sure you leave that name off the list when you type it." He winked.

Kurt exhaled shakily and began typing. Name after name, some of which he remembered from Puck's stories. People for "questioning." But he'd kept Puck from that. Kurt decided he had to focus on that and not think about anything else, otherwise he wouldn't be able to handle it. With grim determination, he applied himself to the list.

***

Burt knew that he and Carole were far from the only ones willing to fight against the Cylons. There were military types, there were the survivors from Caprica, and there were people like Sue. There was a whole frakking resistance being organized. Yet there were no secret meetings or attacks or anything else. "So what are we waiting for?" Burt asked one day when he and Galen were working on the crews.

"Firepower," Galen said with a sigh. "Manpower. You hear about the Marines that mustered out?"

"No."

Galen stepped in closer and lowered his voice. "Bunch of them all got picked up two days ago."

"All of them?"

"Nah, they left a few of them." Galen picked his concrete smoother back up and went back to work on the floor they were working on. "A lot of them have gotten right back out again, too. But they've kept a few of them."

Burt remembered he'd seen Puck that morning, now that he thought about it, and he relaxed a little. "How many did they keep?"

"I don't know," Galen admitted. "I tried asking a couple of guys that I know in the administration, but fat lot of good that did. I know of three that are missing for sure, but there could be more. They took Anders' wife, too."

"Frak."

"Yeah. And it's got people scared. Not just civilians, but people who were military. People we were counting on." He hit the smoother against his hand. "Plus, we've only got so many weapons."

Burt sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah. Guess I see the point."

"Listen," Galen leaned in closer, "I've got a couple of messages from the Colonel."

"I'm listening."

"One's not so much a message. It's a set of plans." Galen pulled a packet out of his pocket and handed it to Burt. "Tents don't really make for good places to plan, or to hide things. The Colonel's got his eye on your shop."

"On my shop?" Burt unfolded the plans, and then frowned. They were plans for dig-outs, cellars and tunnels dug under the earth. "Not so crazy about it being my shop," Burt said. "What about my tent?"

"Too far out of the network that we've got." Galen looked around. "What's wrong with your shop?"

"Brittany. Look, I'm willing to go into this, and so's Carole. But Brittany needs to stay out of it." He saw a set look coming over Galen's face and held up a hand to stop him. "It's not all the kids I'm arguing about here, Tyrol. But you've met Brit. You think she can handle a secret resistance?"

Galen reeled back a little as he thought about it. "Yeah. No, yeah, you're right. But if you hide the entrance-"

"Yeah." Burt was studying the plans again. "I'll work something out. What else?"

Galen stepped back, and he looked uncomfortable. "Your son."

"What about my son?"

"The Colonel knows he's in the administration. He wanted me to feel you out about if there's any chance he could get us information-"

"No."

"Burt. He's in one hell of a position."

"No." Burt had to strain to keep calm. "Kurt stays out of it."

"He can't just stay out of it," Galen said, pacing again. "He's already in danger just by being on this frakking planet."

"And I'm not putting him in any more."

"Burt-"

"Look, both Carole and I are going into this with our eyes open, okay? We know the risks. We're talking death here. And if they're picking up people already and holding them, we're probably not talking the quick and painless kind, right?" Galen nodded grimly. "So you can have me. You can have my wife. But the one thing I want from this is my son to be safe, as safe as he can be. You got that?"

"The Colonel's not going to like that."

"Yeah? Well, is Cally in this thing?" Galen looked away. "What about the Colonel's wife? That's what I thought."

"All right, I get it." Galen composed himself. "The last thing was this list. The Colonel wanted to see if you could get your hands on any of these things."

Burt took the list and unfolded it. It was a list of materials and tools. "I've got some of them in my shop," he said, scanning down it. "I'll see what I can do about the rest."

"You two," a One said sternly, glaring at Burt and Galen, "enough chatter." Immediately, they both went back to work. It made Burt sick to take orders from a Cylon, but he grit his teeth and got on with it. After all, people were being picked up and questioned. There was nothing good that could come of that. Burt pushed the what-ifs from his mind and focused on his work. The present was terrifying enough without adding to it.

***

By the end of a week and a half, it was amazing how much things had settled down and into a routine. Kurt was still on edge, but now he had a better idea of what to expect. The streets didn't feel any safer- nothing did- but either he was getting desensitized to it, or just learning to live with the constant threat. Work felt slightly better, but he was still glad to leave the office. Everyone in New Directions was settling down, too. For the most part, their jobs hadn't changed much, although Puck was no longer working any sort of security and had been moved to one of the construction gangs.

He knew that someone was visiting their tent even before he entered because he could hear Puck laughing. The laughter sounded out of place after two weeks of Cylon occupation, but it made sense when Kurt pushed aside the flap and saw Puck with baby Blaine on his lap. Puck was holding Blaine in a sitting position and making faces at him, and Blaine kept giggling and awkwardly reaching his chubby hands in the general direction of Puck's nose.

"So you should have seen Tina today," Mike was saying to Puck, looking at his wife proudly.

"Yeah? What happened?"

"We had skinjobs coming into the daycare," Mike said. "It's really…" he paused, searching for the word.

"It's really disturbing and creepy," Tina said flatly. "They come in and they stare at the kids like they've never seen one before. Which," she added with a sigh, "I suppose they haven't."

Puck frowned. "Of course they have. Haven't they? Hey! You got it!" Blaine managed to grab Puck's nose. "You little- ow!" Puck disengaged Blaine's hand. "He's got quite a grip. But what's the big thing about rugrats?"

"Cylons can't reproduce," Kurt reminded him as he unbuttoned his overcoat. "That's why everything with that Eight and Helo was such a big deal, remember?"

"Oh. That's right. Hey," Puck frowned, studying Kurt. "Weren't you wearing a tie this morning?"

"You actually noticed?" Kurt was surprised. And also not at all willing to answer the question, so he turned to Tina. "What exactly did you say to the Cylons?"

"She told them to frak off," Mike said proudly.

"Not quite like that. I told them that it upsets the children to have outsiders around and a lot of other stuff like that." Tina looked pleased, but Kurt's blood ran cold.

"How did they take it?" he asked, trying to look casual as he took off his overcoat and hung it up neatly.

Tina shrugged. "They didn't drag me out in the street and shoot me, obviously. They listened."

"What else was she going to do?" Puck demanded. "Stand there and let those toasters gawk?"

"I didn't say that," Kurt said. He sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled his knees up. He raised his hand to touch his tie and then remembered it was gone. "Just… be careful."

"Of course I'm being careful," Tina snorted. "I asked nicely. Firmly, but nicely."

"And they've shot people for less than that," Kurt reminded her.

"Nice, Kurt." Mike looked uncomfortable at the thought, like he'd been doing his best to forget about it. Kurt sighed.

"Ignore me," he said. "It's a long day up there on Colonial One."

"Can't you quit?" Tina asked sympathetically.

"Tom did," Kurt said. "Look where that got him."

"Well, not that dramatically," Tina said. "More like… maybe ask to do a different job? Get a transfer into something that's not on Colonial One?"

Before Kurt could answer, Puck yelped at the baby. "What is he doing?"

"Oh, he's rooting," Mike explained cheerfully. "Trying to nurse."

Puck let out a strangled noise and extended the baby. "Get him off!" Tina laughed and took Blaine, and then adjusted her clothing and began to nurse him. After four months she was practiced enough that she didn't reveal much skin, but Puck stared at her as if she was sitting there topless.

"You do know her husband is sitting right there, right?" Kurt asked dryly.

"Oh. Right." Puck tore his gaze away from Tina and turned to Mike. "So, tell me, man. Are the bigger boobs awesome, or what? And do you get milk when you-"

"Don't make me squirt you," Tina threatened. She and Mike laughed like it was the funniest thing ever, and Puck and Kurt exchanged rather horrified glances. But their horror dissolved into laughter, and inside the tent, it was a little easier to forget about the Cylon occupation happening outside.

"You know," Puck said after the Cohen-Changs left, "her boobs really are awesome now."

"And here I thought you were about to wax poetic on things worth fighting for." Kurt was heating up some soup.

Puck snorted. "Nah. Boobs make for better poetry. Besides, everything's worth fighting for when it's the frakking toasters that are involved." He frowned. "Hey- did I tell you that Nowart's finally out of the Astral Queen?"

"I'd heard," Kurt said, staring at the soup. Nowart had been kept for three days. "Is he okay?"

"What do you think?" Puck asked with a sneer, which didn't really answer the question at all, and left way too much to Kurt's imagination. "Wonder why they haven't picked me up."

"They're only picking up people that were of a certain rank," Kurt lied, his fingers going to the place where his tie should have rested again. "They figured you're too low-ranking to know anything or command anyone. Stay out of trouble and you should be safe."

"Yeah, like I'd do that." Puck lay back on his bed, arms folded behind his head. "Good to know, though, that they don't care what I do."

"Oh, they're watching you," Kurt warned him.

"Good," Puck said. "Let 'em watch."

As the days ticked by, the great peace of the Cylons took its shape. Watchtowers and lights were put up. Centurions patrolled the streets to keep the peace. And the apartment complex that had never been completed rose into a dark bulk of a building, heavy and imposing and surrounded by a high fence. This was what peace looked like to the Cylon eye, Burt thought sourly, and it was all couched in phrases like "public safety", "best interests", and "temporary measures."

There was a little more freedom than Burt anticipated, though. He'd thought that it might be impossible to meet with anyone not on the construction crew, but as long as they met before the curfew, the Cylons didn't try to stop it. Yet.

"One day they're going to figure out what's going on," Shannon said as she sat with Burt and Sue in the high school tent. "When things heat up, it's going to be hard to get groups together. They'll start cracking down."

"Like to see them try," Sue said. She was shelling a bowl of nuts. "Unless they want to open up and bomb everyone-"

"You really think they won't?" Shannon asked

Sue conceded the point with a tilt of her head. "But they haven't yet, which means they've got to be somewhat serious about this crazy brainwashing kumbaya bullshit. If they weren't, they'd have nuked us all to hell and back by now. They're as serious about peace as Will Schuester is about hair gel."

"He's not even here to hear that," Burt reminded her, looking at his watch. Carole was a half-hour late. "Where is Schuester, anyway?"

Shannon and Sue exchanged glances. "That's something we wanted to talk to you about," Shannon said. "Look, I love Will, you know that, right?" Burt nodded. "But Will's… Will's looking at things from a different perspective. He can't get it through his head that these kids are practically grown up right now."

"He's a frakking coward," Sue interrupted. Shannon glared at her, but Burt noticed that she didn't argue, and Shannon wasn't one to hold back her opinion of Sue's nonsense. Pleased with Shannon's lack of argument, Sue broke another nut open. "Oh, please. You think Will Schuester has the mettle do to what's going to need to be done? Of course not. He can't handle it." Sue sneered as she sat back. "One little explosion that makes the Cylons crack down further and he's going to be singing the party line about how we don't want to make it worse. And from there, it's only a step to believing their promises, and only one more step to turning us all in."

"Will wouldn't do that," Shannon said.

"You want to bet lives on that?"

Burt had the uncomfortable revelation that he really didn't know which woman he agreed with. Before he could answer, the tent flap flew open and Carole rushed in. One look at her face and Burt knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"What the hell happened?" Shannon asked, jumping off her chair immediately.

"The plant," Carole said, gesturing in the general direction agitatedly. "The water treatment plant. The Cylons came down today."

"Everybody alive?" Burt asked.

"No." Carole's voice was curt. "They shot seven of my workers."

"Frak."

"It was supposedly an uprising," Carole said. Sue put a glass by Carole's hand, and Carole took a quick swallow, grimacing at the raw alcohol. "An uprising," Carole scoffed. "Only because they brought Centurions in."

"They brought chrome jobs in?" Shannon asked. "What did they think was going to happen?"

"Probably exactly what they wanted," Carole said, sipping her whiskey again. "People got angry. One shot went off and…" she shrugged angrily. "It was a mess, and now the Cylons are taking complete control of the facility."

"Frak," Shannon said, sitting back down slowly.

"So what's the bad news?" Sue asked. Burt and Shannon both stared at her, because seven people dead wasn't bad news? Sue was insane but… but Carole was bracing herself. Burt could see it in how quickly she downed the rest of her drink, and the expression on her face and the tenseness in her shoulders.

"When they restored order," she said, and her voice sounded choked and strange, "they took prisoners. They took Xeno Fenner, they took half my line…" She paused, wiped her eyes, and Burt knew this was it. "They took Sam and Rya. Sam and Rya are prisoners."

Burt felt the bottom of his stomach drop out of his body, and all the horror and the fears of this occupation became infinitely more real.

***

"You're serious," Kurt said. "They've got Sam and Rya?"

"They took them," Carole said, covering Kurt's hand with her own. "Yesterday. There hasn't been any sign of them."

"I… I don't understand." Kurt rubbed his forehead. "What would they want with Sam and Rya?"

"I'm not sure. At least Xeno made some sense- he was in charge of the plant- but Sam and Rya weren't even on the floor where the Centurions were. I don't know. But one of those Ones came in and told the Centurions to take both of them."

"By name?"

Carole frowned. "Now that you mention it… yes. He called them by name." She looked at Burt, her eyes wide. "The priest that married them…."

"He was a One." Burt had blocked that out. "But why would he remember that? They were just a couple of kids. He barely knew them." Carole shrugged helplessly, and Burt turned back to Kurt. "Look, Kurt. That's the thing. None of us have the first idea of why they were really picked up. And we have no idea of why they're being held." Kurt looked miserable at that thought, but Burt pushed on. "We were wondering if you knew."

"No. They don't talk to me about things like that." Kurt gave a bitter little laugh. "I'm just a machine for them to relay orders through. Nothing like a little irony, don't you think?"

"Yeah, well, I don't know about that, but do you think there's anyone up there that you could ask?"

Kurt frowned. "I can ask," he said. He didn't add any more, but the "but" hung there in the air. But it might not work. But he might not be able to find anything out. But even if he did, he might not be able to do anything about it. But it might make the Cylons angry. But he might get in trouble himself.

"Be careful, all right?" Burt said. "I don't like to ask you to do this, but-"

"No, no. I'll definitely ask," Kurt said. His answer was immediate. "I promise, Dad. I'll do what I can to find out."

"All right. Just don't get yourself in trouble, you hear me? Stay safe."

Kurt nodded. "I will."

***

Kurt selected three items of clothing very, very carefully before he headed up to Colonial One the next morning. "What are you taking clothes for?" Puck asked suspiciously when he saw Kurt leaving the tent.

"Dry cleaning," Kurt replied glibly, and then left before Puck could press the matter. It had been easy then, but now that he was inside Colonial One and headed to his office, he couldn't ignore the nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought about what he was going to do.

Doral wasn't in yet, and Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. He draped the garments he'd brought with him over the back of the broken-down couch. It really wasn't the best backdrop to highlight their potential, but it would have to do. The deep charcoal gray cardigan sweater in good shape. He'd have to take the shoulders in a little on the shirt he'd brought. And the tie… the tie was one Kurt really didn't want to part with, but it went so well with the other two pieces that Doral wouldn't be able to resist. Kurt arranged the three pieces together, and then went to his desk to sit down and wait.

The minutes ticked by on a clock, slowly and loudly. In the hallway, he could hear the voices of Cylons, and the occasional human voice as well. It was always easy to tell the human voices- they were muted and subdued. Subservient. He tried to focus on his work, but he jumped at every sound outside his door.

It was midmorning when Doral finally came in, whistling tunelessly in a way that grated on Kurt's ears and wearing a burgundy jacket that hurt Kurt's eyes. He tossed a stack of papers down on Kurt's desk, and then stopped suddenly when he spotted the garments draped out on the couch. "What's this?"

Kurt took a deep breath, stood up, and closed the door. Doral's eyebrows went up in amused interest. "There are two people I need to find," Kurt said, his back against the door as if holding it closed would secure his own safety. "Two people who were arrested a few days ago."

"Arrested?" Doral affected concern. He might even be concerned- it looked like it might be genuine. "That's terrible. But I don't see what that has to do with half your wardrobe being spread across our office."

"I was getting to that. You know," Kurt said, going over to the couch and picking up the sweater, "as much as we both agree that bold colors catch the eye, the basics have their appeal, too, especially when the shape of the garment is unusual and eye-catching. Look at the Sixes, for example. They favor black, but they always- without exception- look fabulous."

"The Sixes would look fabulous in anything," Doral said, frowning. "Believe me. They were designed that way."

"True, but the point still stands." Kurt picked up the sleeve of the sweater and tried not to think about how much he really, really liked this one. "Fashion is more than color. Try it on."

Doral looked at him strangely, but picked up the sweater. "Oh. The fabric-"

"See what I mean?"

"It's… it's remarkable." Doral removed his awful blazer and pulled the sweater on.

"It looks good," Kurt lied. He moved around to Doral's back and adjusted the seams. "See? Well, I suppose you can't, because there's no mirror in here, but it really does flatter you."

"It's very… it's different." Doral's voice was dubious, but Kurt could see he was winning- Doral's fascination with the cardigan was written all over his face. But soon, the aware, calculating look was back. "So what did you want?"

"Sam Evans and Rya Kibby-Evans," Kurt said, trying to sound more confident and casual than he felt. "They were arrested a few days ago. Sam is my brother. Rya is my sister-in-law."

"Your brother?" Doral looked surprised. "You don't have the same last name. I thought that was the convention."

"My family isn't conventional," Kurt said, and dropped the subject. "If you would ask, I would be…." He wasn't sure how to finish that sentence, so he just gestured at the sweater.

"I see." Doral pressed his lips together, and then turned back to the couch. "This shirt doesn't look like much."

"It's broadcloth," Kurt explained. "Look at the texture."

"What texture? There's nothing there."

"Exactly. Formal. Classic. Subtle."

"Boring." Doral made a face, but it cleared. "There's a shirt I've seen you wear. It has black around the collar and down the front."

Kurt knew immediately which one he meant, because it was a favorite. But he forced himself to nod. "If they are released, I could even alter it for you. Fit is crucial."

"Mmm." Doral didn't look convinced. "Let me get back to you." He picked up the shirt and the tie.

"Wait, I thought-" Kurt began. Doral turned around and raised an eyebrow, his meaning clear, and Kurt broke off. "I thought… I thought you wanted to go over the minutes of the meeting with the security captain," he finished lamely.

"Later." Doral seemed supremely uninterested. He glanced at his watch, which Kurt suspected he did for show. "I have somewhere to be. I want those memos on my desk by noon."

"Yes, sir." Kurt slowly sat back down at his desk and Doral stalked out, carrying the clothing and looking extremely smug. Three items of clothing, just to find out what had happened to Sam and Rya. And more if he needed to get them out.

Kurt took a deep breath. "It's just clothing," he said out loud, softly. "They're people. Sam and Rya are more important than anything in my closet."

He believed that, completely and utterly, and if it got them out of detention, Kurt would give up his entire wardrobe. So the last thing he ever wanted anyone to know about was the fact he was crying a little as he typed the next memo.

***

It took three days for Doral to get back to him. Kurt was afraid to ask, because as of right now, Doral didn't seem upset with him. But Kurt was becoming familiar with Doral's volatile temper, and it was best not to rouse it. But finally, Doral came into the office and closed the door, and Kurt knew what this was about even before he said it. He half-stood up from his desk, his heart swelling with hope.

"I can't do it," Doral said.

"What?" Kurt sat back down. "But I-"

"They're in detention," Doral explained. "For causing a disturbance at the water treatment facility."

"What did they do?" Kurt really couldn't imagine Sam causing a disturbance anywhere. "I mean, they were both line-workers before we landed here. It's not like they were military or-"

"I don't know." Doral shrugged. "What I do know is that Cavil has them flagged. It's out of my reach."

"But-"

"It's out of my reach. That's the end of it."

There was steel in his voice. Kurt knew when to back down. "All right. Thank you, sir, for at least finding out." It galled him to have to say that, but he knew better.

Doral smiled at him. Like Kurt should be pleased, like this was some great thing. "I'm so glad we could help each other, Kurt." His smile widened. "I can call you Kurt, right?" Kurt nodded. "We work together very well. Someday, when this transition is over, you and I will be a model of how humans and Cylons can truly be friends."

"Right." It was the only word that Kurt could manage to get out without throwing up.

***

"Kurt says he talked to a Doral, but the Doral couldn't help," Burt said, as he and Puck worked on the cellar that they were digging under Burt's shop. The main work was done and the iron rebar had been put in for support, but now there were other niches to carve out, and electricity to wire in. The basement was accessed by a trap door hidden under a crate. It wasn't very big- it felt very close and tight with both Burt and Puck down there- but there was room for five or six people right now. But with the tunnel that they were digging, that would help, too.

"So, what did Kurt do after that?" Puck asked, kicking his shovel into the earth.

"What do you mean?"

"What's his plan? What's he going to do next?"

"Nothing, that I know of." Burt had a bad feeling where this was going.

He was right. Puck stopped shoveling and crossed his arms. "You mean to tell me that my boy Sam is in that jail with gods knows what happening to him, and all Kurt did was bat his eyelashes and say pretty please at some skin job?"

Burt put aside his own shovel. "What do you expect him to do?"

"I don't know. Keep asking other Cylons, maybe? Or here's a crazy idea- he could blow the frakkers from here to tomorrow if they don't give us Sam and Rya back."

Burt skipped over the obvious question of "how?" and went straight to the real problem. "And what good would that do? Let's say Kurt- and remember, you're talking about Kurt here- manages to get a bomb in there and set it off and get away again. What happens next? They don't die. They just download and come back, no matter how hard you blow them up. And then we've got Sam, Rya, and Kurt in that prison."

Puck scowled. His eyes were dark and angry and he was fighting it, but Burt could see that the logic was making its way through Puck's brain. He could almost see when Puck got it- that there wasn't much else Kurt could do. "All right," he muttered, and picked his shovel back up. "But it still bugs the hell out of me that they're in there."

"You and me both, kid." Burt looked around their dimly lit basement and then got back to work. "You and me both."

***

CRACK.

The blow hit hard, and Kurt went sprawling across the floor. He tasted blood in his mouth, and when he prodded the spot with his tongue, he could feel a jagged cut in the flesh of his cheek. Doral loomed over him, and Kurt braced for another blow. But the blow never came. Doral stood over him, breathing heavy, and then reached down and wrapped a hand around Kurt's bicep and pulled him to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Doral said, and he seemed genuinely distraught. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

Kurt just nodded, still in shock. The blow hadn't come from out of nowhere- Doral had asked Kurt to type a memo about ration cuts, and Kurt had pointed out that the rations were being cut for pregnant and nursing women. It had escalated to an argument, but the Cylons were so kid-crazy and after a month of occupation, Kurt had gotten used to Doral enough that he'd felt he could voice this particular objection. But it was still a surprise- a surprise and a reminder. Kurt raised his hand to his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Doral repeated. He pulled Kurt's hand down so he could inspect the damage for himself, and then winced. "That looks bad. You should get down to the med tent."

"It's not bad," Kurt began, and then wondered why he was arguing. Getting to the med tent meant getting out of here and away from Doral, and right now, nothing seemed more appealing, and his cheek really, really hurt. He nodded.

"Wait." Doral picked something up, gripped it in his hand for a long moment, and then handed it to Kurt. It was a small chip. "Give this to one of the Fours, so he knows that I sent you." At Kurt's quizzical look, Doral added, "So you can be sure to get pain medication. It's under a fairly tight rationing, you know. And any other medical care you might need." He squeezed Kurt's arm one last time. "I really am sorry. You forgive me, don't you?" Kurt nodded, hoping that Doral would chalk his silence up to the pain in his jaw.

He was glad to get out into the cold air of the settlement, but as he trudged to the med tent, he noticed that people were watching him. It was something he'd noticed more and more, and it reminded him of being back at McKinley, especially back in junior year, when people would glare at him as he walked by and mutter under their breaths just because he existed. They were doing that now. Covertly, mostly, but Kurt noticed it because he'd spent so long attuned to exactly that.

Collaborator.

He was starting to hear the whispers. He supposed they'd been happening for a while, but people hadn't been open about their thoughts. He kept his eyes forward and kept walking, determinedly pretending to ignore everyone but watching from the corners of his eyes. He was an old pro at this. Nevertheless, he was relieved to reach the medical tent.

The tent wasn't too busy. He saw his father's friend Tyrol sitting in one corner with his wife Cally, who was holding their baby. Cally's eyes widened, and Kurt touched his cheek self-consciously. It was swelling fast, and he didn't even want to think what his face looked like. It was confirmed when Quinn caught sight of him and fumbled the tray she was carrying.

"Kurt. What happened?"

"Long story."

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Does it involve humans?"

"No."

"Then it's not a long story." She put her tray down and gestured with her head. "Come with me." She led him back to a cubicle that was sectioned off by sheets, and Kurt sat up on the table.

Quinn's hands were cold when she touched his cheek, and the skin was extremely rough. Kurt remembered when they used to be almost as smooth as his own. Automatically, he looked down at his own hands. They were nothing like they used to be, either. He yelped as Quinn pressed on his cheekbone.

"Can you open your mouth?" Kurt obeyed. "Wider." He tried, and was met with a shaft of pain that made him grab for his cheek. Quinn sighed. She pressed a few other areas, and some made him cry out with pain. "I think you have a fractured cheekbone," she finally said. "We'll have to get permission from a Four to use the X-ray."

"We have to get permission?" Kurt asked. "Is it hard to get?"

Quinn pressed her lips together. Kurt knew that look- he'd seen it frequently enough in the choir room, although generally directed at Mr. Schuester, Rachel, Santana, or Finn. It was Quinn's you're an idiot look. "You work in Colonial One. You don't know?"

"I don't know every last thing that goes on up there, no."

"Sorry," Quinn said, although she didn't sound it. She sat down beside him on the table and her shoulders slumped. "I shouldn't have snapped, but I have a patient right now who's having some sort of gastrointestinal issues. Dr. Robert desperately wants to use the X-ray, but because she's former military, he can't get permission. She might be a troublemaker. Not that the Cylons would admit that," Quinn added with a bitter little laugh. "They just cite resources."

Kurt remembered the chip Doral had given him and pulled it out. He turned it over hand, staring at it. His cheek was killing him- it hurt like nothing had ever hurt before. But at the same time… collaborator.

"Quinn? What happens to me if I don't get the x-ray?"

Quinn shrugged. "I'll have Dr. Robert look at you first, but my guess is nothing. I couldn't feel anything, which means that if it is broken, it's a hairline fracture. It doesn't feel like it's displaced. You don't look like you have a concussion, but as long as you're not bleeding internally, there really isn't a whole lot that can be done. Ice and pain medication, really."

"So I need an x-ray because…?"

"Just because I can't feel it doesn't mean that the bone's not displaced. It really would be best to check."

Kurt thought about it, turning the chip over in his hands. "Here," he said thrusting it at her. "Take it."

Quinn looked at the chip skeptically. "What's this?"

"It's something from Doral to give to the Fours, ensuring I get whatever medical treatment I need. Tell them I need a x-ray. Can you get into the room where the x-ray equipment is alone?"

"I can't, but Dr. Robert can."

Kurt waved that off. "Whatever. Tell them you're going to do the x-ray on me, and then do it on your other patient. The one that they won't do it for."

Quinn goggled at him. "Seriously? You really want to do this?"

"Well, I'll check with Dr. Robert first," Kurt temporized. "But yes. If he agrees to it, I'll do it."

Quinn's face lit up. "I'll go get him." She patted him once on the knee and disappeared.

Kurt took a deep breath. He hoped he'd still be able to get some painkillers- his cheek really hurt. It seemed like a small risk to himself to possibly save someone's life. He turned the chip over in his hand again, looking at it thoughtfully as he waited.

***

"I'd be willing to bet it's a hairline fracture," Dr. Robert said, feeling Kurt's cheek. "If it's a fracture at all. It could still just be damage to the soft tissue, although I understand the Cylons have enough strength to break a man's cheekbone with a blow." He shined a light in Kurt's eyes. "The blood vessel by your eye burst, so it will take a few days for the blood to clear out, but it looks like the bleeding itself stopped. You don't have a concussion, although I recommend you have someone wake you up a couple of times tonight. Do you have someone who can do that?"

"I have a roommate."

"Good. Well, Kurt, if you're really willing to do this, I could sure make use of that x-ray time." Dr. Robert stepped back. "I think you'll be fine, and I can manage to get some of the painkillers for you, if you'd like."

"I'd like them," Kurt confessed.

"Well, then. Ice. Lots and lots of ice. It shouldn't be too hard to come by. Cold compresses, anything to help with the swelling. Keep to soft foods for a few days, chew with the other side of your mouth. You'll be fine." He patted Kurt on the shoulder and left.

Quinn got Kurt an ice pack and a few pills. He swallowed them gratefully and put the ice on his cheek. The cold felt good, and the throbbing eased slightly. Quinn sat down on the table next to him. Her shoulder was against his, and they both unconsciously leaned into the contact. They were both consciously disobeying orders to save someone's life. Kurt tried not to think of the implications of that, but he had to, and as he did, second thoughts began creeping up.

"We work with the Cylons," he began slowly. Maybe we shouldn't be doing this. Maybe we have to-

"Don't say it," Quinn said, shaking her head. "Don't… just, don't."

Kurt nodded, and they sat in silence again.

***

"What the hell happened to you?" Puck demanded as soon as Kurt entered the tent.

"It seems impossible that three years ago, you wouldn't have cared," Kurt said lightly.

"Don't frakking change the subject. What the hell happened?" Puck stood up and approached, and much to Kurt's shock, gripped his chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned his face. "What the hell-"

"Don't touch it," Kurt begged. "It's a fractured cheekbone."

Puck stepped back, his face darkening. "It was a toaster, wasn't it? Those frakkers can hit like nothing I've ever felt before." Kurt shrugged. "It was the one you work for, wasn't it?"

"Am I really that easy to read?" Kurt moved over to their crate where their meager rations were stored, hunting for some dried soup mix. "I'd appreciate it if we just left the subject."

"Are you kidding? This is great!"

Kurt whirled around. "Great? How is a fractured cheekbone great?"

"Because now you can leave." To Puck, it was simple. "Look, I get why you haven't gotten the hell out of there before this, but it's got to be driving you nuts, collab- working there. And you've said that some of the lines are a little more sympathetic, right? Like that toaster you said Baltar's frakking?" Kurt saw where this was going. "So, go to one of them and complain. Say that you want to switch to a construction crew or another clerking job or whatever. Get out of there now. With the way your face looks-"

"Does it really look that bad?"

"Yeah, it looks awful. But with the way your face looks, one of those chick Cylons will melt enough to move you, and you're not working in the administration anymore, and you don't get yourself killed for quitting. This is perfect."

Kurt's heart leapt for a moment, because Puck was actually right, and because getting away from Doral would be amazing. It would also mean that there was no one to keep Puck off the lists of troublemakers. That right there was a reason he couldn't leave the administration, and then today… today he might have helped save someone else's life, too.

"So?" Puck said, and Kurt realized he'd been quiet too long. "What do you think? Brilliant plan, right?"

"Yeah. Brilliant plan."

"So are you going to do it?"

Kurt turned to look at Puck, who was watching him excitedly. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I have to think about it." Puck stepped back, and the happiness and openness on his face faded fast. He looked less like Kurt's friend and more like the boy who used to toss him in the dumpster years ago. Kurt couldn't bear to see that expression come back. "I'll think about it, okay?" he begged. "There's a lot to consider."

"Right." Puck stalked over to his bed, throwing himself down and pulling the blankets up over him. "You think about if you want to keep doing their dirty work when you've got a perfectly good way out."

"You have no idea what-" Kurt began, and then stopped. Puck couldn't know. "You have no idea what it's like up there," he finished lamely.

"Don't need to. They're toasters, Kurt, and that's all I need to know." And with that, Puck turned out the light, leaving Kurt standing in the middle of the tent in darkness.

***

"My God," Doral whispered when he saw Kurt the next morning, staring at his cheek with a horrified fascination. "Is it-"

"Broken?" Kurt finished for him, sitting down primly. "Yes."

"I'm sorry. Kurt, I'm so sorry." Doral advanced closer and closer, until he was right in Kurt's space. Kurt forced himself to sit still. Doral cupped his cheek (which hurt, why did everyone insist on doing that?) "This is not how this new civilization was supposed to work."

Pretend to forgive him. Kurt met Doral's eyes. The touch on his cheek felt more intimate that way, more… not loving, but… but it was something he could have imagined Tom doing, in a moment of physical affection. But there was something off in Doral's expression that reminded Kurt deep down of just how dangerous Doral could be. He looked away, casting his eyes downward.

"Is it all right, Kurt?" Doral's voice was gentle but insistent. "Is everything all right?"

Kurt looked back up. "Everything's all right," he lied. Doral gave a small smile, and finally rocked back and out of Kurt's space, and Kurt could breathe again. Doral smiled one more time, and then retreated to his desk.

Kurt took a deep breath and pulled up the forms he'd planned on working on today. They were forms applying for medical permission, each one detailing a case and signed by a human doctor and approved by a Four, requesting medicine or access to specific medical equipment. Kurt was supposed to present these papers to Doral, who was supposed to compare them against the supplies of medicine and determine what could be done, and then Gaius Baltar's signature was required. It was an awful lot of work from people who shouldn't have even been involved, but Kurt supposed that was insurance on the Colonies, too. But because it was so much work, it usually amounted to Baltar not seeing any of the papers, because Doral categorically rejected them.

Quinn had given him five names, five people who desperately needed what those forms could provide and who probably wouldn't get it. Keeping an ever cautious eye on Doral, Kurt filled out the forms and then very carefully forged Gaius's Baltar's signature on each of them. He stared at his handiwork, hoping that it would fool machines that could spot tinier details than his eyes could. It would have to. He put the five applications into a drawer and turned to the next item on his list, a little soaring feeling in his chest. It was a huge risk, but he was doing something.

The war was on.

***

He was able to give Quinn three more signed forms before he found himself staring at a newly drafted medical permission form, which required not only President Baltar's signature but also authorization from a One and one other line. A One. Kurt could bribe Doral, he could have relied on an Eight or a Six and maybe even a Two to show some compassion, and he could have appealed to a Four's scientific nature. He was powerless against a One. He thudded heavily into his seat, staring at the new form.

"Why did it change?" he heard himself asking Doral.

Doral sounded unconcerned. "For protection, of course."

"How is this protection?" Kurt's eyes were starting to burn and the paper was getting blurry in his vision. He couldn't let Doral see how upset he was over this. His fractured cheekbone still kept him up at night. "Who are you trying to protect?"

"Everyone." Doral looked maddeningly superior. "What does it matter to you?" His eyes met Kurt's and it was clear. Doral knew what he'd be doing.

"There have been some people exploiting the system," Doral continued. "And really, I understand that. I can see their intentions are good, and that they only want to help people, and that intent shouldn't be punished. At least, I don't think so. But those people are overstepping their boundaries and getting into areas they don't understand." Doral's voice sharpened. "It needs to stop. Or next time, I will have to punish someone just for being compassionate." Kurt looked down, and Doral dropped all pretense. "Stop messing with things you don't understand, Kurt, or next time, I might not be able to protect you. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Kurt said, shoulders slumping. "We're clear."

Frak.

***

"This feels wrong," Burt said. "I know it's Rachel's birthday, but Sam and Rya are still in detention. A little cold, you know?"

Carole, former military wife, shook her head. "No. They need to come up for air for a bit and be young and happy. It's hard on them. Rachel's birthday is a good excuse."

The kids had each managed to bring something to pool for dinner. Shannon and Will had strung small lights up in the high school tent, and there was even some music playing. As far as New Caprican parties went, this one was downright lavish. The kids all gathered at one of the long tables, relaxed and talking.

"We should join them," Carole suggested, taking Burt's arm. "It's a party."

"Yeah." At least, it looked like one, on the surface. But Lauren was toying with her knife, not eating and her eyes focused far away. Puck kept glaring at Kurt, who had a nasty bruise that he refused to answer questions about. In fact, Kurt had seemed a bit withdrawn at first, although Burt thought that might have just been his imagination, as he was now sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Rachel, looking as happy as he ever looked these days. Quinn looked sour. But Brittany was playing with Blaine, who was awake and alert on Mike's lap, and Tina was smiling as she talked to Schuester and watched them.

Burt was just about to sit when the sounds of gunshots tore the air apart. For one terrible moment he thought that the Cylons were shooting into the high school tent, but his mind cleared and he realized that the sounds were coming from outside the tent. But it was definitely Centurions.

"Stay here," he ordered the kids.

"Dad, where are you going?" Kurt was anxious. "You can't go out there. They're shooting!"

Carole caught his arm. "Kurt's right, Burt. What are you going to do?"

Burt stopped. Outside the tent, the shooting stopped as abruptly as it had begun, but they could still hear screaming. Rachel buried her face in Kurt's shoulder, and Mike was holding Blaine so tightly that Tina had to take the baby. Puck looked angry, but Lauren's barely reacted at all. Burt wondered if that was how she looked all the time on Caprica.

It was Quinn who spoke first. "I should go out there," she said firmly. "I might be able to help."

She might. Burt didn't like the idea of her going alone, though. "I'll go with you," he said, even though there wasn't much he could do to protect her. But Carole's hand tightened on his arm in silent support, and together, the three of them walked out into the streets.

Burt knew that he would never forget the sight of a father on his knees, cradling a child to his chest. It was all too easy to imagine how soon that could be him. Quinn ran over, but he knew the verdict even before she bent down to touch the boy. People were standing around helpless, uncertain of what to do. And there were several other bodies lying on the ground. And over it all stood several Centurions, an Eight and a Six, both looking horrified, and a One, looking grim.

***

Silence. The shootings were met with silence, and over three thousand candles.

Violent protest was impossible. It would only result in more deaths and the Cylons cracking down harder, imposing more regulations and more restrictions. Instead, the humans took to the street, candles in hand, and held a vigil for the victims of the shooting. There were no speeches, there were no songs. Just silence and candles.

Burt stood between Kurt and Carole, holding his candle and remembering what Tigh had said when he'd heard. Fat lot of good candles will do. He hadn't said anything more, but he'd made his opinion known. Burt had gone to the vigil anyway, if nothing else, out of respect for the dead.

Three thousand candles were answered with the New Caprica Police.

The Cylons professed their horror at the actions of the Centurions, and the result was the formation of the New Caprica Police. Instead of Centurions patrolling the streets, it would be humans.

"It's not a bad idea," Will Schuester insisted when the five adults met in the high school tent for dinner. "It gets the Cylons off the streets."

"It's a terrible idea," Sue informed him flatly.

"Why? We had a human police force before this. What's the difference?"

"The difference is who's giving the orders," Shannon said. Her face was grim as she answered.

"Oh my gods," Sue said slowly, staring at Shannon in horror, "the worlds really have ended. We agree on something."

"Yeah, well, I would have thought the bombs blowing everybody else up would have tipped you off by now," Shannon said dryly. She leaned toward Will. "Will. Pumpkin. It's not a good idea. With the Cylons in charge-"

"But that's the way it's always going to be," Will snapped. "The Cylons are always going to be in charge. There is no way that this city- because that's all we are, a city smaller than Lima- can fight back against the Cylons? With no firepower and no military?"

Everyone exchanged glances. "There's rumors the military will come back," Carole said finally.

"And if they do, they'll be destroyed," Will said. He looked miserable as he said it, leaning his face against his closed fist. "Two battlestars against all of the Cylons forces… it can't be done. Adama might come back for us, but he wouldn't win. The only chance we've got is to cooperate with the Cylons. Who knows? Maybe we can forge some kind of peace-"

"No," Sue said, dropping her fist to the table. "There's no such thing."

Will ignored her. "What do you think, Burt?"

"Listen," Burt said, slowly and carefully. "I'm not saying that I think you don't have a point. We don't know if Galactica will come back for us, and more important, we don't know if they'll succeed. You're right about that. And keeping your head down and going along as best you can- all that's just good sense. But this NCP… this is something different. This is asking humans to do the Cylons' dirty work for them. And all this stuff about them promising anonymity and protection to people who join? That's only going to result in people never being sure if their neighbor will inform on them. That's what it's really going to do- not protect the people who go in. I see what you're getting at, Will, but I'm with Sue and Shannon and Carole on this one. The NCP is a bad idea."

Will sighed in frustration, flopping back against his chair. Burt met Shannon's eyes. She was the one who was closest with Will, and she looked as upset as Burt felt.

"It's going to happen soon, don't you think?" Carole asked Burt as they walked back to their tent. "This resistance? Getting something going against the Cylons?"

"Gods, I hope so," Burt said, pulling her close. "But when it does, it's only going to get worse."

"I know." Carole sighed. "Burt… how much do you think we stand to lose?"

Burt frowned into the darkness. "Everything, I guess. Everything but our souls. I guess that's what we're really fighting for, when this all kicks off. Because Will's right about one thing- we don't have much of a shot at anything else."

They walked home together in silence.

***

Burt was in the shop with Brittany the next time they heard gunfire. Brittany paused in her work like a deer caught in headlights, frozen as she stared out the open flap of the tent. Burt put his own repairs down and came over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"It sounds like it's over by the temple," Brittany said. "The one to Aphrodite."

"It can't be," Burt answered. "That's the one thing I'll say for the Cylons- they leave the temples alone. They let it be sacred ground."

It was the temple. He found out that night, when Galen dropped by the tent.

"You and Carole want to come over for dinner tonight?" he asked, and the way his voice was pitched low and the anger in his eyes told Burt everything he needed to know. "The waiting is over. It's time to get moving."

Burt nodded. "We'll be there."

It was finally time.

Burt was pretty sure Shannon could hear his heart pounding. They were lying on the ground under a stall, and a rock was digging into Burt's ribs. He focused on that instead of the nervous roiling in his stomach as he fingered the remote in his hand.

"All right. It's set," Shannon whispered. "You gonna be ready to run?"

Burt ignored that. "You sure this is going to work?"

"No."

"Comforting." He turned his attention back to their target, which was a Cylon rationing station. There were several skinjobs standing in line, talking. If they pulled this off, this would be the fourth target the Resistance had blown up since the temple had been raided a week ago. Burt wiped irritably at his forehead where sweat was starting to bead, despite the chill. "All right. Let's see what this baby can do." He pressed the button.

For a second, nothing happened, but that second seemed longer than it really was. Then the explosion went off in a burst of noise and heat and light. Even though he was already on the ground, Burt instinctively ducked his head and plastered his face against the dirt.

"Come on." Shannon was tugging on his arm. "We have to run."

He struggled to his feet and followed, running faster than he'd ever thought he could run. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the destruction they had wrought- the rations tent in flames, the chaos, several Cylon bodies on the ground. A raw, grim pride swelled up in him, and he ran faster, until he and Shannon made it to one of the Pyramid courts, probably a good half mile away from their site. A game was going on, so they sat on the bleachers where a few other people were watching.

"Anyone follow us?" he asked as they thudded onto the seats.

Shannon looked back at the way they came. "Don't think so," she said, mopping her face with her hand. She looked at Burt and laughed. "We'd better get cleaned up, though. It's pretty obvious it was us."

Burt wiped his own face, and his hand came away grimy. "Yeah. After we-"

Tigh sat down next to them. "Nice big boom," he said, his eyes on the people playing Pyramid. "Good work."

"Thanks," Burt said. He was still breathing heavy. He'd have to start jogging or something if they were going to keep this up. "What happens next?"

Tigh shrugged. "We build more bombs. And we keep doing it all again, until they get the message. Or kill us, whichever comes first."

"Right." Burt's heart sank as he realized this first one was only a drop in the bucket. The Cylons they'd killed would download, the station would be rebuilt, and in a few days it would all be back to normal. They'd only just gotten started. But it had felt good to get a little back at those frakkers, and Burt was ready to do it again.

***

"Hummel."

Kurt looked up from his desk, startled at the human voice. Gaeta stood in the door, a ream of papers in his hand. "What is it?"

"Caprica Six said to tell you that Doral isn't coming in today. He was killed in the bombing yesterday."

"Oh." Kurt slumped in relief. "So he's… dead?"

"For thirty-six hours," Gaeta said wryly. "He'll be back tomorrow."

"Oh."

Gaeta looked around the office. "I need help with the rations guidelines and the distribution of the NCP incentives."

"All right." Kurt put aside his work but before he could stand, Gaeta stepped into the office and closed the door. He silently handed Kurt a pile of papers, and then sat down on the couch and began to do his own work.

Despite working in the same ship, Kurt hadn't seen much of Gaeta since the Cylons had arrived. He'd been fixed to Baltar's side, and he never protested anything that the Cylons did. In fact, Kurt was aware that Gaeta was their go-to guy if they wanted something done and done well. While Kurt was mildly offended that he wasn't held in the same regard, he was also relieved. The things that Gaeta had to do… Kurt was glad it wasn't his name on some of those memos and orders that went out. But then, Gaeta didn't seem to mind it.

Gaeta didn't speak. In fact, now that he was inside the office, he was acting like Kurt didn't exist. He bent over his own work, his brow furrowed in concentration. Kurt watched him for a long moment, and then followed his lead. Neither of them said a word.

After a while, the silence started wearing on his nerves. Kurt had read the same sentence five times over without understanding it when the words burst out of him. "What are you doing in here? You could have just handed me the work. Why are you lurking?"

Gaeta looked up at him. "They're not in here," he said, as if it was perfectly obvious. "Even you are preferable to them."

Kurt sighed irritably. "You'd think that with everything happening you could put some things behind us."

"You'd think." Gaeta seemed undisturbed. "Please stop talking. This worked better when you were silent."

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it again. For one, he had no suitably cutting response, and for two, Gaeta was right. As annoying as Gaeta's mere presence was, if Kurt had to choose between Gaeta and Doral, he'd pick Gaeta every time. At least Gaeta stayed across the room, and Kurt felt safe with him. They let the day pass in silence, speaking only when necessary.

The silence with Gaeta was better than the silence at home, Kurt realized when he stepped into his tent. Puck was sitting on his bed cleaning a gun, and he didn't even look up as Kurt walked in. "Hello."

Puck didn't answer.

Kurt sighed and put his satchel down on his bed. "Doral was killed in the insurgency bombing the other day," he said. Puck shrugged. "Not that I mind," Kurt continued. "I don't know why you think I care."

Puck looked up. "I've seen that Five. You helped him with his hair." Which was true. Hair advice, of all things, had been deemed an acceptable trade for Puck's safety. There had been more and more lists these days, more and more people brought in for questioning.

"You help him with his hair, you work for him… what's next? Are you going to do his nails?"

"If he asks me to, yes." Kurt sat down on his bed. "I'll do what I have to do."

Puck snorted in disgust. "Yeah. You're getting pretty good at that."

It's for you, you ignoramus, Kurt almost said, but held the words back.

"Know what I had to do today?" Puck said. Kurt looked at him in surprise- Puck didn't volunteer information much. "Had to talk Mike out of joining the NCP."

"What? No!"

Puck's eyes were dark, and his expression didn't soften at Kurt's surprise. "Of course I had to, you frakking idiot. With the rations cuts, Mike's worried about Tina getting enough to eat so she can feed Blaine. He thought the only way he could get enough was to join the NCP. I told him I'd give him some of mine."

"I will, too," Kurt volunteered immediately. "We can share it."

Puck softened. Not much, but a little. "You could talk to that frakking Five when he gets back."

"I will," Kurt said. "I promise. I will." Puck cracked a little smile, and while it wasn't much, it was at least something, and Kurt relaxed a little more. Puck at least answered if Kurt spoke the rest of the night, and a little of the coldness faded. But Kurt was pretty sure it was only going to get worse as time went on.

***

Burt was working in the labor crew when he heard gunfire across town. It had become a familiar sound, but this time it froze him in his tracks. A small squad of humans ambushing a Cylon party headed out to one of the farms, and Carole was with them.

Burt didn't really know where he stood on the Gods anymore. Carole still believed, even more devoutly than she had before the attacks on the Colonies; Kurt was even more adamant that they didn't exist. Burt wasn't sure who was right, but he said a little prayer- if someone was listening, it couldn't hurt. Just please, let Carole be safe.

"Burt Hummel?"

Burt jerked back into the here and now to see a One addressing him. He had to remind himself he'd just heard the gunfire- this wasn't about Carole. "Yes?"

The One smirked a little. "Come with me. To the detention center." Burt froze, and the One laughed mockingly. "Oh, not like that. Your son."

"My son?" Burt repeated stupidly, and his heart careened against his chest in a whole new way. They had Kurt. The bastards had Kurt and… gods, Burt couldn't even think about it. He followed the One wordlessly, simultaneously seething and terrified. But when they arrived at the detention center, the One didn't lead him inside. Instead, the heavy gate opened, and Sam Evans was let out.

"Sam!" Burt pushed down the guilt he felt at not even thinking it could be Sam and hurried to the boy's side. Sam was a lot thinner than he'd been a month ago, a lot paler, and his hair was lank and dark and shaggy. Burt pulled him into a tight embrace, and at first, Sam was stiff in his arms. But then Sam began to cry, leaning against Burt.

"I'm sorry," he kept saying. "I'm sorry, Burt."

Burt tightened his arms. "It's all right, Sam. You're okay now." He looked around. "Where's Rya?"

The One who'd brought him here shook his head. "She's not released yet. We still have some… questioning."

The way Sam tensed told Burt a lot, and anger flared at anyone laying a hand on these kids. "You monster. You frakking monster. You-"

"We can always take Mr. Evans back in, Mr. Hummel. Or you yourself." Sam winced, and Burt got a firm hold on his temper.

"Come on, Sam," he said, glaring at the one. "Let's get you home."

As they walked away from the detention center, Sam relaxed a little, although he kept glancing over his shoulder. "She's still in there," he told Burt. "They told me that they wouldn't hurt her, but… but she's still in there."

"We'll get her out," Burt promised, although he had no idea how. They wound their way through New Caprica, and Burt noticed that Sam walked hunched in on himself, not looking at the community around him. "You okay? Or do you need the med tent?"

"I'm okay," Sam said quickly. He looked at Burt. "It wasn't that bad. I mean, yeah, it was bad, but they didn't… they didn't… hurt me. Not like what you're thinking." Much. Burt wasn't sure if he imagined that last word, or if Sam said it so softly that it was too hard to be heard. But Sam pulled himself together and asked, "Is everybody else still okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you're the one we've been worried about- you and Rya. Come on. Let's get you home and get some food into you." Burt wanted to put as much distance between them and the detention center as possible. "We'll figure out what to do next after that."

***

Burt was eating some leftover soup with Sam when Carole came home. She was tired and filthy and there was a streak of blood across her forehead and a bandage on her wrist, but when she saw Sam sitting at the table, Burt knew she felt it was worth every risk she'd just taken. "Honey! Oh, Sam, honey! You're safe!" Sam stood up just in time to hug her properly, and Carole hugged him even tighter than Burt did.

The word spread. Burt had managed to get word to Brittany, and the New Directions gossip chain took hold. By the time Carole had been home for an hour, all the kids were crowding into the tent. Burt tried to keep them back a little so Sam wouldn't be overwhelmed, but at the same time, he got it. They needed to see Sam, because Sam coming back to them was hope. And Sam seemed happy, although he made it clear he didn't want to talk about detention or Rya. What he really seemed fixed on was Blaine.

"I can't believe how big he's gotten," he said, staring at the baby, who was cuddled on Mike's lap. "How old is he now?"

"Almost six months," Mike said proudly. "And look!" He took his hands away, and Blaine righted himself into a wobbly sitting position all by himself. Sam grinned, but the sadness in his eyes was apparent. Blaine had been four and a half months when the Cylons had taken Sam and Rya, and he'd probably changed a lot to Sam's eyes. Burt turned away just in time to see Kurt and Puck come in.

Puck went immediately over to Sam, pulling him out of his chair and into a tight hug. Kurt hung back, watching warily. Burt joined him.

"You did it, kiddo," he said, clapping Kurt on the shoulder. "You got him out."

Kurt frowned. "No I didn't, Dad. I had nothing to do with this. I mean, I wanted to, and I asked Doral, but he told me it couldn't be done." On the other side of Kurt, Puck scowled. Burt could tell that Kurt was pretending not to notice. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin. "But whatever happened, I'm glad you're out," he said to Sam.

"Thanks, man." Sam extended his hand to Kurt. "I'm sure you tried."

"Tried," Puck muttered. "If cowering after one toaster tells you no counts as trying."

Kurt pressed his lips together tightly, and Sam looked uncomfortable. "Come on," Mike said awkwardly, shifting Blaine on his lap. "I'm sure Kurt did what he could-"

"Right. He asked a Five. A Five. Didn't even ask a One or a Six."

"Puck, lay off." The order came from Quinn, and sharply at that. "You have no idea what it's like working with the Cylons-"

"Oh, but you do, right?" Puck asked, turning on Quinn. "You're as bad as he is, right in there with them, working with the Fours."

Quinn crossed her arms and stared Puck down. "And what would happen if I left my job? That would be one less medic."

"You don't need the frakking Cylons to heal people!" Puck said.

"But I do need them for supplies and medicine."

"That's enough," Burt said, stepping in. "This whole occupation is crazy, all right? We're not getting anywhere making these kinds of accusations."

"Besides," Sam spoke up, "Kurt's right. It was a Cavil that let me out." Quinn and Puck's glares still could have lit fires, but Lauren pulled Puck into another conversation and Sam started talking to Kurt, so the emergency passed.

Burt stood back, watching the kids. Despite their happiness that Sam was back safe, he could see the cracks forming. And he was pretty sure it was only going to get worse.

***

"I'm looking at a new list of NCP recruits," Doral said slowly as Kurt walked in the door. "It is very striking to me how many of these brave young men and women have no military experience."

Kurt froze. "Oh."

"Enrollment is not what we had hoped," Doral continued. He stood up walked closer, until Kurt could smell him. It wasn't necessarily an unpleasant smell- Doral used some sort of cologne from the baseship and probably smelled better than Kurt, who rationed his own products fairly strictly. But the scent made Kurt's nostrils flare out in distaste. "It's a surprise, really. Civilization requires order and enforcement. People don't want the Centurions policing them, which I do understand. And yet, they don't care to take on the job themselves."

"You could appoint a few humans as heads of security," Kurt suggested. "Put them in charge." Doral didn't answer that except with a mocking glare. Kurt's shoulders slumped and he sighed in resignation. "What do you want, sir?"

"What do I want?" Doral was acting offended. Kurt wished they could skip this part of the dance and just get to the end already. "You talk as if I've made demands on you, Kurt."

"No. You haven't."

"I know I haven't. We're friends. We help each other out. I know we've had our moments," Doral reached in a touched Kurt's cheek gently. "But that was once. Just once."

It was just once, because just once was all Kurt had needed. He'd toed the line since then, mostly kept a low profile. He'd done what Doral wanted and fallen into line. There was a lump in his throat when he swallowed. He'd collaborated.

Doral's hand moved down Kurt's cheek and to his tie, and he fingered the fabric. "I know, Kurt, that you worry. I know that you have friends, that you're concerned about them. I know that you are especially concerned about Noah Puckerman, which I understand. Noah is truly a wasted asset, and he would prove to be very valuable on the New Caprica Police force."

Kurt sighed and began to undo his tie. "You know," he said sourly, handing it over, and unbuttoning his shirt, "one day soon I'm going to run out of clothes. What happens then?"

"You'll think of something to give me," Doral said. He helped Kurt slip off the shirt, then leaned in. "There are things that are valuable, but not nearly so tangible." Kurt's blood turned cold, and he looked at Doral, panicked. Doral smiled at him, a bland smile as he finished sliding the shirt off Kurt's shoulders. Kurt still had on his undershirt, but Doral's hands against him made him feel naked and exposed.

"Well," Kurt said, raising his chin, "I'm not out of clothing yet."

"No." Doral patted him on the shoulder and finally stepped away. "Not yet. Hurry up. We have a meeting in a few minutes. I'll see you there." As a small mercy, he left.

Kurt went over to retrieve the old shirt that he had learned to keep in the office for occasions like these. It was one of Finn's that had managed to make it into Kurt's tent, and Doral had absolutely no interest in it. Although, Kurt reflected as he pulled it on, if Doral knew that Kurt had any attachment to the garment, he'd probably start talking about a more casual wardrobe. He pulled Finn's shirt around him tightly just for a moment, and then raised his chin and gathered his things together. He lingered, because it felt good to be alone.

Alone. The word hit him hard, and he realized the truth he'd been refusing to think about for a while now. He was alone in a Cylon's office. All around him were schedules, memos, and lists that the Cylons had to use to communicate with their human subordinates. Things that had so much information that would never make it out of Colonial One… unless someone took them.

He supposed the thought had been in his head for a while, but he'd been scared. Because what would happen if the Cylons caught him stealing information? Death… or worse. But now, if we was going to face Doral rap- Kurt shuddered. He couldn't even think the word. But if it came down to that, if that was his future, what was left to fear? What did he have to be afraid of?

Kurt fumbled with his papers. It was risky and he'd have to think about it, but now that the idea was firmly entrenched in his mind, it felt like a foregone conclusion. All he had to do was figure out how he was going to do it.

***

The dugout under the Tigh's tent where the bulk of the command operations were based was a lot bigger than the one under Burt's workshop. Burt wasn't in command so he wasn't there often, but he'd gotten pretty good at building bombs, and when bombs were needed, he was one of the ones called. He was finished the delicate work on the trigger, and then pushed it across the table to Anders.

"Looks good," Anders said, turning the bomb over in his hands.

Burt didn't know Anders as well as he knew Galen, but there was something about the man that made him easy to talk to. "Thanks. Never thought I'd be doing this."

"Yeah, well, I can sure say the same. I really thought I was done with this stuff." Anders grinned, but his eyes were dead.

"Any word about your wife?" Burt asked sympathetically.

"Nah." Anders was trying to play it off lightly, but it was obvious how much it affected him. Burt decided to change the subject.

"So what's the next plan of attack?" he asked. "Where's this baby going to go?"

Anders sighed. "Weapons raid. We've got to get our people some more firearms. What we've got just isn't enough." He glanced at Burt. "We're going to need a couple people to set off bombs on this one."

Burt nodded, understanding the implicit question. Anders hadn't given him any details, but it was pretty clear this was going to be a bigger operation than the small explosions he'd been setting off here and there. "Sounds like fun," he said. "Any chance I can play?"

"Galen said when we all line up on the playground, you're one of our top picks."

"Good." Burt tried not to think about the fact that that made him nervous. After all, some of the kids had been fighting battles since this war had started. If they could do it, he could do it. "When's this all going to happen?"

"We're still scoping out which bunker we want to hit. We only get one shot at this, so it's got to be right."

Burt nodded. As much as he appreciated the risks, he had to admit he was ready to start taking on something a little bigger. The risks were worth it, especially when he saw the way the occupation was draining the kids. Any time they were ready, he was too.

***

Kurt and Quinn walked through the streets together, Quinn rubbing at the dried blood on her hands. Kurt wasn't sure if it was someone else's or her own, given how dried and cracked her hands were. Neither thought was appealing.

"I could try to get you some lotion," Kurt offered.

"I can get lotion myself," Quinn snapped. "Or I would be able to. It's not available."

"I used to use duck fat on my hands. We could get some goose fat."

Quinn shook her head and didn't say anything.

They reached the edge of the city. There was no fence around it, but New Caprica was not so rife with game and edible fruits that a person could survive on their own. People didn't run because there was no place to run to. There was, however, the river. It wasn't that private, but it was private enough. Kurt and Quinn made their way down to the bank, and Quinn immediately sat down on the stones. She looked exhausted. "What did you want, Kurt?"

Despite the dirt, Kurt sat down beside her. "Have any Cylons… taken an interest in you?"

Quinn frowned. "What do you mean?"

He raised his chin. "I mean a sexual interest."

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I know things like that are going on."

"They are." Quinn was definitive about that. "I've had to treat a lot of- wait. You know? Kurt, has someone… have you-?"

"Not yet." He hugged his knees tighter. "But Doral's all but said it. I don't know. Does it count as rape if it's traded for something else? Or is that just prostitution?"

"Oh gods. Kurt."

"I think I like calling it prostitution better than rape," Kurt said, his voice still high and fast. "That sounds like I'm the one winning."

"What are you winning?"

"Puck. They keep threatening to pick up Puck. I've been holding them off, but it's coming."

Quinn didn't say anything for a long time. The silence was filled with the water gurgling against the banks and the wind rustling the leaves. A bird trilled in one of the trees. Kurt wasn't usually a huge fan of nature, but right now, it was soothing.

Quinn finally took a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay," she said, in her take-charge tone. "So are you going to do it?"

"If it comes to it. Yes."

"So why are you telling me? It's not just for comfort, is it?"

Kurt watched the way the sunlight played on ripples of water in the river. "No. If it's gotten this bad, how much worse could it get?"

"Ask Sam." Kurt glared at her and Quinn shrugged. "It can get worse, Kurt. You don't see the things I see."

"I see enough. And I've decided…" Kurt took a deep breath and cocked his head to the side. "I've decided I'm going to do this."

Quinn looked at him like he was crazy. "Do what?"

"Start helping. We're in good positions, Quinn. We can get information. We work with the Cylons, and we've done stuff like this before, with Artie and helping Roslin. If all this with Doral is going to happen, at least I could make a difference."

"We're not in the same position," Quinn said. "I'm not as desperate as you."

"But-"

"I'm also not in the kind of position you are. The Fours don't sit around drinking coffee and planning domination. They're doctors." Quinn softened, pulling her own knees up. "However, you are right about one thing. You can't do this by yourself."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "That seems a bit contradictory. What do you mean?"

"You can get information, but you can't pass it. If you're caught, they'll ask you who you're giving it to."

"So?"

"Do you think you could not tell them? I've only seen a little of what they can do. I don't think you can. What you need is someone to help. Just one contact that you can give information to, that can pass it on to someone in the Resistance. It's not foolproof, but at least that only puts one person at risk, not the entire movement."

"You would do that?"

"I would do that."

Kurt opened his mouth to ask if she was sure, and then shut it again, partly because he valued his life and partly because, well, while Quinn had been concerned about her popularity in school, Quinn also had guts. If Kurt had been pregnant (well, been a girl and been pregnant), he would have gone for that abortion, not only so he didn't have to face anyone, but so he didn't have to go through childbirth. And then, too, Quinn was the one who'd helped Artie get the recorder way over a year ago. Quinn had a mind of her own, and the determination to use it.

"All right," he said, and the nervousness started blossoming in his stomach. They were really going to do this. Somehow it hadn't seemed so real in his mind when he'd thought of it, but now that it was out here between him and Quinn, it felt like there was no turning back. He took a deep, calming breath and then another. He glanced at Quinn. She was just as terrified and excited as he was.

"We'll be okay," Quinn lied.

"Sure."

Quinn laid her head against Kurt's shoulder. Kurt rested his temple against her hair. They sat together in silence until the sun began to go down.

***

Kurt woke up before his alarm, sitting straight up in bed. For the first time since the occupation began he wasn't dreading work, even though his stomach felt like he'd swallowed a thousand live butterflies. He shut off the alarm and looked over at Puck, who was still snoring, then got out of bed and began to get dressed. He had a mission.

A sharp, understated pair of black pants paired with a classic, quiet shirt. A nice, neat scarf, not one that would pull the eye to him. A trenchcoat-like blazer, belted around the waist and with clean lines and a collar that could be turned up. And to complete the look, one of his prize possessions- a fedora, tilted low over his face. Perfect.

Kurt looked back at Puck one more time, then headed out the door. The New Caprican sunshine was bright enough to warrant sunglasses, so he pulled a pair from his satchel and slipped them on. He slid through the people coming into Colonial One, doing his best to look completely nonchalant.

Doral looked at him long and hard when Kurt came in, but Kurt was sure that his gaze was focused on the clothing. He was right.

"That's the dullest thing I've ever seen you wear," Doral mused, turning back to his work. "Are you sick, Kurt?"

"No. Just felt like keeping my clothes today."

Doral snorted, and Kurt's breathing returned back to normal. He wondered how long it would be before Doral left the room.

Not long, it turned out. Doral didn't even bother to tell Kurt where he was going, but Kurt knew. There was a meeting of the Cylons- something that required consensus. Something that Kurt was expressly not invited to. Perfect. As soon as the door closed behind Doral, Kurt was out of his seat and looking through the papers on Doral's desk.

He didn't dare to steal actually steal anything, but he'd come prepared with a notebook. It was one of Quinn's, and most of it was filled with detailed medical notes and carefully drawn diagrams that Kurt really didn't care to study too closely. He flipped to a blank page and then began writing down anything he could find- locations, details, passcodes- anything about the New Caprica Police weapons stores. The code was the best thing- of everything he had, that would be most useful. He finished writing with a flourish and returned to his desk, long before Doral ever returned to the office.

He tried to look normal the rest of day, although it was hard to keep the bounce out of his step and the smug expression off his face. He was safe, as long as no one found his notebook. No one did, and before he went home, he stopped at the med tent to return Quinn's notebook to her. No one even looked at them twice.

Kurt walked home with a much lighter heart. They'd done it. Now all he had to do was find some more.

***

"What's this?" Galen asked Burt, as Burt handed him a note in the safety of the dugout.

"Don't know," Burt said with a shrug. "Laura Roslin gave it to me."

Galen opened the folded sheet. "This is a passcode to that weapons bunker over by fields," he said. He pawed through some papers and came up with a sheet with the same numbers on it. "You said Roslin gave this to you?"

"Yeah. Does it help?

"Well, yeah, it turns out it does, but not the way you'd think. I got the passcode a week ago from an anonymous source, for the same bunker. I didn't know if it was a trap or if it was real. But is Roslin sure about this?"

"She seemed like it. You'd think she'd know, wouldn't you?" Burt had a lot of faith in Laura Roslin.

Tyrol nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, and it makes me think that my source can be trusted." He brightened. "Great. We're finally going to be able to do this."

***

The night was quiet out by the farms that were further from the settlement. The fields were demarcated with low stone walls, giving them a whimsical, old-world sort of feeling. There were trees out this far, and tall grass and shrubs. Farmers' tents were in rows along the sides of them, and here and there trash can fires could be seen burning, giving the Resistance a little bit of light. Which was useful, because right now Burt was staring at an outlying shack.

"You ready for this?" Tigh whispered.

Burt was hiding in the underbrush, flat on his stomach and trying not to think that he was too old for this. The fact that Saul Tigh had just army-crawled next to him and was peering through the darkness at the shack in front of them helped a lot. "I'm ready," Burt said.

"Good. You've got three minutes to get in there, plant the bomb, and get out, you got that? After that, we start shooting."

"Yeah. I know." Burt wasn't going to lie and say he wasn't nervous, but he was ready. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"You lot set?" Tigh glanced over at the two former Marines who were accompanying Burt, one of whom Burt knew as Nowart. They both nodded an affirmative. "Good." He turned back to Burt. "Give it to the count of twenty and then go. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Tigh clapped him on the shoulder and crawled off. Burt began counting.

The shack was a small power relay, set up to power the outlying farms. It wasn't a very big or sturdy structure, but it was left unguarded precisely for that reason. It was an easy target, and not the real one. It was five hundred yards away from a bunker where the Cylons stored weapons that were used to keep order on the farms. The bunker sat out on the end of a field of potato plants, impossible to approach without cover. Two hundred yards beyond that was a bigger bunker where Centurions were housed.

Burt finished counting to twenty and gestured to the two Marines. He scooped up his sack and began to run, as quietly as he could. The distance between them and the relay station seemed enormous, and Burt was sure that at any moment he'd be riddled with bullets. It didn't happen. He made it to the substation, the two Marines right behind him, rifles at the ready. He opened the door and dashed in, breathing heavy.

There was no time for celebration. He put the sack down and pulled out the bomb. The plastic was smooth in his hand, and he hoped to all the gods that he'd made the damn thing right. He nestled it into the transformers, making sure that the remote was facing the direction he wanted to go.

"Come on, Hummel," Nowart said, brandishing his gun. "Let's move it."

"Got it." He checked one more time, made sure he had the detonator, and ran. They were just out of the shack and had gotten maybe ten yards when he heard a voice shout, "Hey! Stop!"

"Hit the ground!" Nowart ordered sharply, and Burt obeyed before he could even process the command. Nowart took his stance and fired, and when Burt looked up he saw a Two staggering back, holes in his chest.

Burt struggled to his feet and tried to get to running. He couldn't force himself to stand all the way up, but he staggered forward. He was vaguely aware that the count had to be getting close and he had to get away-

"NOW, HUMMEL!" Tigh shouted.

The remote was still in his hand. Burt fumbled with it and pressed the trigger. The resultant explosion was instantaneous, and a wave of heat and pressure threw him down to the ground, his arms over his head.

"Get up!" Nowart was yelling, tugging on his shoulder. "Come on! Get under cover!"

It was hard to hear because his ears were ringing. Burt shook his head and followed, stumbling to cover. He was distantly aware of the sounds of gunfire, and the fact that there was only Nowart with him now. It was dark, too- the power station had taken out the search light, as well as any other light source except for the fires and the flames that now consumed it, and New Caprica's moon wasn't all that bright. Nowart was shaking him.

"Hummel. Let's go. We've got to get to the rendezvous point." Burt pulled himself together and looked back at the burning wreckage of the power relay. The black shape of a corpse was on the ground. He shuddered, but got to his feet and followed Nowart.

The gunfire was louder to him now, although that wasn't as much because his hearing was returning as because they were running towards it. A squad was crouched behind one of the stone walls, firing at Centurions who were advancing from a low concrete bunker. Carole was among them. Burt watched with amazement as she propped her gun up on the wall and just shot, and he was almost positive she took out one of the Centurions that was advancing.

"Nice shot," he told her, flinging himself down next to her. Carole took a second to grin at him before returning to her work. On the other side of him, Shannon Beiste was doing her own share of damage. Nowart joined in the fight, too.

There was another explosion, a smaller one this time. Another squad doing their job, and this time, a big truck roared to life. The tires squealed as someone (Burt closed his eyes and told himself he didn't know exactly who had hot-wired it and was driving like that) pulled it out. The truck careened wildly until it came to a stop near the weapons bunker. Galen hopped out of the passenger seat and frantically punched numbers into a keypad next to the door, and the door slid open. The Centurions, who had been occupied with the battle in front of them, were beginning to notice that something was going on behind, especially as humans jumped out of the truck and rushed inside the bunker.

"They need five minutes!" Shannon shouted over the gunfire. "Let's keep these frakkers off of them, people!" She handed Burt a gun. "Here, Hummel. Make yourself useful. It's loaded- just point and shoot."

Point and shoot. Burt picked the gun up and tried to get comfortable with it. He'd never actually shot a gun before in his life, except the video game ones when he was a kid and again when Finn had come into his life. He might not hit anything but he could make some trouble, so he ducked behind the wall, and peeked up in order to fire.

He'd heard about the recoil before and he'd thought he'd been prepared, but he wasn't, and the gun kicked back and barely missed his chin. Carole grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him down. "What the hell?"

"Shannon said-" Burt began, but Carole shook her head.

"My gun's out of ammo," she said, confiscating his. "You did your job! Just stay down until it's time to run!" Feeling a lot like a teenager again, Burt obeyed.

The seconds dragged on. He hadn't gotten a good look to see how many Centurions were out there, and he could hear some voices which meant that skin jobs were out there as well. But Shannon and Carole both seemed determined, not desperate and hopeless, and Tigh had said this area wasn't as heavily guarded. Burt took that to mean the odds were matched.

"All right!" Shannon shouted suddenly. "That's five minutes! Let's move it! Get to the truck- let's go, let's go, let's go!" She shoved Burt hard, but she didn't have to. He'd already been ready to run.

The run from the safety of the wall to the truck was worse than running to or from the relay station. Burt couldn't bear to look around- he just kept his eyes in front of him and ran. Lauren was standing in the back of the truck, and she reached down and gave him a hand inside. The others followed. Burt relaxed marginally when both Carole and Shannon made it on. The truck lurched forward, and Burt closed his eyes. When he opened them again they'd stopped, and Tigh's squad was hopping on.

"Where's Grayson?" Sam Anders asked from the front of the hold.

"We lost him," Tigh said. "Let's move!" Puck (Burt had known it was Puck) floored it, and the truck bounced hard over the dips in the dirt.

"Watch it, Puckerman!" Shannon shouted forward. "There's explosives back here!"

"Oops. Sorry, Coach!"

Carole squeezed Burt's arm. "It's okay. We'll make it through this," she said.

Burt smiled. "What, Puck's driving?" She laughed.

The truck kept going, gaining speed. Burt wasn't sure if he should rest or stay ready, because the job wasn't over yet. In fact, Jean Barolay and Lauren were sorting through the weapons, figuring out who should carry what and where things were best stored.

They were in the southeast quadrant of the city when the truck stopped. As each person hopped out, Lauren and Jean handed off the bundles of weapons. Burt found himself carrying three guns and several boxes of ammunition. "All right," Tigh said, slinging a gun over his own shoulder. "Get to your drop points, and then back to your tents." The truck was abandoned, having served its purpose in allowing them to outrun the Cylons, and the group split up.

Burt, Carole, Puck, Lauren, and Shannon ran through New Caprica, darting between tents and away from the general traffic. "There," Burt said, pointing with his chin at the granary tent across from the med tent. They made it inside, and Burt found the trap door. "Come on," he ordered as he flung it open. "Get down."

"Who's going to cover it once we're down there?" Puck asked, already halfway down the ladder.

"Tyrol said it's covered," Burt said. He glanced at the med tent and saw a shadowy figure in scrubs watching. They all climbed into the tunnel and began working through the narrow passage.

It was quiet down here. Burt didn't notice it at first because his ears were still messed up, his heart was still pounding and his breath was still coming heavy, but it was. The earth above their heads made it impossible to hear what was going on, and something would be going on. The Cylons wouldn't let a strike like that go unpunished.

Not far away, Anders and Jean were hiding weapons under the Pyramid goals. Tigh and Galen were hiding theirs… Burt didn't even know where. It occurred to Burt that he had very little idea of a lot of the workings of the Resistance. Probably for the best, but he didn't really want to think about that.

To his mild surprise, Sue was waiting for them in the cellar under his workshop. Burt should have known. She surveyed the weapons that they brought in, and when Burt brought up the rear, her first words were "That's all?"

"Hey!" Puck said. "We got a lot!"

"If by 'a lot' you mean enough to arm the rent-a-cops at a high school Pyramid game, then yes, you got 'a lot'." Sue removed her attention from Puck. "How many casualties?"

"I don't know," Burt admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know that one of the former Marines- Crandall, I think his name was-" he noticed that Puck didn't really react to that- "he got shot. Otherwise-"

"We lost two others," Carole said crisply.

That was sobering, although not unexpected. Sue just nodded. "Good. That's less than I thought."

Sue, Shannon, and Carole all looked pleased at that number, Burt realized. And they were right. For an offensive that has as much to gain as this one did, three lives wasn't that high of a body count. Besides, there wasn't time to dwell. They had to get home, because the Cylons would be checking tents. They could be checking already. They climbed out into Burt's workshop and then split up from there.

The run through New Caprica was a nightmare, but it was better than that battlefield. At least Carole's hand was in his sometimes, warm and sweaty and alive. Both the Cylons and the New Caprica Police were out in force. "We probably should have stayed under the workshop," Carole whispered, as they hid behind a tent, waiting for a chance to dart across the street. "They can't search every tent tonight."

"Better not to press our luck," Burt said. Their chance came and they ran.

Stop and run, stop and run. Avoid the search lights and the Cylon patrols. It was going well, until one terrifying, horrible moment when they rounded a corner and came up against a member of the New Caprica Police.

The NCP members wore masks over their faces to protect their identities. They dressed in black, and it was impossible to tell much about them, especially in the shadows between the tents. All Burt could tell about this one was that it was a man about his own height. The man's eyes flared open wide when he saw them, and he froze. Burt put his own body between Carole and the NCP member, daring him to shoot them down.

"Anything there?" A voice called from the street. It was a Cylon, of course, a One from the sounds of it. The NCP recruits were still in training.

The recruit stared at them for one long last moment, and then to Burt's surprise, turned and fled, back to where the Cylon was. They couldn't hear the response, but they did hear the One demand, "What do you mean there's nothing there? I know I saw someone!" Another pause, and then, "Well, let's go." Stunned, Burt could only stand still, but Carole grabbed his hand and tugged him along. By some miracle, they made it to their tent.

"What the hell just happened?" Burt said as soon as they burst into the tent.

"Got me." Carole was shucking off her filthy clothes. There was a basin of water in their tent; Burt began washing his face. The water turned black as soot came off. "I still can't believe that there are people who would willingly join that NCP force."

"Yeah, well. Whoever that was, he lied for us."

Carole snorted. "Probably didn't have the guts to shoot us."

"Don't know that he had to. He could have just turned us in." Burt shook his head. "You're right, though. It's…" he sighed. "It's one thing to be like Kurt, where he's stuck. But to go over to the Cylons voluntarily, to help them like that…."

"There's no justification for it," Carole said angrily.

Burt nodded his agreement. They finished getting ready for bed, and by the time they made it to the cot, they both were more presentable.

The Cylons came at 2:33 in the morning, checking to see if the occupants of this tent were in place. Burt and Carole answered all of their questions, and eventually, the Cylons left. They thought that was the end of it, and spent the rest of the night in a relieved sleep.

It wasn't until later the next day they heard that Colonel Tigh had been detained, accused of leading rebel activity.

***

Something had happened last night. Kurt didn't know what it was, but he knew that whatever it was, it involved the insurgency and the Cylons were furious. Rachel had spent the night last night since Lauren wanted Puck to stay, and the Cylons had come into the tent and asked them a lot of questions. Kurt had been so terrified he'd slip up that he mainly let Rachel do the talking. The Cylons had left, but it was clear that whatever was going on wasn't good. It wasn't until the morning that Kurt heard that there'd been a raid, and that the Cylons had picked up Saul Tigh, as well as a few other insurgents. He wasn't sure if that was good or if it was bad.

He was walking down the hall when Gaeta caught up with him. "Hummel. I need to talk to you." Gaeta looked bored and vaguely repulsed, the look he usually wore around Kurt. He grabbed Kurt's arm and pulled him into the empty kitchen.

"What are you-" Kurt cut off when Gaeta shut the door and then whirled on him with a fury that Kurt had only seen a few times before.

"What the frak do you think you're doing?" Gaeta demanded.

"What do you mean? I'm not doing anything!" Kurt protested.

Gaeta gestured up and down Kurt's body. "The black suit, the high collar, the hat tipped over the eyes, the scarf… the sunglasses indoors. How obvious are you trying to be?"

A cold fear gripped Kurt's stomach. "I'm not trying to attract anyone, if that's what you're accusing me of," he said as loftily as he could. "I assure you, my dalliance with-"

"The only thing you're missing is a cigarette in a holder," Gaeta said, ignoring Kurt. "Do you have any idea what you're playing with?"

"What exactly do you think I'm doing?"

"You're trying to spy on the Cylons!" Gaeta looked frustrated and whirled away for a moment, and then back at Kurt. "How can you… what… you are frakking lucky that they probably wouldn't know a James Handy film if it bit them on the nose!"

"I'm not spying on the Cylons," Kurt lied nervously, fingering the scarf. He started to undo the knot.

"No. Not that," Gaeta ordered sharply. He stepped back and studied Kurt, frowning. "The hat and the sunglasses," he decided. "I don't want to see the sunglasses again. And undo the buttons." When Kurt didn't move, Gaeta stepped in and undid the buttons on Kurt's jacket himself. He frowned critically again, and then ordered, "Mess up your hair."

"What?"

"Mess it up. Make it look windblown."

"But I don't have the right tools or product to do it decently and-"

Gaeta fished through his pocket and pulled out a tube of gel and flung it at Kurt. "Do it!" he hissed through clenched teeth. He pushed Kurt over to a metal coffee machine. "Use that as a mirror!" With trembling fingers, Kurt obeyed. When he was done, Gaeta snatched the gel back and sighed.

"It should be all right," he said, looking over Kurt critically. "You change looks more often than Gaius changes sexual partners-" a sharp glare there, and Kurt winced- "so hopefully the Cylons will just assume this is you being eccentric rather than actually indicative of anything."

"Why do you care?" Kurt asked. "You'd be just as happy to see the Cylons drag me off."

"I don't care. But you have no idea how much you could mess up- how much trouble you could get in. How much you're putting at stake."

"What else should I do?" Kurt demanded. "Just sit here and keep doing what they tell me? Don't you get it? Things aren't going to change! The Cylons have made it clear how they think it should work, and I can't just help them anymore! What do you expect me to do? Just suck it up and do like you do?"

Gaeta just stared at him for a long moment, his mouth slightly open. "Three days," he finally snapped. "Either work this look for three days, or pawn it off on Doral today. Either one will keep the Cylons off your back. Otherwise, you're going to find yourself inside a detention cell, and that's if you're lucky." He pushed past Kurt and headed out into the hall, concealing his anger under his normal mask of professionalism.

Kurt looked down at his outfit. The changes Gaeta had made definitely took it out of the look Kurt had been going for, and a little part of his brain admitted that that might be a good thing. Kurt was good, and when he put together a look, it was meant to make a statement. Maybe he'd done a little too well this time. He tugged at the blazer, wishing he could button it back up properly. But then, it would probably be off his back by the end of the day.

With a sigh, Kurt got himself a cup of watery coffee and headed for his office. His confidence was shaken, but he still had work to do. When he got to the office and saw the report he was expected to type and the news that one of the weapons bunkers he'd given Quinn the pass code to had been broken into, and his heart soared. Apparently he'd been able to get something useful after all.

***

They had more weapons now, but Tigh had been taken. "What happens next?" Burt asked Galen when he stopped by the workshop.

Galen shrugged. "We keep going. The Colonel knew this would probably happen at some point."

Burt nodded. "You think he's dead?"

"Definitely not," Galen answered quickly. "They won't kill him. They've got questions they want answered."

"Suppose a jailbreak is out of the question," Burt said, but it was rhetorical. He knew the answer to that one- it wasn't even something they'd tried asking about when Sam was in that place.

"Just sit tight and stay safe," Galen said before he left, picking up a trigger that Burt had wired. "And I'll meet you in the granary tomorrow night." Galen nodded and headed out, nearly bumping into Brittany coming in.

"Hey Brit," Burt said, starting to sort out his tools for his next job. "Where've you been?" Brittany didn't answer right away which was extremely unlike her, so Burt peered closer at her face. To his shock, it looked like Brittany was crying. "What is it?" he asked, clenching in anticipation. "What's wrong?"

Brittany wiped at her eyes. "I went over to Johnson's to check on their cat. You know, over by the big fields?" Burt nodded. "And the cat is dead!"

"Oh." Burt tried not to show his relief. He knew Brittany got attached to animals, but he'd take a dead pet cat over one of the kids in detention or dead any day. "I'm sorry, Brit." He patted her shoulder awkwardly.

Brittany wiped her eyes. "He was getting better, too," she said. "I think he'd finally gotten rid of his worms. And then he died like that. Poor Buttons."

"Like that?"

"The insurgents did something over there, and there was a lot of gunfire. Buttons got caught in it. So did the Johnson's neighbor. I don't think he made it, either. But when I saw Buttons it was just…" she sat down at the table, tears streaking her face.

So did the Johnson's neighbor. I don't think he made it, either. A civilian. A civilian had died in their attack on the Cylons. Burt's head began to spin and he had to sit down. Had the man died in the explosion he'd set off? Probably not, if they'd found the body, right? Yeah. That made sense. Probably crossfire. He refused to think about the fact that Carole had been shooting a gun.

"Burt? Mr. H? Are you okay?" Brittany put a hand on his shoulder. "If it's any comfort, Buttons was a good cat- he'd go to cat heaven. It will be okay."

He pulled himself together. Brittany couldn't know about any of this. "Yeah. Cat heaven. I was always more of a dog person myself."

Brittany pulled away as if he was contaminated. "You never told me that."

"Sure I did." Burt tried to put heart into it. "If Katherine and Kurt would have allowed it, I would have gotten a big, hairy, slobbering dog. The kind that jumps up and is happy to see you when you come home."

"Kurt would never let something slobber on him. Except Blaine." Burt managed a real laugh at that, and Brittany smiled. Burt reached out and patted her hand.

"You doing okay, Brittany? I mean, really?"

Brittany shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I miss Santana a lot."

"Yeah. I get that one." He missed Finn a lot, too.

"Do you really think she's okay?"

"I think she's doing better than us right now," Burt said. He was about to add that Colonel Tigh said that the Fleet would be back, but stopped himself just in time. Brittany couldn't know a lot of that.

Brittany sat down across from him. "I wish I'd gotten to say goodbye. Do you think I'll ever see her again? Or Artie or Mercedes or Finn? Now, I mean. Not before we die."

"I don't know," Burt admitted. "But I've gotta believe it, or I'm going to lose hope. So you believe it too, okay? They're out there, and we'll see them again. They're coming for us."

Brittany smiled tearfully and squeezed his hand. Burt hoped desperately that he was telling the truth.

The worst job Kurt had by far was the actual announcements of the measures that had been taken by the Cylons. Telling people that rations were cut or the curfew was earlier was terrible. It was making himself a voice of the Cylons and their medium between themselves and the people. Most times it was done through an article in the paper, a poster, or an announcement over the loudspeakers wired throughout the city. But not today.

It wasn't his job alone- Gaeta had to do these things even more often than Kurt. And Gaeta was with him today, when they trudged to the water treatment plant and the substation and the fields to deliver the new work schedules that the Cylons had set. The ploy was obvious, because there were Cylons supervising at all of these places who could have easily delivered the messages. But no, it had to come from humans, to give the appearance of cooperation. It hadn't gone well.

"You ought to go to the hospital and have that stitched," Gaeta said to Kurt as they walked back from the fields. A thrown bottle had hit a post right near Kurt's head, and one of the broken pieces had caught his forehead.

Kurt let the pressure up for a moment and checked the handkerchief. "It looks like the bleeding is stopping."

"Blood loss isn't the only reason to have a wound stitched. Let me see." To Kurt's surprise, Gaeta's hand closed around his wrist and he pulled Kurt's hand away.

"So you're a doctor now?"

"No, but every soldier has first aid training." Gaeta didn't call him an idiot, but Kurt heard it in his voice. "You really should go get it stitched." Kurt didn't answer, and Gaeta didn't let go of his wrist. Their eyes met, and the concern he saw there shocked Kurt to the core. Once again, like the first time Kurt had met him, Gaeta's eyebrows and expression forcibly reminded him of Blaine. He pulled away.

"I've had worse," he said, deciding to play it off lightly. "Shoes. They've thrown shoes at us, and I'm not talking cute little ballet flats. Slushies, of course. Lots of Slushies. And a cat."

"A cat?"

Kurt nodded. "At a glee club performance at a nursing home. One of the residents threw a cat at me."

Gaeta laughed. It was a short bark of laughter, and Kurt realized that in the year and a half he'd known Gaeta, he'd only heard him laugh once or twice. Oddly enough, hearing it lifted his spirits a little in an anxious sort of way- sort of like hearing Finn laugh had used to do, way back in tenth grade. "They really threw a cat?" Gaeta asked.

"A real, live, fortunately declawed cat. I ducked, but it still hit me."

Gaeta was still chuckling, and they started walking again. Kurt pressed the handkerchief back to his forehead. "I've had people throw some interesting things at me," Gaeta said. "I was a drum major in high school."

"Really?"

Gaeta nodded. "It was part of my big plan to get into the military academy. When I was in high school, becoming an officer and serving on a battlestar was everything to me."

"Why'd you leave the military, then, if you loved it so much?"

Gaeta didn't answer, but something was going on in his head because his face hardened. He stopped suddenly, almost forcing Kurt to stop with him.

"Look," he said, leaning in, his voice urgent, "I know something's been going on with Doral. I've seen him wearing your clothes." Kurt looked away, stepping back. "Whatever it is, the other Cylons know about it, too, and there's a One who's telling Doral to step it up with you."

Kurt's stomach turned to stone. "Step it up with me?"

"I couldn't hear more of what they were saying- they shut the door after that. But they are watching you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Gaeta drew back. "I thought- never mind." The concern was gone, and the haughty, distant demeanor was back. "We're both collaborators, and there's no use pretending otherwise. So I suppose you know all about whatever Doral wants anyway." He was closing Kurt out completely again. "Go get your head checked. I've got work to do." He pulled himself straight and headed off, not quite storming, but definitely stiff.

Kurt sighed. His head really did hurt, and besides, he needed to see Quinn anyway. He had no idea why he was fighting it so much. With a strangely heavy heart, he turned and headed off.

***

The high school tent was still a safe place for them to meet as long as Will Schuester wasn't about. He was out tonight, tutoring a student, so Shannon and Sue had the tent to themselves. Carole and Burt brought dinner, and Puck and Lauren brought a bottle of something alcoholic. The six of them sat around one of the student tables, eating soup and bread.

"So there were two civilian casualties?" Burt asked.

"Yeah." Shannon stirred her soup. "Two's not too bad though, I guess."

"Yeah, I know." Burt made a face. "They just got caught in the middle. They didn't even have a chance."

"Neither do people the Cylons shoot," Sue said. She poured some hot sauce into her soup. "And they've been shooting an awful lot of people."

"Or detaining them," Puck said around a mouthful. "Like Sam."

"You get used to it," Lauren said.

"Huh?" Burt turned to face her.

"You get used to it," Lauren repeated. She pushed her glasses up her nose. "If you don't, you end up like Blaine." She shrugged dismissively.

"Blaine died from radiation poisoning," Burt said. "That's got nothing to do with anything."

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about how Blaine used to freeze up in the middle of everything," Lauren explained. She popped a piece of bread into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "At the beginning, when we used to go out on raids, he'd be dead weight. Couldn't do a thing."

"Hope you didn't say that to Kurt."

Lauren just shrugged again, and Burt took that as a no. "That's what it was. And if you let yourself care too much about what happens, it will happen to you, too."

That hard look in Lauren's eyes had been steadily going away over the past year, but it had come back when the Cylons did. Burt thought maybe he should have noticed that before now. He glanced over at Puck. Puck looked uncharacteristically serious, which must mean he saw it, too.

Sue pulled a piece of bread from the basket and tore it to bits. "She's got a point," she said to Burt. "Tough as it might be for your math-challenged noggin to process, you've gotta accept that a few deaths here mean fewer deaths later. But she's wrong about who you end up like. You keep counting too close, you end up caring too much, and that's when you end up like Blaine or like William Schuester. And you definitely don't have the hair to pull off his look."

Collaborators or insurgency. It alarmed Burt that, the longer the occupation went on, the less ground there seemed to be between them. It was one or the other, black or white. He scrubbed his face with his hands. The bottom line was that this was what they needed to do if they were ever going to get out from the Cylons' thumbs, and whatever the cost, he had to work towards that goal.

"You okay?" Carole asked him when they walked home that night.

"I guess. You?"

She shrugged. "I just keep telling myself let's get through this. Let's get away, let's get them gone, and then we can worry about the consequences for ourselves later."

"It's gonna come back and bite us hard," Burt predicted.

Carole nodded agreement. "If we live through it, that is."

Burt snorted. "Guess that's a point right there. Worry about it if we live through it." It wasn't much of a comfort, but Carole's smile was. Burt focused on that, and they walked home together.

***

The sun was just setting when Kurt made it home, tired and sore and cranky. Quinn had told him that her contacts in the Resistance said that they needed to know what signals the Cylons were using to jam the airwaves- or what frequencies- or what- Kurt didn't know. It wasn't his thing. "We need Artie," he'd told Quinn.

"Well, Artie's not here. We need to figure it out." They'd tried to work out together precisely what Kurt was looking for, but in the end, they were still just confused.

Not that the day was a complete waste. Kurt had managed to get word to Quinn that the Cylons were talking about cutting meat rations. It was a small thing, really, but at least people could be warned and stock up. He'd also been faced with a list of people that were going to be questioned about the insurgents' latest activities. He didn't recognize most of the names on there, but as usual, Puck's name had been there. He'd given up his vest to get it off. The fact that Doral had been satisfied with just the vest had left Kurt limp with relief.

He was thinking about that vest when he opened the flap and walked in, but all thoughts fled when Puck stood up, arms crossed. "We need to talk." From the look on his face, Kurt knew this wasn't going to be good.

"Fine," he sighed, taking off his jacket. "What is it?"

Puck took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think it's better if you move out. You can move in with Rachel, and Lauren's going to move in with me."

"Excuse me? If I move out? You do remember who was in this tent first, right?"

"Yeah." That threw Puck for a minute. "Whatever. Look, the point is, we shouldn't be living together anymore. I can't take this."

"You can't take this. You're not the one working up there," Kurt said sharply. "What I do does not affect you." The lie was bitter on his tongue.

"You're stupid if you believe that. It affects the whole frakking place."

"I have told you time and time again, that if I quit my job, the Cylons will shoot me or send me to detention. Is that what you want? For me to die rather than work with them?"

"Well, yeah!" Puck turned on him. "Sam ended up in detention. He didn't collaborate, and same with Rya. And Rachel's not collaborating. Or Carole or your dad or Lauren. What makes you so special?"

"What have they done that's so different?" Kurt shot back. "No one's quit their job. Rachel still works in supply. You got put on the construction crews and you work there, and so does Dad and so does Lauren. Carole's still in her job. And you're all taking orders from Cylons."

"Like hell we are! None of us are carrying out the Cylons orders to hurt people. If the frakking toasters weren't here, we'd still need people to build and to do…whatever the frak it is Carole does. We would not need little shits to sit up in the office and relay orders about ration cuts and curfews like you do!" Puck's voice rose to a shout. "They took me off security and put me on the crews, but if they had told me that I had to be on that frakking NCP force, I'd let them shoot me!"

"Yeah, well, they haven't, have they?" Kurt yelled back. Puck had no idea- absolutely no idea. Kurt wanted to yell that at him, and it physically hurt to keep the words back. "And are you one of these insurgents?"

"Like I'd tell you," Puck sneered. "Frakking collaborator."

"Fine," Kurt said, his patience snapping. "You want me out of here? I'll go." He rooted under his bed and came up with his bag. It was dusty and dirty, but he tossed it onto his bed anyway. He dumped in the items from his desk. Then he stalked over and tore the curtain away from the corner he'd partitioned off as a closet. One silver lining about Doral taking his clothes- it wouldn't take long to pack. Despite his anger, he was incapable of treating the few garments he had left with any sort of disrespect and began to fold them.

"Wait." Puck came over. "What the hell?"

"What?" Kurt folded his only blazer he had left, annoyed that he couldn't do the job in silence.

Puck was right against Kurt's shoulder. "You had more shit than this." Kurt shrugged. "No. Seriously. You did. I know you did. What happened to all your clothes?"

"What does it matter?"

"All those times you came home without something…" Puck was slowly putting the pieces together, and Kurt wasn't sure if he should let him. "It wasn't just you leaving things. That Five you work for who wears your clothes sometimes. He's got them."

"All part of collaborating," Kurt said, laying the blazer reverently in the bag. He picked up a tie. "Along with the hair, the nails, the skin advice…"

"Yeah, but for what? These are your clothes. Don't think I don't know how you feel about them."

"You think it's stupid," Kurt said.

"Yeah, I think it's stupid," Puck agreed, stepping closer. "That doesn't mean I don't know what you think. You've been giving up your clothes for something. What is it?" Kurt looked away. "Dude. Have you been doing this the whole time?" Kurt nodded. To his horror, tears started pricking at his eyes. "What for?" When Kurt didn't answer, Puck grabbed him by the upper arms. "Kurt. What for?"

"I can't tell you."

"It can't be anything big. You couldn't even get Sam out of detention. Was it your dad? It had something to with your dad or Carole, right?" Kurt shook his head, and regretted it a second later as horror dawned in Puck's eyes. "It's me. Frak. It's me, isn't it? That's why I've never been picked up. That's why they never told me to join the NCP. Because all this time you were…" Puck looked back at the small collection of clothing hanging in the corner of the tent, looked back at Kurt, and then pulled him into a sudden, bone-crushing hug.

"You idiot," Kurt heard Puck saying. "You frakking, godsdamned, FRAKKING idiot." His arms tightened even more, and for a long moment Kurt just wanted to stay there. But he couldn't. He pushed away, and eventually, Puck let him go.

"You know I'm going to kill you," Puck said conversationally. "You shouldn't be protecting me."

"It was just clothes," Kurt said with a shrug. No reason to let Puck know that it might not stay that way.

Puck shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, well." He looked uncomfortable as he stared at Kurt. "I'm sorry. I should have known."

"That was the idea. You weren't supposed to know."

"Yeah, because I would have killed you. You give them anything else?" Kurt shook his head, and Puck let out a little sigh of relief. "Good. Well, don't, okay? You don't give them anything else. Let them pick me up if you have to."

"I'm not going to do that," Kurt said.

"Listen." Puck held him out by the shoulders. "If they pick me up, it's going to be okay, all right? I haven't done anything that they can shoot me for. Not that that's stopped them, but they let Sam go."

"No." Kurt pushed Puck away and said it firmly, but calmly. "I'll keep you out of detention. You and anyone else from New Directions that I find out they're going to take. I know you see what I do as collaborating, and maybe it is. But I stayed there because I could help. Maybe I couldn't help a lot of people, but I could help a few. I do help a few."

"Shit." Puck turned away. "Shit." He turned back, and the pathetic look on his face almost broke Kurt's heart. "I'm sorry, man." Kurt couldn't quite answer, and Puck looked wrecked. "We cool?"

"We're cool." Kurt looked at the bag on his bed. "Guess this means I don't have to move out?"

Puck laughed. "Yeah. Definitely not." He relaxed, sitting down on his bed. "I guess I owe you dinner, huh?"

"I'm not going to say no." The tension was easing in his chest, making him feel comfortable at home for the first time in ages. He began to unpack. Puck started talking again, telling Kurt about how he and Lauren had babysat for Blaine, and how Sam wouldn't move out of the tent he and Rya had shared, no matter how many times anyone asked him. It was the kind of gossip Puck hadn't shared with Kurt in months.

Kurt let him talk, half listening and making the appropriate responses. He finished unpacking and then settled down on his bed. The space between their beds seemed smaller tonight, and the tent warmer. Kurt hadn't wanted Puck to know about what was going on, but as all the tension eased, he couldn't help admitting that he was really glad he'd told.

***

As good as it was to have Puck have some idea of what was going on, Kurt still didn't tell him everything. In fact, Kurt still avoided telling him as much as he could, and Puck didn't ask. So Puck had no idea that Kurt was handing information over to Quinn tonight, down by the river.

"I still couldn't find anything that made sense about jamming frequencies," Kurt told her, the notebook open in front of them as they sat on a blanket on the rocky shore. "But I did get this." He shined a flashlight on the pages as he handed them to her.

Quinn took it, and her eyes opened. "A roster of people who are NCP?"

"It's not the complete roster, but yes. Those are names I overheard a Three and a One discussing." Kurt pointed to some of the names. "I don't know much about some of these people, but I do know a bit about these two. He was the aide to the Leonis representative and this guy was in the press corps. Both of them have families, and I think that's why they joined up. They might not be willing to betray the Cylons, but they might be able to give the Resistance a heads up if they have any information."

"Or they might turn Resistance members in," Quinn said. "Especially under torture." Both of them shuddered.

"Quinn?" Kurt asked, as she studied the other information he'd given her. "Does anyone know about this? Anyone in the Resistance, I mean?"

"No. I haven't told anyone your name. And while I assume you're not about to ask, it's probably better if I don't tell you anyone's name, either."

"I wasn't going to ask." Kurt looked at his watch and yelped. "We need to get back. There's five minutes to curfew."

"Shit. We got careless." Quinn tore the relevant pages out of her notebook, folded them, and slipped them into her pocket. She hesitated, then pulled them out of her pocket and slipped them into her bra. Kurt managed a wry smile at that as he grabbed the blanket, and they began running back towards the town.

"We're not going to make it," Quinn said. They still weren't to the edge of town, and curfew was probably being announced over the loudspeakers right now. "Shit."

"Should we run? Or should we slow down and look like we know what we're doing?"

"You're in the administration and I'm in the med tent. Let's slow down," Quinn said.

"Right."

It was impossible to look casual as they walked through the streets. Kurt kept his head up and tried to look like he belonged there, but he was grateful that Quinn was at his side. There was no way they were going to make it, absolutely no way-

"Quinn?"

Both of them turned around slowly. A Two was standing in the street. Although it was usually hard to tell the Cylons apart, this one stood out. He had a goatee, and when he took a few steps towards them, Kurt noticed he had a limp.

"What are you doing out?" the Two asked.

"We got caught out," Quinn said in her best innocent, good girl voice, the one that charmed teachers back in Lima. "We were in the middle of something, and…." She trailed off and shrugged.

"What were you in the middle of?" the Two asked. Quinn grabbed the blanket from Kurt and blushed. It took Kurt a minute, and then he realized what Quinn was implying. He didn't even have to fake blushing.

"We both have roommates," Quinn said.

"I see." The Two looked back and forth between the two of them, chuckling bemusedly. "You don't have to be so embarrassed. I often forget that humans treat sexual intercourse as something to be ashamed of. But you do realize it's after curfew, right?" They both nodded. The Two smiled indulgently at them. "Well. Why don't I walk you both home, so you don't get in trouble?"

Quinn accepted immediately, but Kurt just stared for a long moment. Of all the outcomes he could have imagined, this was the last one he'd expected.

"It's all right," Quinn said softly as they began walking. "I know him."

The Two overheard her. "Quinn helped me with a wound," he explained, indicating his leg. "She's helped me with the therapy exercises to regain mobility, and she saved this body. It has been an interesting experience, healing, and one that God surely intended for us to have. It truly is a miracle to see how the body is capable of repairing itself."

"Right." Kurt had no idea what to say. The Twos were not a model line he had to deal with often. But Quinn seemed okay with this. They walked through the town, passing patrols of Centurions and of NCP, and the patrols left them alone. Kurt was content to stay silent, but the Two carried on a conversation with Quinn in low voices. Something about religion. Kurt was relieved when they reached his tent.

"There you are," the Two said pleasantly. "Safe and sound."

"Thank you." Kurt looked at Quinn. Will you be okay? he asked her silently.

Quinn leaned in and kissed him, full on the lips, and Kurt belatedly remembered what they'd supposedly been doing to be out this late. "I'll be fine," she whispered as she pulled back.

He wasn't sure he believed her, but he nodded anyway. Quinn smiled, and then turned back to the Two. Kurt looked around her at him. "Thank you."

The Two smiled. If he wasn't a Cylon, Kurt would actually think he looked friendly. "You're welcome. Quinn? We should get you home." He nodded. "Have a good night."

As Kurt watched them go, it occurred to him that the Two had never even asked his name. Either he knew it, or he had no intention of reporting them. It still made Kurt uneasy, but the sound of another patrol nearby made him duck inside the safety of his tent. He was lucky enough- no sense in pushing his luck any further.

***

Friday night dinners were nothing like they used to be, but when they happened, Burt clung to them even more than he used to. Friday night dinners served one huge purpose- to confirm that Kurt was still alive. People kept disappearing and kept dying, and Burt was only too aware that Kurt could be among them any day.

It was well before curfew, and Burt and Kurt walked together through the settlement, watching for patrols out of the corners of their eyes, even though they were doing nothing wrong. "Cold night," Burt said lamely.

"It is. Winter's settling in again."

"Doesn't seem like we get much else."

"I know."

The conversation was trite and awkward, but Burt wasn't sure what else to say. They couldn't talk about their jobs, at least, not freely. He couldn't tell Kurt about the Resistance, and Kurt… some part of Burt didn't want to hear what Kurt had to do at work. He didn't regret telling Kurt to collaborate, but he could see from the drawn, strained look on Kurt's face that it was costing something. It was costing them both something. They couldn't talk about their family, the community, the occupation… there was nothing that it was easy to talk about in the open. So they walked together in silence. But silence was better than the alternative, so Burt was thankful for that.

As they walked, Kurt slipped his cold hand into Burt's, holding his hand as he had done when he was a child. Kurt smiled at him. Burt could see that Kurt felt that restriction, the distance between them imposed by the Cylons, and this touch was his act of defiance. Burt squeezed Kurt's hand in silent acknowledgement and thanks, and together, they walked hand in hand through New Caprica, facing the Cylons together.

***

The door closed behind Doral, and Kurt stood up immediately. There was a whole new stack of papers just begging to be searched through. He walked over to the desk as quietly as he could and began sifting through them.

There were a lot of ration inventory lists. Kurt frowned to see them- they meant a lot more typing and math checking later. Of course, checking math with Cylons around was about as pointless as trying to introduce Finn to designer clothing, but it was less objectionable than other jobs. He noticed that Rachel's signature was on several of those pages. He touched it lightly and then moved on. There were several pages that he couldn't make heads or tails of, things that had to do with technology and plans, but he just didn't understand them. A written copy of new guidelines for toilet usage that he'd have to translate from Doral's chicken scratch later. Something about radio frequencies-

Radio frequencies.

Kurt frowned, pushing the other papers aside, and pulled the document towards him. It didn't make a whole lot of sense, but some of the words here were words Quinn kept saying. Jamming. Channels. This couldn't be it, could it? Why would the Cylons put something like that into memos? There was no way this could really be it. He noticed a paragraph about wireless stations, and that made a little more sense, if the Cylons were trying to restrict humans broadcasting their own news throughout the settlement. He picked the document up and read it, frowning. Really, with as little as he understood, the best thing to do would be to make a photocopy and tape it in to Quinn's notebook so that-

The bang of the door being flung open startled him, and worse still, Doral stood there, anger all over his face.

"What's that?" he demanded.

"This?" Kurt said, trying to sound calm. "I… I wanted to get a head start on the work that you'd want me to do and so I-"

"You searched through my papers." Doral strolled over and plucked the paper out of Kurt's hand. "And this was hardly on the top. Very interesting. I had no idea you were so interested in wireless stations."

"I-"

Kurt cut off as Doral turned his head very, very slowly, glaring at him. Kurt had never, ever lost sight of what Doral was, but he'd never looked more like a machine than he did in that moment. "You were going to hand this over to the insurgents, weren't you?"

The blood drained from Kurt's face, confirming everything before he could say a word. Doral's eyes narrowed. "You were. You little frak."

"I didn't- I-"

Doral struck him and the side of Kurt's face exploded in pain. He caught himself against the desk before he fell to the ground, but before he could orient himself, Doral grabbed him by the hair. Kurt shrieked as Doral twisted the handful, and he found himself turning around and being pulled to standing.

"You little frak," Doral repeated. "After everything I've done for you, everything I've let you get away with…. Come on." He released Kurt's hair and grabbed his wrist, and pulled him along so hard that Kurt had to come or have his arm dislocated.

They burst into the President's office, Doral's hand closed tightly around Kurt's wrist so that the bones ground together painfully. They'd obviously interrupted a meeting. There were several Cylons as well as Baltar and Gaeta in the room. One of the Ones looked up and sighed with impatience. "What the hell is going on?"

"I found it," Doral said proudly. "I found the leak. It's Hummel here." He pushed Kurt forward. Kurt staggered, catching himself. He couldn't breathe right- every breath was a gulping sob that wasn't quite tears but was extremely close. "He's been sneaking information to the insurgents. I caught him in my office."

The Three in the room looked mildly impressed, but the One just looked relieved. "About time. Well? What are you waiting for?" He handed Doral a gun from his jacket.

Kurt's stomach tightened so sharply with fear that he was afraid he'd throw up. "No," he begged. "No. Please." He was trying not to cry and wondering if it would hurt and oh gods he didn't want to die.

"I don't like this," Caprica said firmly. "This isn't what God intended. This isn't what we intended."

"You're right," the One said, smirking at her. "This isn't what we intended. We need to bring peace, and nothing will be accomplished in here." He turned back to Doral. "Drag him into the streets by his hair and shoot him in the back of the head. Show them what we do to insurgents."

"NO!" The protest didn't come from Kurt- it came from Gaeta. Gaeta, of all people, who leaned forward, his face pale. Every eye in the room turned to him, and Kurt's heart lurched up painfully in his chest. They didn't like each other, but right now, when it all came down to it, Gaeta was going to help him. The Cylons would listen to Gaeta. "He's a kid," Gaeta said.

The One shrugged. "So? What's that got to do with anything?"

"He's a kid," Gaeta repeated, turning to an Eight. She looked amused. "He's a kid, which means… he'll break easily. You've- we've- got to know what he's told them, right? Unless you caught who he was leaking information to? Well, he's a kid, not a hardened military operative. It shouldn't be that hard to get the information out of him." Kurt's mouth fell open, and he stared at Gaeta in shock.

"Or we could just assume that since he was stupid enough to steal it from Doral's office he didn't get anything all that valuable," the One said. "I think-"

"Gaeta's right," the Eight overrode him. "We need to know what he knows and what he told. Send him to detention."

"What? No!" Kurt turned back to Gaeta. Gaeta looked away, swallowing hard. "You're a coward," Kurt said, his voice rough with tears. "Why didn't you just stay quiet? Why didn't you-" Why didn't you just let me die? Because death would be easier than detention- Kurt was sure of that.

Gaeta didn't answer. The Eight stepped up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. A comforting, caressing hand, and suddenly Kurt understood. He stared at that possessive hand on Gaeta's shoulder, and slumped in defeat. "Take him to detention," the Eight repeated. "It really is for the best."

The One looked annoyed.. "Fine." He leaned over and looked out the door. "Can we get someone in here, please? Before my patience runs out?"

The silence that descended into the office felt heavy and long to Kurt. Baltar remained silent, frozen at his desk and acting as if none of this was happening. Gaeta was staring at the Eight and wouldn't meet Kurt's eyes. And Doral… Kurt couldn't look at Doral, because he was sure if he did he was going to be sick. Finally, an NCP officer appeared.

"Get him out of here," the One said, waving his hand at Kurt. Doral didn't let him go- instead, he pulled him towards the NCP officer and yanked Kurt's arms so his hands were in front of him. The officer wrapped the flex cuffs around Kurt's wrists, tightening them enough to cut into the skin. "Let's go," the officer said. Kurt couldn't help looking back once at Gaeta. Gaeta had retreated to his desk, his attention focused entirely on the pad of paper in front of him as Kurt was pulled out.

There was a truck right outside Colonial One. Kurt saw a bright flash of sunlight and felt a burst of cold air and then he was forced onto the back of the truck. He sat down on one of the benches, his legs shaking, but he managed to get the gulping sobs under control, even though he was terrified.

Doral slid into the back of the truck and sat beside him. He seemed to have reined in his temper. "Well," he said, as the truck lurched to life and jerked forward. "This is a little unexpected, I have to say." Kurt shrunk away from him, pulling his limbs in to huddle up as best as he could. "I thought we were friends. You have no idea how disappointed I am."

I never liked you, Kurt started to say, but stopped himself just in time. He didn't think Cavil would cry too hard if Doral shot him here in the truck. Besides, he was pretty sure his voice wouldn't come out right.

It didn't take that long to get to the detention center. The truck lurched to a stop, and Doral jumped out and extended his hand mockingly. "Kurt?" Kurt ignored his hand and jumped down by himself. However, with his hands tied, he overbalanced on the landing and fell to his knees. Doral grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him back up. "Let's go." Doral shoved him in the door.

Kurt blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light. As a result, the first thing he noticed wasn't anything visual, but the guttural scream of pain down the hall. He knew what it was. He knew. Torture. Doral grabbed his arm and walked him down the hall, then pushed him into a small processing room.

"Strip."

Kurt's eyes flared open, because there was one obvious line of thought from that command. "What? No- no. Please, no. Please don't-" he broke off as Doral held up a gray jumpsuit. Oh. He bit his lip.

"Strip and get this on," Doral ordered. Kurt's fingers were shaking so hard he could barely undo his buttons, but Doral just stood against a desk, watching him. Kurt pulled off his tie, his jacket, his shirt… he folded them each neatly, his hands lingering on the fabric. He could feel Doral's eyes on him, but he couldn't look at his face. "All of it, Kurt."

He slid off his pants, his underwear, and eventually his socks. The gray jumpsuit was shoved into his hands. "Put it on," Doral ordered one more time, his impatience showing in bared teeth and flashing eyes. The temper was rearing again. Kurt tried to hurry, but he was so terrified that he fumbled the simplest of motions. Impatient, Doral struck him across the face, hard enough to send Kurt crashing into a wall. "I said NOW!"

Somehow, he got the jumpsuit on. The sleeves and legs were too long and the material was scratchy and Kurt didn't even want to know how terrible he looked, but Doral subsided and grabbed Kurt by the arm again, pulling him along.

The hall was dark. They passed two members of the NCP as Doral dragged Kurt down the hall, but both of them turned away before Kurt could see their faces. Doral stopped suddenly, opened a door, then thrust Kurt into a brightly lit cell. The force of his thrust sent Kurt stumbling, and by the time he recovered, the door had slammed shut, leaving him alone.

Alone. It could be worse. Kurt tried to calm his breathing, look around, and take in his surroundings. Figure out a way out of here. Figure out something before the Cylons came back for him. The cell was larger than he would have thought, maybe eight feet by ten feet. The walls and floor were bare concrete, and the door was heavy and made of metal. There was a small window in the door at face level, covered over with a tightly woven wire screen. The only object in the room was a metal bucket. Kurt steadfastly refused to think about that right now. A bare fluorescent bulb was on the ceiling, and the light hurt his eyes.

He had no idea how long he stood there, but nothing changed. No one came for him. There were no shadows growing longer or light waning, or signs of traffic in the halls. Nothing. Eventually he sank down to sit on the floor with his back to the wall, hugging his knees tightly. He had never been so scared in his life.

***

"You got any of that paint thinner you call alcohol?" Sue said, flipping open the tent flap and coming into Burt and Carole's tent without permission or preamble.

"Sue." Carole frowned. "It's almost curfew."

"I know. And I'm staying here for the night. Get out the alcohol, Sheepdog," she said, gesturing in the vague direction of Carole's hair. "Come on. Get the lead out. We need to get Mr. I-Dress-Like-A-Frat-Boy's-Sofa drunk."

"Why?" Burt said suspiciously.

"Because you'd be best off passed out, snoring in oblivion for the night," Sue said. "I don't expect your neighbors within a ten tent radius to thank me, but at least if they kill you, they'll do it quick."

"What the frak is going on, Sue?" Burt demanded.

He hadn't really been that scared before, but now Sue dropped the act and sat down at the table. "Sit," she said, gesturing for Burt to take the chair opposite her. She picked up the bottle and the glass and poured a double shot of the strong, coarse alcohol, and then pushed it across the table. "Drink."

"What are you-"

"DRINK!" Sue roared at him. She got herself under control. "Drink, or I'm not telling you anything."

Burt took the glass and drank. He didn't know exactly why he did it- he wasn't one to do something just because Sue Sylvester told him to do it- but on some level, he must have known that whatever she was going to tell him was horrible. When he finished, Sue refilled the glass, and Burt drank it without comment. It had been a while since he'd eaten, and it wasn't long before he got the detached feeling of drunkenness. He put the glass down with a decisive clink. "Now tell me what the hell is going on."

Sue glanced at Carole and then leaned in. "I've got a couple sources over near Colonial One. Don't ask who, just trust me that they're reliable enough when it comes to something like this. One of them saw Pearhips cuffed and being put on a truck earlier today."

Carole's hand flew to her mouth, but Burt couldn't quite make himself hear her words. Sue was watching him with an expression that approached sympathy. Slowly, her words filtered through his head and began to make sense.

"It's Porcelain, Hummel. The toasters have him."

The ball of uncertainty that had been in his gut unfurled, threatening to break his chest until it exploded into a scream.

***

The lights never went off. It had to be night, and Kurt was tired, but the lights stayed on, bright and intrusive. And worse, Kurt had to pee. He stared at the bucket angrily until his eyes watered. The toilet paper situation on New Caprica had gotten bad enough, but Kurt had managed. Perks of a government job. And there had at least been toilets. They had been disgusting, but they weren't in his space. This was completely different. But eventually his bladder threatened to explode, and he used the thing, and then huddled back up in a corner. Over the night, the stink of urine grew stronger. He didn't even think about what would happen when he had to do worse.

No Cylons came for him. That was good, at least, for now.

Kurt forced himself to think it through. No one came for him because Doral knew him. Doral knew that Kurt would hate it in this cell, despise the lack of facilities, the gray jumpsuit, sleeping on the floor, and the cold. And he was right about that. But Doral probably thought that it would break him, that Kurt would be begging to return to the relative luxury of his tent and as a result, would tell them everything.

What Doral didn't realize was that, despite his fear, Kurt was a lot stronger than that. He was. Yes, he wanted to return to his tent and a bed and toilets and everything else. He wanted it badly, but telling anything would result in people dying. Not just people- Quinn. Kurt knew that. So he'd keep his mouth shut, no matter what they threw at him.

With his resolve in place, he lay down on the floor and tried to get as comfortable as possible. Despite the cold, the hunger in his gut, and the smell, he eventually drifted off to sleep.

***

"Why? Why would they take Kurt?"

Carole and Sue exchanged glances. It was the first coherent thing Burt had said since Sue had given him the news hours ago. Burt's head was throbbing, and there were bruises on his arms from where Carole and Sue had had to physically restrain him from storming down to the detention center. But they both said nothing.

"We'll bomb the place," Burt decided. "We'll bomb the hell out of the frakking gate, and when we get inside-"

"You'll never get inside. You'll be shot before you get past the smoking ruins," Sue said.

"Not if we pull Galen and Sam in on it."

"Burt. Honey." Carole cradled his hand in hers. "Colonel Tigh's been in there for a couple of weeks. Sam's wife is probably in there. There's a reason they haven't tried taking on the detention center. It can't be done."

"So I'm just supposed to sit here?"

"I didn't say that." Carole's face hardened. "I said that we can't take on the detention center. That doesn't mean that we can't make life hell for some toasters."

Sue looked at Carole, a trace of admiration on her face. But when she faced Burt, she was all business. "Let me break it down for you, Burt. There's not much we can do for Porcelain right now. There really isn't. You can go to some of Baltar's cronies and beg, but if they put him in detention, he did something to really piss them off. And right now, we've got some other kids to think about."

Burt looked up dully. "What do you mean?"

Carole caught on quicker. "Oh gods. Puck. And Lauren."

"Does Kurt know about Puck and Lauren being in the Resistance?" Burt asked.

Sue snorted derisively. "Oh, please. Rocks know about Puckerman being in the Resistance. He's about as bright as the protozoan life forms in the New Caprican river."

"No," Carole said with a frown, "he's smarter than that. They should have picked up on Puck by now, but they haven't for some reason. Probably because he's never been very high level, and they've figured out who is the highest level of the insurgents."

"Like Saul Tigh will tell them anything."

"No, he won't," Carole agreed, talking to Sue over Burt's head. "But there are a lot of layers between someone like Puck and someone like Tigh. But wait- Kurt isn't in the Resistance, is he?"

"No." Burt looked up. "No way. I'd know."

Carole and Sue exchanged glances again, and Burt could almost hear them saying that no, he wouldn't know if Kurt didn't tell him. "I haven't heard anything though," Carole said.

"Me, neither," Sue said. "So what do we do about Puckerman?"

Carole sat down, thinking. "If we move him, it will look worse for Kurt. But if we leave him where he is, there's a chance they could pick him up."

Sue nodded sharply. "I'd say put him on the alert. Maybe move some of his stuff down into that hideout below that tinkering shop you call a business. If we move Puck, it puts Lauren at risk, too, and if we move Lauren, then Rachel's at risk, and at that point, the toasters will start assuming that this whole frakking club is the hub of the Resistance activity. Which is ridiculous, but there you go."

"I don't want to do anything that endangers Kurt more," Burt said.

"Yeah, we figured that out, Papa Bear. All right. So for now, we keep them all where they are. Is there anyone else Kurt's close to?"

"Rachel," Carole said, "although he hasn't been talking about her much these days."

"And Lurch and Mariah are on the Galactica. I think we're good to go." Sue started to rifle through the crates and pulled one of the blankets off the cot. "I'm camping out here tonight. It's after curfew, and I don't trust you to go tearing down the streets in a fit of overprotective rage." Burt closed his eyes, and Carole squeezed his hand. "If I were you, I'd have another glass or two and pass out. Just don't puke on me in your stumbling drunkenness, got it?"

Burt was dimly aware that Carole was bickering with Sue, but some part of him had realized that the conversation was over, and he was already retreating deep inside his head. Kurt was inside that detention center. Kurt.

Somehow, he found himself in bed and staring at the ceiling. His mind had a perfect picture of Kurt, curled into a ball of misery inside a cell. He closed his eyes, trying to feel where Kurt was. He couldn't, of course, but he tried anyway.

"We'll get him out of there, Burt," he heard Carole murmuring. "We'll figure out a way." She was lying, and they both knew it, but it helped him drift off to sleep.

***

The door creaked open, and Kurt sat bolt upright. There were two NCP guards on either side of the door, Doral, and one of the Ones. A Cavil. They all liked to be called Cavil. Kurt eyed them warily.

"Cuff him," Doral ordered the guards.

"Oh gods." The exclamation burst out of Kurt before he could stop it. "What are you going to do?" A guard wrapped flex cuffs around his wrists and pulled it tight, and Kurt's panic rose to a sharp pitch. "What are you going to do?"

"We're going to have a tea party along with our stuffed animals," Cavil said sarcastically. "What do you think we're going to do? Come on."

"Oh gods. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods." It was a litany Kurt couldn't stop, because even though he'd known this was coming, now that it was here he was scared out of his mind. The guard hauled him to his feet, and with a guard on either side of him, he was pulled out of the cell and led down the hall.

The room he was led to was small and bare, with a few chairs and a table in the center of it. One chair had arms. There was a window in one wall. The window didn't go out to the open, but instead to another room. The guard forced him towards the chair with arms. Out of sheer instinct Kurt tried to bolt as soon as the guard's hands were off him, but other hands held him down and then someone was binding his arms to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the chair's legs. He'd been avoiding looking at the table, but he looked now, and he really wished he hadn't. There was an electric box there, with long wands and lots of wires.

"Why the hell are you crying?" Cavil asked. "I haven't even done anything yet."

"He's soft," Doral explained. "You might not even have to."

Cavil snorted. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asked Doral. "But somehow, I doubt that, or he'd be talking already."

"Well, there's an easy way to start," Doral said. He crossed his arms. "Tell us who you were giving information to, or we will go pick up Noah Puckerman. You don't want that, do you?"

No. But Puck would rather be in here dying than have Kurt talk. Kurt knew that. He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Well, that was effective," Cavil said sarcastically.

Doral frowned. "He's been willing to do anything to protect Puckerman before this. I assumed it would work."

"Well, you assumed wrong." Cavil turned back to Kurt. "We never had any interest in, what's his name? Oh, right. Noah Puckerman. Why would we? Sure, he's a Marine, but he didn't know anything and we knew it. He was a frakking private. And he wasn't a threat- if you don't think we searched your tent periodically, well…." Cavil chuckled. "You're even dumber than we thought, and let me tell you, we thought you were pretty dumb."

They weren't going to pick up Puck. Puck was safe. A surge of triumph swept through him, and he steeled himself. These cretins had no idea that some things were more important than pain.

"All right," Cavil said, picking up a long, thin wand from the table. "We tried Doral's way, and, as expected, that didn't work. So let's try my way. Even if it doesn't work, it's a lot more fun." Without any more preamble he touched the wand to Kurt's forearm, and electricity flowed from wand to skin to muscle to bone. Kurt couldn't help it- he screamed. He tried to pull his arm away, but it was held there fast, and all he could do was sit and take the pain. Cavil pulled the wand away, and although Kurt's arm still hurt, the absence was blessed relief.

"Now," Cavil said lightly, "that was me going really, really easy on you. Believe me, there are places you do not want this wand. So tell us. Who were you giving information to?"

A sob escaped Kurt's lips, but he shook his head. He wasn't going to tell. He wasn't.

"Huh," Doral said, watching impassively. "He won't be so easy. Guess I was wrong."

"Of course you were." Cavil touched the wand to Kurt's skin again.

***

Begging was not something that Burt Hummel was good at, but he really had no other choice. He stood in front of Gaeta, hat off, waiting for Gaeta to speak.

"I'm sorry," Gaeta said with a sigh, pushing back from his desk. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, but there's nothing I can do to help."

"There's got to be something you can do!" Burt protested. "Something I can give the Cylons or- I'll give them anything they want. Hell, if they want, they can have me! Just get Kurt out of that place!"

Gaeta took a deep breath, obviously controlling his patience. "I can't do that. Kurt was caught leaking information. The Cylons caught him red-handed. There is nothing I can do."

"That's what you've said! That's what you've been saying, but there's got to be something," Burt paced, and then spun on Gaeta angrily. "He's a kid! Don't you get that? He's just a kid!"

"He's twenty."

"Exactly!" Burt slammed both hands on the desk. "You can't help Kurt. You couldn't help Rya. What can you do?" Gaeta winced and looked away. Burt sighed heavily. "Thanks for nothing," he said, turning away and pulling his coat collar up.

"Wait." Burt stopped and turned around. Gaeta's face was very pale. "I can try."

"You can try. You can try to get Kurt out of there?"

"Not Kurt. I'm not going to be able to get Kurt," Gaeta said. "But Rya. That's… that's Rya Kibby-Evans, right?"

Burt paused. "That's right. How'd you know that?"

"I heard Kurt asking about her. She was taken a few months ago, wasn't she?"

"She was." Burt turned back. "She didn't do anything, either, except work in the water treatment facility."

"There's someone… there's someone I can ask." Gaeta swallowed hard. "I'll ask, okay? I can't ask about Kurt, but I can ask about her. I know it's not enough-"

"You're damn right it's not enough," Burt said, but then softened. "Thank you," he said stiffly. "If you can get Rya out of there, that would be… that would be something."

"I can't promise. But I'll try."

"Yeah, well, thanks." He didn't feel like saying thanks, but he knew he had better. On some level, he understood the distinction that Gaeta was drawing. But all he could think about was Kurt in that detention center, with gods knew what happening to him. If he was even still alive. Burt couldn't bear to think about that.

"Thanks," he said again. He knew he should, but he couldn't bring himself to reach out his hand. Gaeta didn't seem to expect it, either. He just sat there looking at Burt with that damn straight-on gaze that Burt couldn't read or understand, and eventually, Burt just gave up and turned and left the office.

He'd known that talking to Gaeta wouldn't work, but he'd thought he'd feel a little bit better for having tried. He was wrong- he only felt worse for failing.

***

The floor was still hard and cold, but Kurt didn't feel it as much anymore. His cell was safe. It stunk and he was hungry and cold, but they left him alone in here. Two sessions with Cavil and Doral had taught him that already.

Two questions: Who did you give the information to? and What did you tell them? Over and over and over, accompanied by shocks and burns from the electric wand. They were bad and Kurt screamed and cried and begged for it to be over every time, but he didn't break. Both sessions ended with him passing out, and both times he woke up back in his cell, tired, hurting, but still unbroken.

He'd done it twice- he could do it again. And again and again if he had to. He'd show them. Doral thought he was weak and Cavil thought he was an idiot, but they were wrong. Hummels didn't let people push them around. Ever. He repeated those words over and over to himself, holding on to them like a lifeline. He was Kurt Hummel, and no one was going to push him around. Not in Lima, not in the Fleet, and not on New Caprica. Not ever.

***

Anders and Galen called Burt down to the main dugout. Anders had a map spread across a crate, and Galen was studying it was well. Burt wished he could grab the map from them and circle every last location where there might be Cylons- bomb them all. But obviously, that was impossible.

"So I'm thinking that we take out this supply station here," Anders said, pointing to the map. He looked up at Galen. "What do you think?"

Galen scratched his beard. "It's important," he said. "It's also close to the substation. Lot of civilians there." He glanced at Burt, obviously expecting him to argue. Burt didn't say anything. "If we're careful…."

"It could be a big payoff," Anders finished for him. "That's where the Cylons store their fuel."

"Also means a big explosion," Galen said. "We might be better off hitting the landing pad when we've got some coming down from the basestars."

"Why not do both?" Burt said. "We've got the explosives for it. I'll take the fuel supply, you take the landing pad."

"You sure you don't want to do it the other way around?" Galen asked. "The fuel supply's got a bigger chance of harming civilians."

"It's also got the bigger chance of pissing off the Cylons. I'll do it." Burt was grim. Anders clapped him on the shoulder; a gesture of solidarity from a man who was missing his wife to a man determined to recover his son.

***

The bomb went off, and the explosion was so powerful that Burt could feel the heat from where he was, behind the relative safety of a low wall. But the heat didn't diminish, and when Burt looked up, he saw why. There was still fuel burning.

Another small explosion went off as the flames found their way to a contained pocket of fuel. The flames climbed higher, and as the wind blew, the wooden watchtower nearby caught fire.

Sirens began to wail and alarms went off, and Cylons were running to the site of the fire. It was so strange to watch them in a group, all these things that looked like people but were such identical copies of each other. There wasn't really a New Caprica Fire Brigade, or fire trucks, or hydrants. Burt watched as the flames caught one of the Cylon's clothes and he began to scream in agony, and he couldn't help smiling.

***

There was a woman with a high, light voice that was NCP. She talked a lot, and sometimes she sang as she walked up and down the halls on her shift. Kurt never saw her face, but he grew to knew her voice. Her voice was the only real indication he had of how much time went by- each time she came on shift, he assumed another day had passed. He'd been here for five days since he realized that.

He wished he could hear the voices of other prisoners, outside of screams. One day he got so desperate he ended up standing on his toes at the door, shouting out the little barred window at the top. No one answered, and he got a baton striking the bars for his efforts. He retreated to the corner that was furthest from the door, huddling into a ball just to keep warm.

They brought food and water. Not much of either, but enough for him to stay alive. His stomach was tight with hunger and his mouth was dry all the time, but he told himself it was like a Cheerios practice. It didn't help much, but it helped a little, and a little was all he needed.

He wished he could imagine that his friends were furious about his arrest and trying to mount some daring rescue plan. But there was no plan, and he knew it, because there had never been one for Sam. His friends were probably focused on staying alive. He couldn't blame them.

He did worry about Puck, Lauren, and Quinn, though. He wasn't completely sure that Puck was in the Resistance, but he probably was, and if Puck was, Lauren probably was, too. But if they had Puck, Kurt was sure that Doral would gloat. And he doubted they'd have Lauren and not Puck. But Quinn… Quinn was the one most in danger. Quinn was the reason that Kurt couldn't break. He couldn't tell them anything about the others, but what he could tell them about Quinn would get her killed.

Kurt was grateful his father wasn't in the Resistance. The thought occurred to him that he might be, but he dismissed it. His dad had begged him to collaborate and stay safe. And he wasn't the type. Kurt would know if his dad was doing something like that. Besides, his dad's heart would never be able to take it. He tried to keep his dad far from his mind, though. So far, the idea of threatening his father's life to get Kurt to talk hadn't crossed the Cylons minds, and Kurt was grateful. If they had his father, Kurt was sure he'd break in seconds.

The one upside was that here, in this terrible cell, he could think about Blaine again. Memories of Blaine were comfort, and for the first time in almost a year, Kurt could hear Blaine's voice as clearly as if he was there. When he closed his eyes, he remembered that first text Blaine had sent him: Courage.

Courage. Every time Kurt closed his eyes, he could see Blaine mouthing that at him. He wasn't there, not really, although sometimes when Kurt was hungry or hurting or terrified, he could almost believe he could see him. Hallucinations, but there was comfort in it, as messed up as that was. He imagined he could feel Blaine's hand in his, or Blaine's shoulder against his, and sometimes, his imagination was good enough that he almost could. Once he would have called that crazy. Now he called it hope.

Burt and Carole were just coming out of the high school tent when Burt saw a figure that made him stop dead in his tracks.

"Is that…?" Carole began.

"Colonel Tigh!" Burt called out, and Tigh turned around. Burt sucked his breath in. Tigh had a patch over one eye. He walked with a cane now, too, and his limp was obvious as he approached Burt and Carole.

"Good to see you both," he said, extending his hand first to Carole and then to Burt. "Hear you've been keeping busy."

"Yeah. Something like that." Burt couldn't stop staring. Tigh didn't seem bothered by it, although he did flinch when a couple of Cylons walked by.

"Come on. Let's get out of here." Tigh gestured with his head. "Hear your boy got himself picked up," he said as they walked through the streets.

"Yeah. You didn't see him in there, did you?"

"Didn't see much of anyone," Tigh said. "They've got everything on a pretty tight lockdown there." He thumped Burt on the back. "Cheer up. There's a good chance he's not dead."

"How do you know that?"

"Tyrol told me he got caught passing information. They'll want to know what he passed."

Burt shuddered. Carole's hand tightened on his arm, but she mercifully changed the subject. "So now that you're out, what happens next?"

"What's been happening. From what Tyrol and Anders have told me, you guys have all done a pretty good job keeping the Cylons hopping while I was in there. We can't do much more yet."

"What are we waiting for?" Burt asked. "Is there some kind of plan?"

"There's a plan. There's always been a plan. You think the Old Man didn't think this could happen? There was a contingency plan." Tigh gripped his cane harder, leaning on it heavier. "I'd better get home before Ellen starts worrying about me. I'll be in touch."

Burt watched him go. They'll want to know what he passed. The eyepatch, the cane…. He looked over towards the huge, menacing bulk of the structure where that detention center was. "Don't think about it," Carole advised. "I'm sure they're not doing anything like that to Kurt in detention."

"How can you be sure?" Burt asked bitterly. "Especially if he did what they say he did?"

"Sam came back to us in one piece," Carole said, as if that was a mantra she'd been repeating to herself. "So will Kurt."

Sam had come back to them. Tigh had come back, too, but missing parts of himself. And people like Anders' wife Kara, Carole's old boss Xeno, Tom Zarek, and Rya…they'd yet to come back at all. Burt wanted to believe Carole, but he had a feeling Kurt didn't have Sam's luck.

***

"What happens?" Kurt gasped, when the electric shock faded from his system and his muscles stopped spasming.

It was just Doral today, and that was what had given Kurt the courage to ask. Doral looked up from the settings on his little electricity box. "Hmmm?"

"What happens if I tell you? Do I live?"

"Oh. Oh!" Doral obviously thought Kurt was close to telling. "Well, what do you think?"

Kurt closed his eyes. His head was throbbing and his limbs were shaking against their bonds. "I think you're going to tell me I live," he said dully. "You have to, because if you tell me you'll kill me, what incentive do I have to tell you anything?"

"I suppose, but I'd like for you to believe me when I say you'll live."

"So you make it so I don't care if I live or die, as long as it's all over."

"That is the general idea of torture, yes. Now, are you going to tell me who you were passing information to?"

"No."

Doral touched the wand to Kurt's neck, and Kurt screamed once again.

***

Burt made sure that his shop was not a place the kids congregated, but he wasn't shocked to see Lauren talking to Brittany when he walked in that morning. "You girls doing okay?" he asked.

Brittany always had a sad expression every time she looked at him these days. It drove Burt crazy, but he kept his mouth shut, because yelling at Brittany was like yelling at a puppy, and her heart was in the right place. She came over and hugged him. Burt patted her on the back, willing himself not to push her away.

"So what's going on?" he said, disentangling himself from Brittany's sympathy.

"Lauren just stopped by," Brittany said. "We were talking about Puck."

"How's Puck doing?"

Lauren shrugged. "He's worried. He and Kurt have gotten close."

"Yeah. Who would have thought it," Burt said, but without any sort of heat. Puck had grown up a lot since the attacks. Hell, Kurt had grown up a lot since the attacks.

Lauren glanced at Brittany, and Burt realized that she'd come here to talk to him. "Brit. You mind going across the street and seeing if Angela's got her bread baking yet? We could splurge for lunch."

"Sounds good." Brittany pulled on her coat and headed out of the tent.

"All right. What's going on?" Burt asked Lauren as soon as Brit was gone.

"The NCP came searching last night." Lauren was all business as she leaned on the counter. "My tent and Puck's. Fortunately, neither of us rate a weapons stash or anything in writing, but they didn't seem convinced."

"Frak."

"I have a bad feeling they're going to pick us up soon." She was matter-of-fact about the possibility. "Which, whatever. They have no idea what the frak they're dealing with if they try that. But if they come, I'd rather be able to go down fighting, you know?"

"Yeah. I know."

"Puck and I were thinking that, if it was okay with you, we could sleep down here." Lauren pointed to where the trap door was hidden. "Maybe Rachel, too."

"Yeah." Burt tipped his hat back. "Let me think about it, okay?"

Lauren nodded. She was about to say something else when a huge explosion sounded. It wasn't very far away. "What the frak?" Both of them ran out into the street.

Other people were coming out to look, too, although not as many as would have at one time. Explosions were becoming a matter of course on New Caprica. But Brittany was out there, watching the smoke wind up from a smoldering ruin across the way.

"It's the New Caprica Police graduation," Brittany said, stunned. "They blew it up."

"Impossible. How the hell would they get a bomb in there?" Burt's brow furrowed as a suspicion dawned. There was one way to get a bomb in without actually planting it… but whoever took it wasn't getting out.

"Suicide bomber," Lauren said softly.

"Frak," Burt said, staring at the smoke. "Holy frak."

***

"I don't like it," Carole said firmly. "Suicide bombing crosses a line."

"Of course it crosses a line," Sue retorted. "That's why it's going to work."

Carole, Burt, Sue, Shannon, Puck, and Lauren had retreated down to the dugout below the shop. Puck and Lauren were busy setting up nests of blankets. Burt noticed that Puck had also moved some of Kurt's things down as well. Carole poured out cups of strong, bad coffee for everyone.

"Thing is," Shannon said, "we don't have much say. This is Tigh's show, with Anders and Tyrol as his right and left hand. We didn't know they were going to do it then, and we won't know when they're going to do it again."

"I'm with Carole on this one," Puck said, coming back to the table. "Normally I'm all for blowing the frakkers up, but they blew a bunch of people up, too."

"At the NCP graduation," Lauren said. "They blew up people who willingly joined the NCP."

"I know. But blowing up our own people… it just doesn't seem right."

"Well, what would you do to people who joined the NCP?" Lauren asked, crossing her arms. "Pat them on the head?"

"No," Puck scoffed. "I don't know. Maybe break their kneecaps or something. Maybe kill them. But not like that." Lauren looked disappointed in him.

"Well, Shannon's right about one thing," Burt said. "We don't have a say in it."

"Good thing, too," Sue said, looking grimly determined, "with you lily-livered lot. How else are we supposed to fight these bastards?"

"I've gotta agree," Burt said. "If it hits the Cylons where it hurts and gets them on the run…" if it saves Kurt…. "If it can do that, it's worth it."

If it saved Kurt, it would be worth anything.

***

The door to the cell opened, and Kurt wanted to start crying immediately. But instead of being pulled out, he heard the scraping of metal on stone. He looked up to see Doral dragging a chair in. He sat down and shut the door.

"Drink?" Doral asked, extending a bottle to Kurt. "It's not poisoned," he said when Kurt didn't take it. "Look." He took a small drink, and then wiped off the spout. "Come on. It's juice."

It was. Kurt could smell it, and the smell was too much. He crawled over and extended his hand. Doral gave him the bottle, and Kurt drank thirstily. It was hard not to gulp down too much at once, and the juice was sweet and cold. It was like heaven.

"So," Doral said, crossing his legs and smoothing his fingers down the pants he wore. They were a pair of Kurt's, hemmed and tailored to fit Doral perfectly. "I'm sure you realize that I'm not in here just to give you juice."

Kurt retreated back against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and clinging to the juice bottle in his hands. "No," he said, and his own voice sounded rough and strange to his ears. "What are you here for?"

"I'm getting very tired of your attitude," Doral said. "Oh, not right now, but in general. I really did not think it would take you this long to break. And some of my brothers and sisters are getting concerned. I know you can't hear anything in here, but the insurgency is still going strong. Did you know that the insurgents managed to get a bomb into the New Caprica Police graduation?" Doral laughed bitterly. "Of course you knew. You must have told them how."

Kurt looked up, a chill running down his back. He knew about the New Caprica Police graduation, but he hadn't even thought of looking at it as something that the Resistance would be interested in. "I didn't do that."

"Of course you didn't." Doral smirked. "You didn't do anything, did you? Well, whatever you did, I'll have you know that you aren't just responsible for the death of Cylons, but for the death of thirty-three people. Thirty-three humans. Think about that."

"I didn't do it," Kurt insisted, shaking his head.

"Enough," Doral said sharply. "The point is, we've played around long enough. We've gone really easy on you Kurt, because while you may not believe it, I liked you. You have twelve hours to tell us everything, and then the gloves are coming off. Do you understand me?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Enjoy the juice," he said, standing up and dragging the chair out of the room. "The clock is ticking," he added, and then slammed the door shut.

Kurt dropped his head to his knees, hugging his legs tightly. He'd thought he was doing so well, but he had the terrible, terrible feeling he was wrong.

***

We've gotta keep the toasters jumping, Saul Tigh had said. These bombings, they send 'em running. They don't know which way to look, and that's just what we need. It's getting close, Hummel, and we've got to keep everything a mess down here so the Cylons can't get organized.

Organized. There was something in the air, something that Burt knew was big. After the fire he'd set off, the Cylons had approved mass fire drills for the entire community. On the surface, it seemed like exactly the kind of thing the Cylons wanted to do- lip service to peace and prosperity, pretending to care about the humans' safety. But Schuester had told Burt that it was Tory Foster who'd brought the idea to the Cylons. Tory Foster, who still worked with Laura Roslin. Roslin had been taken into detention for suspected Resistance activity after the bombing at the graduation ceremony. She'd been released, but Burt was sure she was Resistance anyway. If these were really fire drills, Burt would eat his own hat. Whatever they'd been building up to was coming, and Burt was pretty sure it was some sort of escape. He had no idea how the hell it was going to happen, but he was pretty sure Tigh and Galen and Anders did.

He wished he could say something like that to Brittany. She looked so downcast as they walked together through the marketplace. "Cheer up," was the best he could manage. "I'll buy us some coffee."

Brittany smiled weakly. "All right. But you know coffee stunts your growth."

"Think it's a little late for that." Burt dug his wallet out of his pocket and led Brittany over to a stall. There were some tired looking pieces of fruit as well, and Burt bought each of them one. They stepped to the side out of the foot traffic, and Burt sipped his drink. It might be tasteless, but it was at least hot, and that was something.

"I've got to be on the crews this afternoon," Burt said, watching how many people walked with their heads down or their eyes forward. "You think you can handle the shop till then?"

"Sure. You don't need me on the crew today?"

"Nah. I've got some welding to do today. Galen's got me covered."

Brittany nodded and took a bite of her fruit. The juice dribbled down her chin, but she caught it deftly with one finger. Burt was about to say something when Brittany perked up. "Oh, wait. There's Mr. Grant. I need to talk to him about his cat. Mr. Grant!" She ran off after the short, skinny clerk, catching up easily. Burt shook his head good-naturedly. Brittany and her cats. It was nice to know some things would never change. And "talking about the cat" probably meant she'd spend half the afternoon with it. If he actually had business, Burt would be annoyed. But as it stood, he watched Brittany walk arm and arm with the old man, further down the path and away from the marketplace, until he lost sight of her. He went back to his coffee and his fruit.

He had almost finished his coffee when he caught sight of a woman walking by. She was an older woman with a straight bearing and gray hair- he knew her by sight from the crews. She was walking purposefully, her stride long and her face white. Burt lifted a hand, but she didn't acknowledge him. She just walked on, her pace accelerating.

He didn't know what tipped him off, if it was the lumpy jacket that hid her normally slender form or the expression on her face or the sweat on her brow or the memory of the bombs he'd helped Tyrol make last night. But somehow, he knew, before it happened. She was one of Tigh's suicide bombers. His first thought was good, because he knew where she was headed. She was headed down to a rations station that the Cylons frequented. It was the only thing she could be headed for around here.

She was almost out of sight when it dawned on him that she had gone in the same direction as Brittany.

He tried to convince himself that Brit wouldn't be in the same vicinity as the woman, but he couldn't. He started walking, and then picked up to a jog. The explosion had to be coming soon, and every passing second strung his nerves even tighter, until he dropped his coffee and fruit and broken into a run. Soon he was shoving people aside, desperate to get to the other end of the walkway.

The explosion, when it came, still shocked the hell out of him. People began screaming and running, and Burt had to run against the crowd, straining to get to the rations station. It seemed to take forever, and his lungs were on fire and his heart was pounding and his hands were shaking and he felt sick. And when he got to the station, he actually had to be sick, because there were Brittany and Mr. Grant, both lying on the ground. Both completely still, with their eyes open. Burnt, bloody, and broken.

Both dead.

***

The wind whipped through the cemetery, kicking up dust. It wasn't a lush, green, peaceful place like the cemeteries on Gemenon had been. The New Caprica cemetery was bare and rocky, with the graves marked with small tokens. Wooden symbols, piles of stones, bits of broken colored glass… and probably many that were unmarked. It occurred to Burt that there were a lot of graves here. He wanted to believe that a lot of them were graves that people had constructed to honor people who had been lost on the Colonies, but he had a terrible feeling they weren't. It was easier to look around that cemetery than at the open grave before him.

Quinn, Rachel and Lauren stood together, with Puck on Lauren's other side. Tina held Blaine, who was mercifully asleep, and Mike stood by her, his expressive face mournful. Sam stood off to the side a little, his hands awkwardly jammed in his pockets, his face dark. He had a bruise, Burt noticed idly- a large, greenish bruise on his forehead. He should have noticed something like that long before now. But Sam wasn't catching his eye- he was staring at the open grave like he couldn't believe Brittany was really dead. And those were the only kids here. New Directions had never felt as divided as it was right now. Sue stood with crossed arms and a steely face, and Shannon kept wiping her eyes. Schuester was so pale that Burt thought he'd pass out.

It was wrong. It was all wrong. First and foremost, Santana should be here. It wasn't fair that she wasn't on the Pegasus, gods only knew how far away while Brittany was being laid to rest. Would some sense tell her? Burt wanted to believe he'd know if Carole was dead. But since he wasn't even sure about Kurt… probably not. Santana had no idea. And Mercedes and Artie and Finn, they would all be here, too, if they could.

They weren't even sure if they'd gotten the right priest. There were kids that Burt knew which gods they worshipped, but Brittany wasn't one of them. Quinn had dryly said that the closest thing she'd ever seen Brittany worship was cats, but that was no help. They'd finally agreed on a priestess of Aphrodite, who now stood at the head of the grave, reading the Scriptures. Burt tried to listen to the words, but they rolled off of him unheard.

The priest was winding up, and Burt pulled his attention back to the grave in front of them. Brittany's body was already in the hole, shrouded in a ragged blanket. Burt wished he could see her face one more time, that he could just hug her one more time. He wished… he wished a lot of things he wasn't getting. He stared hard into the grave.

The first clod of earth surprised him. Rachel tossed it down, her jaw set as she did so almost defiantly. Lauren followed her, and then Quinn, and then Puck. Burt stared dully at the way the dirt splattered across the colorless blanket.

There had to be a song, and of course it was Rachel who started singing, some soft song that Burt didn't know. But to Rachel's credit, she modified her voice as the others joined in. It was a muted, beautiful song, and no one voice stood out. Which seemed appropriate, because yeah, the person who should have the honor of singing for Brittany wasn't here.

Schuester and Shannon were both crying, Carole was wiping her nose on her sleeve, and even Sue had to wipe away a tear, but Burt kept staring, his eyes dry. The song ended and the priest said the final words, but Burt couldn't move. Even as the others began to move away from the grave, he stood frozen. Carole patted his arm and stepped back, giving him space, and soon he was the only one left at the graveside.

He knew he'd begun to think of Brittany as a daughter. All of these kids were his in a way, and Brit had worked closely with him for two years. But he hadn't fully expected this reluctance to consign her body to the ground. He wished he could put more over her than just a blanket. Maybe a coat, or mittens. Brittany always liked mittens. A little snort escaped him at the thought, but when the amusement fled, he felt even emptier.

He felt like he should say something, but what? Nothing really fit. He tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse and there were no words. So he stood alone on the edge of the grave, cold in the wind, staring down at the blanket that had dirt scattered across it.

He hadn't wanted this job, and yet, he couldn't bear to think of anyone else doing it. He picked up the shovel that was standing in the pile of dirt and took a deep breath. Then, as gently as if he was tucking a child into bed, he began to fill the grave.

***

"Kurt?" Doral's voice sounded kind as he opened the door. "Have you made your decision?"

Kurt swallowed hard and rubbed his palms against the filthy fabric of his jumpsuit. It took him three tries to speak. "I have," he croaked. "I'm not telling you anything."

Doral sighed heavily. "I was afraid you'd say that. I wasn't joking, Kurt."

"I know. I'm not, either."

"All right." Doral snapped his fingers. "Let's go."

Two NCP guards came in and hauled Kurt to his feet. Even though they wore masks, Kurt could tell that one was a woman and one was a very tall man. He tried to focus his mind on the little details, because someday, when he got out of this cell, he'd make them pay. He would. He kept telling himself that as they marched him down the hall.

The chair looked just like it did every other time, and the guards manhandled Kurt into it, tying his arms and his legs down. But there was no electricity box on the table this time. There was just a pair of pliers. Kurt wondered if Doral was serious about upping the stakes.

Doral sat down across from him and picked up the pliers. He took Kurt's right hand in his. "All right, Kurt. One last time. What did you tell them, and who did you tell?"

Kurt squeezed his lips together and shook his head.

"Fine. Have it your way." With no other preamble, Doral gripped Kurt's hand so firmly that the bones ground together, maneuvered the needle nose pliers under a fingernail, and then ripped.

Kurt screamed.

The pain was searing- far worse than those electrical tortures had been. Doral sat calmly watching him, the full, bloody nail gripped in the pliers. He discarded the nail, and then grabbed Kurt's hand, held the finger still, and ripped out another. One more followed.

"Tell me," Doral said calmly. "Tell me what I want to know."

It was the hardest thing that Kurt had ever done in his life, but he shook his head again. "I'm not going to tell you," he said, his words garbled by the tears. "You can just tear them all out."

Doral smiled grimly. "And indeed I will."

By the end, all ten of Kurt's fingers were bloody and felt like they were on fire. He'd never felt such intense agony, but he still didn't speak. He'd held out this long… he could do this. He could.

"Well," Doral said with a sigh, "once again, you surprise me. It really is too bad we never got you into the New Caprica Police, you know."

Despite his pain, those words caught Kurt's ear. "What?"

"The New Caprica Police. Oh, come on. You figured it out, didn't you? Once I'd gotten all the clothing I wanted from you in exchange for Puckerman's safety, I had every intention of convincing you to join. I wanted your loyalty… I wanted to be proud of you. If you'd joined them, I would have been."

"The New Caprica Police," Kurt repeated. "But I can't even fire a gun." He was still squirming, his fingers hurting so badly that it spread up his arms and made him want to throw up.

"I know." Doral cleaned the blood off the pliers with a rag. "You would have learned."

"I thought-" Kurt began. Doral cocked his head and studied him.

"What did you think?" Kurt didn't answer, and Doral tapped his finger on Kurt's ruined nailbed, hard. The resultant pain triggered the nausea, and Kurt leaned over as far as he could to vomit. The bile landed on his own clothes, but at least he hadn't choked himself. Doral sighed and wiped Kurt's face with the bloody rag. "What did you think?"

"I thought… I thought you wanted…" the words burned his already raw throat. "I thought you wanted me."

"Oh. Oh." Doral considered that. "I never even thought of it. Interesting, don't you think? Although if you'd offered…" he ran his eyes over Kurt. "After all, Caprica can't leave Baltar alone, and there's an Eight who swears…. You know, that could have been interesting. I'm almost sorry we won't ever find out." Doral sighed. "Oh, well. Now. I suppose you're wondering what's coming next, and the answer is simple. You'll go back to your cell and suffer for twenty four hours. Believe me, having a nail ripped out hurts for a long time. And, in exactly twenty-four hours, I'll bring you back here and start in on your toes. And after that… we'll see what's needed. Take him back to his cell."

As soon as his hands were released Kurt tried to grab at the fingers, but Doral was right- they were so painful that touching them hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before. The guards grabbed him by the arms and marched him back to his cell, and as the door shut behind him, Kurt was sure that this was going to be a far worse night than he'd ever have imagined.

***

The sirens wailed, and Burt automatically put down his tools and headed out into the streets for the fire drill. People were already headed towards their designated "safe areas", and the streets were crowded. He jogged along, glancing up now and then, following along with the evacuation plan.

He ran by the playground he and Brittany had build over a year ago, from materials Kurt and Finn had managed to get them. He didn't want to look at that playground right now, although across the way he spotted Mike and Tina, shepherding a bunch of kids. Mike was carrying Blaine and Tina had another child, and a white armband signifying that she was a block captain. Burt hoped that they'd do better than he did at keeping kids alive.

The path he was on led him through the marketplace, which was closed. The bomb that had killed Brittany wasn't the last suicide bomber that had gone to their death, although the one the Cylons had caught had died by execution, after their bomb had been dismantled. The marketplace. Tigh had tried to bomb the marketplace. Everything in Burt said that he should be furious- that he was furious- and yet, Kurt still wasn't home. Blow the whole damn place up until it got Kurt home.

He pulled up to a stop, and suddenly realized that he had reached the place where the block was supposed to meet. A man was timing them, and judging by the look on his face, they weren't quick enough. Burt tried to rouse some sort of feeling about that, but he couldn't. All he felt was an aching deadness that he had to ignore to keep going, because even though Brittany and Kurt were gone, there were still kids that needed him, and still a fight that needed fighting. All around him, people were listening to what they thought were instructions for a fire drill but were really instructions for something much bigger. Something was coming, and Burt was sure it was going to be an escape, or the end of humanity.

He was starting to not care which it was, as long as everything was over.

***

Kurt didn't sleep at all. The pain in his fingers only got worse, and the tips looked like raw meat. Worse. Already, Kurt could see signs of infection. He couldn't stop crying, and he couldn't help but wonder why fingernails hurt so frakking much. And the minutes were ticking by, counting down until Doral came back.

The door opened, and Kurt couldn't stop shaking. He'd meant to go quietly, but when the two NCP officers came for him, he screamed and bolted to his feet, determined to run. After all, the open door was right there- if he could just make it….

He couldn't. He was too weak and shaky, and they were ready for him. He didn't give in- he fought them tooth and nai… well, not nail- but they pushed and shoved him out of his cell and down the hall. He screamed, he bit, he struck out at them, but their grips only tightened and once again, he was in the chair. The door slammed open, and Doral strode in.

There were no shoes or socks to take off- Kurt had been barefoot since he'd come into this place. He tried to curl his toes underneath, but Doral immediately knelt down and grabbed Kurt's foot. Then one- two- three- four- five- the nails on his left foot were torn out so rapidly that the world went red and dark and the scream that tore from Kurt's throat hurt almost as much as his foot. Doral rocked back on his heels, eyebrows raised.

"Well?"

The searing, intense pain crackled through Kurt in a way he'd never felt, and all of a sudden, everything inside him crumbled. "Quinn Fabray," he said, the words hurting his throat. "I gave all my information to Quinn Fabray. Please. I'll tell you everything- just- please. Don't do that again."

Doral smiled. "All right, Kurt. It's about time."

Hating himself the entire time, Kurt told Doral everything.

***

"You hear what's going on?" Puck asked, falling into step beside Burt.

Burt shook his head. "They sent another suicide bomber to the power substation-"

"Yeah. That's not what I meant."

"But that's the last I've heard." Burt pulled his coat closer around himself. The sleeve was dirty, he noticed idly. Engine grease. He'd have to do something about it.

"Listen." Puck pulled Burt even closer. "I talked to Nowart. He says that they made contact with the Galactica."

Burt stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"Keep walking!" Puck hissed. Burt hurried to obey. "They made contact with the Galactica. He told me where there's a stash of weapons, and I'm supposed to break them out and start handing them out."

"When?"

"There'll be a signal. But I want to make sure you and Carole and Coach get them."

Burt was about to say that Galen would probably be passing him his own orders when they heard a scream. "What the hell?" Puck asked.

"It's the med tent," Burt said, jerking his thumb at the tent. "They're short on anesthesia these days and-" Two NCP guards emerged, cutting him off. Because in between them, wearing he scrubs and sobbing and struggling, was Quinn.

"I didn't do anything!" she begged. "Please! You have to let me go! I had a patient in there! I didn't do anything!" The guards ignored her, pulling her away.

First Sam and Rya, then Kurt, then Brittany. Now Quinn. Burt didn't think- he just charged towards the guards. To his surprise, Puck caught his arm and grabbed tight, forcing Burt to stop.

"Are you crazy?" Puck whispered. "You can't get caught now!"

"They're taking Quinn!" The guards were forcing her onto a truck. Quinn looked towards them. Burt met her eyes, and he swore he could see her begging him to help her before the guards forced her deeper into the truck. But Puck kept such a tight grip on Burt's arm that he couldn't break away. The truck lumbered away over the muddy roads. Puck grabbed Burt by the shoulders and turned him around.

"Look, I get it, okay? Believe me, I didn't want to just stand here either. But if they're not shooting her, it's for a reason. And if we defend her, they're going to take us in for questioning."

Burt met Puck's eyes evenly. "I can take questioning."

"You really think so? Especially if they still have Kurt and they threaten to kill him?" Burt looked away, his stomach cold. "Yeah. I thought so. And we know about the Fleet coming back- they can't find out about that. We'll get her back, okay? When the Fleet comes, there's no way that they aren't gonna blow the detention center open, especially with Anders' wife in there. We'll get them both back. Come on. We've got to keep walking."

Burt forced himself to obey. "So when's the Galactica coming?" he asked Puck. "How long have we got?"

"Don't know," Puck said. "But it's got to be soon. They aren't going to hang around waiting for the Cylons to find them."

"Yeah." Burt looked back over his shoulder at the med tent. From out here, it looked like business as usual. He shivered. "They'd better hurry. I don't know how long they've got."

***

Kurt was pretty sure he had a fever. The chills were worse than just being cold, and his skin felt hot to his touch. Four of his fingers and three of his toes were swollen and looked disgusting. It wasn't just the nailbed, but the whole digit. And there was pus as well. Definite infection.

He was half dozing when the door opened slowly. "Kurt?"

For one wonderful moment he thought that voice was his father. He pried his eyes open and sat up, but long before the figure resolved itself in his vision he knew who it was. Doral. "I told you everything," Kurt muttered. "Go away."

"I'm not here for that. Come here." Doral extended his hand. "Kurt. We're past the ugliness. This is something different. Come here." His voice was kind and soft. But Kurt didn't trust kind and soft. He struggled to his feet, only because he didn't want to find out what would happen if he didn't. Doral watched until Kurt limped near him. "You smell," Doral said affectionately, catching Kurt by the arm as his legs gave out. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"Cleaned up? Am I going some where?"

"Well, I have to admit, your usefulness is exhausted here," Doral said, steering Kurt down the hall. "However, we can't just let you go. You gave information to the insurgents. But we can get you out of this cell. We're expanding some of our operations."

A labor camp. Kurt lifted his head. He'd be able to be outside, to move around, maybe to even use something besides a bucket as a toilet. Have a shower. Wear shoes. "All right."

Doral smiled. "I thought you might like that. Take your clothes off."

Kurt blinked and looked around. Doral had led him into a room that might have once been intended to be a laundry room, but was now a gang shower. Other people were in there as well, thin bodies under the water. Doral led him over to a shower, and Kurt slowly took off his jumpsuit. Through everything Doral had done to him, one dignity that Kurt had retained was that Doral had only once seen him naked. But the lure of a shower was too much to resist.

The water was cold, but Kurt steeled himself through it. Dirt, blood, and grime colored the water as it ran off his body, spiraling down the drain. There was no soap, so he scrubbed at his skin with his hands. The water hurt his fingers and toes, but the relief of cleaning himself made it worth it. He even dared to tilt his face up and catch the water in his mouth. It had the metallic taste of New Caprica water, but it was wet.

He finished and put his jumpsuit back on, although Doral had to help him with the buttons. Doral also pulled a comb out of his pocket and combed Kurt's wet hair himself, parting it over to the side. "It's not as good as you could do," he said with a sigh, "but it looks better. Do you want to shave?"

Kurt wanted to, but he really didn't want Doral doing that for him, and he couldn't hold the razor. "No. I'm fine." It was bad enough that Doral had to ease his shoes on for him.

Doral cuffed his hands again, and then Kurt was led outside with the others. The bright light almost blinded him, and for a moment, he couldn't see anything. The air was crisp and cold and fresh, and there was a breeze on his face. He inhaled deeply. Doral helped him up into the back of a truck, and his eyes refocused. And sitting across from him was-

"Quinn."

Quinn's eyes widened. "Kurt." She was wearing scrubs, her hair was a mess, there was a bruise at the corner of her mouth, and her hands were bound. "You're alive."

He had no idea what to say to that, so he ducked his head. Quinn looked down at his hands. "Oh my Gods," she whispered softly. "Did they do that to your hands?"

"They did."

The truck lurched and began to move. Quinn looked away from Kurt's hands, towards the front of the truck. There were a lot of prisoners in here, Kurt realized, although he didn't really recognize any of them. "Do you know where we're going?" Quinn asked.

Kurt shrugged. "Doral mentioned a labor camp." He couldn't remember the exact words. Quinn nodded and sat back, chewing on her lip. She looked worried. He wondered if he should comfort her, or apologize to her, or something, but the truth was he was too tired and it hurt to talk.

The truck bounced over the dirt roads, and its cargo of prisoners was oddly silent. Looking around, Kurt realized that some people had obviously been recently picked up like Quinn, but others had probably been in detention longer than he had. A memory surfaced from the back of his mind and he wondered if Tom or Rya were headed to this camp as well. If they were, they weren't on this truck.

The bouncing was starting to make him feel sick, and he was tired. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the truck. He stayed like that until the truck jerked to a stop.

"Everybody out! Rest stop!" An NCP officer was banging on the trucks, rousing the prisoners. Kurt groaned as he tried to move.

"Do you need help?" Quinn asked sympathetically. Her hands were bound, but she maneuvered herself to help him stand. She had to help him out of the truck, but once they were out he was all right.

"What's happening?" Kurt asked her, looking around. Everyone was out, milling around the trucks. It looked like there were at least eight or nine trucks about the same size as theirs, which meant they were probably all carrying close to two dozen prisoners. About half of them were wearing regular clothes, and the rest were wearing jumpsuits. There was a woman standing near Kurt that was missing an ear, and Kurt had the terrible feeling he'd been either luckier or less stubborn than other people.

"They said it's a rest stop," Quinn said, looking around. She flexed her hands. "I wish they'd untie us so we could… oh my Gods." Her face went dead white.

"What?" Kurt turned to look in the direction she was staring, and fear froze his blood. "No…."

A line of Centurions was marching towards them, guns extending from their arms. This wasn't a labor camp. This was an execution. A ripple of panic traveled through the assembled prisoners, and Kurt's stomach felt like it dropped to his feet. He stared at the Centurions, his mouth hanging open as they advanced. Their steps were in unison, their joints creaked, and he could even hear the sound of their guns popping up to prepare to fire.

Quinn was praying, speaking quickly and under her breath. But her hand instinctively found Kurt's. He wiggled it free, and instead looped his arms around Quinn and then held her close, squeezing his eyes shut tight. If he was going to die, this would be his comfort- the embrace of a good friend and the touch of her skin. Quinn ducked her head against his chest, and they stood tightly together as the gunshots rang out.

Nothing hit.

The guns kept firing and people were screaming, and Kurt was sure that the Centurions were just working their way down the line. And yet, still no bullets. Nothing. Eventually, the guns stopped, and Kurt and Quinn were both still standing.

"Are we alive?" Quinn asked.

"I am. Are you?" Kurt dared to open his eyes and look around. The humans were all still standing, but the Centurions were smoking heaps of machinery on the ground. He looked around frantically, and saw figures holding guns running down a bluff towards them. Several figures, all smiling, all triumphant, and one of whom was Carole, who was calling his name.

He registered her presence seconds before she reached them, and then her arms were wrapped around both of them and she was crying. Quinn was crying too, smiling incredulously, but Kurt could only just stare at his stepmother.

"You're alive," Carole kept saying. She'd dropped her gun on the ground and was now holding Kurt tight. "You're alive. Oh, Kurt, honey, we've been so worried and your father… your father is going to be so happy to see you."

"Dad's okay?" Kurt still couldn't believe she was here.

Carole pulled back, wiping tears from her dirt smudged face. "Your dad's okay," she said. "Everybody's-" she censored what she was about to say. "Everybody's been so worried about you. Oh, Kurt!" She pulled him close again, kissing him on the cheek, and then released him and embraced Quinn, who looked surprised.

"Hudson!" someone yelled. "Let's get these people free and get them home!"

"I'm moving!" Carole shouted back. She pulled a knife from her belt and cut Quinn's flex-cuffs, and then turned to Kurt's. Kurt shook out his hands gingerly as Carole bent down and picked up her gun.

"You're in the Resistance." It finally dawned on him.

Carole nodded. "So's your dad. Speaking of which, let's get you guys home to him. Come on." She put her free arm around Kurt's shoulders and led him back to one of the trucks, and then she and Quinn helped him in gently. Kurt wanted to be relieved, but he knew he wouldn't be able to relax until he saw his dad face to face. He sighed and looked out the back of the truck at all the people who had just escaped death. A sudden jolt of recognition startled him- Tom Zarek was staring at him.

Tom's mouth was slightly open, clearly surprised. He was wearing the same sort of jump suit as Kurt was, he looked tired and haggard, and his skin was pale and his hair was shaggy. Kurt lifted his hand in greeting, and Tom waved back. It felt so strange, to see him again and across this distance, remembering that last look of intense disappointment that Tom had given him. Was he still disappointed? Kurt couldn't read Tom's face at all.

A woman grabbed Tom's arm, and it took Kurt a moment to realize it was Laura Roslin. She pulled him towards another truck, and Kurt watched him go. Kurt hadn't realized until this moment that he'd given up hope that Tom was still alive, and there was so much he wanted to say right now. But the trucks were starting up, and as theirs lurched forward and Carole jumped up in back, Kurt's thoughts focused on the one person he needed to see even more than Tom, more than anyone else in the world. And he was on his way.

***

Diana Seelix had told Burt to wait in the dugout under the Tighs' while Carole was out on a mission with herself, Tyrol, and a few others. That was all she'd told him, and Burt had come down willingly enough. It was Tigh who'd handed Burt the copy of the list of the prisoners to be executed. Burt would never forget the terrible feeling when he'd seen Hummel, Kurt on that list. So was Fabray, Quinn. The only thing that kept him down here was when Tigh told him that the mission was to rescue the people on this list and stop the execution. Burt wasn't sure if it could be done, but Tigh seemed confident. He'd turned to his map, leaving Burt sitting in a chair and worrying.

"You want to stop that?" Tigh demanded when Burt's foot wouldn't stop tapping. "You're driving me crazy."

"Sorry. It's just… that's my kid. My kids, really. And my wife. I should be out there."

Tigh snorted. "I've seen you shoot. You're better off down here. Trust me."

"I should be doing more."

"Yeah, well. That's war. Doesn't always go like you want." Tigh looked back down at his map.

"Yeah." Burt looked down. Because doesn't always go like you want was how Tigh explained young women dying when a suicide bomber went off too close to them. Burt wanted to hate him for it, but the thing about Tigh was that he never said that he'd done the right thing. Only what worked.

Tigh looked at his watch. "They should be back soon."

Burt didn't have an answer to that.

He heard the noise in the tunnels before Tigh reacted. He wasn't sure if he should pick up a gun or if he should hide or what, but before he had to decide, Galen came in, his arm around his wife and his grin triumphant.

"We got 'em, Colonel," Galen said.

"You bring the trucks back?"

"Got people parking them further away. They'll abandon the trucks and run before the toasters can get them." Galen kissed his wife happily. She was wearing a prison jumpsuit- Burt hadn't even realized she'd been taken. Other people began filtering in around the pair. Tigh stood up to greet Laura Roslin. "I've got people spread out," Galen said over the noise of the others coming in. "We'll keep the high profile ones moving or hidden down here, but-"

He said more, but Burt didn't hear it. Because there was Carole, and Quinn, and between them….

"Kurt." Burt began working his way through the dozen or so idiots who stood between him and his son. Kurt!"

Kurt looked up, and his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened, and then he was in Burt's arms and Burt was holding on to him as tightly as he could, kissing his hair and his cheek. Kurt clung to him, crying and shaking. He smelled terribly and he was so much thinner than Burt remembered, but he was here, he was alive, and he was safe.

"You're okay," Burt whispered, cradling Kurt close. "You're okay. You're home, you're safe, and I'm not letting anything happen to you again."

***

Kurt was exhausted.

Coming back to New Caprica had been overwhelming. The tunnels and dugouts that he'd never known existed, the press of people after two weeks of isolation. His dad and Carole, both looking so tired and worn and scared and worried, and both in the Resistance, along with Puck and Lauren (which wasn't a surprise), Sue, and Coach Beiste. The Resistance obviously being so much more organized and so much more far-reaching than he'd ever realized. And most overwhelming of all was the news of Brittany's death. Quinn had been the one to tell him, her voice broken as she tried not to cry. Which was stupid, because Brittany was dead. Kurt cried when she told him.

Now he was in a dugout that was apparently under his father's workshop, sitting on a pile of blankets that were already here. He had no idea of what time it was, only that it was much less crowded here as other rescued prisoners were moved. His dad had given him a bowl of soup and some water, and was apparently needed somewhere else. On the one hand, Kurt wished he was still close enough to touch. On the other hand, the constant contact with people was just overwhelming.

He tried to pick up the spoon, but even that simple motion caused so much pain in his fingers that he dropped it, choking back tears of pain. His fingers were badly swollen, and he was starting to notice little red lines on some of them.

"They're infected." Quinn came in, carrying a small kit. "Badly, from the looks of it."

"I know that." Kurt glared at his fingers. "It's not like I could take better care of them."

"I know." Quinn knelt down and took the bowl of soup from him. "You can eat after."

Kurt sighed and let Quinn take his hand. She opened up her kit and began to clean his fingers. It hurt, but her hands were firm on his and he couldn't pull away.

"We'll have to get antibiotics into you fast," Quinn said. "You have a fever."

"That's bad?"

"Bad enough." Quinn's voice was deliberately light, but Kurt could see the concern on her face when she looked at his hands. He let her work, wincing in silence.

"I told them. The Cylons, I mean." The words tore out of him when Quinn had finished with his first hand. "I told them about you."

"I'd hope so." Quinn looked up and touched a spot on his temple. "It looks like you have some burns, too." Kurt didn't answer, and Quinn bent back over his other hand. "I knew the risks," she said simply. "I don't blame you at all. Besides, it turns out they were just going to shoot me."

Kurt wondered if Quinn had told them anything and that was how she'd avoided torture. He decided not to ask. Besides, by now he was shivering, and whatever Quinn was doing hurt again. He leaned against the dirt wall and closed his eyes, letting her get on with it.

Quinn had just finished up and was putting everything away when the hatch above them opened. Kurt tensed, but the first person down the ladder was Puck. Puck stopped very still, eyes wide, then bounded over and pulled Kurt into a tight, almost suffocating embrace.

"Hey. He still needs to breathe." A familiar-looking man with a teddy-bear sort of physique pulled Puck off, much to Kurt's mild relief. "You're Kurt, right?" Kurt nodded. "Yeah, I remember you from before. You worked with Zarek." Kurt's confusion must have shown on his face, because the man extended his hand. "Galen Tyrol." He looked down at Kurt's hands and retracted his own sheepishly.

"You had a beard," Kurt said, finally realizing where he knew Tyrol from.

"Right." Tyrol shifted. "I've already talked to Quinn, so I know a lot of what was going on, but I've got a few questions for you, if you don't mind."

Kurt shrugged, trying to ignore the fact that Puck had seated himself next to him like a glowering guard dog. "That's fine."

"Was Quinn your only contact in the Resistance?" Tyrol asked. Kurt nodded, but Tyrol didn't seem convinced. "Really? There wasn't anyone else?"

"No."

"All right. How did you communicate with Quinn?"

"We… talked." Kurt wasn't sure how to answer that. "I mean, we knew each other already, and New Directions socializes enough that no one thought anything of it."

"But there was no signal?" Tyrol persisted. "Nothing like, I don't know, a flag somewhere or a sock on a door or a flipped dog bowl?"

"Nothing."

Tyrol sighed heavily. "Kurt, was there anyone else in the administration that you think could have been a source? Someone high placed, with access to some very sensitive information?"

Kurt thought about it. "I can't think of anyone," he admitted.

"What about the Quorum?"

"They're only there symbolically."

"Right." Tyrol frowned. "What about Gravens? The Minister of Defense?" Kurt shook his head. "Johnson? Xi? Crassius? Gaeta?"

The other names hadn't affected him, but at Gaeta's name, a red-hot rage swept through Kurt. "Not Gaeta," he said angrily. Tyrol sat back on his heels, eyebrows raised questioningly, but Kurt barely even noticed. He was back in Baltar's office the day Doral caught him. "Gaeta," Kurt practically spat, "Gaeta was there when they arrested me. Cavil wanted to shoot me, but Gaeta told them I'd break easily. He was so convinced I'd tell them everything I knew. He told an Eight-" Kurt broke off, remembering the Eight's hand on Gaeta's shoulder. "He wouldn't stand up to the Cylons," Kurt said bitterly. "He's right there with them."

Tyrol nodded resignedly. "Thanks, Kurt." He patted Kurt on the knee and stood up. "Listen, get some sleep, all right? You're going to need it." He looked at Puck. "You've got your orders?"

"Yes, sir."

Quinn spoke up. "Is there any chance I could get some more medical supplies? Maybe an antibiotic?"

Tyrol shook his head. "I can try, but I don't know what Cottle's got." He glanced at Kurt, and then back at Quinn. "Let me know if it gets urgent, okay?" He knocked his fist awkwardly against the ladder. "Get some sleep, guys. I'll be in touch." He climbed the ladder and was gone.

"You," Puck said, turning to Kurt, "are officially a bad ass. What the frak were you thinking?" He turned to Quinn. "Both of you. You're insane."

"Like you should talk," Quinn said primly, putting her equipment away neatly and picking up the bowl of now cool soup. She spooned some up and offered it to Kurt. He glared at her, because it was the least dignified thing ever, but the smell of the soup, his growling stomach and his sore hands made him accept. "So where's Lauren?" Quinn asked as she fed Kurt like a child.

"She's at a meeting. Carole and Beiste and Sue are there, too." Puck smiled. "It's almost over. New Caprica, I mean. New Caprica's almost over."

Kurt closed his eyes for a long moment. New Caprica was almost over. Over a year ago, he'd been one of the first people to set foot on this planet, and it hadn't hit him that this was going to be home. That day was so clear in his mind- the wind in his hair, the blank canvas in front of them, Tom standing next to him and teasing him about his clothes. Baltar walking beside him and Gaeta's scowl. The blue-gray sky and the gravel under his boots. That day suddenly seemed so far away and so close at the same time.

Exhaustion swept over him as he opened his eyes. Quinn and Puck were still talking, but Kurt could barely follow the conversation. He concentrated on eating, but when the soup was gone, he found himself slumping onto the blankets.

"You know, these are my blankets." Puck's voice sounded very far away. Kurt swatted at him, and Puck might have laughed. "Guess I took these from your bed, too." Puck put a comforter over Kurt's shoulders. "Your dad should be back soon. You want me to stay until he's here?"

Puck was sitting close enough that Kurt could feel the warm solidity of his body. Instinctively, Kurt curled around him. "Stay."

"Okay." Puck rubbed his shoulder. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up if anything happens."

It was a pile of blankets on a dirt floor. The room was cold and badly lit, and Puck and Quinn were still talking. But Kurt felt safer than he had in weeks, and despite the pain in his hands and feet, he quickly drifted off to sleep.

***

Burt returned to the dugout later than he'd wanted to. The lamps were still glowing, and the kids were all asleep. Puck had fallen asleep sitting against the wall, Kurt's head on his lap. Lauren was asleep on Puck's other side, her head on his shoulder. Lauren had gone and gotten Rachel, and she and Quinn were sleeping on the other blankets. Burt walked softly, setting down his bundle, and then sat down on one of the crates.

It bugged him a little that only five of the kids were down here. The others were safe, though. Tina and Mike were probably asleep across town, Blaine in the little cot that Burt had made for him or in their bed. Sam had refused to give up the tent he shared with Rya, but he seemed confident that he was safe. The other four were in the Fleet and Brittany… Burt sighed and ran a hand over his face.

The sound of people coming startled him out of his thoughts, and he leaned forward, assuming it was Carole and Shannon. It wasn't. Sue came into the dugout, a gun slung over her shoulder and a swagger in her step.

"It's like the time I took out four chrome jobs with a single knife throw. It was pretty amazing- I'll tell you about it some time. In fact, I- oh. Hello, there, Greasemonkey." Sue glanced down at the sleeping kids, and to Burt's amazement, actually lowered her voice. "Got some company for you."

Burt was about to say he didn't want any when he saw who was following Sue: Tom Zarek. He got to his feet.

Sue made a face. "Well, looks like it's nap time around here, but if you were expecting anything interesting from this group, then you really spent way too much time in that prison. But don't expect me to hang around this group of sticky fingered rugrats and their babysitter. I'll see you later." Sue punched Zarek lightly on the arm and then headed back out into the tunnel. Burt stared after her for a moment, as did Zarek.

"She's really always like that, isn't she?" Zarek asked.

"No, that was Sue in a good mood. You here to see Kurt?"

"That was the idea, yes." Zarek glanced at the kids. "I don't think I want to wake him up though."

"Probably best not to," Burt said mildly. He sat back down and pointed to the other crate. "He's been through a lot, although I'm betting you know that better than anyone."

"Yes." Zarek sat down stiffly, bracing his hands on his knees as he eased down. He didn't look like he was in too bad of shape, but Burt had a feeling that the clothes were hiding a fair bit.

"You okay?"

Zarek waved it off with an abashed smile. "Fine. They lost interest in me… oh, I'd guess about two months ago, when it became obvious I wasn't going to tell them anything. Not that I knew anything to tell." He chuckled. "After a while, even Cavil had to admit that Adama wasn't likely to have told me anything." Zarek looked back over at Kurt. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Guess so. Quinn says he's got a nasty infection in his hands, but if we can get him treatment he'll be okay. And if we can get him back up to the Fleet…" Burt shook his head. "Doesn't quite seem real."

"Hope never does at the end of a long tunnel of darkness."

"Right."

"I heard about your assistant," Zarek said. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Burt wasn't sure what else to say to that. "She was killed by a suicide bomber. Guess that's what happens during war."

"That doesn't mean that it's not regrettable." An awkward silence fell between them again.

"You blew up that building," Burt said finally. Zarek looked a little surprised, but nodded. "Do you ever regret it?"

Zarek smirked. "You're not asking me if I regret it. You're asking me for absolution for whatever it is you've done."

Burt sat back. "No. I'm not looking for any of that. Guess I'm looking to know if there's a chance that when all the dust settles, I'm going to be able to live with it."

"Let's see if we live through it at all." Zarek stood up and stretched. "I should probably get back to where I'm supposed to be. Please tell Kurt I stopped by." He smiled and extended his hand. "Good luck getting up there."

"Yeah." Burt took it. "You, too. You need help getting back through the tunnels?"

"I'll find my way," Zarek said. He smirked again. "And so will you, I'm guessing." He winked, and then disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels.

Burt closed his eyes. New Caprica- with all its promises and disappointments and horrors and losses and triumphs- might all be behind them this time tomorrow night. It was impossible to believe. He opened his eyes, got up, and walked over to kneel down beside Kurt. He touched Kurt's hot brow. Kurt flinched at the touch, but didn't wake up. But he was alive, and he was back with Burt. Safe.

They hadn't traded Brittany's life for Kurt's- even in his guilt and grief, Burt knew that. But he'd been saying in his head that Kurt's safety was worth any price for so long that they felt linked. Maybe they were. Maybe, if the Gods had any say in what was going on down on this mudball of a planet, Brittany had been able to convince them to save Kurt. Burt almost laughed at the thought. If he was thinking that Brittany could change the minds of gods, maybe it was time for some sleep. The idea stayed with him though, even as he tried to make himself comfortable and wait for Carole to come from her briefing.

"Don't know if you're up there," he said into the silence, "but if you are, do me a favor, will you? Make sure they all get to the Fleet. Maybe you aren't talking to the gods, but then again, maybe if anyone can make them see things different, it's you. Watch out for us, Brit. I think we need all the help we can get."

There was no answer, and there was no one listening. That's what Burt told himself as he closed his eyes. But he couldn't shake the feeling that someone had heard.

Kurt's stomach was twisting with nerves. Rachel sat beside him, her arm threaded through his. Quinn was pacing, talking quietly under her breath. Kurt had never felt so useless in his life.

He hadn't left the dugout under the workshop much in the day he'd been freed, except to go take a shower. It had been a risk, but as far as Kurt was concerned, it was a worthwhile one. Puck had brought some of his clothes down, and it felt good to be out of the jumpsuit as well. After kicking the filthy gray material across the floor, Kurt silently promised that he would never, ever tease Tom about his prison jumpsuit again. There were no good memories attached to those.

"What happens next?" Rachel asked, for what felt like the millionth time.

"When they come down and tell us, we run. Just like the fire drills," Quinn said. Her voice was strained with impatience. "And we take the bags." There were four large bags on the ground, tied up with what clothes, blankets, and other items they could carry on their backs. It wasn't much.

"I wish we were with the others," Rachel said. "Mike and Tina and Sam. We should all be together. It's a momentous occasion and-"

"Shh!" Quinn held up a hand, pausing in her pacing. Kurt and Rachel both stilled, and they heard it. They hadn't been able to hear much in this dugout, but this explosion was audible.

"Oh my gods," Kurt whispered. "It's starting."

Rachel stood up. "Should we…?"

"Should we what?" Quinn was already shrugging on her bundle. "Let's get ready."

Rachel looked down at Kurt with wide, scared eyes. Kurt got to his feet, swallowing hard. This was it. And that was confirmed when they heard the door open and Puck thundered down the ladder. He was carrying a gun.

"Come on," he said, gesturing with his head. "Let's move it."

Kurt went up the ladder first, since he needed a bit of a boost due to his injuries. The trap door brought him out into his father's shop. Kurt noticed that all the pictures had been taken down and he knew some of the small tools had been distributed through the packs, but there was a lot that was just going to be left. Quinn was just coming out of the dugout when his father came running in. He was smudged with soot and dirt, but he had a grim smile.

"Pretty big bang out there, Burt," Puck said.

"Yeah." Burt leaned down and picked up another pack. "I did my part. Your turn."

"Where are the others?"

"Getting their guns. They were meeting at Johnson's." Burt turned to Quinn, Rachel, and Kurt. "You guys remember what you're supposed to do?" They all nodded. "Good. Now, when you get out there, it's crazy, all right? It's not too bad yet, but it's going to get a lot worse as the Cylons catch on. So you just run. Don't drop your packs. Having them on could actually protect you. Whatever you do, just keep running. We're trying to get up to the shipyard. Once we're there, just get on a ship. It doesn't matter which one- they'll sort everyone out once we get away. Okay?"

Another explosion rocked the earth before they could answer. Sirens and screams filled the air, and the answering sound of gunshot. And they were going out there.

"Kurt." His father was facing him. "You gonna be okay?"

This was it. This was their only chance to get off New Caprica, and to get away from the Cylons. Kurt thought about everything he'd been told about Blaine on Caprica, how he'd been so terrified but done what he needed to do. Not doing this wouldn't just mean his death, but letting Blaine down somehow as well. Kurt nodded. "I can do this."

His dad smiled. "I know you can. I'll be right there, okay? We'll be doing this together."

"Okay."

Puck looked out the tent. "I see the others. Let's go." He plunged out into the street, his gun in hand. Quinn and then Rachel followed. Kurt squeezed his dad's hand, took a deep breath, and then ran out into the street.

It was loud. He'd known that inside the workshop, but the thick canvas had muffled it a bit, and out in the streets it was different. "Come on!" Lauren yelled. Kurt spotted her with Coach Beiste, Sue, and Carole, all of them holding guns. Big guns, like the one Puck was carrying, and Sue had apparently somehow scored a huge tube that Kurt was pretty sure could take down an entire ship. He began to run, hissing as each impact against the ground hurt his foot.

There was no need to ask which way to go- the people were running in one direction. All of them running. Unbidden, the words run fast for your mother, run fast for your father, run for your children, for your sisters and your brothers started running through his mind. Leave all your love and your longing behind, you can't carry it with you if you want to survive. So long ago, they'd been standing on a stage singing that because the worst was behind them. He shook his head- this was not the time for memories. Just to run.

Another explosion went off, and Kurt instinctively covered his head with his hands. His dad grabbed his wrists. "Keep running!" he shouted. "Don't stop!"

Kurt knew that it couldn't be long before the Cylons got organized enough to start doing something, and he was right. A shower of bullets came down from one of the watch towers. "Get back!" Sue screamed, pushing Quinn out of the way. Burt pulled Kurt back just in time, and a couple of bullets struck the ground right in front of them, creating a small dust storm. His father yanked him down and they all scrambled for the scant cover behind a tent.

"This won't stop bullets," Rachel said, crouched beside Kurt, practically hyperventilating. "It's just fabric. It won't stop anything."

"Shut up," Lauren said, peering out into the street. She pulled back, took a deep breath, and then leaned back around the corner and fired. Kurt watched her with a little bit of awe. "Come on. We can at least get to the next tent."

They made it two more tents before they were forced to duck out of the main pathway again. This time not everyone was so lucky, and a man about ten paces from them fell with a scream. Kurt watched with horrified eyes as the man lay in the dirt, eyes open, completely still.

Carole crept past Kurt and up towards Lauren. "We're not going to get very far with that watchtower," she shouted.

"We could take it out," Puck suggested. "We've got that mortar Sue snagged us."

"And only two rounds," Sue said. "Let's not waste it just yet." She glanced up at the sky, as if she was searching for an answer. All that was up there were raiders, which were now streaking across the sky and shooting down at the people trying to escape.

"We could go back the way we came," Burt suggested. "Try taking the route for the next sector over."

Carole shook her head. "We've got to get the four of you to the shipyard. You're not armed."

"How are you going to get us there if-"

"Look!" Beiste shouted, pointing up. Up against the blue sky, something was falling. It got bigger and bigger, glowing as it burned in the atmosphere.

"Holy frakking shit," Puck said, awe in his voice. "It's the Galactica!"

"Impossible!" Sue said, but she was wrong. Now that Puck had said it, they could all see that it was the battlestar, plunging towards the ground. The noise and the wind were incredible. The Galactica was blocking out the sun now, and was well into the atmosphere. As they all looked up, small crafts shot from both sides of the ship.

"Vipers!" Puck shouted excitedly, and let out a primal scream, lifting his gun in salute.

The Vipers soared away, and then they were all knocked flat by a burst of air as the Galactica jumped away, presumably out of the atmosphere. Kurt lay flat in the dust, stunned. And when he looked up, the Vipers were engaging the raiders, and even better, one started firing on the watchtower that had been making it impossible for them to run. The top of the tower exploded in a fiery burst of flame, and Kurt couldn't help the shout that escaped him at the sight.

The Galactica had come back for them. The Fleet had come back for them. All of a sudden, escape seemed real and possible. Kurt got to his feet and managed to get a few paces before someone grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. Just in time, too, because a Raider streaked over them, firing down at the street that Kurt had nearly run into.

"They're starting to get away!" Rachel said. Kurt looked in the direction she was pointing, and sure enough, one of the ships was already rising, ready to take off. As much as the sight was exciting, it scared him, too. What if they didn't make it to the shipyard before all the ships took off? He couldn't bear to be left here on New Caprica with the Cylons. He was pretty sure he'd rather be dead than have that happen.

The raider above them passed, and they all started to run again. It was terrifying, with all the shooting around them and the screams and the sounds of ships right above them and ships taking off over in the shipyard. Kurt could barely breathe. His adrenaline was so high that his hands and feet seemed inconsequential, and right now all that mattered was not getting shot.

"Get down!" Lauren shouted, and the raider came back for another pass.

"Frak!" Shannon said when the raider had passed. "It's really dogging this row, isn't it?"

"We're not going to get out of here unless we take it out," Sue agreed. "Porcelain, Q, Cueball, and Screech- get ready to run. Grandma Moses, you're our best shot. Mohawk, Tubs, and Tubs Junior, you cover us."

"Our names might be less confusing," Carole said dryly, but she took the mortar that Sue extended. "I've never shot one of these before."

"Be ready for one hell of a recoil," Sue said. The two of them dashed out into the open, and Carole knelt down awkwardly, aiming the mortar. Sue put her hands on both of Carole's shoulders, bracing her. Puck, Lauren, and Coach Beiste were still firing at something, although Kurt couldn't see at exactly what. Carole's face was pale and determined, and as the raider swooped down, she held her ground. Kurt held his breath, watching through his fingers, desperately hoping his stepmother's brains wouldn't end up splattered across the ground. Carole's eyes narrowed, she braced, and then she fired. The recoil sent her sprawling back into Sue, who was like a wall behind her. Sue held onto Carole's shoulders as they both watched the progress of the bomb. It tore off a wing and the raider spiraled out of control, crashing in a blaze several hundred feet away. Sue yelled and punched the air, and Carole closed her eyes gratefully.

"Come on!" Burt ordered, pushing Rachel, then Quinn, then Kurt. "Let's run!"

"I can't." Puck was gaping at Carole and Sue. "I am way too turned on to run right now."

"Oh, for the love of-" Lauren caught Puck's wrist and yanked him along.

The settlement was emptying out fast, and already, running was becoming easier. But the problem was all too obvious. More and more ships were getting off the ground as people boarded, and more and more were jumping away. "We're not going to make it," Rachel said.

Kurt glanced over his shoulder. "Colonial One is still here. Maybe we should run for there."

"We'll have to get through Cylons," Coach Beiste said, shaking her head. "Better to try to stay on course and make it to the shipyards."

There were a lot of bodies on the ground. Kurt shuddered as he noticed them, and then trained his eyes on the shipyards. How many ships were left? Not that many, probably. What if-

Before he could finish the thought, a Raptor landed not more than twenty yards away. Kurt wondered why, but there was no time for answers. Centurions were behind them, shooting.

"RUN!" Sue roared at them, and then turned around and began firing back. Kurt hazarded a glance over his shoulder, and began to run even faster. The Raptor hatch opened up, and the pilot leaned out, hand extended. It took Kurt a second to realize that he knew that face.

"FINN!" Rachel shrieked, and she ran faster than Kurt had ever seen her run. Finn pulled her up, and Rachel was on. Then Quinn, and then Finn's hand closed around Kurt's. The contact made him remember just how badly his hands hurt, but Finn's smile made the pain not matter at all. Burt climbed on after, and Beiste was just getting on when they heard the scream. Kurt spun just in time to see Carole fall to the ground.

"Mom!" Finn started to jump out of the Raptor. Shannon caught him.

"Let the others get her," she said. "If you need to be doing anything to get us off this rock, do it!"

Burt was already jumping down out of the Raptor. Kurt wanted to join him, but he had the feeling he'd be worse than useless. Sue was on one side of her and Puck on the other, and Lauren was still shooting back at the Cylons. Puck heaved Carole on. "Gods, man, you always show up at just the right time," he told Finn.

"Kurt!" Finn said, startling him out of his worry. "There's a list of instructions on the ECO station there. Buttons to push. Can you do it?"

"I can try." Kurt sat down at the chair. The ECO station in the back of the Raptor was confusing- far more so than any computer keyboard that Kurt had ever come across. He started locating buttons.

"Clear some space," Sue ordered, helping Carole lay down. Carole was groaning and swearing, clutching at her shoulder. Quinn shoved Sue away, knelt down and began tearing at Carole's clothes. Burt was holding Carole's hand, his face white. Kurt found himself watching in horror.

"Kurt!" Finn shouted. "I need that launch sequence going."

"Sorry." Kurt went back to the instructions. He heard Puck getting on, and then Lauren, and then the hatch door began to close. All of them had made it.

"Where are the others?" Finn asked.

"They were in a different sector," Rachel said. "Hopefully they made it to one of the other ships."

"We're gonna have to hope," Sue said. "I don't think this Raptor can take many more of us. Get us out of here, Lurch."

Kurt pressed the last button and the Raptor began to lift off. If he leaned just right, Kurt could see out the front window. Below them, fires were burning and dust and ash was flying everywhere, and the settlement was already looking largely deserted. But everywhere you looked you could see bodies. So many bodies. Kurt wondered how many people they were leaving behind, and hoped that the only member of New Directions left on New Caprica was Brittany. As they rose into the air, it occurred to him that he'd never seen her grave. But then they jumped, and the thought was pushed from his head because there in front of him were stars. They were off New Caprica and into space.

"Holy frak," Puck said, flopping back against the wall, his gun balanced on his knees. "No. Seriously. Holy frak."

"Two more jumps to the rendezvous point," Finn said. "Quinn? How's Mom?"

"Not too bad," Quinn said, and there was an audible release of breath in the Raptor. "They hit her shoulder."

"There's a med kit in the cabinet above Kurt," Finn offered. Lauren popped the cabinet open and tossed Quinn the kit. Quinn rifled through it, and then smiled grimly as she pulled out a small tube.

"Blood stopper," she told Carole. "This is going to hurt."

"I had Finn as an unmedicated birth," Carole told her. "Bring it on." Quinn poured the powder on Carole's shoulder, and Carole let out a muted scream, squeezing Burt's hand so tightly it turned red, but then she relaxed, panting heavily. Quiet swept over the Raptor, all the more striking for the noise of battle that had directly preceded it.

"Jumping in three, two, one…." They jumped. Kurt had to close his eyes, because it had been over a year since he'd had the sensation of jumping, and never in a craft this small. But when he opened his eyes, it was still calm, and still quiet.

His dad touched his knee. "You okay there, buddy?"

Kurt nodded. "I'm all right." He managed to smile, and his dad smiled back at him. It still hadn't hit that they were safe.

"One more jump," Finn said. "We're almost there, if everybody can just hang on…." They jumped, and then there before them was the Fleet.

"Look!" Rachel cried out. "The Cybele!"

"Whoa. Looks like the Galactica took some hits," Puck said. He leaned forward and looked around. "Where's the Pegasus?"

"Destroyed," Finn said shortly.

Kurt's stomach turned over. "Santana?"

"Oh, no. She's all right. At least, I think she is. From what I've picked up over the squawk box, they abandoned the Pegasus and sent it ramming into a couple of basestars." Finn was already off the subject, playing with the communicator. "Galactica, this is Raptor 812. Come in, this is Raptor 812."

The communicator finally crackled to life. "Raptor 812, this is Galactica." Kurt's breath caught in his throat.

"Mercedes," Finn said, grinning. "You all right?"

"Still at my station. How about you guys?"

"Most of us are fine," Finn said, "but Mom's here, and she's been shot through the shoulder. How far down the landing queue are we?"

"Pretty far down. Is she critical?"

"I don't think so."

"I'm not sure I can move you up much," Mercedes said. She sounded regretful.

"Mercedes, come on. It's Mom," Finn begged.

"I know. But we've got a lot of injured people, Finn."

Quinn gestured something, and Finn nodded. "Quinn says-"

"Wait. Quinn's on board with you?"

Finn looked confused. "Uh, yeah. But can't reunions wait until-"

"If you've got Quinn, that's your golden ticket. Congratulations, Twinkletoes, you just moved up to second in the landing queue." They could hear Mercedes' grin in her voice. "Tell Quinn to get her skinny ass to the infirmary as soon as she lands. And if she happens to take anyone on that Raptor with her, that's her business."

"Thanks, Mercedes." Finn was clearly relieved. He looked back at them. "Hold on, Mom. We'll get you to the sickbay."

They approached the Galactica, and Kurt found that he couldn't swallow, but in a good way. They'd done it. They'd really done it. They were off New Caprica, they were here in the Fleet, they were safe. The relief was so great he nearly fainted dead away on the spot.

Finally, Finn guided the Raptor into the landing bay. "You'd better go with her to the infirmary," Burt told Kurt as Finn turned off the engines. "You need to be looked at, too."

"I'm not going to be critical," Kurt said, although Quinn's expression told him he'd be higher in the triage line than he liked. "Besides, aren't you coming with us?"

Burt shook his head. "There's something I've got to do. No one's gonna want to do it, but it really should be me."

"Okay…." Kurt had no idea what he meant, but there was no arguing with his father.

Burt stood up and kissed Kurt's forehead. From the way he winced, Kurt could tell he must still have a fever. Doubtless he'd feel it once he was in the infirmary and the thrill of the rescue drained away. "Take care of her, will you? I'll be there as soon as I can be."

The Raptor's hatch opened, and Puck picked up Carole. "Can we get a gurney over here?" he shouted, and people were over quickly. Kurt slid out, and Puck clapped him on the shoulder. "You okay?"

"I am," Kurt said, looking around the crowded bay. "It's hard to believe, but I am."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. Listen, I've got to report in, but when I can, I'll get down to sick bay to check on you guys, okay?" Puck glanced at Burt. "And I'll keep an eye on your dad."

"Thanks." Relieved, Kurt slid out of the Raptor. When his feet touched the floor he nearly burst into tears, not from pain, but from the reality hitting him all over again. They were off New Caprica. Doral, the Cylons, the detention center… it was all behind them now. They were here, they were safe, and it was over. Someone loaded Carole onto a gurney, and Kurt squirmed in to a place beside her so he could take her hand. Burt and Finn still had jobs to do from the looks of it, but he and Carole were done.

"Come on," he said to his stepmother. "Let's go get us fixed up."

Carole was pale and sweating, but she smiled at him and reached up to touch his cheek with her good hand. "We're going to be fine," she told him. Kurt covered her hand with his, and together, they headed towards the infirmary.

***

Burt walked through the landing bay, searching. There were people all around him, and they were happy. Relieved. The burden had laid down, they'd been saved, and everything was over. The Admiral had been carried off by a cheering crowd, people were starting to get home to their ships. But here and there, you could see pockets of something more. People who'd lost loved ones in the escape. People who New Caprica had scarred too deeply for them to be happy. People who hadn't yet processed that they were safe, and stared around with disbelief. Burt wondered where he should go, and then finally glimpsed a pilot. He grabbed the man by the arm. "I'm looking for Santana Lopez."

The pilot looked confused. "Who?"

"Lieutenant Santana Lopez."

The man's brow furrowed, and then his eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh! Squeezebox! Yeah, I saw her over on the port side. Come on." The pilot led Burt through the crowd, threading through people deftly. "So, are you her dad or something?"

The question made Burt cringe. "Something like that, but not really."

The pilot didn't seem to care about the subtleties of Burt's answer. Instead, he kept leading Burt through the crowd, and then suddenly was up on his toes, waving. "Yo! Squeezebox! Over here!"

Santana's hair was a wild, sweaty mess from her flight helmet, she was wearing a flight suit, and when she saw them, her smile was sincere and open- an expression Burt still wasn't used to on her face. "What's going on, Hot Dog?" she asked, and then her eyes widened as she caught sight of Burt. "Mr. H!" She shoved Hot Dog aside and hugged Burt so tightly she was afraid he was going to cut off his air supply. "You made it!" She let him go, and her smile was positively radiant. "What about everybody else?"

"Kurt, Rachel, Quinn, Puck, and Lauren are all on the Galctica, along with some of the adults," Burt said. "Haven't seen Sam, Tina, Mike, or Schuester."

Santana frowned. "Sam? No Rya?"

"Haven't seen her either." That couldn't have been the only omission that Santana noticed. She was a sharp kid, and she probably had her ears honed for any mention of Brittany. Her eyes darted around and he could see her starting to wonder, so he reached up and slowly took off his hat. Recognition dawned in her eyes.

"No." Santana said it firmly, although she took a step back.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm real sorry."

"No. No." Santana shook her head.

"She died a week before the rescue," Burt said, not knowing if it would comfort her that Brittany lived so long or tear her heart apart that it had been so close. "A bomb went off and killed her. I tried to catch her-" Burt cut that line of thought off. He'd lost a wife before- he knew that right now, Santana didn't need anyone else's grief. "I'm sorry, Santana."

"You're sorry?" Santana stared at him. Tears were already welling in her eyes. "You're sorry? Brittany's dead and the most you can say is you're sorry?"

"I'm sorry," Burt repeated, because yeah, it was the most he could say. He couldn't say he was joking or he was wrong or there was a chance Brittany would be back.

Santana struck him. It wasn't a hard blow to the face, but one to the chest. She hit him again and again, her blows increasing in frequency and slightly decreasing in strength. "You're lying!" she shouted, and people started staring. "She's not dead! She can't be!" She shouted something in Tauron, something that Burt didn't understand but her expression made clear enough. He stood there, because there was nothing else he could do, especially as she pushed him away and started crying.

"Hey! What's going on?" A good-looking pilot pushed his way through and wrapped an arm around Santana. She shoved him, but not as hard as she was capable of, and Burt realized that this must be one of her friends.

"Her girlfriend died on New Caprica," Hot Dog said when Santana didn't answer. Burt glared at him, but Hot Dog shrugged. "Narcho asked."

Narcho's didn't seem annoyed- in fact, the way he gentled made Burt think that this guy knew just how serious this really was and just how much Brittany had meant to Santana. "Come on," he said, his arm around her shoulder firming up. He looked at Burt. "I'll take it from here."

"I should-" he cut himself off. Santana was actually going with Narcho, leaning on him as she cried.

"It's okay," Hot Dog said, patting Burt's shoulder awkwardly. "They're tight. He'll take care of her. She'll probably be three sheets to the wind in about an hour, but nothing wrong with that."

"Right."

"Look," Hot Dog said, running his hand through his sweaty hair, "I hate to say this, but the deck's really crowded, and we're trying to get people settled. What ship are you trying to get to? Do you have someplace to go?"

That snapped Burt out of it and back to other things. "Not yet. They took my wife and son down to the infirmary. I should get down there."

"Yeah." Obviously relieved that there was some way he could help, Hot Dog gave Burt directions. With nothing else to do and Santana completely gone from sight, Burt started making his way through the crowd.

He didn't look at faces. Because the worst thing- the absolute worst thing was that even as he walked away from Santana and telling her about Brittany, he was starting to feel that load off his shoulders. Brittany's death haunted him, but the darkness of that couldn't drive away the fact that Kurt was safe, Carole was only hurt, and Finn was alive and whole. He wasn't sure about the rest of New Directions, but by some miracle, he still had his family. He didn't want to feel joy about that, but it was there, creeping through the cracks and threatening to break free. His pace picked up despite himself, and he hurried to the infirmary. He'd find out later if the rest of New Directions made it up, but right now, he had to see to his family.

***

"I've got a treat for you," Quinn said with a mischievous smile.

"Should I be afraid?" Kurt asked warily. "You couldn't even get me a bed." He had spent the night sleeping across three chairs, an IV of lactate and antibiotic cocktail plugged into his arm. On the bright side, the fact he didn't warrant a bed meant that he wasn't hurt as badly as others. But his back was killing him.

"This is good," Quinn said. "Come on."

Kurt stood up and followed her, grateful that he'd been spared the indignity of a hospital gown. As they made their way through the infirmary, he saw Carole. She was sitting up in bed, eating her lunch and talking to Burt. "She's going to be okay," Kurt said.

Quinn followed his gaze and smiled. "Yes. She was lucky, you know. It was a clean shot through the shoulder. She's actually being discharged today with you."

"Really?"

Quinn shrugged. "We need the beds. They'll keep an eye on her." She brightened. "I have more good news. Mercedes came down late last night while you were asleep." Kurt looked at her inquiringly, and Quinn's smile widened. "Artie contacted her. The others are all over on the Cybele."

That was good news. "Everybody?" Kurt asked incredulously. "We all made it off?"

"Almost." At first Kurt was kicking himself because Brittany, but Quinn shook her head. "No one's found Rya yet. She might be on one of the other ships still, but…."

"Oh." Kurt was silent. Quinn led him to a room marked "Rehab" and opened the door. "This is my treat?" he said, curiosity overcoming concern. "Rehab?"

"Most people aren't exactly ready for rehab quite yet, which means you have the room to yourself," Quinn said primly. She nudged him over to a big metal tub, the kind they used in the locker rooms for athletes. When Kurt looked in, he could see that there were jets going, and he could feel the warmth coming up from the water inside. Quinn looked as pleased as a cat who'd just finished a big bowl of cream. "I thought you might like a hot bath."

Kurt squealed and hugged her. "You're kidding, right?" Quinn shook her head, still laughing. "No, you're not. Oh, thank you, Quinn. If there is one thing in this world I could possibly want right now…" He began shucking off his clothes, ignoring Quinn's presence, and then regarded the high sides of the narrow tub with confusion. "How do I get into this thing?"

"Here." Quinn helped him up the stool, and helped him keep his balance as he climbed in. Just as well, because when his bad toes hit the water, he couldn't stop himself from yelping with pain. But with a lot of careful maneuvering and determination he was able to wait until the pain stopped, and then he sank into the tub. The water came up to the middle of his chest, and Kurt hadn't realized just how cold he still was until the warm water began to drive the bone-deep chill away.

"Just keep your bad hand out of the water, all right?" Quinn said. She inspected it. "You're lucky, you know. There was a moment when they were talking about amputating a few of the fingers." Kurt shuddered. "I'll be back for you in a half hour or so. I really need to go work."

"That's fine," Kurt murmured. He'd found a way to lean comfortably against the metal walls, and the warm bubbling water felt like heaven. He was only vaguely aware when Quinn left.

It felt so good to be warm again. Kurt's muscles began to relax, and the steam that rose up from the roiling water was opening his pores and making him sweat. It felt purifying, like he could cleanse the past few months and especially the past few weeks right out of him. He kept his mind on the warmth and off anything else.

The door opened. "Is it time already?" Kurt asked, not bothering to open his eyes. It couldn't be, could it?

"Don't fall asleep in there." The voice was not Quinn's, but it was one he knew well. Kurt sat up suddenly, sloshing water, to see Tom grinning at him. "If you drown, I'll have to find a new assistant."

"What are you doing here?" Kurt was trying to contain his shock.

"Looking for you." Tom shrugged. He was wearing a suit, right down to a tie, and his hair was neatly combed. There was an unhealed abrasion on his cheek and a few cuts, but other than that, he looked good. He pulled a chair over and sat down beside the tub. "How are you doing?"

"I'm all right."

"Good." Tom smiled, then turned serious. "I heard what you did, you know, on New Caprica."

"Who told you?"

"It's irrelevant. The point is, I'm proud of you." Tom clapped Kurt on the shoulder, ignoring the fact Kurt was naked. Kurt looked down at the water.

"You wanted me to follow you out," he said.

"I did. But it was a high expectation, and in the end, you did not surrender to the Cylons. But that's the past." It was clear from the way Tom spoke that the subject was to be dismissed. "It's time to talk about the future, and what comes next."

"And you're choosing to have this discussion while I'm in the bathtub."

Tom stared at him for a moment, then laughed. Kurt smiled back. The familiar back-and-forth rhythm of their relationship was rusty, but it was still there. Finally, Tom took a deep breath and rubbed his hands against his knees.

"Gaius Baltar never made it off New Caprica. Or, at least, he is not in this Fleet." Kurt hadn't heard that, but he nodded anyway. "As a result, as of right now, I am President of the Colonies."

Kurt's eyes widened. "President."

"Don't get too excited," Tom said with a bitter chuckle. "I've already spoken with Adama, and he's made it quite clear that anyone who stands in the way of Laura Roslin resuming the Presidency will be facing an airlock for their troubles."

"But you didn't have anything to do with the occupation!" Kurt protested. "You were in prison."

"Yes, a situation that I suspect our dear Admiral would like to see repeated."

"But that's ridiculous," Kurt said, the implications settling heavily on him. "I'm sure that-"

"Kurt. It's not time." Something about Tom's voice made Kurt shut up, and fast. He stilled, sinking back down into the water. "It's not time," Tom repeated. "Make no mistake, I still aspire to the Presidency, but right now, if I tried to take it by any means, it would be a disaster. And right now…." He ran a hand over his face. "I'm not sure that I have the energy for the fight."

Kurt had spent two weeks in Cylon detention. Tom had spent four months. Not much more needed to be said. "So what happens now?"

"For three days, I retain the Presidency. But we must have our pretense at legality, so I have submitted Laura Roslin's nomination as my Vice President. The Quorum is deliberating now, or at least, they were when I left. I'm sure it was a short process. Then, three days from now, I will announce that I need to step down from the Presidency. Laura will be sworn in as President of the Colonies."

Just listening to it made Kurt tired as well. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but we could do worse."

"We've done worse."

"We have." Kurt sighed. "So. President for three days, and then…."

"And then, when Laura takes the throne, she will submit my nomination for the Vice Presidency. And that's why I say this is not the time. I will have a much better chance at winning an election as Laura Roslin's Vice President than I ever would as Gaius Baltar's."

Kurt nodded. "So, three days. When do I start?"

"You start three days from now."

"But-"

"Kurt." Tom leaned in and picked up Kurt's infected hand. "Look at yourself. You're not at death's door, but you're fighting infection, fever, and psychological trauma. Take three days to spend with your family and to heal. When I return to the Vice Presidency, you will return to your position. It's what you need, and there's a nice symbolism in it."

Kurt sighed with resignation. "All right."

"Trust me. It's for the best." Tom set Kurt's hand down gently, and then patted his shoulder again. "I expect you to report to Colonial One at seven AM, understand?"

"I'll be there."

"Good." Tom stood up. "Take care, Kurt. I'll see you then."

"You too, Mr. President." Tom started in surprise, and Kurt smiled. "I just wanted to be able to say it once."

"It's nice to hear," Tom admitted. "I'll see you in three days." He left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Kurt sank back into the bath.

Three days wasn't enough, but it was something. Three days he could spend trying to put his head back together, spend with his father, with Finn, with Mercedes… three days where he could readjust to life inside and in the Fleet. He needed it. Three days, and then his life came back to be dealt with again. Kurt closed his eyes and leaned back against the tub. He had no idea how much longer Quinn was going to let him stay in here, but he was going to take advantage of every second.

***

Finn flew Burt, Carole, and Kurt over to the Cybele in his Raptor, smiling and talking the whole time. The only one who answered him much was Mercedes, who was giving up part of her sleep shift to come over for a visit. She had a nasty burn on her cheek and neck from when the comm station had shorted during the rescue, but other than that, she had the same sort of smile that Finn did. The smile that meant that New Caprica was over, and everything was well. Burt wished he could believe that.

Zarek had said something that really bothered him when he'd come to see Kurt. "There's a lot of anger," he told Burt. "And a lot of people looking for vengeance. Not everyone knows what Kurt did on New Caprica yet, but a lot of them know he worked for the Cylons. Keep your son very close to you for the next three days." There was steel in Zarek's voice as he said it, and Burt didn't dare argue. But the idea that people might be looking for Kurt's blood bothered him deeply.

Tyrol had approached him before they left, too. "You could consider enlisting," he'd said. "Frankly, I need all the guys I can get, and you know your way around an engine."

"Not a spacecraft engine," Burt had said. He pushed his hands in his pocket. "Truth is, I don't know how well I'm cut out for military life."

"What are you talking about? You did great on New Caprica. Besides, you'd be on my crew." Galen gestured at the landing bay. "No blowing stuff up."

"I'll think about it," Burt had said, and that had pacified Galen for now. But Burt had the feeling that he was going to give in, but not quite yet. He'd thought about setting his shop up again, but it wasn't going to happen. Not without Brittany.

The Cybele came into view, and Finn landed the Raptor in the tiny docking bay. The bay didn't look much different than it had when they'd left to go down to New Caprica over a year ago. The same was true of the corridors as they made their way up.

Burt had thought that they'd be going to the lounge upstairs, but he supposed he wasn't really all that surprised when Mercedes led them to the yellow door that marked the old New Directions room. He paused for a moment, looking at each handprint in turn, and placing his own hand over Brittany's. Then Mercedes opened the door, and the group was overwhelming. As soon as he walked in, he was attacked. Tina, Mike, Sam, and Schuester were all there with the rest of the kids, and Artie was grinning as well. Even Santana had come over, her legs curled under her as she sat on the empty board that had once served as Brittany's bunk. As they came in, the kids burst into applause for a reason Burt didn't understand. But then, they were all together again, or as together again as they'd ever be. He supposed that was reason enough for celebration.

***

They couldn't all stay in the same room for too long. It felt too crowded, and besides, New Directions wouldn't be New Directions if they didn't start quarreling right away. When Burt had slipped away, the argument had had something to do with what songs they should sing for the reunion show that Rachel insisted would be happening. Now he found himself in the empty cargo room that had once been his workshop, sitting on the floor and rummaging through a small sack.

The door opened, but the intruder didn't retreat when she saw the room wasn't occupied. Burt looked up. "Hey."

"Hey." Santana stepped in. She looked uncomfortable, and Burt sighed.

"You want me to leave?"

"No." Santana shook her head. "I actually came here because I thought you might be here."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Santana took a deep breath and pulled herself up. "Look. I'm sorry that I freaked out on you when you told me about Brittany."

"Nothing to apologize for."

Santana was obviously trying not to cry as she inclined her head. "I was angry."

"Can't say I blame you. I was angry too."

"I don't want to hear about your first wife."

"I'm not talking about my first wife. I'm talking about Brit." There was plenty of room, but Burt moved over anyway. "Want to sit?"

Santana hesitated, and then shrugged and sat down. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever." She didn't sit close enough to touch Burt, but she did sit close enough to look at the pictures he'd spread out on the floor. She leaned forward and picked up one of her and the girls celebrating her promotion to lieutenant, and a small smile played on her lips.

"Did I tell you I made it past junior lieutenant?" she said. "I'm a regular old lieutenant now."

"Congratulations."

Santana's eyes were still on the picture, and her smile was fond and teary. "I wish I could tell her stuff like that, you know? She never cared much about the military, but I would have liked to tell her anyway." She sniffled and wiped her nose on her hand. Burt fished through the sack and came up with a rag, and Santana took it. "She always listened," Santana said. "No matter what. If I had something to say, she listened."

Burt nodded. "She loved you," was the most he could think of to say. "I mean, I know you know that," he added hastily. "In fact, I think anyone who ever heard her talk about you would know that. Brittany didn't hide her feelings much."

"Not the good ones, anyway," Santana said. She picked up another picture, one of Brittany and Mike together, both of them smiling. "She was excited about the baby, you know."

"I know." Burt fished through and found one of the pictures taken on New Caprica, with Brittany holding baby Blaine. "Did you see this one?"

They sat on for close to an hour, talking about Brittany and sharing the pictures. Burt hadn't expected to find this kind of peace coming in here, and he wasn't sure if Santana had, either. But in the end it felt like their own private funeral for the girl who'd died, and unlike the actual funeral, this one comforted Burt and made him feel like Brittany would always be remembered, and some part of her would always go on.

"You said you tried to stop her from dying," Santana said after they'd gone through all the pictures. "What did you mean?"

Burt sighed. "At the end there, they- we- were using suicide bombers. Seemed to be the only thing that could set the Cylons back on their heels. Brittany was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all. I saw the bomber and I tried to get her out of there."

Santana pressed her lips together and nodded. In reality, if the counts Burt was hearing were to be believed, they were lucky. Over two thousand people had died on New Caprica, during the occupation, and during the exodus. Two thousand people, and New Directions had only lost Brittany- Brittany and Rya, he amended. The way Santana hugged her knees to her and buried her face in them, he thought she might be thinking the same thing. Couldn't complain, because it was only one person. Just… the one person she couldn't bear to lose.

Brittany and Rya. Burt hadn't thought of it so much when he was sitting in his old workshop with Santana, but it really occurred to him afterwards, when slid into bed beside Carole late that night. He was about to comment on not having their own room anymore when Carole spoke first. "Did you talk to Sam at all tonight?"

"Sam? No, I spent most of it with Santana. What's going on with Sam?" Carole didn't answer right away, and Burt propped himself up on one elbow. "Carole? What's going on?"

"It's Rya. She's definitely not on any of the manifests that have been released so far."

A chill passed through Burt. "You think she could be somewhere in the Fleet still?"

Carole shook her head. "There was a whole group of people that they broke out of the prison. Most of them got onto the Astral Queen. None of them remember seeing Rya."

"Frak." Burt fell back down onto the pillow. "How's Sam?"

"How do you think?" Carole was sympathetic. "It's going to be hard on him, Burt."

Burt sighed. "I know. Does he want a funeral?"

"Not yet. He's still hoping." Carole laid down and snuggled against Burt's shoulder. "Everyone thinks New Caprica is over, don't they?"

"I think so."

"It's not. Not for some people."

Burt glanced over at Carole. He could see her profile in the dim light that snuck in through the cracks in the privacy curtains. "I know. It's not over for any of us."

They lay silently in the dark together, the legacy of New Caprica hanging over their heads until sleep took them both.

***

Kurt had been back at work for two days when he got the summons to appear at the President's office. He obeyed, of course, but he was confused, especially when he stood in front of Roslin's desk and saw her tight smile.

"You're Kurt Hummel." Laura Roslin gestured graciously to the seat in front of her desk. "Please. Have a seat."

"Thank you." Kurt sat quickly, smoothing his sweater down nervously. President Roslin was watching him curiously, and it made him nervous, especially when she didn't speak. "I'm sorry, ma'am," Kurt said, when the silence became too much. "I have no idea what you want with me. Did I do something wrong?"

President Roslin smiled at him. "You worked for the administration during the occupation," she said deliberately. "And from what I understand, you worked for the Resistance as well."

"Yes…."

"That puts you in a unique position." President Roslin folded her hands on her desk. "A position where I suspect you can appreciate that not everyone responds to adversity in the way that they might initially envision."

"I guess so." Kurt was still lost. He was pretty sure Roslin knew it, too, especially as she sat back, regarding him with a measuring glance.

"I'm sure that you've heard that in addition to granting full pardon to all collaborators, I've called for the formation of a Committee on Truth and Reconciliation, in order to record the stories of New Caprica for posterity."

"Yes." He remembered hearing that speech. He'd breathed a little easier that night. "And you want me to tell my story?"

"Yes, but more importantly, I want you to be on that Committee. To serve as a witness to what our people endured on New Caprica."

It wasn't really a request, but Kurt didn't mind. He nodded. "I'd be honored."

"Good." President Roslin smiled. "I've already discussed it with the Vice President. The first meeting is tomorrow, down in conference room C. Good luck, Mr. Hummel, and I look forward to reading your reports."

***

Two weeks later, Kurt's pen lay on his pad, note-taking forgotten. He sat on the hard metal chair in the conference room on Galactica, staring open-mouthed at the man sitting in the center of the room.

"When did you decide to turn information over to the Resistance?" The questioner was a woman in her thirties who had to keep adjusting glasses that were no longer her prescription. The person she was questioning was Felix Gaeta, sitting in front of the Committee on Truth and Resolution, wearing duty blues and telling his story.

"It's why I stayed in my job." Gaeta was sitting perfectly straight, on the edge of his seat, his hands folded neatly between his knees. Despite the textbook posture, he looked like he wanted to bolt. Kurt didn't blame him. Gaeta cleared his throat. "As soon as Gaiu- as President Baltar surrendered to the Cylons, I knew that we would need every advantage we could get.

"When did you start giving the Resistance information?" The military representative on the Committee was a man named Lieutenant Hoshi, and he spoke with an even gentleness that was in direct contrast with his uniform.

"It took several months," Gaeta admitted, focusing on Hoshi. It was clear there was a friendship there. "It took a long time to gain the Cylons' trust and access to the kind of information I needed. I had to…" he swallowed, and then looked directly at Kurt, as if Kurt was some sort of lifeline, "I had to do things that… that I didn't want to do. I had to collaborate. It was the only way."

The story continued to come out. How he'd worked to fit into the Cylon administration, and how he'd begun to steal information. How a priest had helped him set up a dead drop, but that priest died in the evacuation, and Gaeta had had no idea who he was communicating with. All the information he'd gotten, from names of people who were detained to the NCP graduation security plans to the jamming frequencies that allowed the Resistance to make contact with the Galactica. And only alluded to, how some people on Galactica had believed he was a traitor so thoroughly there'd already been an attempt on his life.

About halfway through the story, Kurt gave up even trying to write, and it took all of his energy not to bury his face in his hands. He felt Gaeta's eyes on him as he talked, and all he could imagine was every last terrible thing he'd ever thought about Gaeta. When the story ended, he sat in his chair, completely wrecked. He couldn't even look at the man in front of him.

The session ended, and one by one most of the committee filed out, until only Gaeta, Kurt, and Hoshi were left in the room. Gaeta looked at Hoshi.

"Would you mind giving us a moment, Louis?"

Hoshi didn't look happy about it, but he nodded and gathered up his own things. Kurt sat on in his chair, staring at Gaeta. But when the door closed behind Hoshi, Gaeta didn't speak.

"So all that time," Kurt finally said, "you were a spy."

Gaeta nodded.

"And when you told me you had no idea what I was messing up-"

Gaeta sighed. "I knew what you were trying to do," he said. "I know you don't believe it, but I respected you for it. But yes- having the Cylons know someone was trying to gain information did have a way of making them raise their guard."

"And then you told them not to question me."

"I'm sorry," Gaeta said suddenly. "About getting you put into detention. It was that or let them shoot you."

Kurt nodded. "I know." Because now, here in the safe, sterile conference room light years from New Caprica, it was burningly clear. "You saved my life. Twice, at least."

Gaeta looked away. "I know detention was hard-"

"It was. I hated you." Kurt felt like he owed Gaeta that honesty. "But standing where I am today… thank you. I mean it."

Gaeta nodded stiffly. Not with hate, Kurt realized, but because he didn't know how to react. Kurt wished he could say so much more, but he had no idea where to even begin, or really, what else even needed to be said. He found himself standing up.

"Well," he began, as awkward as Gaeta had been. He extended his hand. "Thank you."

Gaeta took his hand with deliberate gentleness. "You're welcome." They didn't drop hands, but stood facing each other awkwardly. Kurt wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next. Gaeta didn't seem like the kind of person you hugged, and more than that, there was a lot of history between them that had nothing to do with the Cylons. A lot of history that seemed petty and insignificant now.

"I should go," Kurt said.

"I should, too."

Neither of them moved.

Kurt didn't know what prompted it- maybe it was a slight change in Gaeta's expression, maybe it was something in his own mind, but he found himself closing the distance between them and hugging Gaeta tightly. At first Gaeta was stiff with surprise, but then his hands came to rest on Kurt's back, and they stood together for a very long time. Kurt was quietly crying when he pulled away.

"You know," Gaeta said, smiling a crooked, sad smile, "you really did make a terrible spy."

"I've heard that before," Kurt said, wiping his eyes on the cuff of his sleeve. "You made an amazing one."

Gaeta closed his eyes. "Thanks," he said quietly.

There wasn't much more to say. Kurt picked up his things, and they walked out together in silence. But the silence between them was comfortable for once, and for the first time, Kurt wondered what might have been if things had gone just a little differently. He walked with Gaeta down to the docking bay.

As soon as they entered, Hoshi came over to Gaeta's side. There was a protective air about him, and even an idiot could see what was happening there. Kurt couldn't help smiling a little, especially as Hoshi put a hand on Gaeta's shoulder. He winked, and Gaeta smiled back.

"You ready to go?" Kurt turned to see Finn smiling at him, suited up and waiting by his Raptor. "Come on," Finn said, putting his own hand on Kurt's shoulder. "It's time for you to go home."

"I know." Kurt glanced back over his shoulder to see Gaeta still watching him, a little smile playing on his own face. Kurt lifted his hand and waved goodbye, and Gaeta waved back. Finn's hand tightened on Kurt's shoulder, and Hoshi put his arm around Gaeta's. Finn was right- Gaeta was back in the uniform, Kurt was back in Tom's office. Despite all the unhealed wounds, they were both back where they belonged. It could only get better from here.