Author's note: The remainder of the drabbles in this story were written in response to lyras's wonderful prompts at the No_Takebacks community. Many thanks for her inspiration! This one provides a missing scene from Daybreak Part Two, set just before the mission to rescue Hera gets underway.
Request
The hangar bay was dark and crowded. With only two hours to go before the impossible rescue began, pilots and marines were jumbled loosely into their deployment groups. Some slept in corners, limp and open-mouthed. Others were fiddling with equipment, writing letters, marking time to keep themselves from thinking. More than a few had vanished into bunk rooms and supply closets.
Kara circled the deck twice before she found him. His feet were jutting from under the wing of a Raptor and she could hear a low hiss over the scrape of metal; it sounded like he was fiddling with one of the exterior air pumps. She lowered herself to the concrete and maneuvered in beside him.
"Hey," he greeted, quirking an eyebrow.
"Hey," she answered, studying the panel he'd opened up above them. "Break your ship again?"
His defiant little "shut up" made her feel better about life. He set down his wrench and started making more delicate adjustments. "It's not broken, but the last pilots reported a bit of a starboard list during take-off and landing." He shrugged. "Might as well fix it."
She nodded and opened the lower panel. They kept their hands occupied, lying side by side, staring upward in comfortable silence.
"Blue squadron work out that stupid formation problem?" she asked.
"Yeah. I sicced Tigh on them."
She grinned. "That's cruel and unusual, Mr. Vice President."
"It's a vicious job," he said complacently.
"Did you catch up with Helo about the..."
"...countermeasures, yeah." He reached absently to one side and she slipped an insulated glove onto his hand, keeping its mate for herself. They started carefully untangling dormant wires.
"If I hadn't left, where do you think we'd be by now?"
Her question was casual, dropping cleanly into the space between them. Their fingers kept threading through the tiny gears overhead, working by touch. She didn't specify which departure she meant. It wouldn't change the answer.
"Together," he said, blinking as a drop of oil hit his forehead.
"Married?"
"Don't know." He reached for the nub of the hose, jiggling it to prevent further leaks. The corner of his mouth curled softly. "Maybe."
She huffed, sounding obscurely pleased. "Divorced, more likely."
"That's what you think."
She turned her head to look at him, cheek cold against the deck. "Ask me for something." Her eyes were warm and wide. "Whatever you want. A last request." He frowned, setting down his tools and angling slightly to face her. "Make it good," she ordered, shaking just a bit.
His eyes moved over her hands, her face; her skin gleamed blue and livid under their pool of florescent light.
They stilled and stared at each other.
"Live," he finally said. "Please, just live. No matter what."
Her eyes fluttered and her mouth drew tight.
She twined her hand in his, but didn't promise.