See Chapter One for notes and disclaimers.
Around 0400, a Heavy Raider patrol jumps back to the Fleet with the news. They've done the impossible; they've found the needle in the godsdamn haystack.
Lee was jolted from sleep by Gaeta's voice blaring through the speakers—gods, did the man never sleep?—Action stations, action stations! Set Condition One throughout the Fleet. Repeat—
Lee is in uniform and running to CIC before the announcement finishes. Later, he will wonder why he didn't realize then that Kara wasn't with him. Later, he will wonder many things.
When Kara was very little, she told her mother, once, that she was afraid of puddles. It was a stupid thing to fear, she knew, and her mother didn't hesitate to tell her. But after the rain, when she walked down the street and saw the smooth planes of water on the pavement—well, then it was hard to remember how stupid it was.
There was a thought, barely formed and beyond words, when she looked into the water and saw her own reflection staring back at her. A thought that when she looked away a part of herself—the part that was looking back at her—would cease to be.
Now, Kara knows the truth, or something like it; she knows that she's not the little girl peering into the water, but the one looking back. And just like when she was a child, she fears that when Lee looks away, she'll vanish.
He's not looking away, and she loves him for that, she really does, but she hates this, hates this stupid frakking destiny and this stupid frakking dependent shit. She's Kara Thrace, or something like it, and there's one thing she knows better than herself.
Lee takes the right-hand causeway to CIC. Kara watches his retreating form. Then she turns left.
His father is reigning in CIC when Lee arrives, alone.
"Admiral," Lee says, "what's our status?"
"Raider 174 reported back," he says. "We can't waste this opportunity. The mission is happening RFN."
Lee knows the plan, knows that Colonel Tigh and a select team of crewmembers are aboard the rebel baseship right now. And from one look at DRADIS, he can see that they're spooling up their jump drives. The civilian ships have already retreated to the rendezvous point.
It's out of their control now. A lot of things have to go just right in the first stage of the attack. Dee has spent the last week or so working with a Two who calls himself Adam on a data link between the baseship and Galactica. They can't manage comms over this distance, but with the Cylon's help they've got a link so that Dee can read regular reports of their progress.
They've made contact, she reports. Cavil's taking the bait. Boomer's piloting the Raider with the extraction team. They're all Cylons, of course, so that Cavil won't suspect this is anything but a cease-fire negotation. Athena is there, however, posing as another Eight. Trust, it seems, will only go so far, and Lieutenant Agathon will be Galactica's eyes and ears.
There's a moment when Dee catches his gaze, and Lee notices she's not wearing her ring. She nods just once, and he knows what it means. After all, his fingers are bare too. Then the moment passes and he turns back to the tac table.
For a while, it looks like the battle might go according to plan. Athena reports that they've got Ellen Tigh, and they're heading back to the Raider to get out of there. While Cavil's distracted, the rebel basestar's Raiders cut the cords, setting loose the Vipers that had been drifting, hidden behind the Cylon ships. Then they're up and they're moving into formation to target the baseships' FTL drives while the rebel ship turns its guns on the Hub.
It doesn't take Cavil long, however, to recover from the initial shock and soon enough the tide is turning in his favor; he does have seven basestars to their one. The clock is ticking away, and—
"Jump," says the Admiral, taking the Galactica and her fighter squadrons right into the heart of the fray.
Of course, that's when everything turns to shit.
The hangar deck is chaos, but then again it always is, and Kara finds comfort in the familiarity. It's useful too, since in the chaos none of the deckhands look too hard at her face behind the helmet, or the nameplate on the side of her Viper. They don't even need to speak as she hauls ass into her cockpit and slides the canopy shut; they just push the Viper into place. Then she's there in the tube, launching, g-forces pressing into her skin, battle pounding through her veins, and the whole of the cosmos spinning before her.
Starbuck throws herself into the fight. She has no wingman, but that's no deterrent. These pilots may not even know she's there, but the Raiders are damn well about to find out.
Later, Lee will hear the story of how a series of miscommunications allowed Boomer to walk right out of the long-term daycare with little Hera Agathon, and how she drugged the child and smuggled her aboard the Raider she flew to Cavil's basestar. How Athena didn't even notice until it was too late.
He'll hear how Cavil threatened to kill the hybrid child if they did not surrender. How the normally unflappable Helo lost it in the rebels' command center, and how the battle swayed further in Cavil's favor.
He'll hear how Colonel Tigh got on the line with the Cylon and announced that he was one of the precious Final Five, and he'd shoot himself and the other three right then if Cavil didn't give up the girl.
Lee will hear how Cavil hesitated, and in that fateful second his steadfast supporter Boomer would put a bullet in his brain, and then, before Athena could reach for her service weapon, would eat the end of her gun for the second—and final—time in her life.
Lee will come to understand the entire bizarre sequence of events later, but for now he ignores the dizzying rush of information from the data link in favor of survival.
His father nearly collapses when the news about Tigh comes, and then the President, having insisted that she be present for this historic fight, does collapse.
The old man stumbles to her side when the entire ship shudders with the force of a blast. "You have the con!" he shouts.
"I have the con," Lee says, and he does. His fingers grip the cold rail in front of him and he barely keeps his feet through another hit.
Then it's a haze of frenzied action and barked orders—turn the ship, protect the jump drives, aim the gun batteries, and launch everything they've got at the Hub. Stay alive until the mission is complete and their people are back on board. Just stay alive.
When the Hub finally blows in a series of explosions that rip through the structure from end to end and balloon outward across her vision, Kara screams long and loud as she pulls her ship away, away from the debris from the dying ship. And she doesn't care if anyone is listening, gods or pilots or Cylons, because she's Starbuck and she knows her place in the universe.
She screams until she's gasping for breath, and then she's laughing, laughing as she arcs and rolls between and around other fighters, finger on the trigger watching Raider after Raider explode in bursts of blue and red and yellow. She's laughing and she's breathing and she's still flying.
They won't last much longer. The plan was nigh impossible from the start, with the Cylons heavily outnumbering them. Still, they've accomplished their goal: the Hub is history, and the Vipers have successfully taken out the FTL drives of the remaining basestars. Even if any of Cavil's forces make it through the next few minutes, they'll be stuck here, limping through space to whatever end they can find.
"Extraction team is back aboard the rebel basestar, sir," Dee's voice rings through the din.
"All Vipers back to the barn!" Lee shouts, even as Dee begins calling them home. "Combat landings, now."
"Sir, we've taken damage to our primary engines," an unknown ensign reports. "We're barely able to maneuver, and batteries are skosh ammo!"
"FTL?"
There's a pause, as the ensign calls down to the snipes. "Still functional, sir!"
"Begin jump prep," Lee says.
"All Vipers back on board, sir," Dee says. "Ready to go, Major."
Lee turns to Lieutenant Gaeta, expecting word on the jump prep when he realizes that the man is missing from his post. It's then that Lee realizes the extent of the damage in CIC, with numerous crewmembers down or bleeding, and his father and Roslin nowhere to be seen. Without thinking about it, Lee races to the jump station and goes to enter the rendezvous coordinates.
Before he can, though, something washes over his mind and Lee feels caught, suspended in this moment. His right hand is on the controls but his left feels the sharp jab of something through his uniform pocket. Inside, he finds two things.
The first thing he notices is the bronze Aurora, her wingtips pressing into his palm. There's no time to think about that, though, because the second thing is a piece of paper and even as he's unfolding it he recognizes that scratchy, stubborn writing as Kara's.
The symbols unfold into numbers, Lee realizes, and he knows what he's looking at. Scribbled beneath the coordinates is a short, sharp message: Lee, you gotta jump. I'll see you on the other side.
In an FTL jump, there's an instant. It lasts only a fraction of the time it takes to blink, but in that instant she is caught between here and there, before and after. Kara has jumped countless times, but not this time. This time is different; this time is new. Now, in this moment, Kara breathes. She's been here before.
Her boots make soft thumps against the plush carpeting and the rubber of her flightsuit creaks as she walks past the rows of empty seats.
I'm sorry, Kara, he says when she reaches the stage, for so many things. I'm sorry you had to see like this.
"It's okay," she says. "It's okay." And it is. "I'm not afraid anymore."
The five pillars shine brightly behind him and this time she does not flinch away from the light or the knowledge that burns inside of her. She understands now that it is entirely possible to live an entire life in the space between one breath and the next. He takes her hand.
You're free now, he says, to become who you really are.
She smiles, breathes deeply, and lets go. She closes her eyes and she's flying.
It's a long time before she lands.
Later, Lee will think he should have known.
It's a long time, too long, before he makes it to the hangar deck. First he has to get the damage report and send out scouts to figure out where the frak they are. He leaves Dee with the con and goes to find his father.
The old man is by Laura's bedside in sickbay. It takes some cajoling, but Lee finally convinces the Admiral to take a break from this vigil. He refuses to return to his quarters, but acquiesces when Lee suggests he check on his ship. His father takes a long, lingering look back at Laura's sleeping form before turning to leave.
Lee wonders, then, about Kara's absence. Lee will wonder later why he did not panic, why he did not make a desperate run for the hangar deck. Instead, he walks, expecting her to pop up any minute and match him stride for stride. And with every step, she doesn't.
It's a lot of steps to the hangar bay. Once there, however, Lee's struck by a sense of déjà vu. He blinks and she's there, running one hand through her sweat-slicked hair.
Blinks again and sees only the empty berth where her Viper should be. Where her Viper has not been for a long, long time.
Lee, you gotta jump. I'll see you on the other side.
He doesn't remember how he gets there, but he's in the head, bent over the toilet as his body quakes with the realization.
He should have known.
Last time Starbuck went out in a Viper and didn't come back, all of Galactica seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for…something. Last time, the crewmembers filled up every crack in the hangar bay as they launched an empty box into space. Last time, Lee carried her picture in his pocket for weeks before pinning it up on the memorial wall.
But this time, her picture's already there and all he's got is Aurora and a scrap of paper.
It's odd, he thinks, that now that he spends every waking moment looking for her and coming up empty, now he is certain—as he never was before—that she was really there.
When they land on the planet, Lee only brings a few things with him. He surveys his quarters on the Galactica for a while before eventually packing only his clothes, his kit, and the recording of Daniel Thrace. He leaves the music player behind, though. They'll run out of batteries soon enough.
Besides, he remembers the song pretty damn well.
Lee walks away from the aging ship, carrying his bag in one arm. He holds the recording in his free hand, not quite willing to tuck it away out of sight.
In the temporary settlement they've set up, he finds his father outside a tent, talking to Saul and Ellen Tigh. Lee hangs back, knowing that they haven't had any time since Tigh's relevation, and not wanting to interrupt. He's about to leave, find his own tent, when he realizes that Ellen is walking towards him.
"Lee!" she calls, softly but surely.
He waits and regards her, at once familiar but so at odds with the woman he remembered.
"I just wanted to say thank you," she says, coming to stand a few feet away. "I heard that you were the one who brought us through the battle and brought us to this planet. On behalf of myself and my people, thank you, Lee Adama."
He just nods because what else is there to say? Not long ago, he would have been disturbed to hear Ellen Tigh say "my people" and know just who she was referring to. But now he is standing on a planet that he found because he made a blind jump based on a song that his invisible girlfriend's father taught her on the piano. Speaking of…
"What have you got there?" Obviously searching for a safe conversational subject, Ellen reaches for the recording that he's carrying in his hand. Some things haven't changed: the XO's wife is just as noisy as she ever was.
When her fingers brush against the plastic cover, Lee unconsciously tightens his grip. She quickly drops her hand, but when he looks up her gaze is fixed on the recording.
"Where did you get that?" she says, still staring.
"It belonged to…a friend."
"May I see it?"
Her voice is steady and insistent, and when she looks at him there is something in her eyes that tells him this matters. He acquiesces. She holds the object with gentle hands. Her eyes are sad as she tenderly traces the outline on the cover.
"Do you know who this is?" she says.
Lee shrugs, waits.
Her words, when they come, are precise and even. She tells him the story of Daniel.
"He was an artist," she says. "He was my favorite."
Lee takes the music back from her and leaves. He ignores his father, ignores everything else until it's just him and a wide blue sky. A wide blue sky and a whole frakload of questions.
Maybe it makes sense, Lee thinks. Maybe this is how he got a second chance. He doesn't dare believe, though, that it will be enough for a third. Even if they hadn't destroyed the Resurrection Hub, Kara was unique; Lee's certain of it.
There's one question he never asks himself. He doesn't have to.
Does it matter?
He knows the answer. He can only hope that she did too.
The planet is beautiful, Lee has to admit. Green grass and blue skies are not enough, however, to make him forget. To make him lose that constant ache of her absence.
They're calling the planet Earth; they have no reason not to. The rebel Cylons are calling it their home too. Most have separated into their own settlements, but a sizable number, including the Tighs, have joined with the humans. There have been a few problems, Lee knows, but for the most part people are tired. Too tired to fight.
Cally Tyrol, on the other hand, is not one of those. Since the reveal of the Final Five Cylons, she and the Chief have barely been speaking. If it weren't for Nicky, they likely wouldn't be talking at all.
Lee knows he should care for them, knows he's considered both Cally and Galen to be his friends. But he just can't muster the energy for much these days. His father and Laura Roslin are just about the only people he sees regularly. Laura has not recovered from her collapse during the final battle, and it seems as though the end, for her, is near. His father's shoulders are perpetually bowed beneath the weight of this knowledge as he tries to nurse her back to health in their small tent, but the President seems content.
"I've been dying for a very long time," she tells Lee one day while his father is out. "I am simply grateful to have seen this world. So many souls did not get this chance."
Lee blinks, says nothing. Her hand grasps his in a surprisingly firm grip.
"I think this would be a good place for an opera house," she murmurs as she slips back into sleep.
Lee sits by her side for a long time, is still sitting when his father returns and takes Laura's other hand in his own.
Sometimes when she's lucid, Laura talks about the new government the Quorum must establish. At her prodding, Lee begins to work with them, but half-heartedly. It's important, he knows, but something's missing. And he knows what—or rather, who—that something is. After all, he's been here before.
The President says that we're saving humanity for a bright, shiny future. On Earth. That you and I are never gonna see.
"Half right, Kara," Lee says and almost laughs. It's not funny, but so little is.
Another day, Lee walks far out, away from the clumps of people and tents. He walks over hills, wades across a shallow river, and finally comes to the point where he can see, just there on the horizon, the Galactica laid to rest. Some of their smaller spacecrafts remain with the settlements, where they can be used as shuttles for as long as they have fuel and pilots. The civilian ships have been put down where each shipload settled. There's no need for them anymore. The aging battlestar, wounded beyond repair in the last battle, will not fly again.
The ships will stay here, flightless, exposed to the seasons and the elements. And one day, Lee knows, grass will grow in their cracks and green will overtake the metal that was once their home.
Lee sits here, on the highest hill in sight. He sits on this zenith under the afternoon sun and pulls the small statue from his pocket. The light plays over Aurora's features, glances off her wings. His thumb rubs gently over her face, worn nearly smooth by this oft-repeated action in the weeks since the battle.
Expelling a deep breath, Lee shifts to kneeling and begins to scoop a hole in the earth with his free hand. He places the statue in the cradle of this earth, but his hand stills involuntarily when he goes to smooth the dirt over her.
He jerks back, gasping and gasping as though he were sobbing, but no tears come out. When he can breathe again, Lee stumbles back to the small hole and lifts Aurora from the ground. With swift fingers, he wipes the dirt from her figure. For a long moment, he just stands there, clutching the statue to his chest as he stares out at this new world.
Then he puts her back in his pocket, turns, and walks away. It's not time, he knows. Not today.
They've been on Earth for two months when the dawn breaks with the sound of a ship entering atmo. Lee steps out of his tent and sees the others doing the same on the distant hill. He looks into the sky and it's like a lightning strike, a burst of light so bright it burns; for a single, solitary instant he thinks he sees blue and red and yellow.
Then his vision clears and he smiles. This time, he knows. This time, she sets her Viper onto the grass and the forgiving earth, and when her feet touch the ground she's in his arms. This time, he knows that everybody can see her.
"You still flying my wing?" he presses the words into her hair.
"Always," she says, and it's like the entire universe hangs in the breath between them.
Fin