Chapter 17-

Sam-

His stomach is jittery, just like it was before a game of any kind. Before they went on a raid and had been his continued state of existence for a long time. Nerves and anticipation and adrenaline pulsing through his body, keeping him on edge and thus, butterflies in his stomach. He'd thought it had been gone, the weight that people depended on you, the weight of lives pressing down on you; the answer of 'what do we do next' expected to fall from your lips. But it seemed it wasn't the case, or as Kara would say the Gods had something else in store for him. Either way, he was back to doing this, searches and rescues, blowing things up in the process. Sam sighed, the cycle of violence and disappearances never going to change. At least not for a long way off.

He walks side by side with the Colonel whose gait is uneven and limping a bit. Despite being offered a cane many times the man had also refused them, saying he wasn't that said he didn't have to go, but the man had wanted to come anyways. He knew his wife and the colonel hadn't always gotten on the best of terms. But he supposed things changed, and Kara had mentioned he had given her the idea to get married, so Sam supposed indirectly the man was responsible for his marriage. His marriage, a hard word to have swallowed at first and now it seemed so small and insignificant. The fact they were married hadn't stopped the cylons from taking her.

The dams come into sight and the uneasy feeling that had accompanied him through the planning of this venture, despite the hope and optimism, returned. He thought he felt eyes on the back of his head, and it was unnerving. Sam convinced himself no one was actually there, it was far too early for that kind of thing, or so he had been told. There certainly weren't that many people outside this morning, the air still and quiet, only the noise of the Centurions' metal clanking as they were walking around. The things give him the creeps; he still had nightmares about what had happened to Coach sometimes.

He could see Laura Roslin off in the distance, blanket wrapped around her body tightly. She raises her hand a bit and he returns the gesture. Not much can kill his mood right now. If the notes are true, with some planning and luck, he'll have his wife back in his arms at last. It's good. Saul grumbles a bit, telling him he ought to keep his head down to not get noticed and Sam reluctantly follows his word. He can't think of anything better to do to say 'frack you' to the toasters than stealing his wife out from their noses. The model, Leoben the former President had said, was his name. From what he had gotten her to talk about, this model had history with her. Sam's mind dredged up all kinds of horrors, each leaving him shaking, her beautiful body, battered and bruised, starving, dehydrated, her intelligent laughing eyes dulled with pain and misery.

Sam forces himself to put the thoughts out of his mind, it'll all be okay soon, he's coming for her. She wouldn't leave him behind and he won't leave her. It's the story of their relationship, finding each other, rescuing the other. It's who they were.

Arriving at the dams, he and the Colonel mutually agree to take a look around, hoping to find their guest with the claimed information. The air is holding it's breath, both men moving farther apart and his hand is clenching around the knife at his waist, guns ventured too dangerous if it were a trap. His boots make the only noise besides his breathing, as loud as gunshots in the still air. Just as he wondered if this was a joke and they should call out for a person he decides to give them a few more minutes to show themselves, whoever they are. They don't have to wait long.

"I'd wondered if you'd come." A voice sneaks from the shadows, sending shivers down his spine. In the shadows two Centurions red eyes glow, sweeping back and forth, guarding a figure in the middle of them. He raises a hand to protect the Colonel and is poised to pull out his knife, for all the good it will do.

"Where is she?" Sam demanded, upset at being played or if his messenger had been killed already. Either way, it didn't really matter right now. There were cylons and one of them was laughing at him.

"What makes you think I have any idea where she is?" the cylon queried, amusement draping his cold features, not the good kind of amusement either, a sick kind, one that takes amusement at suffering and pain. Before Sam can speak again the cylon decides to speak up, quenching his doubts. "Exactly where I left her. Be assured Samuel, I'm a man of my word" The figure strode into the light, a dark leather jacket covering his lanky frame, sunglasses covering his eyes from the morning light. The lips curl into amusement at the sight before him. He makes a tsk-ing sound than jerks his head. "You know what to do." he orders the centurions, who move to obey without a question.

Without a word the cylon male pivots and walks down the road and the Centurions grab Sam by his arms and shoulders, nails cutting painful gashes into his arms and letting the knife drop into the ground, handle up, the silver blade sunk into the earth. The Colonel tries to push them out of the way, to help Sam, but is knocked out cold for his efforts. Sam struggles but he knows it is pointless. He has no advantage, no way he can win. He needs to be rational here. But there's a part that can't continuing to struggle, no matter how little, against the tight steel bonds of his captors' hands.

The cylons follow their fleshy counterpart, dragging him through the streets. Laura Roslin stops in horror as she catches his eyes and nods her understanding of what he wants her to do. Warn others, change hiding places just in case, protect people; take care of them for him. People look at him with sympathy in their eyes, no one daring move in fear of what would happen to them, but he takes a bit of comfort in knowing he won't die and no one would know what had happened to him. If you don't forget people they never stop living on, even if their body is gone.

Arriving at the gates of the compound, he takes one look back at the sky; the clear fresh air fills his lungs, and peaceful quiet of morning. It may be the last time he ever sees them. Despair fills him up. How is he supposed to save her now?

Lee-

Lee stares in the mirror and hates the person staring back. Hates the soft, weak man there with a burning fiery passion. The weight just gets to him, and he feels like he is losing his edge. Needing a war indeed, well he had one now. It wasn't what bothered him though. It was the fact this time he had the war again, full force. The problem was he didn't think he could fight it out alone now.

It wasn't the lack of manpower, resources, though they played a rather large part. It wasn't the fact he could control things by sitting in a viper, instead of staring at screens in CIC, giving the back of his neck and ache from looking up all the time. Now he knew why his father was so irritable sometimes. But even that wasn't the problem he faced, or the lack of knowledge he had, bits and pieces of war college coming in handy every now and then. It wasn't any of those things that made him wish the soft man in the mirror would just go away, taking any trace of the man that was left, if there was a man there at all, with him.

It had been weeks since the cylons had taken New Caprica, and even his father didn't want to speak with him. Lee wondered if he was disgusted with the man he saw, the man who Lee had been thinking had just been in hiding all his life and only now got to show. Lee wasn't strong; he wasn't great, not to himself or anyone else. If he were to leave now, no one would probably notice it. And if they did they would be glad, Lee had always thought and been viewed as strong, as having everything but nothing could have been farther from the truth. Maybe this was punishment for wanting things he couldn't have.

Lee's thoughts drifted into dangerous territory, towards a blonde pilot who was probably struggling for her survival right now. And that of her husband a cruel part of his mind adds, wondering a bit as well if Sam is even alive or if his illness had claimed him. A part of Lee doesn't care if Sam was dead and the rest of him is horrified. There is a bit of himself never forgiven by the rest for not waking up earlier, fighting for her sooner, not letting her run away, not taking things back and not let Gais traitor Baltar cut in their dance.

He often wondered how she was lately, missing her more than he would admit to anyone. All the little things, like when she made him mad, or upset or just wanting to hit something, were things he treasured now. His relationship with Dee, having already been on fragile ground, now even more strained under the pressure, and Lee found himself wishing he could vent his frustrations as he often had to someone else. Her refuses to think Kara, his Kara, could be dead. He gets nightmares about it, day-mares and asleep or not. Dee doesn't ask, though Lee suspects he has mentioned it in his sleep more than once.

Lee is wrapped in anger on the outside, but inside, he just wishes everything was the way it was before. She was his pilot, he was her CAG, and he had thought their relationship was more complicated back then. What he wouldn't give to go back in time to go and shake his younger self into realizing he loved her and having the nerve to tell her. His Father and Laura Roslin were the decision makers, not Gais Baltar and certainly not Lee. It was a far better place to be than right now, in his cabin, with a woman who wasn't who he wanted, most of humanity's future looking quite grime, and without the familiar presence of Kara at his side, watching out for him, making things better, as wingman should.

Sighing and sitting at his desk he flips through the drawer on the filing cabinet, it having been rather messy lately. Since he can't sleep he might as well do something useful. It's as useful as he feels anymore, his position and what he does just a figure head. Organizing things always helped clear his mind before, as a child when he couldn't sleep he would re-organize his bookshelf and things like that. It took his mind off of things, making him hone in and focus on a simple task. There was no room for what if's when chronologically organizing things.

At the bottom of the drawer, he finds, after removing lots of papers, is card Kara had made him for his birthday. Inside is a hand drawn picture of the two of them together, one he had found and put in there for safekeeping. It was Kara's work, and it was beautiful, little splashes of color with the lack of colored pencils in the fleet. His eyes, her eyes, details of the hanger bay behind them. With the card had come a bottle of ambrosia he still had, in her handwriting the note said

Happy Birthday. You are getting so old now, seems like yesterday we just met huh? Anyways, I went to great lengths to get this for you. So enjoy it. Or be your usual self and save it forever.

Kara

It might not seem like much but he knew it had meant a lot. He spends a while looking at the picture in his hand with the card. They seem so happy in it, carefree despite all that goes on around them. He wishes he could live in that picture. Tears prick his eyes but he doesn't let them fall. He misses her, and doubts run through his mind. Because he was a coward he left her there, with cylons who would probably try and kill her or more horrible things. What if they had another farm there? Even if Kara didn't want him, he still cared about her, no matter what he did to hide it.

Footsteps emerge from his quarters and he sticks the card and drawing in a pile and goes back to what he was doing, not letting her see his face. Dee watches him with interest for a while not saying anything for period of time Lee isn't sure of. When she speaks her voice is full of concern.

"Lee, why don't you come sleep?"

"Can't." he answers short and simple. It's a simple answer to something so complicated.

Her lips are pursed. "I'm trying Lee, I really am. Tell me what I can do to make this better."

Be his wingman, best friend, woman he really feel in love with and ultimately lost, be Kara Thrace. But Lee doesn't say any of those things. He shrugs and keeps his eyes on the things in front of him, going at the monotonous task with precision. Dee sighs and heads on back to bed, knowing full well it was useless to argue with him.

Kara would have argued, she would know what to do. But for some reason Kara hadn't wanted him, and now here he was, with a ship, living his father's dream for his sham of a life, a good wife, a ship of his own, too bad he doesn't want any of it even though, even before the end of the worlds' people would have fought hard to be in his place. If he had been down on the surface it would have been someone else's choice to flee. And he wouldn't have to live with the weight of the guilt on his shoulders. And wouldn't be haunted by flashes of blonde hair in the halls, reminding him again and again what wasn't his to have. And who he may have sentenced to death by leaving her behind.

So, hope you are enjoying the story so far. And I've never written Lee for this story so I wasn't quite sure how he fit in to the story and what his exact feeling were, so if you have anything to say regarding that it is most appreciated, Lee's point of view is always difficult for me. And again thanks for reading.