Chapter 47 Stowaway

Galen rubbed at his neck, trying to loosen the tense muscles and convince the threatening headache to save it for another day. He hoped some peace and quiet would curtail the migraine he felt coming on, too damned tired to deal with a pounding head on top of another sleepless night. Nicky was teething again and he and Cally had spent the past few nights taking turns trying to comfort the infant. Between the baby and the huge backlog of work that had built up over a year's time, he was constantly behind in sleep and he could tell it was starting to affect his work.

Slung over his shoulder Galen carried one of the pads the deck crew used when working on undercarriages, and he shuffled deeper into the recesses of Galactica's hanger bay. Way he figured, he still had time to catch a good two hours worth of shuteye before he had to get ready for the morning shift.

Now, as he moved along the line of crates, something niggled at his senses.

This was his hanger bay, and he believed he knew all its secrets. Yet, as he ambled towards the furthest portion, there was something off—wrong—and he couldn't quite place his finger on what it was that was bothering him.

Then he knew...

An odor. Something that didn't smell of machines and sweat.

"Just frakking great,"he muttered outloud, then fell silent as he sniffed several times. Some idiot's left a sandwich or something down here and its gone bad. He scented the air again,trying to get a direction of where the smell was coming from. Bet it was Murphy again. His frakkin' ass is gonna be on scut until…his thought trailed off as he saw something else amiss towards the back of a row of crates. Several of the large boxes were skewed out of alignment.

Galen made his way along the aisle, slowing as he noticed the shadowed recess formed by the disturbed crates. He abruptly realized that he'd found the source of the smell…and maybe something more ominous, too. Halting, Galen cocked his head slightly. There! He'd definitely heard the murmur of a muffled voice. As it dawned on him that he was in a nearly deserted bay with a possible Cylon agent, the Chief considered quietly retracing his steps and coming back with a Marine or two for company.

He had only taken one cautious step back when the muffled sounds of shallow coughing froze him in place. Well, whatever poor sod was stinking up his deck was obviously sick…and from the sounds of it, he'd bet it was a woman, too, though kinda hard to say just from a few coughs.

Frak it.

He wasn't about to leave to go looking for a guard, just to return to find the stowaway had taken off while he was gone. Slipping a flashlight from his utility belt, he crept forward the remaining few feet until he was close enough to bend over and shine the narrow beam into the hiding space.

Definitely female. He couldn't make out much else because she was curled forward over her knees, face hidden by blonde hair. Breathing through his mouth now that he'd finally identified the source of the odor, Galen swung the light about the small niche and silently cursed as the glow touched on a crimson smear on the decking around the figure. The darker staining of the woman's slashed cargo pants finally registered and he knew she was injured, though the blood looked dried.

As another weak coughing fit shook the shivering frame, sympathy rose in the Chief at the pitiful condition of the stowaway. She'd obviously had been here for at least a couple of days, and from the stench, hadn't left her hiding spot for any reason, which hinted at a deep fear.

Shifting so he could kneel in the cramped space in front of the opening, he softly called to her, "Hey, there." As the blonde head rose, Tyrol rocked back, nearly toppling the box behind him in the shock of recognition. "Gods, Starbuck!" What are you doing here?"

When she didn't answer, he looked closer and saw the dull eyes and blank expression. Sure, she'd been having problems, but what could've driven her into this state? He knew enough first aid to recognize a person in deep shock when he saw it, and this was way beyond his pay scale. Time to call in those reinforcements.

"You—you just stay right here, Captain. Ok? Everything's gonna be fine now," he said in the low, soothing voice he used when his little boy got fussy. Working his way out from the crates, Tyrol hurried to the bay's ship phone, casting worried glances back over his shoulder to make sure Kara wasn't leaving the stacks.

He called sickbay first, saying only that he needed Cottle on the flight deck immediately for an emergency, and then he followed up with a call to CIC that the Admiral was needed ASAP, refusing to give any further details to the Comm officer on duty.

In a surprisingly short time, both men converged on the Chief where he stood at the main entrance to the hanger bay, blocking access to other crew members. Tyrol saw the two men exchange looks, obviously clued in to the seriousness of the matter by the presence of the other. As obvious was their displeasure at the cryptic nature of his summons, which he read in their expressions as two grim faces were turned on him.

"What is it, Chief?" his commander asked.

Now that the men were here, Galen found himself at a bit of a loss on how to explain the situation. "Sir, I—I was looking over the storage crates and realized that something was different. When I investigated I found…someone…hiding in the stacks. Think she's been there for a few days."

"A stowaway? A Cylon agent?" The Admiral's brows drew together. "You know the protocol, Chief, why haven't you called for the Marines?"

As Tyrol hesitated, "You said she?" Cottle prompted.

"Uh, well, it's kinda complicated, Sir," he hedged again. Finally deciding to just say it, "It's Captain Thrace. She's in the stacks and… Look, Sirs, I think you should just see for yourselves."

Before turning away, Tyrol saw both men stiffen when he identified their 'stowaway'. Without looking to see if they were following, he hurried off towards the far end of the bay again.

The small procession, Adama, Cottle and an orderly he'd brought along, made their silent way after the Chief. He gave them a wave forward as he turned down a narrow aisle of boxes, slowing now as he approached the dark niche between crates.

[ I I I I I ]

Cottle was right behind the Admiral as he drew near enough to see over his commander's shoulder. The Chief had stopped just short of the opening and signaled for the Admiral to help him shift the boxes immediately in front to widen the aisle. It took only a minute to slide the crates aside, but Cottle took the opportunity to step forward and squat to peer into the depths of the darkened space. Not that he could see much.

Frowning, "Chief, give me your light," he ordered. Flicking it on, he flashed the beam into the interior and went still. Damn. With experienced senses, he quickly evaluated the young woman before him. Her physical condition was bad enough, yet it was the glazed eyes and flushed face that really concerned him, that and the fact that Thrace was hiding away in some dark hole in the first place. The Chief was right. She'd been here for awhile.

What the frak happened to the girl?

Well, that was a worry for later. First thing, assess and treat the physical damages. The mental ones would have to wait.

"Captain Thrace." Green eyes slowly blinked against the light, but otherwise she didn't respond. "Starbuck, it's time to come out," he said. That got a response as she violently shook her head in refusal and he saw her breathing quicken.

From the corner of his eye, he felt Adama kneel beside him and recoil as he took in Kara's condition.

After clearing his throat, "Kara, it's me," the Admiral said.

Neither of the men were prepared for the instant reaction as she jerked further back into the cubby, terror replacing the dazed look in her eyes. She raised a blood-caked hand, flashing a knife defensively as disjointed words spilled from her cracked lips, "…no. No… Won't go…" panic shook her hoarse voice, "…go back. Won't. Won't… ," she broke on a sob, "Please, please…I'm sorry. Don't…"

Cottle watched as the young woman managed to press herself even flatter against the back crate, cringing away as she waved the sharp blade towards them. He automatically drew back and felt the man at his side do the same. He heard the Admiral speak again.

"Starbuck, it's Admiral Adama."

Cottle's eyes narrowed as he observed the way Thrace's panic deepen even as her words swung wildly from fear to anger and back, one moment pleading then the next threatening. Intuition triggered the knowledge that whatever her issues, the Admiral figured predominantly in them—and his presence was inflaming her reactions.

He put a hand on the arm beside him, drawing Adama to his feet and nudging him back down the aisle a few steps.

"Bill, you're not helping," he bluntly said. "I need you to back off. Let me work with her." With a glance back at the dark space, "We need someone to help talk her down, and that doesn't appear to be you." Cottle saw Adama flinch. "Maybe that son of yours?"

"I don't think Apollo's a good idea, Sir," the Chief spoke up. As Cottle turned, the younger man hastily continued, "The Major was pretty harsh when he grounded her. And…and I think something happened between the two of them before she settled on New Caprica. Just a feeling," he said with a shrug. His eyebrows lifted. "How about Helo?" he suggested.

Cottle saw the Admiral considering the young man's words before nodding. "Ok, Chief. Page Captain Agathon." The Admiral cast a look about the nearly deserted hanger bay, and then added, "I also want this section of the bay kept clear. Get a couple of Marines posted. Let's keep this as discrete as possible."

The Chief nodded and strode off. Probably thankful to leave this mess behind him, Cottle thought, wishing suddenly he had that option. Wishing made for poor results. Might as well try to wish the Cylons banished to Hades for all the good wishing did a body.

As Adama turned back to him, Cottle said, "Give me a few minutes; see what I can get outta her." He moved away without waiting for permission.

Resuming his position with the light set to the side providing shading illumination of his patient, he saw that some of the panicked edge had eased during the time they'd moved away. But she was still going on about not being sent away, not going, still vacillating between emotions.

He spoke in low tones, trying to connect, to break the loop of hysteria that held her. As he saw her arm slowly lower the knife to her side, the slashed trousers and dried blood caught his attention again and his eyes widened in understanding. She hadn't been attacked as he'd first thought. No, the damned girl had been cutting into her own thigh and, unless his nose was mistaken, infection had set in. Fever explained the flush of her cheekbones set against an otherwise pale and drawn face. Just what he needed, a delirious and deranged Starbuck wielding a knife. What a frakkin' great way to start his day. Nothing for it but to deal.

Though Thrace had calmed quite a bit, he still wasn't making much progress in getting her to drop the knife and, considering the close confines, he wasn't any too eager to try to force her out, not while she still held the blade in hand. He decided to wait and hope Agathon had some luck with her.

A few minutes later Cottle turned and observed the tall Raptor pilot making his way up the aisle, worry and guilt flickering across the younger man's face as he nodded a greeting and squatted down beside the doctor. Like everyone else, the younger man rocked back, shocked as he took in the scene. The Admiral probably had warned Helo, but nothing really could prepare him for seeing the state Thrace was in.

He saw the young officer swallow convulsively several times before finding his voice. "Hey, Kara, it's Karl. Whatcha doing?" Her green eyes seemed to focus on him before flitting away again as she weakly coughed. Then she started slowly rocking, hand still clasped around the hilt of the knife but no longer waving it in their direction.

"Starbuck," Helo tried again. "quite the place you got here. Cozy and all. Not much of view, though. Why don't you come on out and we'll go for a walk."

"No, no," she said, her rocking quickening now. "Can't go out. Tainted." At her words, Cottle's bushy brows drew together. Now what was she going on about?

"Hey, it's ok. It's safe to come out. Come on," Helo said with a small beckoning wave of his hand, "come with me."

"Tainted…cancer…infect you all. Kill you all." Her right hand raised the blade again, not threatening them this time. Instead, the edge was set again her thigh and she drew it sharply downward, slicing through the already tattered material of her pants and Cottle saw a fresh trail of red flow from the wound.

Crap! Cottle flinched and felt the man at his side suck in a deep breath.

Both men heard Kara's muttered words even as she drew a parallel slash to the first, "Killed Zak. Killed Sam. Killed Lee. Killed the Old Man. Everyone's dead…cancer killed them… I killed them," her voice was low but filled with self-loathing. "Cut it out… Gotta cut it out before kill anyone else."

"Frak," he heard Helo breathe the curse and noted how the young man had paled and seemed at a loss what to do or say when faced with the extent of Thrace's disintegration.

Hoping to shake him from his paralysis, Cottle jabbed an elbow into Helo's ribs and jerked his head towards the rocking figure.

[ I I I I I ]

As the doctor gave him a nudge, Karl drew his scattered emotions and thoughts back into focus. It was hard though. He'd been pulled from his rack by the emergency summons and had hurried to the hanger deck, wondering what new disaster he, as the acting-XO, had to handle now.

He'd never imaged this, though.

The Admiral had given him the briefest of explanations before shoving him towards where Doc Cottle knelt. Now, gazing in at what remained of his best friend, he wondered how'd he ever let it get this far? He'd known she was floundering, he had figured that much out. Yet, he'd had so many demands on his time, and Kara had rebuffed all of his attempts to get her to talk…so he'd let it slide. And this was the result. His friend was broken. Shattered, from the looks of her.

Gods, he hoped that it wasn't too late to put the pieces back together.

Firming his lips, he gave the Doc a nod in acknowledgment, then settled on his haunches, sliding just a bit further into the cubby as he placed his back to the side crate and sat so he was across the opening but still able to face Kara. She had stopped her rocking and was darting wary looks his way as he stretched his legs out beside her, not able to completely straighten them in the small space.

Deep breath. "Kara, Lee's fine. He's here on the Galactica. So's the Admiral," Karl said quietly. "They're both Ok. You didn't kill anyone." He saw her flinch at the mention of their names and then vehemently shake her head.

"Lee's dead. Shot him, killed him."

"No. You shot him, but he didn't die," Karl gently corrected her, trying to catch and hold her eyes as they touched on his. "Lee's fine. He's CAG again. Remember?" Her forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"Lee's Ok?" her voice pleaded with him to make it true.

"Yes, Lee's his usual stick-up-the-ass self. Just fine."

"No, I killed him. Just like Zak. Just like Sam—" she broke off with a sharp inhale, shuddering.

Karl heart ached as he watched grief and horror chase each other across Kara's face. He knew Samuel Anders hadn't made it off New Caprica. The Chief had told him it was assumed the Cylons had killed the Resistance fighter after he'd disappeared and they hadn't found him among the survivors in the prison. It was a frakkin' shame. He'd liked the ex-Pyramid player and had seen how happy the man made Kara. Now, seeing the way she was crumbling before him, Karl guessed she knew something about Sam's death. Whatever it was, was damned traumatic, because he intuitively believed that her husband's death was linked somehow to her confusion about Lee and the Admiral.

Clenching his hand at his side, Karl wished he didn't feel so out of his depth here. Kara needed professional help, not some Raptor backseater. Giving himself a mental shake, Hell, it's not my job to fix her, just to get her out alive. He could do this. He would frakkin' do this.

"Kara, Lee's fine. The Old Man's fine. He's worried about you."

That appeared to be the wrong thing to say as her face contorted and she turned the blade his way, it's edge glinting as the light reflected off its length.

"You lie!" her voice full of rage now. "He wants me gone. Gonna send me back." She broke into a fit of coughing. Once the spasms had passed, Kara licked her lips and shuddered again. "Won't go… I won't go back. Airlock me first, just like he said."

What? Karl's head ached from the whiplash of trying to follow Kara's words. She wasn't any making sense. Remember! Not my job! Gritting his teeth, Karl refocused. Calm her down. Get the knife and get her the frak outta here. That was his mission.

"Hey, it's Karl. Come on, Kara. You know me," he said lightly, forcing himself to relax and add a teasing note to his words, "We're best buds. Remember that time on Picon when you beat the Staff Sergeant out of a month's pay playing triad? Who had your back when he claimed you were cheating?" He had her attention now and quickly pressed on, "We spent the rest of our weekend pass in the city lockup and I taught you how to flip cards into the sink." She blinked, seemingly confused by the memory and her present reality. He took on a wheedling tone, "Ahhh, come on Starbuck, let me have a look at that pig-sticker you got. I haven't seen it before."

Her gaze wavered and dropped to the knife she held posed between them. She squinted at it and back up at Karl, uncertainty written in the drawn lines around her lips and eyes as she hesitantly reversed the blade. Karl held himself still and silent, afraid anything might break the fragile hold he had on her.

She slowly extend the knife, hilt first, towards him. Karl slowly closed his hand about the blade, refusing to breathe until he eased it loose from her grasp, taking care not to cut her hand.

He returned his eyes to hers as he nonchalantly slid the weapon out of reach. "Thanks," he said, seeing the slight inclination of her head in response. "It's not very comfortable in here. What's say we get outta here. Maybe get something to eat before hitting our racks?" A single tear slip from the corner of her eye as her lips tightened. Karl tensed again.

"I don't…I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered. "So frakkin' tired, you know."

"I know. It's ok now. Let's go for a walk, just a short one then you can rest," he said, sliding close enough to take her trembling hand in his and gently giving it a tug. Scooting backwards, he eased her out of the confined place until he could stand and lift her upright. He pulled her into a hug, supporting most of her weight as her legs refused to hold her.

Continuing to murmur reassuring words into her hair, he grimly met Cottle's gaze and turned to slowly make their way along the aisle. As they moved from the row of crates, they both looked up to see the Admiral standing alongside the Chief, and just beyond, the figure of Lee Adama striding towards the group.

With a stricken cry, Kara collapsed and Helo quickly caught her up in his arms, then stepped by the Admiral to where the doctor had a gurney waiting. As he eased the form of his friend onto the rolling bed, Karl distantly noted how light she was. She was so fragile now in body and mind.

Unable to bear watching the orderly strap Kara's still form down, Helo turned to face the assembled men and anger coursed through his blood as he saw Lee's face change from a cold mask to concern when he caught sight of Kara's unconscious form.

As the smaller man started to move towards the gurney, Karl stepped between.

"You! Stay the frak away!" he said through gritted teeth as he jabbed a finger into Lee's chest.

"Get your hand off me, Captain, and move aside," Lee bit out.

"Not happening, Major. This is your fault." Helo dropped his hand, but only so he could move in chest to chest with the other man. "You just had to keep pushing. Shoved her until she broke. Well, not any more!"

Admiral Adama quickly stepped forward. "Enough! You two, back off. Now!" he ordered. Both men took a reluctant step apart, neither dropping the gaze of the other as the Admiral turned to Cottle. "Doctor, please see to Kara."

As the gurney behind him began to move, Karl moved to follow, only to be halted by his commander's voice. "Captain Agathon, the Doc won't be allowing visitors for awhile. I want a report on my desk in an hour. Then—and only then—may you go to sickbay."

"Yes, Sir," Karl said, adding a reluctant nod. He was about to leave but paused as he saw Lee move to follow the gurney and was stopped by the Admiral's hand on his arm.

"Major, I believe you have the morning briefing and CAP to oversee," the older Adama said. Karl saw Lee's face tighten as he got the message.

Leaving the hanger bay, confident that the Admiral wasn't planning on allowing Lee to go off to sickbay on his own, Karl strode back to his quarters. He wanted to get his report done as soon as possible so he could get back to Kara. Besides, he desperately needed to talk with Sharon. His stomach twisted as he remembered again Kara's physical and mental state.

Hadn't the gods given her enough grief?