Chapter 64 Wingmen
After leaving the brig, Kara restlessly wandered, unwilling to return to the bustling noise of the hanger bay—or the Admiral's cabin while his most recent betrayal was still fresh in her mind. Unguided, her stride took her to Pilot Country and she hesitated outside her bunkroom hatch. Quietly stepping into the room she hadn't occupied in a couple of weeks, she was relieved to find it empty.
Glancing back, she saw that Mathias had taken up a post just beyond the open hatch, apparently suspecting that Kara needed some time alone. Turning back to her locker, she rummaged through the pile in the bottom until her questing fingers touched smooth glass. She pulled free the partially full bottle of ambrosia, the one she'd won the night before her confrontation with the Admiral in the rec room.
Sliding down with her back to the lockers, Kara sat and unscrewed the cap and upended the container, taking a long swallow before lowering it again. She wiped at her lips with an arm and let the bottle dangle from her hand between her raised knees. As sullen thoughts replayed the scene with Lee, her anger at his high-handedness started to build again. What right did frakkin' Apollo have repudiating her claim on the Cylon?
So absorbed in her churlish musings, it was several seconds before she realized that she wasn't alone any longer. Lifting her head, Kara's expression hardened further as she saw Kat leaning nonchalantly against one of the bunks by the entrance.
"What?" Starbuck snapped out, in no mood to deal with the other pilot.
"Drinking alone, Captain?" mocked Kat, a smirk twitching her lips. "Does the CAG know. Or better yet, the Admiral?"
"Leave off, Katraine, and get the hell outta here before you regret saying something you shouldn't," Starbuck warned, rising to her feet, the bottle swinging slightly at her side.
"I'm just surprised you're allowed to drink." Kat straightened, her smirk getting just a little wider, "What with your freak-out and all, I expected the Doc to keep you off the sauce, is all."
"You really want to push this? Now?" Moving to loom over the smaller woman, Starbuck bit out, "Cause I've had a frakkin' bad day, and you're yanking my last nerve. So think carefully about what you say next, Lieutenant, or it'll be you visiting Cottle next."
Maybe Kat read the dead-serious intent in Kara's darkened eyes, or it was the presence of the Marine just feet away, but the younger woman took a half step back and turned without another word and left the cabin. As Mathias looked in, Kara gave her a nod meant to be reassuring, but she still saw the doubt in her guard dog's eyes.
The thought of lingering in the small bunkroom and finishing the bottle had lost its appeal with Kat's baiting. She returned the liquor to her locker and left the room, turning resolutely towards the mess. Her stomach was cramping, and she wasn't sure if it was from the shot of ambrosia, the roil of emotions, or the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Kara wasn't even sure she'd be able to choke down whatever was on the menu, but she decided to at least try.
A half hour later, sopping up the last of the bean soup with a thin slice of bread, Kara was surprised that she felt better for the meal—as meager as it was.
After returning to the Admiral's quarters, the afternoon was a waste of time as she found herself unable to settle to working on the training protocols. When the ship-wide alarm sounded Condition One, she shot to her feet and was half way to the hatch when Mathias blocked her path. Twice in one day! The Marine was seriously pissing her off now.
"What? I'm going to CIC," Kara snapped out.
"Sorry, Sir. I have orders for you to stay in quarters until the attack is over," explained Mathias, her tone bland even as she looked ready to repel any attempt Kara made to get by her.
"You're frakkin' joking, right?" At Mathias' headshake, Starbuck spun away, kicking a chair aside as she strove to clamp down on her anger. The Sergeant probably thought she'd be throwing a tantrum next, but she didn't care. Better the chair then having a go at the Marine.
A short time later, she felt the distortion as Galactica made the FTL jump. She could visualize the scene as Vipers were propelled from launch tubes and engaged with the enemy Raiders. She should be out there blasting Raiders apart, for maybe the last time, she thought, railing against the circumstances that kept her grounded.
Less than fifteen minutes later she again felt the vague nausea that signaled another completed jump, and the announcement came over the speakers to stand down to Condition Two.
And, just like that, it was over.
If the Old Man's plan had worked, the prisoners were all dead and the rest of the Cylon race would shortly follow. For the first time, Kara gave thought to what it truly meant, and her mind turned to Sharon, or Athena as she was called these days. Lee hadn't said anything about their resident Cylon being affected, so she had to assume that she was fine. Though how fine she was with the genocide of her entire model, and every other Cylon, Kara was pretty skeptical.
She grimaced, not wanting to feel any remorse over the deaths—the final deaths—of their enemies. They'd started it. First the destruction of the Twelve Colonies, then the relentless hounding of the remnants of humanity, it was simply a case of self-defense. Or so Kara told herself, easily squelching the small voice of protest that sounded vaguely like Lee's. Hell, even Lee seemed fully onboard with the idea. Besides, she was just a line soldier. It wasn't her call and, as had been bluntly pointed out, not her concern either.
She wandered back over to the table and tried again to focus.
After unsuccessfully reading the same passage three times, Kara thrust the manual aside and rose to prowl the cabin again. Sergeant Mathias finally suggested they go for a run together after watching her pace for an hour. Kara's first reaction was to refuse. She was still furious at the woman's earlier interference, and besides, she didn't run with anyone other than Apollo. But, as she took another turn about the room, the prospect of several more hours going slowly stir crazy made her change her mind.
Mathias jogged along beside her as they made five complete circuits of Galactica. And, if the older woman noticed the way Kara kept steering them by the CAG's office, she didn't comment. Sweating, calmer and suddenly ravenous again, Kara suggested an early dinner after they had showered and cleaned up. As the two women ate together, Mathias even unbent enough to answer questions about her time before being assigned to the battlestar, and they lingered companionably afterwards over what passed for coffee these days.
When the pair returned to the commander's quarters, it was to find the Admiral waiting. The Marine took her place outside the hatch as Kara stepped through. Moving across the cabin, her eyes took in Old Man's closed expression. Halting abruptly, Kara was unnerved by his continuing silence. She wondered how much of what had happened in the brig had been reported to him. Shifting now beneath his silent regard, Kara dropped her eyes and waited for the expected dressing down.
When it finally came, the harsh voice made her flinch. "Where were you?"
"Sergeant Mathias and I went for a run and then dinner, Sir," she answered, coming to attention but still averting her eyes. His question confused her. Wasn't this about the prisoners?
"You weren't here. And I waited," his tone accusing now.
Kara frowned, still not making the connection until her gaze settled on the two trays of food laid out on the table. As understanding dawned, "You waited for me? For dinner?" Her astonished tone seemed to pierce his displeasure, for the rough lines of his face relaxed.
"Of course," he answered. "Why didn't you leave a note, Kara?"
"A note, Sir?" Startled, she finally met his gaze, still not getting why he was so upset. So she wasn't here for dinner. What did it matter?
"Yes, a note. It's customary when plans change to leave a note, Captain," the censure was back in his voice now.
"So, which is it, Sir—Kara or Captain? Cause either way, I don't know why you're so pissed. It's just dinner," she said turning belligerent at the reprimand.
As Adama came quickly to his feet, Kara flinched away and dropped her eyes again. She raised them when she realized that he wasn't moving. Her confused green ones met the blue of his and she saw pain reflected in their opaque depths and felt her recent meal turn in her stomach.
Hell, what've I done now to hurt him?
"Sorry, Sir," she mumbled, looking anywhere but at him.
"Starbu…Kara, no. I overreacted," he said, moving cautiously closer. "I was worried. Expected you here and you weren't. Guess I was looking forward to sharing a meal. A family dinner of sorts," he explained with a small shrug. At her perplexed look, he continued, "I know it's confusing. How we're suppose to act with each other now."
"Yeah, well…" she trailed off and shifted uncomfortably in place, still not sure how she felt about him holding back the information on the Cylon prisoners.
Adama sighed, waving her towards the table. She hesitantly followed and took the indicated seat, staring at the plate in front of her before raising an inquiring brow as he resumed his prior spot.
"Lee and I… We had a disagreement," he paused with a grimace, then gave shake of his head as if to dispel a distracting thought. "This isn't about Lee. I wanted to talk with you. Explain. About the prisoners," he said.
She tensed, not wanting to discuss his distrust and, she reluctantly admitted to herself, her reaction that justified his caution. Trying to keep her shifting emotions from her face, Kara watched as Adama fiddled with his fork before setting it aside to take a sip of water. He cleared his throat as he set the glass down and finally met her eyes again.
"I heard you found out about the prisoners. I had felt it best, all things considered, to withhold that information…from you." He paused, searching her face. She didn't know what he saw, but he continued. "I get that you're probably ang—"
"Probably?" she interrupted, then bit back other words as his brows lowered.
"It was for your own good," he said.
She ground her teeth together and looked away, determined not to get into an argument with him. She heard him sigh, but didn't look back. When she felt his hand close on hers where it rested on the table, it was all she could do not to yank it away.
"Kara, I did what I thought best. For you. For all of us."
"And did it work, Sir," she asked, managing to sound politely inquiring.
"No. No it didn't."
Her head jerked around to glare at him, and this time she did pull her hand free.
"So, what was the point?"
With her rejection, he seemed unsure what to do with his hand and finally ran it through is hair, looking so like his son for a moment that Kara blinked.
"The point was to end this," he said with a vague wave. "To stop the Cylons for good. The point was to survive."
Kara closed her eyes, trying to sort the jumble of conflicting emotions. She really didn't want to fight with the Old Man, and a part of her knew he had only been trying to protect her. The problem was that she instinctively rejected any attempt to do so.
What am I, some little comm officer that needs to be sheltered by Papa Adama?
She picked up her knife and jabbed at the mystery meat in front of her. No. It wasn't the time to dredge up that topic. Resolutely pushing thoughts of Dee aside, Kara peeked a look through her lashes at the man beside her. He was leaning back slightly in his seat, regarding her with that penetrating stare he had. Why hadn't he leveled with her earlier about the captured Cylons? 'For her own good', and what the frak was that suppose to mean? Giving a mental shrug, she acknowledged that he'd foreseen exactly what had happened, that she'd have blood in her eyes and vengeance in her soul.
Damned straight! After what those frakker did…
The room rang with the sound of metal on metal as her knife clashed with the tray. As she stared at her white-knuckled grip on the blade impaled through the slab of meat, chopsticks abruptly superimposed over her vision and a wave of dizziness swept her.
"Kara? Kara!" a sharp voice broke through the dual image.
Blinking rapidly, she forced her fingers to detach, one by one, from the knife. That, too, carried a sense of déjà vu and she clasped her shaking hands out of sight in her lap.
"What is it?"
Her eyes flitted to his, just long enough to note his worried expression before dropping again.
"Kara!" A third time he called her name, more demanding, and she knew it was either respond or have him overreact.
Forcing words through her constricted throat, "Sir, I…" Eyes shifting to her glass, she longed to take a drink but didn't trust her shaking hand enough to reach out. She moistened her lips instead. "I'm good. I… It's passed. I'm fine now." At his skeptically look, "Really. I'm Ok."
"You had a flashback?" Half question, half statement. She gave a jerky nod. "Want to talk about it?" At her vehement headshake, "I'm here. I'll listen."
"I just want to forget, Sir," she fervently said.
"So how's that been working for you?" His words were lighter, with just the hint of a scoff that pulled her gaze to his.
"Not so much," she confessed, feeling her lips twitch as he arched a brow at her. "What do they say about someone that keeps doing the same thing over and over and keeps expecting a different result? Guess I'm not so much out-of-the-box as I like to think, huh."
His mouth definitely twitch up in response as he relaxed back in the chair.
"You're no old warhorse, like me. Still time to learn new gaits," he said.
"Back on the horse, and all that, Sir?"
"With you, it's too late to close the barn door, Starbuck."
"Yeah, you can lead me to water, but you know I only drink ambrosia."
Both were trying to hold back grins now at the ridiculously clichéd lines they were tossing out; rewinding to a time when they use to play just this game with each other, seeing who could keep it going the longest.
With the tension broken, Adama sat forward and lifted a fork laden with some type of orange mash. Squash maybe? Swallowing the bite, he poked towards her meal with the utensil.
"You should eat."
"Already did, Sir," she reminded him.
"Right. Guess the memory's not as sharp as it once was," he said, scooping up another bite. He nodded with a 'hmmm' in his throat. "This isn't half bad. You should at least try it."
Pulling the knife free, Kara purposely set it aside and took a tentative taste of the vegetable. Sweet Potatoes, she realized, and, as the taste filled her mouth, she thought there was just the hint of…cloves?—nutmeg?—she didn't know, never being much for spices, or cooking at all, for that matter. But the Old Man was right. It was good, and she shoveled another mouthful in before glancing up.
"Good," she mumbled at his inquiring look.
"Being the Admiral has a few perks," he said, cutting into his portion of protein. The grimace that followed that bite spoke for itself, and Kara knew not to bother with the mystery-meat selection. Though, given how short rations were getting, she wondered how long before even that became manna to be thankful for?
After finishing the yams, she lounged back, nibbling on a crust of bread and watching the Admiral eat. Her thoughts flicked back through the day's events and their meanings and she wondered again why so many people seemed determined to 'protect' her. The idea that they cared for her, and that's what normal people do when they care for someone, seemed foreign when applied to her. Yet…isn't that how she felt, too, towards those in her life?
She shelved that thought for now, but knew she'd have to pull it out again and prod at it another time. For now, it was enough to relax for a moment, and pretend that this was just another quiet evening spent in the Old Man's company before the worlds ended. They use to get together for dinner once a month and just talk; mostly about happenings around the ship, or swapping stories and discussing the latest news from the Twelve Colonies.
A couple of times a year their talks had turned to Zak. Kara knew that those dinners had been bittersweet for both of them. Each had held a fist of guilt clenched about their hearts, though that never came up between them. The Admiral usually would reminisce about his sons as boys, and Kara would relate some antic of Zak's during their time together. Without ever acknowledging it, the sharing of their grief lessened it for both, and an 'almost daughter-in-law' became a daughter of the spirit.
Kara's thoughts of Zak lead her back to Lee and a comment the Old Man had made earlier.
"So, you and Lee at it again?" she prompted.
As Adama sat back and wiped his mouth with a napkin, she saw the flash of distaste cross his face and suddenly hoped she hadn't spoiled his appetite.
He gave a barely discernible shrug then said, "It seems I can't talk to my own son without it escalating into a fight." He took a sip of water before continuing, "My skills as a father appear to be sorely lacking." The look he gave her now seemed to be seeking something from her, and she searched for words.
"Skills take practice, Sir. Neither of you has had a lot of that with each other," she said, offering him what little advice she could. "Besides, I kinda doubt Lee got his obstinate streak from his mom."
Adama huffed a laugh then picked up his fork again and waved it in her direction. "And you'd be the expert on obstinance."
"My expertise on that subject is widely acknowledged," she said, her lips sliding briefly into a smirk as she slouched sideways on the chair's armrest.
As the Admiral dug into his meal with renewed enthusiasm, they fell back into the comfortable rhythm of their exchanges from years past and Kara was reluctant for it to end when the steward finally came to remove their dishes. She rose with the Admiral and followed him to the hatch, stepping aside as Mathias entered as he left.
When the President arrived only a few minutes later, Kara was surprised. The day had taken so many disjointed turns that she'd actually forgotten about her upcoming session.
She could feel all the tension returning to her body as she followed the other woman over to the sofa and took a seat.