Chapter 102
As Kara accepted the MRE packet from Sam, it still vaguely surprised her that Cylons used ready-to-eat meals, too. There was actually a lot that seemed surreal about the past three days, but as she peeled open the top seal and sniffed suspiciously at the pouch's contents, it was the mundane things that kept disrupting her sense of reality.
Cylons shouldn't eat.
They shouldn't have need of a sanitary head, even one as minimal as that the Heavy Raider boasted.
And they certainly shouldn't stare at her with reverent expectations.
Her skin itched at the way Leoben and Sam's eyes followed her whenever she ventured from the cockpit. Nor was Ellen's regard much better; the older woman always seemed slightly amused and yet unwilling to share what the frak she found so humorous in their current situation.
Truth of the matter was that only D'Anna's sullen glares settled Kara's taut nerves. Ellen had cleaned up much of the damage to the Three's face with the shuttle's limited first aid kit, but the bruises and cuts had only just begun to heal and they provided Kara with an ugly satisfaction whenever she laid eyes on the skinjob. D'Anna's behavior really should have made her uneasy: the Three never spoke directly to her, just made snide comments within her hearing or silently returned Kara's hostile looks with a menacing glower that promised retribution later.
And yet…
Here was an enemy that Kara could hate without feeling conflicted—and the skinjob clearly returned her loathing, a refreshing change from the demeanor of the others. And the fact that no one had been killed in the last few days was only due to the stubborn intervention by Ellen Tigh. The woman had a way of diffusing the situation whenever Sam, Kara or D'Anna appeared to be about to go off. In that way, she reminded Kara of Laura Roslin, though she doubted that Ellen's ability to manipulate people came from handling a classroom of kids—more likely a barroom of belligerent men. Regardless, the woman had managed to keep everyone from tearing each other's throats out, which given the depth of the grievances involved was nothing short of miraculous.
In the meantime, Kara had finally gained a precarious balance in her sentiments towards Sam. Much like with Leoben, she had managed to compartmentalized the emotions that he evoked that threatened to sever her thread of control. There would be time to deal with them later and right now she had to focus on her mission.
On first lifting off from the algae planet, Kara had considered jumping the Heavy Raider back into the radiation storm in a search for the elusive mandala. She had been willing to take the risk but, side-eying the Two where he'd maintained his station in the second seat, she hadn't dared take the chance of showing the Cylons a direct path to Earth; while the radiation exposure was too great for the Fleet to venture along that route again, Kara was sure that the Cylons wouldn't hesitate.
No. Her best course lay in intercepting Galactica at the Ionian Nebula. Let the Admiral deal with the Cylon 'delegation' while she took another ship back on her own to search, she decided.
As Kara spooned out a bite of the hash, she had to admit that the Cylons' MRE was levels above the Colonials' standard issue. Not that she had ever been a particularly picky eater, her mother had seen to it that she was grateful for whatever she got, but her recent time on the basestar had reminded her of how real food was suppose to taste. She had no idea where the Cylons got it, but she had to admit that if they could somehow help the Fleet with their food stores it would be a definite plus in their favor. Especially after the near disaster of the contaminated processing unit.
She continued to eat, ignoring Sam as he settled into the other cockpit seat.
"You can't avoid me forever, Kara," he said. Her eyes flicked his way to find him regarding her with a frustrated look. When she returned her attention to the meal without answering, his agitated huff tightened her stomach and abruptly her appetite disappeared.
"Look. I get that you're angry," his tone, though calm, had the undercurrent of pleading that had come to irritate her more and more over the past few days, like he thought if he begged enough she could just forget what he was. Her hand gripped the pouch, threatening to spill its remaining contents. Oblivious to her growing agitation, he continued, "I was frakking angry, too, Kara. Thought that everything I knew about myself was a lie." She couldn't help looking over now and saw him leaning towards her as he fervently said, "It wasn't. Not all of it. My life before the Buccaneers, sure, but I was part of that team—their Captain. That was real. And then I met you…and I swear that everything we had was real, too." He paused as if gathering himself, then said in a rush, "I love you, Kara. And you said once that you loved me. That was real. You can't deny it."
She automatically recoiled, flinching as he drove a dagger straight into the nerve center of her self-doubts and roiling emotions. His words swept away the ready anger, but in its stead lay exposed the bitter knowledge that she had cowardly turned to him as a way to distance herself from Lee. Sam was right, she did love him—her words to him as he'd died had been true. Yet in the time since, Kara had been forced to re-examine many things. One of the truths she had been avoiding was now finally pinned in place and she couldn't push it aside any longer.
She didn't want Sam.
What she had felt for her husband was love—too akin to how she had felt about Zak for her to pretend otherwise—but she wasn't in love with him.
There was someone else.
There had always been someone else…and none of her denials could change that.
And as Kara finally accepted that what she felt for Lee Adama wasn't just some dark-of-night, post-coital declaration that she could run from any more, a profound relief shuddered through her. She was in love with Lee. Regardless of how he might now feel, regardless whether she deserved his love in return, the irrefutable truth was that he was the only man that had ever connected soul-deep with her. He was the only one she really wanted.
The turmoil of choosing between the two men might have finally been resolved, but that simply now left more room for fear. It scared Kara to want something so much. Hadn't she already learned how the gods responded to that? She closed her eyes, biting her lip to remind herself that she had a greater mission—refusing to call it a destiny—to fulfill. Thinking that maybe if she could satisfy the gods in this, they'd turn their attention from her in the future and she might then be given the chance to find some kind of happiness of her own.
So lost in her thoughts, she jumped when Sam spoke. "Damn it, Kara, say something," his words jerking her from the revelation, and guilt reminded her that regardless of how she felt for Lee, Sam was still her husband and—Cylon or not—he deserved more than her cold rejection.
Taking a steadying breath, "You might be the same person, but I'm not," she quietly said. "Too much happened. Too much you don't know about. I'm not—"
Cutting her off, "I don't care." He moved to squat at her side. "I'm here. You're here. This is all that matters," said Sam with a pointed look at her tattoo. Then, as Kara's eyes dropped to the unmarked skin of his own arm, she saw him stiffen, realizing that he'd just drawn attention to just how much had in fact changed in the past few months they'd been apart. "I'm still me," he tightly insisted.
"You're not listening." Anger was stirring past the guilt now. "The things that happened," jerking her head towards the passenger section and her tone sharpening, "the things they did… Gods, I should just shoot her now," a brief hesitation, then she bitterly added, "…both of them."
"If that's what it takes, I'll do 'em both for you," he grimly offered, extending his hand for the gun.
For a moment, Kara had the suspicion it was a ploy to get the weapon, but hadn't she already decided that Sam wasn't really with the Cylons? She did have to wonder why he hadn't already confronted D'Anna. He might not know all that the Three and Leoben had put Kara through, but the woman had killed him, that alone should have been reason enough for him to have found a way to off her by now—despite any of Ellen's objections. Hadn't it taken all of Kara's own willpower since to keep from attacking the skinjob every time she'd been forced to go to the aft section for something? It had only been the knowledge of how important an alliance was that had held her rage at bay, and so, whenever possible, she had kept to the cockpit to avoid the others.
But why hadn't Sam acted before now?
Her hand dropped protectively over the concealed pistol as she searched his face. Had she misread his allegiances? The doubt brought back her feelings of frustration and she slapped his hand away.
"I don't need you to do anything for me, Sammie," she snapped out.
When he paled and let his arm fall to his side, she sought to shut out the guilt.
"Fine, Kara," he grimly said as he stood. Turning away, "Suit yourself. You always do," then he moved along the aisle and out of sight.
"Frakkin' hell," she muttered, then swore again as the forgotten hash spilled onto her lap. Not bothering to restrain her curses as she cleaned up the mess, Kara only wished that it were as easy to sweep up the shambles of her life.
[ I I I I I ]
Two days later and Kara was worrying her lower lip as she considered the coordinates for their next jump. Before they had even left the algae planet, she had insisted that Leoben teach her how to work the Heavy Raider's navigational system so she could plot their course without revealing the destination to the Cylon. The first jump had been purposefully at an angle to her goal to deceive anyone trying to track her objective based on their initial direction. Her mistrust might be mistaken, but old habits died hard and Kara was damned if she was going to leave an easy trail for Cavil or any of the others to follow.
Yet she hadn't dared extend their course too much. By her calculations Galactica had at least three weeks' lead on them. Thanks to the Heavy's significantly longer jump window, she was confident they were gaining, but so much relied on whether the Admiral maintained his SOP of scouting the surrounding areas for resources after each jump or if he decided to push the Fleet ahead. Any delay on the Old Man's part would work in Kara's favor, but she still had to ruthlessly press their own pace.
As it was, after some five days spent almost entirely seated at the pilot's station, she was sore and exhausted.
And she stank.
Leoben had assured her that the Raider had enough food, water, air and fuel for a group their size to manage fourteen days—twenty if they rationed the water. But the shuttle lacked a shower…or even a sink, and antiseptic wipes could only do so much. Another thing they lacked in supplies was additional clothing, and her once-white pants and top had stiffened since with dust, sweat and smeared blood.
Plucking at the filthy tanktop, Kara grimaced at her own rank odor and grungy state. From scalp to toenails she itched. And as she ran fingers through the greasy mop of her hair, she even thought longingly of the outdoor showers they'd had on New Caprica. Besides her outward condition, she ached in every joint. Long hours within the confines of a Viper were one thing, but close to a week now spent sitting, eating and even sleeping at the controls of the Cylon shuttle had left her feeling as decrepit as the XO.
She frowned as thoughts of the Colonel led her naturally to his wife and their upcoming reunion. The woman had come forward more than once in the past days to speak to Kara, trying to explain what life for the twelve humanoid-Cylons had been like prior to Cavil's treachery. Ellen had ignored her initial curt rebuff and continued talking like they were having a friendly chat over drinks. But after several attempts, Kara's cold silence had defeated even her bemused patience and Ellen had shaken her head before retreating to the aft section for good.
Moving to stand in the aisle between the seats now, Kara straightened with a groan. She worked methodically from the neck down, warming and stretching muscles cramped from maintaining the same position for too long. As she did arm circles, it helped that the second chair was currently unoccupied giving her some additional room; though it wasn't the pull in her shoulders that made her frown as she considered Leoben's more frequent absences.
Should she be worried that the Two was spending an increasing amount of time with the passengers each passing day? Were they plotting something together? And if so, how could she find out what it was?
Abruptly realizing that she was just standing there glaring at the empty seat, Kara resumed her exercises, moving on to knee lifts…and wishing again that she'd taken Sam up on the offer of his socks. She had refused, and in the days since had regretted it as the chill of the deck plating traveled from her bare feet up her legs and made sleeping in the pilot's seat even more uncomfortable.
Being enclosed within the Raider with Leoben and the others had also triggered the return of Kara's nightmares and she had been frequently waking with a panicked jolt, unsure if the echo of screams were just in her head or real. And then there was the new reoccurring dream had recently been added to the mélange that harrowed her sleep. She could recall bits of it: she was in a cathedral unlike any she'd ever seen before and there were footsteps rushing towards her, and though there was something peculiar about their sound, she wasn't afraid. Each time she woke before finding out who was coming for her. The dream seemed so at odds with the rest her nightmares that Kara felt more unsettled after waking from it than if she'd been reliving one of those of her time in detention.
Well, at least there was one thing she was ardently thankful for: that there hadn't been any more twistedly erotic dreams of Leoben. Added to the stress she was already under, that would have been too much, and Kara was disturbingly certain that on waking from such a dream, she would've emptied her pistol into Leoben…and might not even have stopped with just him.
As she paused in her modified workout, she considered the Two's recent behavior, realizing that even when in the cockpit, he'd been acting differently. On the basestar and their first day on the Raider, he had continued to study her as if thinking to unravel some vast mystery just by staring at her for hours on end. But that had changed since they'd jumped from the algae planet. Now his eyes shifted away whenever she glanced over, and there was a new tentativeness in his voice when he spoke. It was both a vast relief and a real concern. While not having his unnerving regard on her all the time calmed a turbulent place within her, Kara questioned what had triggered the transition in his demeanor.
She didn't trust him.
Leoben had to be working an angle on her, and as Kara started to alternate squats and lunges between the two seats, she worried at what new scheme he was setting in place. A reassuring touch to the pistol at her waist confirmed that she was at least ready this time. Let the frakker move against her now and he'd find out if all his talk of having a soul was truth or bullshit.
Finishing the last set, Kara welcomed the burn in her quads as a distraction. Finally she stood and stretched each leg while fervently wishing again for the luxury of a shower. Patting at her forehead with the underside of her tanktop collar probably left a smear of dirt behind, but at least it kept the sweat from her eyes. A few deep breathes and she was done.
Now what?
Kara pressed fingertips to her forehead, attempting to fight off the exhaustion-induced headache as she considered her options.
She should probably try to eat something, but her appetite had been practically non-existent for days now, and the thought of food just reminded her of Galactica. Wishing now that she'd taken time to look for evidence that the Fleet had returned to the algae planet after the basestars had departed, Kara could only trust that they'd been able to sneak back and replenish their food processors. Not knowing to ask, she was still unaware of the missing week between when she had entered the mandala for the first time and when she'd crash-landed the Raptor.
As it was, the compulsion to press on decided it for her, and Kara settled into pilot's seat again and began feeding numbers into the ship's NAV system. After confirming that the Raider's engines had had enough time to cool, she gave the yoke a light jiggle, rocking the craft and giving the others notice that she was about to initiate a jump. The sound of a few raised voices confirmed that they'd gotten the none-too-subtle hint and it brought a wane smirk to her lips before she engaged the engines and toggled the FTL drive for the next series of jumps.
[ I I I I I ]
Galen's relief was profound.
The shock on discovering that the highly respected Captain Kelly was behind the bombing attacks on Baltar's lawyers paled in comparison to the relief that Tyrol felt at having vindication that he hadn't been involved. And though suspicion had been cast his way before, the difference this time was that he couldn't be certain he was innocent. As the search for the culprit narrowed to those with access, he had made a point to never be alone, figuring that he'd have an alibi if another bombing occurred and if he unknowingly was the saboteur, it would at least deny his Cylon programming future opportunities.
So when the second bomb was found attached to the Raptor that had been meant to carry Lee Adama and Baltar's newest legal hack, Galen had been reasonably sure that he couldn't have planted it there.
Reasonably sure.
Kelly's confession had finally released the apprehension that had been gnawing at Galen's resolve to keep his secret.
Their secret.
Now, as Galen stood alone in the empty chamber after Tory and Tigh had departed, he considered the past few weeks. Since the revelation of who…or what…the three of them were, this was the third time they had met in private. They weren't plotting. The gathering was just a way for each to assure themselves of the truth of their circumstances and that the others weren't going to suddenly out them or hadn't started acting on some subliminal programming. It was a risk meeting like this, but Galen had felt better afterwards; each time reminding him that he wasn't alone, that there were at least two others that understood the upheaval his world had taken.
As he took another moment to sort his thoughts, he acknowledged that another upheaval was coming that had nothing to do with him. The trial of Gauis Baltar was due to start tomorrow. Now that the former President's latest attorney had recovered enough from his injuries, the Admiral had notified Tyrol to arrange for the conveyance of the chosen members of the Captains' Board to Galactica to beginning hearing evidence in the case. For Galen, the verdict was a foregone conclusion and he only hoped that he could be present when they flushed the traitorous bastard out the airlock.
An inner voice mocked him at the ironic nature of his thoughts. Wasn't he likely to face the same fate if anyone uncovered his secret? And hadn't he been the one to call a halt to the Star Chamber after almost doing the same to an innocent Gaeta?
Galen ran both hands through his hair and gave a frustrated huff of air. Baltar was different, he tried to assure himself. Even before the Cylons' return, the malfeasance of his administration on New Caprica was inexcusable. The man's surrender to the Cylons and then his willingness to act as a figurehead for the Occupation were facts. Everyone knew the truth.
Pushing aside the continuing sense of disquiet, he checked his watch and saw that it was time to meet up with Cally. As he slipped unseen from the chamber, Galen's thoughts shifted to the quiet dinner he had planned for the evening. He had made arrangements for Nicky to stay at the daycare for several additional hours and was looking forward to some time alone with his wife.
Galen had found that in the wake of the revelation of his true identity, the potential loss of his family had reminded him of how much they meant to him. So he had made a point to schedule at least one meal every few days where he would bring two servings of whatever processed algae offering on the menu that day to their cabin for he and Cally to share alone together. At first their discussions naturally covered what had happened on the flight deck that day or with Nicky, but on relaxing, they had rediscovered the intimacy of the early days of the colonialization of New Caprica.
That evening, after both of their passions had been spent, he lay with the petite form of his wife in his arms and considered the truths of his life: he was Galen Tyrol, a Chief in the Colonial Fleet, but more importantly, he was a husband and father. Stroking the cascade of Cally's dark hair as she dozed, he held firm to these things that he was certain proved that he was still the man he had always been.
As Cally shifted and stretched, "Hey there," he whispered into her ear, then dropped a kiss on the crown of the back of her head.
"That was nice," she murmured as she rolled to face him.
"Only nice?" He gave her a mock-hurt look and was surprised when a slight blush warmed her cheeks.
"Ok, extra nice," she conceded, then poked him for his teasing. "You know what I mean."
"Extra nice is nice, too." Smiling, he caressed a hand along the curve of her bare hip, his fears and insecurities muffled for the moment. He closed his eyes as she reached forward and ran her fingers through his hair and down his neck, but opened them again as he felt her hand stop at his shoulder and noticed the slight tensing in the muscles beneath his palm.
"What's wrong?" Her quietly spoken question took a moment to register. When it did, he went absolutely still as panic locked him in place. "Galen?" Her tone was edged with worry now at his reaction.
Forcing his throat to open, "Nothing—" he started, but at her frown, "What are you talking about?" he asked, desperate to get some handle on what she suspected…or knew.
"Something's going on." She poked his chest again, but with none of the playfulness of a moment ago. "You've been acting strange. Just kinda pissed off all the time, Galen. Why?" Her face tightened and a quiver entered her voice. "Did I do something?"
Guilt twisted his stomach. He thought he'd hidden his temper and dread better than that and wondered if Cally was the only one to notice. Probably not. Scrambling now for a way to deflect her, he cleared his throat and went with the first thing that might sound plausible.
"It's Starbuck." At her perplexed look, "I should have checked her Raptor. If I had…" he trailed off and as understanding cleared Cally's expression, felt a new guilt at having to lie to her.
"Galen, we don't even know if that had anything to do with it," she firmly said, but he noticed that she had avoided actually acknowledging Kara's death and wondered if she felt some responsibility, too.
"Maybe not," he slowly agreed, hoping she'd think that her words had reassured him.
The ship's intercom signaling the call to Third Watch provided a welcome distraction and he shifted away to rise from their bunk.
"I'll go pick up Nicky if you'll take the trays back to the mess?" he offered as he donned pants and tanks without looking over towards her.
"Galen?" The plaintive way she said his name warned that she hadn't been completely mollified, and he returned to where she sat on the edge of the bed. Leaning over, he pressed a quick kiss to her brow.
"Everything's fine. Really," he insisted, then added, "I'll be glad when the trial's over, just in case someone else decides to take up where Kelly left off."
That idea apparently hadn't occurred to Cally, and Galen could've kicked himself as he saw fear darken her eyes.
Oh, crap.
He'd only meant to throw out another explanation for his recent behavior, never intending to renew the anxiety they'd all experienced when the unknown saboteur had been menacing Galactica.
"Cally, I'm sure we're safe now," he firmly stated, giving her a gentle shake to divert her building dismay.
"I guess." Her tone only slightly reassured.
"Nothing's going to happen," he said. "Two, three days tops, and then the Admiral will find Baltar guilty and we can move on." After giving her another searching look, "I'll be back soon with Nicky," he said and turned to leave.
"Galen…I love you," came her words from behind him…and guilt squeezed the breath from his chest.
Not daring to look around at her in case she misunderstood the conflict in his expression, he opened the hatch, and stepping through said over his shoulder, "Love you, too."