Word Count: in progress
Date: 2004
Series: Mini
Rating: K+
Category: Relationship
Pairing/Focus: William, Laura
Warnings:
Summary:
Spoilers/Disclaimers:
Chapter 1
Running solved everything.
Or at least, exercise did. Exercise had always been an outlet for Kara Thrace, from her early memories as a child. It had started with the endless games of chase as a youngster, and graduated to organized sports when she hit grade school. The Adamas had always included her in family trips, and some of her favorite memories were bucking through the warm waters of the Caprican oceans, moving like the water creatures below.
When she hit secondary school and then the Academy, the campus pool had become her refuge. The water had become as addictive as a drug, countless hours lost in lap after lap of exercise. The water had served as a block between her and the rest of the world, a physical barrier that she cut through with just her arms and her legs. That left her brain free to puzzle out whatever internal debates that had been raging inside of her. Inevitably, whatever had been bothering her when she entered the pool had, either through mental or physical exhaustion, reached a conclusion when she exited the water.
It was like physical withdrawal when she had first been stationed on board the Galactica. Her body spent its free hours screaming for release, and her brain began to lock up over the simple tasks being a fleet pilot demanded. When the nightmares of Zak’s accident began to intrude on a nightly basis, she knew she had to find a release, or she would go not-so-quietly crazy.
That was when she’d visited the commisary and demanded a pair of running shoes. Distance running had never been her thing at the Academy - there was something about pushing yourself to the point of quivering muscles and puking that screamed “frakking insanity” to her. But she needed something, dammit. Running was her next best option. And as it turned out, it cleared her mind almost as well as swimming laps did.
It had taken only a few days since the attacks for her to become stir crazy. Everyone’s schedules had been blown, no pun intended, to hell and gone. Half the flight crew was gone, the ship was now running military combat conditions all hours of the day, and no one really had a clue what was coming next. As it had her entire life, exercise became her refuge, and she resumed running. By rule -- and the incident with an unsuspecting cadet in her first month on board -- she ran alone. No exceptions.
That was, until Lee Adama showed up in military exercise greens and running shoes her first morning back to the drill. He hadn't said a word, and neither had she. He'd just dropped into step behind her, and steadily kept up the pace.
He made a perfect exercise partner. He didn't slow her down, he didn't rush ahead and best of all, he didn't talk. They just pounded the decks together in a steady rhythm, one normally a half-step behind the other, speaking only when they needed to clear the way ahead of them.
His presence was calming, and comforting. As much as Starbuck hated to admit it, she'd needed to know Lee was on her side. There'd been a hell of a lot to happen in a very short time and a hell of a lot of fallout. Frankly, when she'd climbed into the Viper for that recon mission, she'd half-expected not to make it back. Well, okay, maybe only quarter-expected. In any case, she'd had her doubts.
Which made telling Lee about Zak that much easier. Now, granted, if he'd kept up this shit with his father a lot longer, she would've told him regardless and to hell with the consequences. But the timing had just seemed right for her to, as she had put it, confess her sins.
In the aftermath, she'd wondered just how Lee would take it. Deep down, she was scared she'd be in for the same treatment he'd given his father, even if the two of them had just a fraction of the acrimonious history Lee and Adama did. She had worried about losing his friendship, but more importantly, dooming the effort that really counted: getting Lee and his father back on the same page.
So far, things were fine between her and Lee. He hadn't said a word, but that was fine. Sooner or later, they'd probably need to talk about it. But him falling out with her each morning indicated he wasn't holding a grudge. Of course, he wasn't saying much about his father, either. Or to him, as far as she could tell. His calm acceptance of the situation as it was threatened to infuriate her every frakking morning.
Because every morning, they hit the same obstacle at pretty much the same spot on the deck. Starbuck looked up to see an older man, his spectacled eyes locked on a flimsy, walking the hall in front of them.
“Good morning, sir!” She kept the cheer in her voice and the bounce in her step, but slowed down to the commander’s walking pace. Lee followed suit.
“Morning, Starbuck … Captain.” The elder Adama was smiling, but Starbuck picked up on the awkward silence between father and son. She felt the familiar rush of irritation with the two of them as Lee nodded back at his father in greeting, but said nothing. The two couldn't even get past formalities in a simple, stupid encounter on a morning run.
“Well, whaddya hear, Starbuck?” She was so busy being irritated with the two that she almost missed the prompt. She forced herself to smile, and keep up the normal patter.
“Nothin’ but the rain, sir.”
"Then grab your gun and bring in the cat." Adama cracked a grin and turned down a side hall, his attention back on the flimsies. Starbuck started to give the normal "boom, boom, boom" when she noticed Lee at a standstill a step or two behind her, staring at his father's disappearing form.
Her curiosity had almost prompted the inevitable question when Lee finally shook his head.
"What's that all about?" Lee had a confused look on his face, but Starbuck had a pretty strong suspicion it was more than just the morning exchange that was bothering him. The abrupt rush of irritation she'd felt earlier flared up again, and she gave him her trademark smirk.
"You've watched it for 10 days and you're just asking now?" She bit back a few more choice words, and settled for a barb instead. "Why don't you just ask your father? She leveled a look on Lee that clearly communicated the challenge she'd just issued.
Lee stared at her for a long minute, and then took a deep breath. His face screwed up with irritation, and Starbuck caught the sincere anger growing beneath it.
"I'm not having this discussion." Before she could say a word, Lee set off at a slow jog. After a moment, she set off after him, using her own irritation for an adrenaline rush.
"You know, the first cup of caff isn't going to make it any better." She tried to keep a light-hearted tone in her voice, aiming for the joke. The problem was, she was getting right and truly pissed off and he knew it.
"Shut up, Kara." Lee's voice left no room for argument. If she pursued this any further, she'd start an honest fight and that was the last thing she really wanted right now. She rolled her eyes and shut her mouth, biting back a retort involving his parentage and good manners.
Why were the Adama men so good at this? It drove her to frustration that Lee and his father -- never great communicators to begin with -- had gone two years without saying a word. She knew Lee had been too angry to try to talk to his father, and that the blame and guilt involved kept Adama from reaching out to his son. Of course, when forced into that encounter at the decommisioning, the two had promptly stalked off in their respective directions after what Kara could only assume had been one hell of a fight.
Now, just ten days -- though a lifetime -- later, there was absolutely no hint of a problem. Watching them work together, she could tell the tensions between them had been stepped down. In fact, they were more than just stepped down. They were working so well together, it was scary. The two seemed to almost be able to read each other's thoughts at times. She could already tell that the work relationship between the two of them was going to be a tremendous asset.
But personally ... that was another matter entirely. There was absolutely no evidence whatsoever that the two were interacting anywhere BUT in CIC. Lee was keeping to himself on his off hours, either spending all of his time alone in his office or in the exercise area. And his father wasn't being much better. For a man known for being familial with his crew, the man had no idea how to deal with his son.
To say the crew, and the squadron in particular, had no idea what to make of the situation was the understatement of the frakking solar year. The rumors were flying fast and furious, and there were no indications any answers were coming anytime soon.
She almost wished they'd hit each other. A good, old-fashioned knock-down, all-out brawl sometimes worked wonders. Especially with the Adama men.
Or not. She wasn't sure she wanted to be anywhere near those two if they ever exploded at each other like that. She'd seen it happen exactly once in her lifetime -- after Zak's funeral. If it happened a second time, she would put money on the fact she wouldn't want to pick up the pieces.
She picked up the pace and got a good few feet in front of Lee. Something in her body language must have warned him to back off, or maybe he didn't want to deal with her, either. In any case, she found herself half a corrider's length in front of him in no time.
She hissed her breath out through her teeth. This whole damned mess had gone too damned far, and it needed to end. And like she had for the last two years, she couldn't come up with a damned thought to save her life on how to fix the situation.
She looked back over her shoulder, and found Lee lagging even further behind. She could tell by the look on his face that his mood was no better than hers. So much for the mind-clearing nature of a morning run. She ground her teeth and headed down a side corrider for the showers, her comfortable, relaxed mood definitely gone.
It took just a minute to reach the hatch she was looking for. With a hiss of effort, she slung the door open to the communal bathroom, and wove her way through the crush of bodies to a miraculously unoccupied wash stall. The only thing she hated worse than a fleet shower was waiting for one.
She had to admit, she'd been spoiled by the facilities at the Academy. She got to spend as much of her free time as she wanted in the pool, swimming lap after lap in the blessedly cool silence. The water wrapped its way around her and cleared her mind, leaving it open for the kind of internal debate that she thrived on. When the laps were finished, she could stand in the shower as long as she wanted, letting the hot water gradually warm her now-mildly hypothermic body back to normal. It also gave her time to file her one-person discussion and decide what to keep and what to discard.
Fleet showers were a rude awakening. As she wedged herself into the cubicle, an automatic timer gave her exactly one minute of water. It was just enough for her to minimally soak her hair and get her skin wet enough to wash. She could stand in the shower and lather as long as she wanted, but then she's freeze her ass off. And she only got a minute's worth of water to rinse off again. It was the reason she kept her hair short. It was the only way to keep it clean. How Sharon and Duella managed, she'd never know.
It wasn't being clean that was the problem today, though. She missed the hot rush of water and the chance to collect her thoughts, and she desperately needed that release today. The Adamas were going to drive her crazy if she didn't come to some sense of balance with the two of them. Hell, it wasn't even her sense of balance she needed to worry about.
It was theirs.
Chapter 2
"This ... is bad."
Coming from the Commander of a battlestar, it was an understatement, of course. Critical supply shortages were going to become a way of life. They were going to have to find supplies of food to feed 50,000 people, and medical supplies to keep them healthy. Then there were the fuel and ship parts to keep 50-some odd ships running -- and their military escort and the ships aboard her flying for protection.
But it didn't solve the problem of what lay before him. Commander William Adama contemplated the problem sitting on the table, then grimaced and pushed it away.
"Tell me we're not rationing coffee yet."
Across the table in the near-empty wardroom, Colonel Paul Tigh looked at him in disbelief and shook his head.
"I don't believe it. You're worrying about the coffee?" Tigh shook his head, and then looked at Adama skeptically. "You're not really ... are you?"
Adama contemplated the situation for a minute, and then leaned back in his chair.
“It’s nice to have something so small to complain about.” Though, as he thought about it, he needed his cup of coffee in the morning. He half shrugged, and then waved a hand at the papers on the table in front of him. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Tigh grunted, probably as much in bemusement as agreement. Adama found his time-hardened features crooking upwards into a grin in spite of themselves, and he realized that for the first time in ten days, he felt almost relaxed. Almost in control. Given what the past ten days had presented him with, that was something approaching a miracle.
Following the red-line jump, there had more issues than the personnel to assign to them. They’d had to inventory the ships and the supplies that they carried. At President Roslin’s urging, they’d also begun a hasty registration program, gathering basic information from everyone still alive in their rag-tag fleet. Sadly, even the last jump had cost them people, as two ships had been glanced by Cylon ordinance before they’d been able to jump. In light of the billions of lives lost, the numbers had been almost inconsequential. In light of the few people remaining alive, their loss had galled both Adama and the president.
Every basic problem came down to supply, demand and organization. Behind it lay the paranoia that only himself, his XO and the President shared, along with the knowledge of the new Cylon models. The safety of the fleet would only be assured once their population was free of any and all of the infiltrators.
And so, the most careful and complete of security checks had begun. Using the guise of safety and security inspections, the military had searched every ship from top to bottom. Bunks and lockers, to the mild displeasure of their owners, had been tossed. Background checks had been started. Down to the last person alive in the fleet, biological samples had been taken and carefully tagged. It would take them weeks to test all the samples, maybe months. But in the meantime, they were as safe and secure as they could manage.
Now, Adama could safely say he didn’t feel the weight of the Lords of Kobol on his shoulders anymore. He and President Roslin had been handed a difficult task, but with their dedication and those working with them, they would see that task completed. He could count on it.
“So, what’s the latest from the combat patrol?” He and Tigh were near the end of their morning briefing, a necessary task with all the information coming in from the night shift. Almost immediately after the jump, Adama had sat down and set up as formal a shift schedule as he could. He and Lieutenant Gaeta had remained on the day shift, with Captain Kelly and Colonel Tigh working the night. The rest of command and control was split into the standard three shifts, but he wanted his officers presented and accounted for over the shift changes.
So far, they had responded, though he hadn't really had any doubt that they would. His pride in his crew had been unequaled before the war. Now, he truly knew he had the best people in the business. They had proven their worth beyond all expectations.
“Well, aside from the fact we have more pilots than ships…” Tigh shuffled through the papers and heaved a sigh. “Your son…” He stopped and shot Adama a grin. “Excuse me. 'Captain Apollo' has them flying as tight a schedule as we can manage. Chief’s saying we need to find him parts for his ships, though, and he’s probably right.”
“That's all, though?” Adama was pleasantly surprised.
“It’s quiet. The same as it has been for the last 10 days.” Tigh lifted up a short pile of flimsies. “We’ve got the normal amount of complaints from just about everyone about everything. Other than that…”
“Other than that.” From him, it became a statement. Adama didn’t really need to finish the sentence. Tigh knew the situation as well as he did. They had all the problems of a recently begun colony coupled with wartime conditions. The fact they were still flying and functioning encouraged them all. They were managing.
“So…what’s next?” Tigh leaned back comfortably in his own chair, sipping slowly on his own cup of coffee. He grimaced much like Adama had. Wisely, though, his XO didn’t comment.
“I have a meeting with President Roslin in an hour to discuss the inspection tour on the Hephaestus tomorrow.” Adama pushed at his spectacles. “The ship's captain seems to think all eight of the shuttles can be converted. I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow when Lee and Tyrol have gotten a look at them.”
Tigh paused, and Adama saw a flicker of hesitation rise on his XO’s face. Adama wondered just what was on his mind, and was about to ask when Paul tentatively tossed out an unexpected question.
“Have you spoken to him at all?” Adama raised an eyebrow, questioning his XO without a word. He knew exactly what Paul meant, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of jumping in with an answer.
“Don’t give me that.” Tigh snorted. “You know I mean Lee.”
“I assume you don’t mean as CAG.” Another evasion, neatly sidestepping the issue. Somehow, they’d managed to slip off the topics of the morning briefing and into the personal issues Adama had been trying to avoid for nearly a week. His XO was a patient man, but only so far. Now that he had an opening - and no pressing business to attend to - Adama would pay a price.
“No, I don’t.” Tigh stopped short of rolling his eyes, but Adama felt the impatience rolling off his XO in waves. "Oh, it's not like anyone can complain about favoritism, given you two aren't talking to each other."
"We're talking to each other." Adama kept his tone measured and even, peering over the top edge of his glasses. "In fact, I spend more time with him than I did with Spencer. Lee's doing an excellent job."
This time, Tigh did roll his eyes, and his tone got testy.
"We're not talking about his job, or yours, Will." Tigh pushed away from the table, slapping at one of the piles of flimsies. "We're talking about your son. You know, the one you hadn't spoken to in two years before last week?"
Adama let out a deep, slow breath, trying to keep his own emotions under control.
“Ten days. It's been ten days. And we're doing just fine.” Adama knew he sounded rankled, and that he was bandying semantics. He didn't care. What had been brewing between himself and his son had taken two years to develop. He wanted time to gain control of the situation, and he would be damned if he let anyone push him into some sort of rushed and inappropriate solution.
“That's bull, and you know it." Tigh’s gaze locked with his own. There was a challenge there, though not out of anger and not without caring. That knowledge tempered Adama’s response.
“I know everything that happens on my ship, Saul.” He squared his shoulders, and evened his gaze. “And this, like everything else, will get resolved in time.” Adama managed a small smile, knowing the irony of his next words. “He’s my son, and I know how to handle him.”
Tigh scoffed, but didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. In light of the events preceding this conversation, Adama knew exactly what his XO was thinking. Still...
“I’m letting him come to me.” Adama evaded the issue, knowing without a doubt handling his son was not among his best skills. He had shown that time and again. But for now, waiting out his son seemed to be the only course of action. Time, unlike their other resources at the moment, was in abundance. Time he could afford to grant himself, and his son.
Adama rose from his seat, signaling the conversation was at an end. He would permit it to go no further. “That should pretty much wrap things up, yes?”
Tigh’s face locked up in a mask of frustration. His XO was a patient man - not to mention his friend - but Adama knew the answers he had provided were vague and purposely so. But beyond what he had said, there was little else to add.
His XO pushed his chair away from the wardroom table, and stood up. He stopped, looking like he would walk away from the argument, and then he leaned forward, putting his hands down on the table.
“You two are going to take this to your graves, Will, unless one of you bends enough to allow the other in.” The words - and the tone in which they were delivered - caught him completely off guard. His friend was angry, but there was something else. Friendship. Regret. A touch of grief. Abruptly, Adama remembered Paul’s wife, and the gap that had existed between them.
“We’ve … we’re not…” Adama searched for the words, but couldn’t find the way to say what he meant to. What had started off as a jest, a friendly prod, had become something more. In the days since the attacks, Paul had said his goodbyes. Adama knew he didn’t need to reach out to comfort his friend, but the vein of the conversation now had a slightly different focus. The grief and pain that he’d felt lessen earlier had returned to rest squarely on his shoulders.
Before Adama could even begin to contemplate the weight of those feelings, and the complexity of the issues in front of him, Paul plowed forward.
“You two need to find a way, Will.” His XO’s voice was quiet, and calm. If he'd been a betting man, Adama would've put money on the fact Tigh had planned out almost this entire conversation. With the exception of this last part. Now, it had become personal. “Otherwise you’re going to regret it the rest of your lives.”
With that, Tigh was finished. He scooped up the papers, and wrapped his fingers around his mug. And without another word, he was gone, leaving William Adama, father and commander, with a day’s worth of problems ahead, and two years worth of problems following behind.
The absurd turn of the conversation left Adama sitting at the table, staring over the top of his glasses. His thoughts reeling, he folded his hands together and let out a long sigh.
Of the problems that were sitting in front of him, those with his son were the most bothersome. He couldn’t be happier at the way things were working out with his son as CAG. Personal issues set aside, they worked well together. Adama often found his son anticipating his commands, and that extra level of understanding only tightened the efficiency level.
And as a father, he felt nothing but deep pride. There had been some questions raised in the aftermath of jump, mainly crew members trying to figure out who this unfamiliar captain was, and what he was doing in charge of the remaining flight squadron. But with the backing of Starbuck, and a good head for military decisions, no problems had really cropped up that his son couldn’t handle.
Adama had always worked well with their previous CAG, and he both missed and grieved the man. But the man had his flaws. Captain Jackson Spencer had let disagreements stew, as evidenced by some of the issues between Tigh and Lt. Thrace. He had also tended to work by the spirit of the law, rather than the letter, and the spirit was determined by his own set of morals, not necessarily with the best interests of the squadron in mind. Adama had never questioned Spencer, but on the same hand, he was fully aware of the man’s flaws. The same awareness existed with his son, but so far, Lee had handled himself with good grace and an instinctive touch for the position. It bode well for the future.
In light of the professional situation, he'd almost managed to forget that since the night of the jump, the two hadn’t spoken outside of formalities and command-level discussions. There was no animosity, no anger. For the first time in two years, he could be within arms’ length of his son and not feel the anger radiating from him. That in itself was a victory.
It was also a stumbling block. With this sudden peace, Adama had no idea how to proceed. Lee had reached out to him, awkwardly, the night of the jump, and Adama had stopped him. The pain in his son’s voice was almost too much to bear, and he hadn't the courage to face what his son might have said. So he had called for a halt that so far hadn’t been challenged. Adama didn’t want to challenge it, yet. He would settle for the fragile peace and having his son’s presence near.
Yet he couldn't help wonder what would come next. Adama closed his eyes, and slowly pulled his glasses off his face. Setting them lightly down on the table with one hand, he rubbed his eyes with the other. Two years ago, his elder son had hurled words and accusations that had burned him to the core. What had followed had horrified Adama, and wounded him. For two years, he had struggled with his son's words and actions and wondered how, if ever, he could bridge the gap.
Now, two years and a war zone distant, Adama still struggled. And he wondered if the answers would ever come.
Chapter 3
The new Commander of Air Group on board the Battlestar Galactica yawned slightly, and wondered where he could find another cup of coffee. Or an ounce's worth of excitement. Seven hours into an inspection and repair shift on the flight deck, he was tired, restless and bored out of his frakking skull.
Lee Adama looked over the shoulders of two members of the deck crew, whose names still alluded him, and then backed off before they perceived him to be hovering. He'd seen enough hovering personnel as a lieutenant, and plotted the immenent demise of a handful of instructors who had seen fit to poise themselves right over his shoulder. As a result, he'd earned a great respect for personal space, and who needed it the most. Deck crews working in close quarters definitely fit the description.
He looked down at his clipboard, and realized with a strong sense of relief they were down to the last repair slated for his shift. At least, the last repair they had the equipment and parts for, and the personnel to fix. Seven hours worth of hard work by his crew had bought a certain amount of satisfaction, and a small rush of despair when he realized he'd go through the same drill tommorrow, like he had in the ten days before.
Since jumping out of charted space into the Prolmar Sector, Lee had been getting a hands-on and very humbling education in command. He'd been immediately swamped with more duties than he could've thought possible, the least of which was supervising and helping out with the numerous repairs on the ships they had remaining.
And that was the easy part. There were flight schedules to fill out, personnel matters to deal with and coordination with CIC on at least 10 different projects designed to shore up supplies, find trained pilots and establish a decent amount of security on their only remaining military ship. More often than not, there were two jobs of equal value demanding him and only him. He'd been working the last week on three to four hours of sleep a night, and the little bit of exercise he got on his morning run with Starbuck.
How Spencer Jackson hadn't lost his mind as CAG was a complete mystery. At least he thought the man's name was Spencer Jackson. Everyone -- a bunch of fresh-faced, unfamiliar faces whose names he couldn't keep straight -- just called him Ripper. And since the man's name plate had been removed from his office door within a day of the attacks, he'd been running on his admittedly overloaded memory.
Between the names, the bureaucracy and the paperwork, he felt ready to file for a berth on a psychiatric ship, if they even had one. He hissed a soft sigh. All of this was excluding the extra work he was currently avoiding, like getting to personally know his pilots, enjoy some downtime and Gods forbidding, grabbing a few hours sleep.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to find himself face-to-shoulder with Chief Tyrol.
"Chief?" He squared his shoulders and tried to look respectful. He liked Tyrol, as capable a chief as he'd ever met. But the man scared the hell out of him. A full foot taller, Lee knew the man hadn't forgotten their encounter when Lee had first come aboard. Tyrol didn't look like he was holding a grudge; in fact, it looked like the chief was going above and beyond the call of duty to support his new CAG. But Lee didn't know for sure. That uncertainty nagged as him, and forced him to draw his shoulders a little squarer whenever the two worked together.
"Just some papers to sign off on for the inspection tommorrow." Tyrol looked as exhausted as Lee felt. To boot, he was covered in grease and lubricant, the result of several hours of work before Lee had come on shift. Lee knew he'd be here for several more.
As Lee signed the first paper in the small stack, the chief spoke up.
"You're still coming with us, right, sir?"
"Wouldn't miss it." The inspection tour didn't promise much in terms of excitement, but it would at least be a chance to possibly solve some of the numbers problems with their ships. They had 18 flight-capable Vipers, all with some degree of battle damage from the last attack. Two Raptors in good condition, and a shuttlecraft that had brought on board for ferrying personnel to and from the Galactica during the museum refit. They all needed time and attention from an overworked, undermanned staff.
If tommorrow's inspection tour of the Hephaestus paid off, they might be able to add a handful of shuttlecraft to the patrol schedule. Of course, first they would have to be refitted to Chief Tyrol's exact specifications, and then meet Lee's inspection standards. It could take them weeks to get the ships ready for a combat patrol. But they were ships.
And he would be flying, at least for a little while. The prospect pumped a rush of adrenaline into his system as he went through the last of the papers and felt another yawn creep over his features. He needed to get off the deck for a few hours, and maybe get something to eat. Then he would crawl into bed early. Maybe. He suspected everyone was operating on the same level of exhaustion he was. And if they didn't sleep, he owed it to them to match their dedication.
"I'll be in my office, Chief." He let a bemused expression cross his features. "Don't stay here all night."
The chief offered a sympathetic smile and tipped a relaxed salute his direction. Lee took that as his cue to leave while he could, before the chief and his crew found more work for him. Though, he had to admit, he'd rather be imitating a grease monkey than sorting through the paperwork that was sure to be piled on his desk.
He wandered out the door to the corridor, and aimed himself down the hallway towards command-level quarters. He hadn't wanted to take over CAG quarters, but then again, he hadn't wanted to start sleeping with his flight squadron, either. They needed a break from him as much as he needed a little privacy. So, he'd accepted the quarters with as much good grace as he could muster.
He shoved open the door to his office without looking, grabbing for the clipboard hung by the door that held the day's progress evaluations.
"Well, well, if it isn't the Great Captain Lee Adama." Lee's head flew up to find Starbuck sitting at his desk, her feet kicked up on the edge and an unlit cigar in her mouth. She looked perfectly at home.
"They even gave you an office." She stretched backward in the chair and crossed her feet at the ankles, her heels resting on a pile of flimsies. "I figured you had to have one down here someplace, since you're spending every waking hour someplace other than quarters or CIC."
Lee caught the tone in her voice, and knew immediately he was in trouble. He wasn't sure what he'd done -- or if he'd done anything at all -- but she was spoiling for a fight. That normally meant one thing with Kara -- he was in for an ass-chewing.
"Starbuck..." He heaved a sigh, and gave her a half-hearted glare. He wanted to kick her ass out of here. He wasn't in the mood for this tonight. "Well, what?"
"How about starting with your flight squadron...sir." She all but spat out the last word, her tone shifting from conversational to confrontational. A shiver went down his spine. Her back was up and she was in a lot fouler mood than he had thought.
Shit.
"What problem? I haven't seen anything..."
"That's because you haven't been there to see it." Kara leaned her head backwards and addressed the ceiling. "Half the squadron is scared shitless, trying to figure out what exactly you expect of them and when the frakkin' hammer's going to fall. The other half sees the 'Great Lee Adama,' son of the their commander and the biggest stuffed shirt on the ship."
Lee's face flushed bright red, both in anger and in embarrassment. "Good old Kara. Blunt as always." An utterly humorless smile crept onto his face. "Some things never change."
Kara coughed politely. "Bullshit. You mean *you* never change. You just don't see anything unless it's right in front of your nose, do you?" She snorted with derision. "Do you have an idea how much the people on this ship respect your father?"
"Of course I do!" How could he miss it? He had very little leeway on this ship because of it. He had some damned good reasons for not socializing with his flight crew, not the least of which was the fact he was the commander's son. He knew all too well what the crew of the ship thought of his father, and what would happen if they knew the full extent of the problems that existed between him and their illustrious commander. So far, it hadn't been an issue.
Or at least, he hadn't thought it had been. He leaned back against the wall and thunked his head against it. He felt like hitting something, and right now, Kara was the closest target. The problem was, he didn't want the brawl it would turn into, or the bruises and busted lip.
"Kara, get out of here." He opened his eyes and shot her a look. "Please."
"I'm not finished." He could see her trying to keep her emotions in check, an enormous effort given how truly pissed off she seemed to be. "They have no idea what to make of you. You're the commander's son, and the two of you don't socialize, you don't talk. Hell, the two of you can barely stand to be in the same room with each other. You might as well be strangers."
She stopped for a moment, and seemed to swallow hard and think before plowing forward. When she did, her voice was a few levels lower, softer somehow.
"Can't the two of you just talk?" She stopped and swallowed hard. "Dammit, Lee. It's not like you're holding me responsible. And it's my fault, if it's anyone's."
"It's different with you." And really, it was. When Starbuck had confessed to passing Zak through basic flight, it had never occurred to him to blame her. Sure, there hadn't really been time to think about it, but with Kara, assigning guilt would be pointless. He knew how much she had loved his brother, and he couldn't hold her responsible. Yet it felt natural to blame his father. Or it had. After the past week, he had no idea how to feel anymore.
"Why?" Starbuck's face was twisted in honest pain. "Lee ... it's not just the squadron. The whole ship would've had to be blind to miss what was going on between you and your father when you came on board." She hissed a breath, and finally rolled her eyes. "What is it with you two? You're not fighting, but..."
"It's better now." Lee couldn't bring himself to look at her. It was a half-truth at best, but he didn't know what else to say. This whole conversation was making him intensely uncomfortable. A little bit of irritation bubbled up in his throat. "I don't ... I don't want to do this now. Why are you here?"
"Because someone needs to get you two to talk!" He forced his gaze to meet hers. "It's not just about me, or your father, or Zak. You two have... dammit, you've always been like this. He loves you. If he didn't, he wouldn't care like he did. And he does care. You can't keep this up forever."
Lee felt his face burn, and his stomach twist into a knot.
"Maybe it's not me keeping this up. Did you stop to think about that?" That was the simple truth. Lee felt his face twist in something between a grimace and a grim smile. "I can't fix this. Maybe I never could." He looked at the ceiling and then back towards her. "I don't know how."
Kara rolled her eyes, and pushed off and away from the desk.
"Lee, he almost lost you, twice! If you think that doesn't count for something, you're wrong. What more do you two need?"
"I don't know!" Lee didn't want to have this conversation. He couldn't bring himself to tell her what he was feeling, how his father had hurt him the night of the jump. How he'd started to find a way, and then had been cut off. He didn't even know how to feel about it. Part of him was hurt, but the other part of him was relieved.
Gods. He didn't have to answer to anyone, least of all her. A familiar bitterness crept into his voice. "Maybe my father does. Why don't you go ask him? I'm sure he'd love to have this conversation."
"At least he'd-"
"Why do you have to stand up for him?" He cut her off brutally. The pain and misery in his stomach wound itself into a tight knot, and he fought to keep the accusation out of his voice, and ended up with a mirthless humor instead. "You always do. Why can't you just admit maybe he's wrong? That he made a mistake?"
"Why can't you admit that you both have?" Kara fired back without even pausing to take a breath. Her traditionally sardonic tone bled into her voice, and Lee finally found himself getting angry. "I know what happened after Zak's funeral, Lee. I saw it. You couldn't have created a bigger chasm if you tried!"
"I meant to!" The words ripped out of his soul, blind fury behind them. He was losing it, and he didn't even care. He didn't even stop to think. "Dammit, Kara, he took him from me!"
There was a long moment of stunned silence. Kara recoiled slightly, like he'd physically hit her. With a rush, he realized he might as well have struck her. But the words were enough. He pushed himself away from the wall, and opened his mouth to apologize, but Kara spoke before he could.
"No, HE didn't. I did that." She clambered to her feet and stumbled for the door. Lee reached out a hand to catch her, but she shied away from him. He winced when she stopped and came around to face him. Her face was a mix of misery, guilt and raw pain.
"You're a real asshole, Lee. Too bad I've hit my quota for striking superiors already."
And then she was gone, pulling the hatch shut behind her. Lee didn't even make a move for the now-empty chair. Instead, he closed his eyes, put his head back against the wall, and smacked the back of his skull against the base-wall metal several times. Hard. This, on top of everything else.
He fought the urge pound his head further, and instead aimed for the bed in the back corner. To hell with his paperwork. He was going to close his eyes, and maybe this would go away for a few hours. Because right now, Starbuck's words had hit too close to home in too many ways.
He didn't have the defenses left to deal with what she had accused him of, and more importantly, what she hadn't.
Chapter 4
"C'mon people!" Tyrol's voice carried loud and far across the flight deck. "Get your asses in gear or get off the flight deck!"
Lords, he was exhausted. He wanted a strong cup of coffee, a soft bed and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. He knew he'd get none of the three requests. In spite of the orders from his CAG, Tyrol hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the night before. He'd actually gotten off the flight deck at a decent hour, but when he'd ducked into his office to file the frakking paperwork, he'd found Sharon waiting for him.
The thought of her was enough to spur his flagging energy. Since he'd gotten her back ten days ago, they'd spent every minute of free time they had together. It wasn't much. Sharon had the responsibilities of taking care of the young boy, Boxey, she'd brought back from Caprica, not to mention her duties as a flight officer. And he'd spent almost every waking moment on the flight deck, supervising and effecting the repairs on his ships.
The little bit of time they had together came when they should have both been sleeping. The Lords only knew, they'd been working themselves to exhaustion. But the simple joy was worth it. It wasn't uncontrolled lust anymore, just stolen moments to be in each other's company. The moments were sweet, gentle. He spent as much time stroking her hair as anything else. Somehow, that simple action, the feel of her in his arms, sustained him.
Her leaving this morning had been murder. But they both needed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, and they both knew that wouldn't happen if she stayed in his office. Besides, neither really wanted to deal with the questions that would come up if they both walked out of there at the same time in the morning.
So, four hours later, he was up and running the show, again. The only things keeping him going were the bad coffee he'd brewed up at the start of the shift, and the thought of having a mission with Sharon as the shuttle pilot. Luck that true didn't happen too often, and he'd treasure it where he could.
"Chief!" Sharon's voice floated over the flight deck to him, and he turned with a smile. That quickly faded when he realized she wasn't in a flight suit, and her hair was flowing freely over her off-duty clothes.
No, this didn't bode well at all. He strode the length of the flight deck, unable to keep the look of disapproval off his face.
"Why aren't you in uniform?" Damned if she didn't she look beautiful ... and beautiful didn't match up with flight regs. Something was definitely off here. "We have to leave in less than 15 minutes."
"I'm not going." Sharon looked him straight in the eye, her gaze even and calm. She even had a slight smile on her face. "I got asked for a favor, and I agreed."
"But..."
"Kara asked if she could take the shuttle flight." Sharon crossed her arms, and took up a firm posture that he knew he wasn't going to be able to argue with. Damn. "Something about needing to get off the Galactica today before she killed someone. She said she'd clear it with Captain Adama, so I didn't argue."
"But..." He was starting to sound like a broken record, and they both knew it.
"She needed to get into space today, okay? I can't argue with that. I *won't* argue with that."
And the bitch of the matter was, he couldn't even argue with her. If there was one thing he'd learned quickly on the Galactica, it was the value of friendships. Hell, Sharon had been the one to hammer home the lesson, and he could see the kind of impact she had on Starbuck. Sometimes it was the only thing that seemed to keep the volatile insanity that was Lt. Thrace bottled. If that meant sacrificing a few hours with the woman he loved...
Shit. It still didn't mean he had to like it. And if he didn't like it ...Tyrol heaved a sigh.
"Captain's going to have a shit fit." And truer words had never been spoken. Tyrol didn't necessarily like the man, but he didn't hate him either. And something warned him that Lt. Thrace was going to push the man to his limits.
Sharon grimaced, and couldn't wipe it off her face fast enough for Tyrol to simply ignore it.
"What?"
Tyrol followed her eyes across the flight deck, where both Starbuck and Captain Apollo had suddenly appeared. Neither looked happy. Hell, both looked ready to spit Viper dust.
Sharon looked pensive for a moment, then let out a gentle sigh.
"I kind of think that's just what she had in mind."
*~*~*~*
She just wanted to hit him.
A nice, rock-solid roundhouse pitch with her fist tightly balled. Her best aim would put it right above his jaw, between the cheek and the ear, and it would lay him flat-out on the floor with a good headache and no arguments. Gods, no more frakkin' arguments! The silence would've been worth the court-martial. Almost.
Anyone else she would've slugged. To hell with the consequences. And even now, it was damned tempting. Of course, then she'd have to help Tyrol run the inspection tour. Frak. Why the hell had she traded with Sharon for this? She certainly wasn't getting the opportunity to talk to him, and it was pretty damned clear he wasn't happy to see her. Hell, he wasn't even seeing her.
Since they'd gotten on the shuttle, he'd purposefully avoided her, hiding in the back of the shuttle going over flight specs with the Chief. Those specs -- critical information about the age, durability and equipment aboard the eight shuttles on the Hephaestus that they wanted to inherit -- would have been in Lee's hands the same day they'd found out about the shuttles, and gone over 10 times since. He was very pointedly giving her the silent treatment when he easily could've been up here talking to her.
Yeah, a nice roundhouse. Right below the eye, too. Maybe a bright shiner would be in the offing.
When she'd gone to Sharon to suggest trading the flight duty, she really hadn't wanted to explain much. Hell, she wasn't even sure where she would've started. "Hi, Sharon, I told our new CAG, who also happens to be an old family friend, to go frak himself with a Viper lubetube, and I really need to apologize. Switch patrols with me?" No, that would have been a less than productive tact...though the mental imagery was priceless.
She'd settled for another truth, one that revealed much less: she was stir-crazy and needed to get off the Galactica before she picked a fight with someone at the Pyramid table. Sharon had laughed, made the requisite joke about her now-famous feud with Colonel Tigh, and agreed. Her friend had even smiled, and made a joke.
"We'll see how the new CAG likes changes in the flight plan, I guess."
Kara winced. Okay, so she hadn't informed Lee until she'd caught up with him in the hallway on the way to the flight deck. And okay, she should've probably said something a little more circumspect than what she had chosen.
"Sharon ..., oh, yes, that's Lt. Valerii to YOU, and I are switching flight duties today. If you've got a problem, you can take it up with the CAG. Oh, wait, you ARE the CAG. Do you have a problem with it?"
She'd smiled sweetly and watched as his face turned an interesting shade of red, and his mouth opened and shut several times. Frankly, she'd expected him to bawl her out and then refuse her the assignment at that point. The fact that he said one single word -- "Fine" -- and then sprinted off ahead of her had left speechless.
She'd made a serious mistake. She wasn't looking to pick a fight at the Pyramid table. Instead, she was going after her CAG, a man who had been a close friend for 19 years and perhaps one of the only men in the world who'd ever been willing to put up with all the shit she shoveled out on a daily basis.
Him ... and Zak. With a frustrated sigh, Kara slammed on the auto-pilot, heaved a sigh, and thunked her head against the head rest several times. Why did Lee have to bring up Zak and rip into her the way he had? All she wanted to do was fix the frakking problem. They were 10 days into Armaggedon, the end of life as they knew it, complicated with a war that had no clear boundaries and no ready adversaries. She just wanted to know the two people in the world that meant a damned to her had at least reached a truce.
She wished Lee and his father could just make the peace. She wished she and Lee could, too. She wished more than anything she could go back in time two years and ignore her own feelings and her engagement and her love for Zak and change history. She would have saved his life, and the Adama family, and her own love if she'd just had the guts to flunk him. She wished...
Dammit, she wished, and that's all she could do now. After two years, one would've thought she could've quit doing these circles in her head and just let it go. She established her own peace with the subject, and with William Adama. The day she had told him, she had broken down in tears, and the old man had simply took her in his arms and let her cry for a straight hour.
When she had finally quit, he'd taken her by the shoulders, and looked her firmly in the eye.
"Life is full of choices, Starbuck. We don't always know the consequences of those choices. Torturing yourself with the benefit of hindsight is as worthless as shooting Viper lasers into the sun. Let it go."
And with that, William Adama had. To some degree, so had Starbuck. But the chasm between father and remaining son had become something that tore at her insides every hour of every day since then.
And as usual, when I try to fix things, I just make it worse. Kara felt the start of tears well up under her eyes. She screwed them shut even tighter, and tried to ward off the emotional onslaught.
"You know, you shut them any tighter, you might seal them permanently."
Kara's eyes flew open, and she whirled around to come face-to-chest with Lee. He looked serious for a moment, and then cracked a grin that looked like he had to crank a lever to get it to work.
"Beisdes, I'd rather have you landing us than the autopilot." The humor was forced, with little true spirit or sincerity. Kara swallowed hard, and then figured what the hell. Conversation had to start somewhere.
"Decided I'm finally worth talking to, huh?" Kara almost winced at the tone in her voice. Gods, but she was in a truly shitty mood.
Lee stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged.
"Chief and I had to go over the specs one last time. Otherwise, something might get past us on this inspection, and neither of us wants a problem."
"The specs, and just the specs, huh, Lee?"
For a minute, Lee looked like he was going to turn on his heel and storm away. His face was a mixture of emotions, and for the life of her, Kara couldn't tell which ones were because of her, which were because of their fight, and which might have had something to do with his memories of Zak. He was in pain, and he was angry, and she had no clue how to fix it.
He finally looked back down at her, and his face grew gentle.
"I came up here to ... I'll talk to my father when I get back, Kara. At least, I'll try. I can't promise anything." He stopped, and then added, "Will that be enough for you?"
Kara bit her lip, and nodded. Then she shook her head, and dared a little fire.
"Lee, you're going to TRY? How hard can it be? You sit down, you pour a cup of coffee and you say you're sorry. He won't turn you away!"
Lee winced, and the words that followed stunned Kara to her core.
"He did when I tried the night of the attacks." The battle of emotions were back on his face, that same mixture of pain and anger. "He told me to save it for another time, and I've been looking for one ever since."
Frak. Damned Adamas. Yeah, DEFINITELY a nice roundhouse. Right below the eye, too. Only this time to her commanding officer. She wondered if it would be worth the time in the brig.
Something must've shown in her face, because Lee's face creased with a wry smile.
"Hitting both of us will just get you sent to the prison barge, Kara." She just stared at him, her jaw slowing dropping.
"How the HELL do you do that?"
"Beats me. Must be an Adama family trait." And come to think of it, Kara could remember countless times his father had done the same to her, figuring out her actions and thoughts and defusing them before they could get her in serious trouble. Zak had been much the same way. Only with him, a gentle smile and a joking word had done more than a whole lecture from the old man.
Zak... Dammit, she needed to know. Lee and his father were one thing. But Lee and Kara were another. She needed him right now, like she needed all of her friends. She couldn't take any more losses. One more would literally tear her apart.
"Lee...are you mad at me?"
"About this?" Lee's face crinkled into a familiar grin. "I'm not thrilled, but hey, this is you. I should expect to have my life complicated."
Damned Adamas. That wasn't what she meant, and knowing him, he had no clue what she meant. Sometimes he just didn't get it. Which meant she'd have to hammer home the point with her usual bluntness. Hitting him would've been more fun.
"I need to know if you're mad at me about Zak, Lee. About what happened. If what happened last night..."
"Kara. Stop." Lee's voice, commanding and firm, stopped her. She turned to look at him, afraid not to see his face, and his eyes -- afraid to not look at him and see the truth. What she saw was calm, relief ... and a deep-seeded pain she thoguht he'd never lose.
"Don't do this to yourself. My father and I will work things out. You and I will, too."
"We need to talk about this. You and I, I mean. We need..."
"Kara, it's okay." Lee sighed and looked at the ceiling. "At least for now. I'm not angry, okay?" His face was creased with exhaustion -- and now that Kara was looking for it, a lack of control that actually sent a shiver down her spine. For the first time in recent memory, Lee looked ... overwhelmed.
He raked his hand through his hair.
"It's not you, and it's not my father. There's just so much..." Lee finally looked down at her, and his face twisted. "Gods, Kara, it's not just my father. It's writing duty rosters, doing evaluations ..." He cracked a wry grin. "Running inspection tours. Kara, I don't have time to breathe." His face sobered before he glued his eyes to the ceiling. "Now you want me to fix something that's been broken for so long, I don't even know how to go at it."
Kara took a deep breath, and heaved it out as she looked away. What the frak was she supposed to say to that? This whole mess had spiraled so completely out of control. It should have ended two years ago, at Zak's funeral, and instead, it had grown into this monstrous mess. It defied belief when you thought about it. Two of the best men in the fleet, father and son...
And as always, never able to tell each other how they feel. In the end, she supposed it didn't defy belief. For them, it was just business as usual.
She reached for Lee's hand, and squeezed it softly.
"Lee, look at me." After a moment, he rewarded her by finally pulling his glance off the ceiling and looking her in the eye.
"I have faith in you. And your father. You're the two best men I've ever known." A sudden pang wrenched through her, and she smiled sadly. "Well, two of the best three, okay? You'll find a way."
Lee could only stare for a minute, his face a mixture of emotions. She wished she could see inside of his head, just for once in her life.
Finally, Lee swallowed hard, and nodded.
"I'll find a way." His face was locked tight again, and she could sense him making an effort. For control, for composure ... rearranging his space yet again and trying on a new idea. From the looks of it, maybe it wasn't so bad a fit.
"You'd better, otherwise I'll have to kick your ass or something. She forced her trademark smartass grin back on her face, her own sense of inner balance returning. "Having a frakkin' Adama pissed at you is worse than bad sex."
After a stunned silence, Lee's laughter -- a mighty object when he chose to use it -- trailed back to her as he walked away.
Chapter 5
"The basic passenger capacity is eight people, but our engineer figures most of that space can be converted to weapons specifications..."
The words of Hephaestus Captain Larson Moore filtered into Lee Adama's brain, and he nodded, watching the proceedings with as much interest as he could muster. He would admit, it wasn't much. Chief Tyrol seemed in near-ecstasy, down on his hands and knees to peer behind panels and inspect the wiring inside the fourth of the eight shuttles. He did all of it with a seemingly endless grin on his face. His crew chief was clearly enjoying himself.
Then again, Tyrol actually had something to do. Lee had realized quickly that, for all intents and purposes, he was there for appearances. Chief Tyrol's opinion would be the deciding factor on whether or not these ships would meet the requirements for sentry duty, and Tyrol would be the one making the modifications to the ships once they were on board the Galactica. All Lee could do was watch and take notes. That, and do a lot of nodding.
He wondered idly if his father hated inspections as much as he did, and found a smile creeping onto his face. For the first time in two years -- and maybe longer -- he actually wanted to know what was going on in his father's mind. He actually cared. Ten days ago, he wouldn't have given a shit. Hell, he wouldn't have bothered caring to give a shit.
He hadn't stopped to think how much energy being angry had taken from him over the past two years. He'd spent literally hours each day -- sitting alone in the cockpit of a Viper, lying in his bunk at night, staring at his food in the officer's mess -- building and rebuilding the case against his father. He reinforced it, restructured it, and fed it with his grief and fury.
And now it was gone. The truce -- albeit an uneasy and uncertain one -- left him with a profound sense of welcome relief ... and more than a little apprehension. He hadn't been kidding when he told Kara he was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed, tired, exhausted, wrenched apart ... he'd been so busy dealing with everyone else's problems it had been far too easy to avoid his own. Maybe it was a good thing Kara liked pushing when she got the notion. Otherwise, he might have left this alone until ... until when? He didn't have an answer, and that scared him now.
"Frak it all to hell!" Tyrol's fierce swearing snapped Lee's attention back to the present. He looked back just in time to catch the end of the chief's headlong dive across the floor and into the wall. The operations panel he'd been inspecting spat out a shower of fierce of sparks, making ominous crackling noises that Lee could relate to the cooking of electrical wiring. Then the panel gave one final pop, sizzled for a moment, and then finally belched out a cloud of black, stinking smoke.
In the silence that followed, Lee looked from Tyrol to Captain Moore to the panel, and then rubbed his eyes. When he finally spoke, he couldn't keep the sardonic humor -- a subtle gift that he was beginning to remember ran in the family -- out of his voice.
"I take it that wasn't supposed to happen?"
*~*~*
Extreme boredom and Kara Thrace did not get along well.
Shifting two inches to the right in the pilot's chair of the shuttle, Kara edged her feet up to the control console and balanced her left heel on the very edge. Then, perching on the extreme right of the seat, she shifted her weight so her right heel landed directly on top of her left toe.
A second later, the left heel slipped and Kara's feet slammed to the floor. Thrown off balance, Kara crashed out of the chair, her left elbow colliding with the side panel on her way to the floor. As she hit, the overhead lights flickered out as the switch on the panel clicked home.
Great. Just frakkin' great. With a loud sigh, she heaved herself off of the floor and back into the chair -- this time leaving her feet firmly on the ground. She reached for the light switch, and then decided to -- at least for the moment -- leave them off. There was plenty of light coming in the front window from the landing bay, and she really didn't need the extra illumination.
She'd volunteered to remain with the shuttle, figuring it was the lesser of two evils. SHE had been on inspection tours lately; with a wry grin, she wondered just how bored Apollo was right about now. Then again, maybe some boredom would give him time to think the current situation through a little bit. Gods knew, they both needed a little downtime.
There were times she truly wanted to hit Lee, and times he impressed the hell out of her. Right now, Starbuck was pretty well stuck in the middle. Being CAG was a damned thankless job; you got all the responsibilities of being a pilot along with the responsibility of every other pilot on the ship and every other support crew member. Even Ripper -- who had been in the job the two years she'd been on board the Galactica and five before that -- had fried his brain on more than a few occasions.
And that had been in peacetime conditions. Lee had been shoved into the job on the basis of seniority, with no training, no support and a war none of them had seen coming. He was on a ship he'd never set foot on in the time his father had been in command ... under a commander he hadn't spoken to for two years and hadn't seen eye-to-eye with for much, much longer. Lee was right; he had a hell of a lot to worry about.
He could handle it, of that she was certain. Kara had no command aspirations; she didn't have the tact, the brain or the patience for it. She just wanted to fly. Lee, however, was going to be a brilliant CAG. She'd seen his scores from war college. He had the best theoretical mind in his class, and had consistently maxed out on his test scores. He was a damned fine pilot -- not the best in the squadron, that spot had been hers for ages, but he was damned good -- and he...
He was an Adama. He had his father's command stature and character. Starbuck sighed, and stretched back in the seat. The two of them would eventually figure it out on their own, but she knew something they didn't want to admit right now: they needed each other. The sooner everyone got that little fact through their frakkin' brains, everyone would be a lot happier.
Lee had made her a promise, and she'd respect that ... for now. Then again, on the return flight, maybe a few pointers and a plan to lock them in the commander's quarters would be in the offing. Starbuck grinned to herself, then looked out the forward viewport at the dead quiet of the landing bay and let out a sigh. With a little more control, she kicked her left heel up onto the console again, and tried to balance the right while looking out the window.
Boredom plain sucked.
*~*~*
Lee hauled the chief to his feet, as Tyrol choked and coughed out the last of the smoke. He started to ask whether Tyrol was all right, but got waved off. The chief pulled away, and tried to steady his balance without any help.
"What the hell was that, Chief?" Tyrol shook his head for a minute, and Lee realized the man was still trying to clear his head. Lee watched him for a minute, making sure Tyrol wasn't about to collapse back down onto the deck, then went to the next person in line.
"Captain Moore?" The Hephaestus's commander in chief looked at him blankly, and then shook his head as well.
"I'm sorry, Captain. We went through these shuttles just yesterday!" The captain sounded rattled, and Lee got the distinct impression the man half-expected to be arrested on the spot. "We went through power-up procedures, checked the couplings, we even--"
"Relax, Captain. I'm not angry and I'm not looking to lay blame." Lee felt like an amateur politician. "I just want to find out what happened and if the rest of the shuttles have the same problem."
"THIS shuttle wasn't supposed to have a problem!" A tinge of anger edged into the Captain's voice, and Moore shifted his glare towards Tyrol, who was still bent at the waist with his hands on his knees. "Are you sure your man didn't--"
"I didn't frakkin' touch anything I shouldn't have!" Tyrol extended back to his full height, and Lee could see the honest fury in his Chief's eyes. "I know more about shuttles than you could learn in--"
"Enough!" Lee had gone from feeling like a politician to a referee, and he let a little of his own annoyance seep into his voice -- just enough to make a point. "Gentlemen, let's work the problem, okay?" Both men stared at him in astonishment, and then nodded without saying a word.
Lee sighed, and gestured Tyrol to the panel.
"If you know the shuttle, Chief, tell me what went wrong." Lee forced a smile on his face -- for the chief's benefit, and his own. "Please."
*~*~*
After balancing herself on the console -- this time, with her heel firmly locked against the autopilot control -- Kara yawned and looked at her chronometer. Thirty minutes. Barely even a half hour had passed. She sighed and resumed staring out the front of the shuttle, giving a passing effort to count the hull buckles in the corridor leading away from the docking area.
There. Kara's eyes caught a flicker of movement, and she leaned forward, squinting to catch what was barely in her range of vision. If the lights hadn't been off in the shuttle's cabin, she never would have seen it, but ... there. Her eyes locked onto the movement again, and this time, she saw the person lurking in the shadows just at the edge of the access corridor.
Now she was curious. She hadn't seen anyone other than the captain and a few support crew that had hung around barely long enough to lock down the shuttle to the deck. And the captain had left with Tyrol and Lee to inspect the shuttles. Since then, she hadn't even seen so much as a rat's ass scurry in the shadows.
She jumped out of the chair, more than happy for the momentary distraction. All things being equal, it was probably just a crew member lurking around the landing bay hoping to catch a look at the Galactica crew. Most of the civilians -- ship's crew and citizens alike -- seemed to flock whenever the Galactica pilots or staff were around. Some just wanted to say thank you, others wanted to see the fancy flying machines that had saved their lives.
Whatever it was, Kara would be happy to oblige. Though, as she slipped through the shuttle's hatch and out into the bay, she wished the curious onlooker had just come up and knocked. Maybe the lights being off inside the shuttle had proved a deterrent. Cursing softly to herself, Kara looked around the front of the shuttle.
"Hello?"
The hair suddenly standing up on the back of her neck, Kara ducked just in time to avoid the pair of blaster shots that slammed into the shuttle -- exactly where her head had been milliseconds earlier. She dropped and rolled as another set of shots followed in furious succession.
*~*~*
Muttering to himself the whole way, Tyrol was firmly entrenched under the console looking for the cause of the short when the muffled but distinct sound of blaster fire entered the shuttle.
Lee's head snapped around as he drew his sidearm, and from the sounds behind him, the captain and the chief weren't far behind him. No one -- and Lee had noted with interest the grim satisfaction on Captain Moore's face when he'd announced it on their arrival -- was supposed to be down in this part of the ship. The ship's crew had their own duties, and the civilians the Hephaestus had taken on were confined to the empty hangar bay that had been converted to communal living quarters.
Tyrol, Lee and the captain were supposed to be three of the only people in this area. Which left just one option.
"Starbuck!" Lee slipped out of the back of the shuttle, careful to keep under cover and out of whatever line of fire had been established. The shots had been muffled, but by what he couldn't tell. They could have come from the hangar, or out where the Galactica shuttle was docked. Either way, he really didn't want to present his head to be put on a platter.
His shouted greeting was met by silence. Lee looked towards and ceiling, and felt his stomach lock up. Shit. Kara had gotten herself into some sort of trouble. He didn't know what, and he didn't expect the situation to resolve itself quietly -- especially if Kara had been on the shooting end of the blaster. He didn't know if he was angry yet, or just worried, but he wanted to find her and get some frakking answers before someone got a blaster burn in the head.
Using the three shuttles they'd previously inspect to stay out of whatever line of fire had been established, Lee edged forward, his gut clenched into a knot. A hand came down on his shoulder, and Lee spun to find Chief Tyrol's taller frame hovering behind him, his own sidearm at the ready.
"Sorry, sir, but..."
Tyrol never got a chance to finish the sentence. Lee felt the trouble before he heard it, a sudden rush of air and a popping in his ears. There was silence, and then the eerie rebound of compressed air bouncing off of immovable bulkhead.
All directly in the air surrounding them.
Age and experience gave Lee a fraction of a second to grab for Tyrol, and he hoped the ship's captain was close behind. Giving up all pretense of cover, Tyrol gave no fight as Lee ran for the hatch, praying they had enough time.
"Hit the frakkin'..."
Then he was surrounded by noise, and air, and a blast of heat so intense Lee felt the world go white-hot around him. They all gathered around him, then shoved him off his feet and tried to rip him apart. He felt a tremendous force pull him up into the air, and searing flashes of impact followed by pain, a shower of abuse in too many places to count. A fist of immeasurable strength slammed into his throat and then another into his chest, and all of his breath was ripped out of him so quickly a scream aborted into a gasp.
Then the world closed in around him, darkness forcing out all light and sensation. He choked for clean air and found nothing, nothing but an all-enveloping black haze. It slipped over and around his senses and pulled him away, the world slipping away in confusion and pain.
Chapter 6
"Captain! Captain Adama! Sir!!"
That was him. Lee Adama knew that, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to respond. But everything around him swam in and out of focus, a sea of grey and black surrounded by a haze of pain.
"Sir!" He felt...Lee felt a touch, vague at first, and then ... fingers, a hand, on his throat.
Checking for a pulse. They thought he was dead. Lee forced his eyes open, and tried to take a breath. His whole body spasmed, and his chest exploded with pain. Involuntarily, he screamed ... and it came out as a low moan. His ears roared with a cacophony of sound.
Chief Tyrol's face spun into focus in front of him, the relief clear in his features.
"Captain...talk to me, sir!"
The first wave of nausea slammed into him, and Lee screwed his eyes shut again. Consciousness had returned with an angry vengeance, and it was NOT a place he wanted to be right now. His whole body ached, and he felt like his chest wouldn't expand for all the cubits in the world. He tried drawing another breath, desperate to get the air into his lungs.
He managed to get in a lungful -- a vile, burning lungful that seared his chest and then exploded back out in a violent, hacking cough. It hurt ... Gods, it hurt and it burned. His lungs, his chest, his head, his back ... everything felt on fire. What the FRAK had just happened?
The pain ate at him and tried to force him back down the dark pit he was emerging from. Lee felt the taste of smoke in his mouth, and he realized the heat wasn't just internal, but external as well. And as comprehension set in, Lee opened his eyes to find his chief practically holding him down against the floor, shouting over the noise.
"Don't move, sir. We're going to --"
"Negative." Lee found himself trying to shout, and still hardly hearing anything. He wondered how much of that was him. The chief's face swirled in and out of focus briefly, and Lee tried another breath, breaking out in a fresh series of coughs. But the extra oxygen cleared his mind, and he almost instinctively starting taking stock of himself. Definitely a few broken ribs, and he had to have a concussion from the way his ears were still ringing with the impact from the ... explosion?
Frak. He needed to move, and he needed to move NOW. There just wasn't time to be lying on the floor in pain. Lee got his elbows under him, and in spite of Tyrol's best efforts, managed to gain some leverage and hoist himself up into a rough sketch of a sitting position. He almost immediately lost his balance, but Tyrol grabbed his shoulders and pushed him gently up against the wall.
"Sir, if you have any kind of spinal injury--"
"I don't, Chief." He gasped out the words. "Just ... just one hell of ... of a headache." Lee's voice was raspy, and he still couldn't draw a deep breath. But he COULD be heard, which was all that mattered right now. The rest were just details he would stash away and have a medic look at later. "Report."
"Sir...we've lost the shuttles, sir." Lee just stared at Tyrol, unable to comprehend what the chief had just told him. Tyrol stared at him for a moment, then almost snapped in disgust. "ALL of the shuttles, Captain. The explosion took them all out, along with half the hangar and a lot of the surrounding structures. No idea about the integrity of the ship, but..."
Lee's mind circled wildly, all of the information sinking in past the haze of pain that seemed to leech awareness from everything around him. He looked around and saw nothing but smoke, the occasional flame and endless piles of scrap metal. He also could hear loud pops and cracking, the ominous sounds of atmospheric decompression.
He took another breath, trying to force the air past the knot in his chest. "How..." was all he managed before his voice dissolved into racking cough.
"If you mean the explosion, sir, I don't know." The anger and confusion bled off of Tyrol so clearly that even Lee couldn't miss it. And as Lee's hearing started to finally clear, he realized that the roaring sound was all around him, and that Tyrol's voice was somehow louder than it all. "Sir, I just don't know. This could've been an accident, but..."
Tyrol's voice trailed off, but Lee heard the accusation loud and clear. The fried panel, the blaster shot ... even with his head in less than pristine condition, this just didn't add up.
"What about the landing bay?" Lee shifted against the wall, wincing as he looked around. The sights weren't getting any better as his vision cleared.
"Well, the good news is that the hangar contained most of the explosion. Captain Moore and I got through the hatch, but mostly we just got singed. We're lucky the hatch didn't get blown shut behind us, or we would've had one hell of a time getting back in."
"The Galactica shuttle?" And then something else dawned on him. "And where the frak is Ka...Lieutenant Thrace?"
"The shuttle's still in one piece, sir. I haven't powered her back up yet, but it doesn't look like it got hit by anything. Those things are made to take abuse." Tyrol looked away, clearly not wanting to continue. But the chief finally looked back at him, and Lee's stomach bottomed out.
"Sir, we have no idea where Lieutenant Thrace is. There's no sign of her."
Lee swallowed hard. He wanted to swear, repeatedly and loudly. He hurt so bad that for the first time in his life he would've welcomed passing out. He could hardly breathe, the ship could be breaking apart at the seams around him and now ... he leaned his head back on the wall and winced. Where the hell was Kara?
"Sir? What do you want to do?" Tyrol's voice made Lee open his eyes again, and Lee could see the chief was waiting for orders. Lee bit back the pain, took a couple of breaths -- this time shallow to keep from coughing -- and pushed himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment, his vision going grey at the edges, but he kept his balance.
"Chief, find me Captain Moore. And make sure he's willing to take a few orders. Because we've got some frakkin' work to do, and I'm not in the mood for a fight."
*~*~*
William Adama sat at the Dragus console of the CIC, sipping quietly at the foul cup of coffee in front of him while he read the third shift reports. There was absolutely nothing of immediate concern, a pleasant surprise he wasn't going to question. He'd sent Saul off to bed, a few choice words following his XO about his haggard appearance. Saul had replied with a string of profanities that would have impressed Starbuck, and then disappeared before Will could respond.
"Sir, I have comm traffic coming in from Captain Adama." Duella's soft voice, two rows up behind him, pierced the quiet morning. William turned and gestured to the comm officer with a smile.
"Put it on speaker." Adama pulled his glasses off, laying them on top of the pile of flimsies, and glanced down at his watch. Almost an hour to the second. Lee and Chief Tyrol had expected the inspection to take at least an hour, and that was just for a preliminary overlook of the shuttles and their systems. It sounded like his son had good news.
There was a crackle of static, and Lee's voice began broadcasting throughout the CIC. It took Will less than a second to hear the tone in his son's voice, and to know something was seriously wrong.
"Galactica, this is Shuttle Tyree inbound from the Hephaestus. We have an emergency situation, sir." Lee's voice was raspy and hoarse, and William could hear his son straining just to get the words out. "Repeat, we have an emergency situation on board the Hephaestus. Suggest setting Condition One aboard the Galactica immediately."
Condition One? What the hell? William snapped around and grabbed the nearest commset, literally off the head of a startled ensign working on FTL fixes at the Dragus console. He started speaking before the earpiece was completely in place.
"Copy that, Tyree. Explain the situation, please." Will forced a level of calm into his voice, wearily surprised at how easily it came. Forty-five years of service and two wars into his lifetime, it was almost second nature. "From the beginning, Captain, since the Hephaestus hasn't said one word to us yet."
"Sir, there's been a massive explosion on board the Hephaestus." Will's stomach sunk through the floor, several dozen scenarios running immediately through his mind -- none of them good. The resulting rush of adrenaline hit his system a moment later. "I gave them an order to keep radio silence, so this wouldn't get broadcast to the whole fleet. Sir...we lost the entire hangar bay, all eight shuttles. We're unsure of the exact structural damage to the ship. We are also unsure of the nature of the explosion. Repeat, we do NOT know what caused the explosion. We need to begin an immediate evacuation of the Hephaestus."
William Adama's hands tightened into fists, both at what his son had said ... and what he hadn't. There were over 100 civilians on board the Hephaestus at last count, plus a crew of about 35 civilian duty fleet. Every one would need to be gotten off the ship -- at least temporarily -- and maybe reassigned if the ship's structural damage proved too great. And if the explosion hadn't been an accident ...
William rubbed his eyes, and muted his headset long enough to give his first batch of orders.
"Lieutenant Gaeta, set Condition One throughout the ship. Get Colonel Tigh and Captain Kelley up, with my apologies, and have them report to CIC. And wake up the morning flight squadron and have them report, along with whatever extra support staff you can muster up. I want the alert Vipers in the air as soon as they can be launched."
He then flicked the headset back on.
"Captain, have you got wounded?" There were other things he needed details on, but this first.
"Yes, sir. About five ... about five in the passenger hold, all critical...critical or damn close to it." Lee kept pausing mid-sentence, sounding out of breath and rushed, like he couldn't talk quickly enough. William's stomach tightened. Either Lee was close to panicking -- something his son had never done once in his entire career -- or he was hurt. "We need ... need a sickbay medical crew to meet ... meet us on landing."
"You've got it, Captain." He gestured towards Gaeta, who immediately nodded in return and sent out the order. Without anywhere else to look, he glanced at the radar console, watching the shuttle draw within a few clicks of the Galactica. "Where are your crew chief and Lieutenant Thrace?"
"Sir, Tyrol and ..." Lee had to stop mid-sentence again. "...and Captain Moore from the Hephaestus are evaluating the ship's damage ... staging the evacuation." The strain in Lee's voice was getting worse, and Adama no longer suspected his son was hurt. He knew it with a certainty.
Then Lee gasped out one more sentence, and Will closed his eyes as weariness flooded his body.
"Sir, we have ... have no idea of ... of the whereabouts of Lieutenant Thrace."
"Copy that, Captain." William took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then he dug for the firmest tone he could find. "Apollo, get that bird on the deck. That is your only goal right now." Silence greeted him in response, and William felt the first stirrings of alarm. "Captain, do you copy?"
There was a long pause before Lee's voice finally came back across the comm.
"Roger ... roger that, Galactica. Shuttle Tyree out."
Will pulled off the headset just as the doors to CIC opened, revealing an exhausted and disheveled Captain Kelley. Behind him, Saul came rushing in, his face practically white with adrenaline. His fifth-year captain was still struggling to button up his uniform, but Tigh looked like he'd collapsed in his uniform and then simply rolled out of bed an hour later on command.
He didn't care. He was grateful and proud of how quickly his staff reacted. All they could do now was work the problem and trust in their abilities. Grabbing his glasses, he slipped them back onto his nose and gave a last round of orders.
"Colonel Tigh, you're with me so I can brief you. I want to see what's going on for myself. Captain Kelley, you have CIC." Then William Adama squared himself, and gave one last look around the CIC. The hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end, and a fresh rush of worry, concern and the first stirrings of anger hit his system. "I'll be down on the flight deck. Stay on your toes, people."
He started to say more, and realized he couldn't. He had too much else on his mind, and his people knew what to do. That would just have to get them -- and him -- through this. He needed to get down to the flight deck to talk to his son.
Without another word, he went out the door, Colonel Tigh trailing less than a step behind.
*~*~*
It look less than five minutes to reach the flight deck. In that time, William Adama briefed his XO in as complete a manner as possible. Considering just how little information Adama had, it had taken less than a minute. Saul had tossed a few questions back at him, Will had answered them, and then they had walked in silence.
They got to the flight deck just in time to see the shuttle make its approach. Will held his breath as the ship made its final landing maneuvers, and then let out a sigh of relief when it cleared the outer markers and set down without incident. Will almost smiled when he heard a familiar, overly-loud thump upon landing, wondering when his son would join the list of pilots bitching to Tyrol about the gymbal lock.
He started to rush headlong into the middle of the chaos that was the support crew anchoring the shuttle, but Saul's firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Easy, Will." His XO's voice was calm and collected, something William knew had all but deserted him at the moment. "Two minutes, and you'll know exactly what's going on."
Will wanted to pull away, but knew better. So, instead, he crossed his arms and put as blank an expression on his face as he could manage. As the flight crew worked with all possible speed, William started forming questions in his mind. How many injured, how many dead ... where the hell Kara Thrace had disappeared to and how hard he would have to argue with his son to get him down to sickbay with the other injured.
Dammit, he wanted answers. And the flight crew couldn't work fast enough to put him a position to get them.
After a space of time that dragged out interminably, the two command staff were finally waved out to the shuttle. William scrambled up the ramp into the shuttle, taking some care to avoid the medical personnel coming on board with them. As he got clear of the entryway, he saw with dawning horror the amount of blood in the back of the hold.
This was no accident. William Adama knew that with a sense of certainty that came from his years of command, too many years seeing what violence looked like in its many forms. They may have to dig for the reason and the cause -- perhaps no further than a Cylon plant -- but there was a statement here. And someone was going to pay dearly for it. Fury building in his stomach, Will forced himself to turn away from the wounded and look for Lee.
He stumbled almost directly into his son. With his first glance, Will thought he saw fury in his son's features, a deep purple blush that bordered on absurd. He felt a grim sort of humor and kinship, and reached out to calm his son.
Then Lee's eyes came up and locked with his father, and all of the simple words on William's mind fled with what he saw. He felt his blood run cold when he realized Lee's eyes were filled with something he had thought he would never see.
Blind panic.
"Can'..." Lee reached for him, his body starting to bend at the waist. Will felt time move in slow motion, his stomach dropping out. "...brea..."
He had just enough time to get an arm around his son, and then Lee collapsed like deadweight into his arms. Off balance, Will sunk to the floor with him, trying not to lose the tenuous grip he had -- both on his son and his own emotions. He saw now his son's face was dark not with fury, but with lack of oxygen. He could feel Lee's chest heaving, trying desperately to pull in a single full breath.
"Dad..." That single word, gasped out in a jilted breath, broke Will's paralysis. Sliding Lee out of his arms and onto the floor, Adama turned his head and yelled clearly.
"I need a medic up here, now!" Not waiting for a response, he got a firm hold of his son's shoulders and pushed him down to the floor -- trying to keep eye contact the entire time. He just needed a second to try and open the airway--
Then he was literally lifted up and out of the way, two medics sliding neatly between him and his son -- dropping a backboard and a bag as they went. William landed neatly on his rear end, then leaned up against the wall of the shuttle to let the medics do their job. One got his weight across Lee's upper body, and started speaking in low tones. The other had an evaluation out of her mouth in seconds.
"Pulse is 140, can't even really get a breath count, and his color's shot to hell. Trachea's displaced to the right and I'm not getting any breath sounds on the left, so my guess is the left lung's collapsed." In the space of a few seconds, she had items out of her bag, and went to work. "I'm going to try and intubate, and we'll work from there."
She stopped to get a clear look at something, and then sat back on her heels, her face caught between disbelief and amazement.
"Carl, I can't visualize the cords. There's massive edema in there. I've never seen anything like it."
"Re-sight it, Lise. And try it again." The medic shot a look at the commander and then back at his colleague. "You've got to get it in now, Lise, or we're not GOING to get it in."
With that, William closed his eyes and started to pray.
Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer. Not now. Not today. Give me one more day with my son.
How long his eyes were closed, William Adama didn't know. But the next thing he knew, people were moving again, and he opened his eyes to see his son being loaded onto the board. One medic was securing him to the board, tightening a cervical collar around Lee's neck. The other kept a steady rhythm with a breathing bag. Amazingly, Lee was fighting neither of them.
"Sir, we need your help." The female medic had turned to him, and she gestured to bottom end of the backboard. "We need a third set of hands, sir. Normally, I wouldn't ask you, but with this many people down--"
A voice from behind them cut her off.
"He'll be going anyway. That's his son, young lady, so you'd better take good care of him." The two medics snapped around to the sound of Saul Tigh's voice, then back to Lee and finally to William as recognition of their patient finally sunk in. Their faces sobered as William looked them each straight in the eye, then reached for the lower end of the board. He and the male medic lifted it smoothly and then backed slowly out of the shuttle.
As he passed his XO, Saul fell in step, leaning in so only Will could hear him.
"Go to LifeStation, Will. We can handle this." Will shivered as the words sunk in, and shook his head as if to argue.
"The situation..."
"Is out of your hands. Hell, it might be out of all our hands." Saul reached over, laying a hand gently over Will's. "You know where you need to be, Will. Trust us to do our jobs."
His throat too tight to speak, William Adama only nodded. Right now, he didn't give a damn about command priorities, or his ship, or even the crisis. All he cared about was his son.
"Let's move, people." The female medic, still bagging his son, cleared the traffic ahead with one firm shout. "We've got wounded. Anyone in the way, stand down -- or get pushed!"
Chapter 7
Saul Tigh hated politicians.
Especially bureaucratic politicians who had somehow gained command of a civilian ship and then tortured everyone. In the middle of a crisis situation, every single damned one of them should be confined to quarters or vented out an open airlock. He needed to get a grip on the situation, coordinate an evacuation and possibly try and track down suspects. The shuttles and Raptors were already on their way back to the Hephaestus, but that was just one variable of about 100 right now.
He did NOT have time to listen to a blustering idiot who resented everything he was trying to do. He really needed a little bit more of Will's diplomacy right about now. He needed his friend's calm, professional demeanor, and ...
"And I don't at ALL agree with that captain's decision to..."
Saul's hands tightened around a piece of flimsey Gaeta had just handed him. Frak the diplomacy.
"Captain Moore, I'm giving you five seconds to shut up, or I'm ending this conversation." Tigh's voice crackled with tension, and every head in the CIC spun to look at him.
Honestly, right now, he really didn't care.
"You can't talk to me like that!" Captain Moore had plowed forward anyhow. "You can NOT simply take control of a civilian vessel and expect me to cooperate! President Roslin PERSONALLY--"
The last of Saul Tigh's short fuse melted away, and he cut the captain off with all due expediency.
"Captain Moore, do you want to be charged with treason?"
"What?"
"Treason, Captain. The attempt to overthrow the government by overt acts that directly threaten the safety of this fleet." He paused, allowing a slightly evil smile to skim across his face. "You are familiar with the term?"
There was a crackle of static, and then Captain Moore was back on the line.
"Ye...yes, sir."
"Then listen to me, before I throw the damned book at you for this." Saul had to work hard to get the growl out of his voice. "Because if you don't, not only will I charge you with treason, but with about a dozen other charges, up to and including the attempted murder of the Galactica's Commander of Air Group!"
Stunned silence, both on the comm and on the CIC, greeted him.
"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean--"
Saul rolled his eyes.
"Captain, I suggest you put my crew chief on the comm, so I can get an update on the matters at hand. Otherwise, the first charge is going to be obstructing the Galactica and her crew. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, SIR! Just a minute." The reply was immediate and even given with a degree of military courtesy.
A satisfied smile crept across Saul's face, and throughout the CIC, he saw the smile being returned by a number of the staff. Well, he'd be damned. How long had it been since he'd had any damned respect around here?
Saul let out a long sigh, and switched the comm over to his headset while he waited for the chief. He really, really needed a drink. He needed it for his sanity, for his sense of calm, to keep his balance and his control. He felt lost without it now. Normally, he would've had a slug from the bottle when he'd gone to bed, but he'd been so frakking tired he'd just collapsed in his bed without even shucking his uniform.
It made rolling out of bed on an adrenaline high from the Condition One alarms miserable. Then again, it also meant he was sober. At the moment, he didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Sir, this is Chief Tyrol." The chief's voice crackled with static over the comm, but it was audible and understandable. Tigh glared at no one in particular. Why did he have to get the clear comm for the problem and the static for the solution? It was shaping up to be one hell of a day.
"Are you on a secure line, Chief? No listeners?"
"Yes, sir, Captain Moore is out of the room." Tyrol's voice sounded confused, and Tigh really didn't blame him. "Sir, begging your pardon, but where's Commander Adama?"
"In sickbay with his son. All five wounded Lee brought in were critical. He became number six." Tigh sighed, distracted by the mental image of the younger Adama collapsed in his father's arms. Will didn't deserve this, not after the past two weeks. "Chief, did you know how badly your CAG was hurt?"
"I knew something was wrong, sir, but he said he was fine." Tigh could hear the frustration in Tyrol's voice even over the crackling comm. "It didn't look like a major deal, sir." There was a pause, and then Tyrol asked, "How is he?"
Tigh felt like climbing through the ceiling of the CIC, having absolutely no outlet for his frustration. Tyrol wasn't at fault; no one was. But there was no doubt there would be a body count here. High, low, it really didn't matter ... yet. Tigh couldn't get the image of Lee Adama out of his mind, or wonder -- Lords of Kobol forgive him -- if Lee would be joining that list. Lee -- collapsed, silent, unable to draw a breath. He'd seen the look of horror that crossed Will's face, and he knew if Lee died, that nightmare image would follow William around for the rest of his life.
Saul didn't know how his friend survived the death of one son. He wasn't sure if Will could recover from the death of the other.
"I don't know, Chief. But he's here, and getting medical attention. I think that's as good as we can hope for at the moment." Tigh tried to force his mind back on track. There'd be a time and place for fear and grief later. He'd told his friend that he didn't need to worry about the crisis, and he'd be damned sure that wasn't an empty promise.
"Give me your report, Chief, and tell me everything. Because right now, we don't know a hell of a lot."
*~*~*
"I'm sorry, Commander, we just don't have time right now. One of the techs will have to explain things for you."
William Adama hated being brushed off, but that's exactly what the surgeon in sickbay had done right after telling his commander that his son was going into surgery. A good part of that feeling was intolerance built from years of being in command; it just wasn't very often when people didn't bow to the authority of his position and give him exactly what he'd asked for. He knew he was spoiled, and frankly, after 45 years in the service, he thought he was entitled.
But the other part was just sheer frustration. He always wanted to know what was going on, when, and how it was going to affect him and the people around him. When he didn't get the answers he asked for, he felt like he'd been dropped in some deep, impenetrable pit without any guidance on how to get out.
Normally, it seriously annoyed him. When it concerned his son, it nearly pushed him past the point of rational thought. Fortunately -- for both him and the safety of the techs in the Galactica's medical arena -- one of the techs had apparently decided his rank deserved some respect and had shown up less than a minute after the surgeon left to answer every one of Will's questions.
It had almost been too much information.
"Commander?" The gentle voice of the tech that had spoken with him -- Cassie, if he remembered correctly -- drifted over his shoulder and made him lift his head and turn around.
She was gesturing towards the comm on the wall, holding out the handset.
"Colonel Tigh for you, sir." Damn. For a minute, he'd almost forgotten the whole reason they were here. The explosion. The Hephaestus. For the first time in a long time, William Adama felt overwhelmed -- unable to establish a clear line between family and duty. He could hardly even think. The last time he'd felt like this was when...
When he thought Lee had died. Pushing himself to his feet, Will made quick, urgent strides to the comm, trying to keep one step ahead of the path his brain had started to form with that last thought.
"Colonel Tigh." Will needed to get his mind back to the present, on his duty and his job. "Report."
"Like hell, Will." Will didn't know whether to laugh or be truly annoyed. Saul, the bastard, sounded almost gleeful in his disrespect. "How's Lee?"
William's heart caught in his throat, and he felt a fresh surge of emotions. He could almost forget there were others who cared right now. He could almost make this into his own selfish need for his son. The reminder that his best friend worried for Adama -- and Lee -- in the midst of a crisis snapped him back to life on board the Galactica.
He sighed, loudly, and keyed the handset.
"They took him into surgery about..." Will looked at his chronometer, "...ten minutes ago." He looked at his hands, and realized he was trembling. Rattled, he took a deep breath before continuing.
"His left lung's collapsed, and he broke a number of ribs on both sides." Wearily, he realized that he couldn't even remember the exact number now. "He's also got a severe concussion and a hairline fracture in his skull, and some internal bleeding. They put in a chest tube, but they needed to stabilize him before they could sedate him and put him on a respirator so they could..." Will leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes. "So they could go in to surgically repair the internal bleeding. They'll fuse the bones later."
He could hear Tigh's quiet breathing on the other end.
"How long until they know anything?"
"At least a few hours. Maybe longer." Will straightened up, and forced himself to find a neutral spot on the wall to stare at. He had a job to do, and he needed to find a way to do it. "I'm going to come back up to CIC, and--"
"Not a chance in hell." Will could clearly hear the fire in his XO's voice, which backed him up a few paces in spite of himself. "I've already got security on their way down to sickbay, and they've got orders to stay there until I personally tell them to leave. They've also got orders to keep everyone there -- you included -- locked down."
THAT certainly got his attention. He remembered Lee's frantic, breathless voice over the wireless. "We do NOT know what caused the explosion." And then Lee had collapsed, and he'd found out nothing more from his son. What had Lee seen? What had he thought?
Would he ever know?
Heaving a sigh, Will keyed the mike, this time leaving it on continuous broadcast.
"What's going on, Saul?"
"This wasn't an accident." Saul was angry; Will could hear it in his friend's voice. And as he listened, William found his own stomach beginning to burn. "There were a few things Lee didn't get to when he reported in. The shuttle they were inspecting had an electrical fire a few minutes before the explosion. Tyrol says they were checking it out when they heard shots fired somewhere in the vicinity of the hangar bay. In fact, that's the only reason any of them got out of there alive. They went out to investigate, and just happened to be close to the hatch when everything went up."
Chilled, Will sunk into the nearest chair. How close had it been? How close had he come to losing Lee, this time for good? Did that even matter right now? William wanted his clarity back, his control. Lee was a Warrior in the Colonial Fleet, and he'd been in danger before -- almost killed twice in the opening salvos of this war. Why now, then, could William not accept the risks?
Tigh went on, and Will's heart sunk further.
"And I mean everything, Will. It's not just the hangar bay. Support structures, hallways, everything's down over there. Tyrol says we're going to lose the ship." Will heard his XO sigh, and then continue on in a quieter voice. "He says the structural damage from the blast is too extensive, and that's just under a preliminary survey. They might have an hour, maybe two, but he isn't venturing a guess. Right now, we've got every free ship from the Galactica working on getting the survivors, and we'll have another shuttle when President Roslin arrives from Colonial One in a few minutes. Anything else we've got is either under repair, or out on the edges of the fleet where we can't get to it."
Will sat back and digested all of this, his mind going in slow circles, thinking up questions, finding an occasional answer -- which then provided another two questions in return. They'd spent the last 10 days evaluating military threats, dealing with supply issues, setting up patrols to deal with any possible Cylon threat to the fleet. Why in hell hadn't he seen this coming?
He didn't have an answer. He suspected he might not anytime soon. All they could do now was do exactly what he had told his crew to do earlier: work the problem. The answers would have to come later -- after they had every man, woman and child off the Hephaestus and safely on board the Galactica.
"All right. So, why the extra security?" He leaned his head back against the wall, and hauled in a deep breath. In light of what Saul had already told him, Will suspected he already knew the answer, but he wanted to know if Saul's mind was working on the same level of paranoia his already was at.
"First rule of terrorism: Where you have a bomb, you have a statement. You taught me that, Will." Adama almost cracked a grim smile. Whatever faults Saul Tigh had, a dull mind wasn't among them. His XO was exactly where he wanted him to be. "It could be the Cylons, it could be some faction of a planet-wide movement that got aboard one of the ships. Hell, it could be a disgruntled noncom looking to clear out the chain of command. But if this was done on purpose, then someone did it for a reason."
Tigh stopped suddenly, and William wondered why. He waited for a moment, hoping Saul would continue, then finally spoke up.
"What aren't you telling me, Saul?"
"Why take the shuttles out now?" William didn't follow the rabbit trail, but decided to wait his friend out. "They could've blown the ship, killed a lot of people and scared the same hell out of everyone they're doing now. But they waited until Galactica staff -- including the son of the most visible military figure left in the fleet -- was on board."
If William Adama hadn't been sitting, he would have collapsed to the floor. Of the theories he'd considered -- albeit briefly -- a military assassination hadn't been among them. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes, wishing he didn't see the logic behind this. Logic in the eyes of terrorists was striking at the most visible target, and removing it with the greatest amount of power and force. The only problem now was the target could very well have been his son.
Will wasn't sure how long he was silent; it felt like time had crawled to a stop. Finally, though, Saul's voice echoed back over the handset.
"Of course, this whole thing could be just what Captain Moore wants us to believe it is -- an accident." A note of sarcasm tainted his XO's voice. "But there's too much here to keep me believing in coincidence."
"If you believe in coincidence, my friend, then you'll be the next victim in a chain." Quoting the old Caprican axiom snapped William Adama out of his introspection -- made him think on the problem -- and he reopened his eyes. Around him, the actions of the sickbay staff continued in a sort of controlled chaos. "All right. I'll stay here, but you make sure that same level of security is assigned to President Roslin when she arrives. And confine the refugees to the flight deck. Have the medical staff brought down there, along with equipment. If you need to, call the Lenna Dell for more medical staff and equipment. I want everyone who comes over from the Hephaestus put in one area and kept there. If we have a terrorist on our--"
"Already done." There was a shuffle of papers on the other end. "Any other orders, sir?"
William smiled. If he'd been his XO, he'd probably feel just a little offended that his commander was repeating things that had probably been accomplished already. There was a certain amount of security there, and Will clung to it.
"You don't need my orders, my friend. Just keep me abreast of whatever you can. You certainly know where to find me." Will looked across the room, his eyes settling on the door to the operating arena, knowing there was one question that had been left unanswered. He didn't want to voice it, because if there was good news, Tigh already would have said so.
But he had to ask.
"Saul ... is there any sign of Lieutenant Thrace?"
"None." And this time, there was sorrow and pain in his friend's voice. "They haven't seen hide nor hair of her." After a pause, Tigh added a simple endnote, with a compassion and gentleness that Will wouldn't have expected when it came to Kara.
"I'm sorry."
Chapter 8
"Ohhhhhh...frak..."
Kara Thrace's return to reality around her was swift, unpleasant and dizzingly confusing. Everything had exploded around her, and she had reacted on pure instinct. She remembered diving into a recessed area in the hallway, curling into a tight ball ... and then feeling a flash as bright as the sun before her entire grip on the world had slipped away.
Her body had hit the reset button, and now she was dealing with the aftermath. Kara groaned, then cautiously stretched. Her head felt like someone had taken a drill bit to her skull, her skin felt like she'd spent 24 hours in the arid Picon desert, and there was so much dust in the air she could hardly breathe. But she could breathe, and nothing felt broken. Lifting her head, Kara opened her eyes, and realized the world around her had gone pitch black.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing. The first stirrings of fear and panic sunk into her stomach. She needed to be able to see and hear and feel. It was one of those few subjects she was an absolute bitch about. Kara Thrace and sensory depravation didn’t get along real well, and anyone who failed to recognize that was due for a nice, swift kick in the balls.
"Hello?"
Nothing. With her heart pounding, Kara realized that included her own voice. She was blind and deaf. The logical part of her brain, growing smaller by the minute, knew that the explosion had probably overloaded every sense she had. She tried to argue with herself. Her sight would come back, her hearing would come back, and as soon as it did, she'd start to find a way out of this frakkin--
A rush of air streamed past her face, and then she felt rather than heard something fall across her chest. It didn’t really fall on her, but it pinned her effectively back to the ground and knocked out any wind Kara had left. Logic went out the door, and she didn't care anymore about not hearing or seeing. She had to get out, get out now, she had to get out of this space before...
"Frak! FRAKFRAKFRAK!!!"
Kara screamed, loud enough to hear her own voice start to pierce her deafness. She swung at whatever was on top of her, at anything she could find. Her fists were clenched tight, practically begging for a target. When she didn't connect, she shifted her weight, and tried bucking beneath the beam. Anything to get her weight under her and get loose. She wasn't trapped, she couldn't be, she would find a way out of here and then she'd frakkin' kill whoever had...
The metal on top of her budged maybe an inch. Kara's breath came in harsh, ragged gasps as she pulled her arms beneath her and grabbed what had to be a support beam. She had to get out, had to get out NOW, even if she had to bench press every last piece of scrap metal on the Hephaestus.
Her sweaty hands slipped off of the beam, raking the skin on her palms and jamming her forearms up and into the metal. Unable to scream, she collapsed back against the floor, coughing and gasping for air. She couldn’t bite back a whimper as she laid her head back on the floor, and screwed shut her eyes against the tears.
"Frak me."
Kara could count on one hand the number of times in her life she’d felt this helpless. And not once in the four instances had she been alone and completely without any help. Frak, right now she couldn’t even tell if she was right side up or upside down. She might even consider the fact she was in Hell, except she didn’t think it would be anything this nice.
Taking in a deep breath, Kara coughed on the smoke-tainted air and let out something between a choke and a laugh. The laugh was almost involuntary, and she could still feel the hysteria perilously close. A few more deep breaths and she almost had control over herself again. She wanted -- no, she NEEDED -- that control right now. She was scared, and she was scaring herself even further.
Gods, she hated this. The last time she’d been like this … she didn’t want to think about it. It involved the two people she wanted right now, the two people she yearned for above anything else. The two people in her life that had never disappointed her or abandoned her.
Lee and Zak would have been able to fix this. Kara drew a shaky breath, and let it out with a shudder. Hell, the last time anything like this had happened, they HAD fixed it. Never would Kara have said there were things she couldn’t handle on her own - at least not publicly - but they had literally saved her life that day.
Water, mud, no air, she COULDN’T BREATHE…Kara clawed to get a handhold, something she could lock her fingers onto and pull herself into the cavern of air she knew had been right above her only moments ago. The mud had fallen in her eyes, so she couldn’t she, but she could hear the water roaring in her ears and she could feel the rock in the cavern with her hands. All she had to do was…
A hand locked around hers, and pulled hard. In the space of a second, Kara had bobbed up to the surface, her head coming above the water so she could get a lungful of air, a precious, grateful lungful…
And then the rock and the mud shifted around her legs again, and she was back under without a chance in hell of pulling herself free.
Then, and only then, did she panic. To hell with conserving energy and oxygen and every last lesson she’d ever learned about diving and cavern swimming. She needed to get free, she needed to get free now and she couldn’t even get her legs to budge under the water…
Arms came around her then, hands slipping under her shoulders to gain leverage and pull her free. But it didn’t help, and she began thrashing again. She knew she would hit whoever had jumped in with her, but she didn’t care. She had to get free, her chest was burning and she felt ready to explode…
Suddenly, she was pinned, someone’s full weight pushing her shoulders up against the wall of the cavern. Before she could even react, a smooth piece of plastic was slipped into her mouth. She tried to shake her head and then realized what it was.
Her snorkel. The one critical piece of equipment she had lost when the rock had crumbled underneath her feet and dropped her unceremoniously into the water, mud rushing over her face as her head smacked hard against the rocks. Cautiously, she tried a breath, and was rewarded instantly with a fresh rush of air. Gasping now, she let her body settle in the water, letting the other person next to her support her, his arms still wrapped protectively around her to keep her from panicking again.
So relieved was she, Kara didn’t even notice when the second person slid into the water and began disentangling her legs from the quagmire below.
Kara snapped back to reality with a rush of adrenaline and a growing headache.
"Frak." She felt her head spinning slightly, and her body was starting to ache in too many places to really keep count. She clenched her hands tightly for a minute, then relaxed them. After repeating the gesture a few times, she started to settle back into herself.
She hadn’t known it at the time, but it had been Lee that grabbed for the snorkel floating in the water. It had been Lee who pushed it back at her and calmed her panic while Zak - the more proficient by far in underwater swimming - worked to free her legs from the mess of rocks and mud that had momentarily trapped her. She never found out how long she’d been floating in the water; none of them ever thought to look at a watch afterwards. When Zak finally managed to free her legs, Lee had pulled her out of the water and onto what remained of the ledge in the Caprican searock cavern they had been snorkling in for two hours.
Kara had been beyond words, shocky, her legs too bruised and painful to even begin supporting her weight. Without saying a word, Zak had helped Lee get a good hold on her, and he let his older brother carry her out of the cave while Zak sprinted ahead to find help. Zak was the better athlete, so he had run. Lee had the strength to get her to the help his brother would find.
She had been 20 then, home from the Academy on leave and enjoying a calm summer afternoon at the ocean with her friends. She’d never gotten to go back into those caverns. By the time she had gotten the chance - and the nerve, though she wouldn’t have ever admitted it to the Adamas - to return, it had been a year later. By then, the rest of the unstable rock had collapsed in on itself, and the entrance had been blocked by a mudslide.
When she looked at the broken remains of that cavern, Kara felt for the first time in her life a clear, terrifying sense of mortality. Thanks to Zak and Lee, all she’d suffered was a concussion and a broken ankle. Her thanks had been simple and respectful, but with the weight of all her gratitude behind it. Zak’s response had been a boisterous hug, but even as she had been receiving it, she could see Lee smiling from over Zak’s shoulder. That was his only response, and it was all she needed to see to know how he felt.
Same old Lee. Even then, he’d had such a lock on his emotions. He and his brother had been the steadying forces in her life for so long, even more so in her Academy days. Zak loved her, a simple unabashed love that showed in everything he said and did. He had made her glow with affection, made her desire something she never thought she'd need. He was open and uncomplicated and completely in love with her. That balance evened out much of her temperament.
But Lee ... Lee had always been her challenge. Or her challenger. She'd never really been able to distinguish between the two. He led, and she'd follow ... half the time. Or she'd push for the lead and he would be right behind. What he couldn't do well -- and she'd had to admit, there wasn't much -- she could pick up the slack. She could outfly him, outfight him and even outwit him occasionally.
But he thought better than her. His logic and Zak's emotion were the perfect balance in her life. With them ... Gods, she'd been happy.
And then, within two weeks, they were both gone. One permanently and the other might as well have been. She hadn't known how much she'd needed them, needed them both to make her life work like it did. And for two years, she'd fought to rebuild all the bridges -- all on her own.
Where were they now? Kara craned her head to the side, trying to fight off the tears she knew were coming. She needed them now, dammit, and neither one of them were here. A wave of hopelessness washed over her, leaving her irritated and upset at the same time. She didn't want to die, and she didn't want to be alone. She wanted one of them here to hold her, and another to go for help and she knew she couldn't have either of them. She was alone and no one knew she was...
"FRAK!" Out of pure anger and frustration, Kara clenched her right fist and swung out hard. The punch connected with something in the dark -- something hard, warm and unforgiving. A sharp stab of pain shot through her knuckles and then up her arm, numbing it for a minute. She dropped her arm back to the floor, muttering under her breath.
And then suddenly, Kara felt a rush of calm and realization. She could move her arms. There had been space enough for her to throw a punch. She'd done it earlier, but she was so wound up it hadn't registered. Kara felt a wave of relief so strong that it left her trembling for a moment. She could move.
"And if you can move, Kara, you'd better get moving." That fragment of voice flickered through her head so fast, she almost missed it. Lee's favorite admonition when she was in the Academy. She would get so frustrated and pissed off sometimes -- at a teacher, at a fellow cadet ... hell, even with Lee and Zak at their finest -- she almost literally couldn't move or think. Her instincts would take over, and she would act without stopping to use her head first.
Kara felt her face hitch a small grin. She still hit first and asked questions later. Lee would be so disappointed. And he'd still respect her in the morning.
Kara could hear him now, and she knew he was right. It was time to move.
*~*~*~*
"...eat...last...do...cop..."
Tyrol swore softly under his breath, and for at least tenth time in the last 30 minutes, readjusted the signal carrier on the headset. The damned thing just wouldn't hold the incoming signal from the Galactica for more than a minute at a crack. There was just too much frakking interference right now; the signal kept dissolving into static and then snapping back clear. Searching along the bandwidth trying to restablish it was eating at the last of Tyrol's nerves.
"Galactica, this is Tyrol." He was practically yelling into the headset now, trying to make sure every last word was clear. It was trying the last of his patience. "We are sending the last of the Raptors back to you, and are requesting turnaround time for the vehicles inbound. Repeat, when are they coming back?"
After a second, Tyrol heard Colonel Tigh's voice come through the comm. It snapped in and out of focus for a moment, and then came through almost clear. Tyrol clenched his teeth in frustration.
"Copy that, Chief." The signal was choppy, but at least this time he could hear every word. "There are two shuttles and one Raptor returning back to the Hephaestus. Figure 15 minutes before their arrival. Can you give us an estimate on remaining evacuees?"
"Negative, sir." Tyrol closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "We're still trying to get to most of the--"
A hand grabbed his shoulder. Tyrol spun around, and almost smashed into Captain Moore. The man had been occupied with assigning his crew and handling survivors. What the frak was he going to come up with this time?
"Sir, I've got something --"
"Not now, Captain." Tyrol tried to turn away, keying the microphone again to raise the Galactica.
"Galactica, we're still--"
This time, the hand didn't just grab Tyrol. It yanked him rudely in a half-circle, bringing him face to face with Moore.
"Sir, this needs your attention. NOW."
"What?!" Tyrol didn't even bother to keep the irritation out of his voice. If this wasn't legit, he might shoot Captain Moore out the nearest airlock himself. He had no patience left. None.
"We think we have survivors in the east hallway." Moore was almost breathless with something akin to excitement, and hearing the words, Tyrol began to pick up the emotion himself. "It's a secondary corridor, leading towards the area we have marked off as living quarters for the refugees. Sir, if anyone came out to take a look, or was even--"
"Can you hear anything?"
The captain looked confused. "What?"
"Can. You. Hear. Anything. Noises, yells, voices." Tyrol hated asking, but something nagged at the back of his brain. Something about time and effort and where he could best put his people. "Can you hear anything?"
"We think so, but we're not sure. Sir, your lieutenant may be in there."
Tyrol clenched his fists as his stomach tied itself into a tight knot and his thoughts wandered back 10 days. For a second, everything around him faded away and all he could hear was Colonel Tigh's voice.
"Seal off everything forward of frame 30 and start an emergency vent of all compartments."
"Wait, wait a minute." Tyrol couldn't believe what the Colonel had just said. "I've got over a hundred people trapped up behind frame 34. I just need a minute to get them out!"
"We don't have a minute!" The damned drunk bastard, he even sounded confident. Tyrol wanted to hit him. "If we don't get that fire put out now, we're going to lose a lot more than a hundred men. Seal it off! Now!"
"We just need a minute!" He was desperate now. Surely the Colonel would see if he just--
"We don't have a minute!" The anger was clear now, even to Tyrol. "If the fire reaches the hangar pods, it'll ignite the fuel lines and we'll lose the ship! DO IT!"
In the space of a moment, Tyrol's hatred of the Colonel had grown beyond all proportions. It had turned into a festering, boiling pit of emotions that Tyrol didn't dare shut off. He'd been fighting it -- and the anger that pulsed through his veins whenever he saw his deck crew trying to cope -- ever since. All he'd needed was a minute, hell, forty seconds. All he'd needed was forty seconds.
How long did he need now? And was it worth the cost?
"Chief!" The voice in his headset practically split his eardrum in half. Colonel Tigh, apparently unable to wait any longer, had resorted to shouting over the channel. Tyrol winced. The colonel didn't sound too pleased. "What's going on, Tyrol?"
"Sir, the evacuation is proceeding as planned." He hesitated, and then plowed forward. "Sir, we have possible survivors in a collapsed area. I'm going to assign personnel to check it out."
There was silence on the other end, and then Tigh's wary voice came back across the comm.
"Copy that. Listen carefully. You can search for survivors, but do not, I REPEAT, DO NOT waste time on a lost cause. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Chief?"
Tyrol fought all of his emotions then. Anger, despair, frustration, worry, relief. He didn't know if he'd ever forgive that man for what he'd done to his flight crew, but suddenly he knew exactly what it meant to be in Colonel Tigh's position.
He felt ashamed as he keyed the mike, swallowed back the quiver in his voice.
"Yes, sir. We'll be off this ship before it goes. Hephaestus out."
Moore, listening to Tyrol's side of the conversation, had already taken off across the landing bay. He grabbed two deck personnel by the elbows, and a member of Moore's bridge crew that had been talking with them followed. In the space of seconds, they were at the mass of debris that blocked the corridor.
Tyrol watched them for a second, and then closed his eyes. No, he would not waste time. He had to get these people off this ship -- with or without whoever might be trapped in that wreckage. If he had to, he would leave people here, and that thought made him physically ill.
He'd called Tigh a son of a bitch two weeks ago. Now, it appeared, it would be his turn.
Chapter 9
Coffee.
He'd started off the day joking about the quality of the coffee. There was some irony there, and William Adama wondered if Saul would remember it later. If he would remember it, and quote an old Caprican axiom.
"Tempting the fates is a dangerous pastime."
Will tried to force a chuckle, tried to find the irony in this himself. He'd deadpanned his own concern so accurately that he'd even had Tigh believing that his biggest concern was, indeed, the poor quality of the coffee. There had been so little else to voice a complaint over then.
He stopped and looked down at his watch. 10:36 a.m. It had been just over two hours ago that he’d been concerning himself with the coffee. And now, it had been 31 minutes since the medical staff had separated him from his son. Another five minutes beyond that, and he had heard words that chilled his very soul.
"You need to prepare yourself for every eventuality."
Will hadn't told Tigh about that. He had reasoned with himself that his XO did not need to know, that his mind should be fully on the crisis at hand. That his friend had the same low tolerance for euphemisms that Adama did, and would be able to understand Lee’s condition.
But that wasn’t the truth. He hadn’t told Tigh because his emotions had threatened to gain control at that moment. Countless times, Adama had taken numerous condition reports that involved members of his crew - hell, members of his family. He prided himself on the fact he knew every face on board this ship, and that he cared about all of them.
None of those situations had cut through his harsh control like this. None of them had involved his son.
"Sir, he's got a severe concussion, and also a hairline fracture of the skull. But right now, they don't think that's causing the major problem. He has numerous broken ribs on both sides. At one point, at least one of them punctured his right lung, collapsing it. There's a lot of bleeding both into the chest cavity and the airways. They've already put a tube in to help him breathe, and now they've got to put in another to re-inflate his lung. And then they need to go in and surgically repair the damage. They'll be able to see how badly he's hurt at that point."
The medtech’s words had been gentle, kind - as if she’d been dealing with a wounded animal that might lash back at her if given half a chance. She'd even placed a hand on his shoulder. A compassionate, sympathetic gesture that he'd resented the hell out of until he sat down and digested her words.
"He's in critical condition, sir. I'm sorry. You need to prepare yourself for every eventuality."
It was then that he realized that the medical personnel weren’t treating him as their commander any longer. They were treating him like the father of a gravely wounded young man who might not survive. In here, he was no longer the fleet commander, no longer in control. What happened in the next few hours -- both here in sickbay, and on board the Hephaestus -- would be completely outside of his control. No action -- or inaction -- would be able to alter the course that time would take.
That realization frightened him. He could do nothing to save his son. The medical personnel, fate, and the Lords of Kobol would all be more influential than himself. For all that William Adama had been and would be, for all that he had accomplished and achieved, he was now helpless.
The feeling had not faded. In fact, it had only intensified. He became acutely aware of the passage of time -- not merely now, but in the past two years and beyond. He found he could not remember the first time Lee had flown a solo flight, or the day his older son had earned his wings. The passage of time that he had craved would eventually bring Lee back to him had now turned into an enemy. Will wanted to remember his son smiling, feeling proud, exhibiting the self-confidence that had seemed to infuse his soul from his very birth.
That was lost to him now. What he could remember was the pain.
"Dad, please, you gotta come!" William Adama's head snapped up as his older son came bounding into the room. Instantly, Will knew there was a problem. The nine-year-old was out of breath and gasping for air -- telltale signs he'd run as fast as his short legs would carry him. "Zak, Dad, out in the field!"
William reached out and grabbed Lee's shoulders, intending just to steady him. Instead, the young boy almost pulled away.
"Lee, what's wrong?" Will knew his voice sounded harsh, but he couldn't help it. Lee looked scared, and in turn was scaring his father. "Is your brother hurt? Do I need to call for help?"
Lee shook under his father's hands, his whole body trembling.
"Dad...sir... I don't know. A hole, out by the east lake. He fell, and he didn't answer me, and then I ran to get you. You said ... you always told us if one of us got hurt, to mark the spot and run for help, so I ran. Sir..."
William was already on his feet, pulling his jacket off the chair and debating the quickest way of finding his younger son. They could drive, but the old fields that led up to the lakes had numerous obstacles -- holes caused by erosion, tree roots that had never been completely removed, wild grass that grew almost up to Lee's shoulders. No, they would have to walk, and Will would have to rely on his older son to find the spot again.
After making sure his wireless was in his pocket, Will steered Lee out of the room, grabbing a flashlight from the front hall closet.
When they reached the door, Will knelt down in front of his son.
"Lee, I need you to take me to your brother. Now. The exact same way you came, no alterations. I want you to take me directly to him. Do you understand?"
Lee drew himself almost up to attention, straightening his back and rolling back his shoulders.
"Yes...yes, sir!" And then he took off running, his small legs moving so quickly that Adama fell 10 yards behind before he could react.
In spite of being an adult - taller by two feet, legs longer by at least half that - Will found himself struggling to keep pace with his son. Lee obviously knew where he was going; Adama could see now the path his older son had trodden through the flattened grass on his way back to the house. Lee was following that now, a child’s endurance and abandon carrying him forward. Will kept catching the toes of his shoes on small roots, rocks, even loose dirt that shifted around unexpectedly.
With Lee so far ahead, Will could see exactly when he came to a dead stop. His son turned quickly around, and waved his father forward frantically. Will grabbed a bit of reserve energy, and sprinted the last few yards to the small hole Lee now stood next to.
Will could hardly contain his surprise. If asked beforehand, he would never have thought either of his sons could have fit into this hole -- even deliberately. It was a foot, perhaps a foot and a half wide, and at one side, Will could see where the edge had been eroded - either by Zak’s fall or Lee trying to lean in after him.
He crouched down, and peered into the hole.
"Zak?" William didn’t hear a thing. Raising his voice, he tried again, peering down into the hole. "Zak!"
There was still no answer. Fear settled into his stomach like a lead weight, and William pulled out the flashlight as he raised his voice.
"Zachariah William Adama, this is your fath--"
He got cut off as Lee pushed in underneath him. Surprised, Will lost his balance and dropped onto his rear end as his older son stuck his head in the hole.
"Zak!" Lee's voice … William could hear the worry in it, the fear. "Zak, it’s me! C’mon, answer me, please, say some-"
William reached over and grabbed Lee by his shoulders, pulling him away from the hole. Lee looked at him balefully for a moment, anger blazing so clearly in his eyes that William unconsciously slid back on his heels. He only wanted to keep Lee safe, out of harm's way for the moment. The look he received in return bordered on uncontrollable fury.
Lee only relaxed when Will leaned forward into the hole and turned on the flashlight. What he saw made him freeze, the air seizing uncomfortably in his chest.
Zak was crumpled at the bottom of the hole, his limbs sprawled motionless in every direction. He quickly scanned the walls, looking for handholds, and sighted several jagged rock edges and gnarled tree roots which only increased his worry. Terrible possibilities ran through his mind, from the idea of a concussion to as frightening as a broken neck. Face-down, William could not even tell if his younger son was breathing.
The flashlight was pulled up and away, and Will found himself almost nose to nose with his son. To his shock, tears were streaming down Lee’s face.
"Let me climb down, Dad, let me see." Lee already had his body leaning towards the hole, his hand tugging gently at the flashlight. "I can get him out of there, and you won't fit. He's my responsibility, he needs me. You have to let me go. Please..."
Will wanted to shake his head no, refuse his son’s request and deflect the pain those words had caused. Zak should not have been Lee's charge; he should have been Adama's own. And he certainly didn't want to risk Lee being injured as well. But even if he called for help - and he would have to rather quickly - there would not be an adult able to crawl into the hole. They would need someone down there with Zak, and Lee was correct -- he knew his brother perhaps better than anyone.
He nodded, and Lee climbed into the hole. William noted with pride how much care Lee took, placing his feet on one side and wedging his back against the other. Lee inched his way down, making sure to avoid gouging his back on the rough surface.
Lee jumped lightly to the bottom, and reached out with his left hand. William felt every muscle in his body tense when he realized Lee was trying to figure out if his brother was alive. To see his older son's hand slip along Zak's, looking for a pulse, unnerved him.
In a fraction of a second, however, he saw Lee look up at him and nod. As Will reached for his wireless to call for help, he saw Lee move again out of the corner of his eye and pull Zak into his lap. And just as he was about to push the comm button, Will saw the blood on Zak's face.
Six feet below him, Lee burst into uncontrollable sobs.
"Wake up, Zak. Please, wake up." Lee's words were barely understandable, he was crying so hard. "I'm here now, and I'm going to get you out of here. Wake up, Zak, please...wake up ..."
"I'd offer you a cubit for your thoughts, Commander, but I'm reasonably sure what they are."
The gentle, pleasant voice snapped Adama out of his reverie and back into the present, where Laura Roslin stood in front of him, a half-smile on her gaunt features.
William felt a rush of annoyance as she pulled him out of his mental fog and back to the present. There were very few people he would have welcomed at the moment -- and the President of the Colonies was not among them. He simply wanted to be alone -- with his own thoughts and the memories of his sons.
He stood and crossed his arms, leveling a stare at Roslin that would've made anyone under his command quiver.
"Do you, Madame President?" He tried glaring at her, but it seemed to have no effect. And for a moment, he let the control slip out of his voice. "Why don't you tell me exactly what I'm thinking?"
If she was put off by his tone, she didn't show it.
"I would say you were thinking of your son." She again showed that gentle smile, her face calm and unruffled. "I've been standing her for a full minute without you noticing."
If she had been -- and he had no reason to doubt her -- he had indeed not noticed. The annoyance grew to grew to an intolerable level. Her presence was an intrusion, and he resented the hell out of it. She had no right to be here. This was his problem, his fear, and he had the right to be alone.
Adama looked down at his watch out of habit, and the irritation died abruptly. 10:51. It had been 45 minutes now, a space of time he could break down into fractions -- seconds spent thinking of Lee's long-ago sobs, and the reasons for them. Zak's pain, and how the sight of blood had unnerved him.
"Zak!" Lee almost screamed his brother’s name. "Please--"
"--just leave you alone." Roslin's voice filtered through to him again, and he looked up mutely. Vaguely, he wondered why she hadn't left yet, but he agreed with her sentiment, and nodded.
"That would be fine, Madame President. I’m truly not in the mood to talk." He let his gaze wander across the room. The entrance to the operating theater -- where his son lay beyond -- was quiet, and he fought the urge to look at his watch again. The waiting felt interminable.
"Commander, are you listening to me?" He looked up sharply, and found Roslin still standing there. She looked ... Adama couldn't quite place the look on her face, nor did he really care to try.
"No." He might as well be honest.
Roslin's face set itself in the familiar inarguable determination he had come to expect.
"You might consider doing so." She leveled a glance at him that looked vaguely scolding now, making him feel just a bit guilty at his own self-absorption. "I said I would NOT leave, Commander, not that I would."
He looked at her mutely for a moment, at a loss for words.
"Why?"
Roslin gently grabbed his elbow and steered him back into his chair. He followed the direction and sank gratefully back into it, puzzled by her kindness and cursing himself for his own weakness.
But Roslin didn't seem to see anything amiss.
"Because, Commander, you are a father whose son is suffering." Her mouth quirked into a sad smile as she sat down in the chair next to his. "I know all too well how it is to watch a child endure pain, and how difficult it can be to simply watch and wait."
For a clear moment, Roslin was no longer the President of the Colonies of Kobol. She was a simple schoolteacher, who had likely seen many children through their agony -- both physical and emotional. He knew little about Roslin's past career, but he knew of her steady devotional to the people under her charge and her sense of moral principle. It came in sharp contrast to his military bearings in so many ways.
But had that been the only thing that had drawn her to him? For a moment, his grief lost its hold on him.
"Do you have children of your own, Madame President?" Better to phrase it that way, than to state it in past tense. If she'd had children on Caprica, the likelihood they had survived was not only improbable, but close to impossible. With that realization, he found himself regretting the impetuous question, and he felt a touch of color rise in his cheeks. She had come here to comfort him, and now he would likely do nothing more than stir up bad memories.
Roslin held eye contact with him, though, the small half-smile he'd grown accustomed to seeing gracing her features again. It gave nothing away.
"I did, Commander." Adama winced and regretted the question again. But her voice was quiet and soft, the half-smile not slipping. "Have you ever heard of Ulsten-Ebarr Syndrome?"
The question forced Adama to concentrate for a minute, trying to remember what medical reading he had done. In a moment, he had it.
"The nerve disorder?"
Roslin nodded, folding her hands in front of her and staring down at her fingers.
"It's not a pretty disease, Commander. It's congenital, and the damage to the nerve sheaths begins at birth. Once those sheaths are destroyed, the nerves are gradually eaten away. It does not kill quickly, nor painlessly." She paused and then looked up at him again. "My daughter, Edina, was diagnosed with it within a few weeks of her birth. She died when she was five, two weeks before her sixth birthday."
Adama's breath stilled at her words. To lose a child, so young ...
"Daddy, it hurts." Zak's voice, almost a moan instead of words, reached Adama at the top of the shaft. "Lee, make Dad make it stop. Please..."
He had not lost his sons at that age. Neither of them had ever been in true peril as a child -- even with Zak's fall down the hollowed, dried-out water hole. He'd suffered a concussion, needed stitches, sprained an ankle. But he had been silent only from the blow to the head.
The true challenge of the day had been trying to get them both out of the hole. It had been a full hour before emergency personnel could rig a safety harness to safety remove Zak. Lee had remained down there until the end, silent and strong beside his brother. But for years afterward, he would not voluntarily go anyplace that was not well-lit. Adama was willing to wager a good amount that Lee's memories of the incident were as strong as his own.
The same memories that had been chasing him all day. He looked at the president, his own pain suddenly falling into perspective to hers.
"I'm sorry." And he truly was. He hadn't intended to hurt her with the question, but ... He wondered now what he had been searching for when he had asked. A sympathetic soul, or perhaps he'd seen some of Ilya in her for a few moments.
Across from him, Laura Roslin surprised him with a smile.
"There's no need to apologize, Commander. It's been 20 years." She folded her hands together, relaxing slightly in the chair. "Time has had the effect of making memories ... golden. It's no longer just pain anymore. I've come to terms with it, found my peace."
Adama's anger suddenly, furiously flared up again. He pushed up and away from his chair, not daring to let himself stay within reach of her. He had hit a woman only once in his life -- just once -- and it had lost him a great many things. He would not allow it to happen again.
He glared down at her, though, intending to wound in return.
"Forgive for not being able to achieve that same peace, Madame President." His voice was laced with sarcasm, and pain. "Death and I are not on good terms."
He turned to leave, but fingers sunk into his command jacket and pulled him back around. He found himself face to face with Roslin, who had gotten to her feet.
"Is that what you think I am telling you?" Her smile was gone, replaced by an unreadable expression. But Adama could hear the hurt and pain he was feeling echoed in her voice. "Commander, I am not at ease with death, and I'm not saying your son will die or that you should accept it. I just..."
Her voice trailed off, a hint of color rising in her cheeks.
"Just what?"
"I'm sorry, Commander. This entire conversation is not what I had intended. I came down here to try and offer you some hope, not to have you think about the deaths of your children. I know you've already lost one son, and I wanted you to know I understood your suffering and that I cared."
"Why? Why do you ... you hardly know me, or my son."
"Commander, over the past 10 days, I've had my life saved at least three separate times by your son. I've had some time to get to know him, and I've heard about him ... and his brother." Her voice grew quiet again. "I also heard a good deal about what you and he have been through in the past two years. Forgive me, but I thought you might like to talk to someone, rather than dwell on the current situation."
"What would you like me to say?"
"That's entirely up to you, Commander. But I wanted you to have an ear if you chose to voice some of your thoughts." She pulled him gently back towards his chair, that gentle smile on her face yet again. "I've been where you are right now. Sometimes, a person just needs to talk."
And that, in a simple statement was the crux of the problem. He had held Lee less than an hour ago, certain that he would lose his son without being able to say the words they both most needed to hear. He had held Lee, and known that his sins had indeed been revisited -- like he known two weeks ago when his son had come aboard. Like he had known since then, but hadn't had the courage to address. He didn't have the words for what he needed to say to his son -- the words to bridge the gaping chasm the last two years had become. So much damage had been done. How could a few simple words repair what had taken a lifetime to rend?
He looked up at Roslin, a slight smile gracing his features.
"I don't know the right words, Madame President. For my son ... or myself. I'm ... afraid to take the next step, for fear of losing what I've already gained."
Roslin regarded him for a moment, and then began to chuckle softly. Adama felt his face twist in a flash of annoyance.
"What is it, Madame President?" He swallowed back the bite in his voice as she reached out, and patted him softly on the arm. The touch was soft, and it comforted him as the humor in her face became apparent.
"I shouldn't laugh, Commander. I know the fear of losing a child ... whether it be to illness, or to a rift caused by a death. And I know how hard it can be to reconcile that rift." Adama felt his jaw drop slightly, caught completely off guard by her words. How did she know? The answer came to him in a second -- most likely, his XO had been talking out of turn. Or perhaps not. The animosity between him and his son was an open secret aboard the Galactica; any number of people could have spoken to the President.
But knowing did not solve his dilemma, and he looked at her sternly, waiting for her to finish.
After a moment, her laughter died off, and a sad smile touched her features.
"The journey is only as hard as you make it, Commander, and only as long as that first step." She reached for his hand and squeezed it softly. "Fear of losing our children is natural. But it seems to me that you've already lost enough, Commander. Both of you have."
William leaned back in his chair, and let the words sink in. Until this morning, they would have only been words -- spoken many times over by a great many people. Ilya had spoken them to him, not three weeks ago, when she learned of Lee's part in the decommissioning ceremony. They had been repeated by others, but they had not cleared his path. Not until now, when his son was meters away from him, fighting for his life. That struggle had taken place before, and he had thought his son dead. But until now -- until he had held Lee that morning and known for a certainty that time had run out -- he hadn't thought.
"Dad, please..."
It was time to listen to his thoughts. He turned to Roslin and slipped his hand around hers, pulling it up from his lap. Bringing it gently to his face, he kissed her fingers softly, and bowed his head in a sign of respect.
"I thank you, Madame President. I will ... try to take your advice at the earliest opportunity."
Chapter 9
Coffee.
He'd started off the day joking about the quality of the coffee. There was some irony there, and William Adama wondered if Saul would remember it later. If he would remember it, and quote one of Caprica's oldest axioms.
"Tempting the fates is a dangerous pastime."
Will tried to force a chuckle, tried to find the irony in this himself. He'd deadpanned his own concern so accurately that he'd even had Tigh believing that his biggest concern was, indeed, the poor quality of the coffee. There had been so little else to voice a complaint over then that it seemed appropriate. There wasn't supposed to be life after the end of the world, and yet, they had discovered it existed - and perhaps wasn't quite as bad as they'd feared.
He stopped and looked down at his watch. 10:36 a.m. It had been just over two hours ago that he’d been concerning himself with the coffee. And now, it had been 31 minutes since the medical staff had separated him from his son. Another five minutes beyond that, and he had heard words that chilled his very soul.
“You need to prepare yourself for every eventuality.”
Will hadn't told Tigh about that. He had reasoned with himself that his XO did not need to know, that his mind should be fully on the crisis at hand. That his friend had the same low tolerance for euphemisms that Adama did, and would be able to understand Lee’s condition.
But that wasn’t the truth. He hadn’t told Tigh because his emotions had threatened to gain control at that moment. Countless times, Adama had taken numerous condition reports that involved members of his crew - hell, members of his family. He prided himself on the fact he knew every face on board this ship, and that he cared about all of them.
None of those situations had cut through his harsh control like this. None of them had involved his son.
“Sir, he's got a severe concussion, and also a hairline fracture of the skull. But right now, they don't think that's causing the major problem. He has numerous broken ribs on both sides. At least one of those ribs has punctured his left lung, collapsing it. There's a lot of bleeding both into the chest cavity and the airways. They've already put a tube in to help him breathe, and now they've got to put in another to re-inflate his lung. And then they need to go in and surgically repair the damage. They'll be able to see how badly he's hurt at that point."
The medtech’s words had been gentle, kind - as if she’d been dealing with a wounded animal that might lash back at her if given half a chance. She'd even placed a hand on his shoulder. A compassionate, sympathetic gesture that he'd resented the hell out of until he sat down and digested her words.
“He's in critical condition, sir. I'm sorry. You need to prepare yourself for every eventuality.”
It was then that he realized that the medical personnel weren’t treating him as their commander any longer. They were treating him like the father of a gravely wounded young man who might not survive. In here, he was no longer the fleet commander, no longer in control. What happened in the next few hours -- both here in sickbay, and on board the Hephaestus -- would be completely outside of his control. No action -- or inaction -- would be able to alter the course that time would take.
That realization frightened him. For all that he had been able to achieve in his lifetime, there had been very few instances where he had not had control of the events surrounding him. He'd built his career around maintaining that control, maintaining the ability to manipulate events and people to a positive outcome. For every action, there existed a multitude of reactions. His ability to chose the correct course had made him into one of the most respected men in the fleet.
Now he could not choose an action, because there was nothing for him to do.
An intense wave of helplessness, in turn fueling frustration, had flooded his senses at the first sight of his son on the shuttle. He became acutely aware of the passage of time -- not merely now, but in the past two years and beyond. He found he could not remember the first time Lee had flown a solo flight, or the day his older son had earned his wings. The passage of time that he had craved would eventually bring Lee back to him had now turned into an enemy. Will wanted to remember his son smiling, feeling proud, exhibiting the self-confidence that had seemed to infuse his soul from his very birth.
That was lost to him now. What he could remember was the pain.
"Dad, please, you gotta come!" William Adama's head snapped up as his older son came bounding into the room. Instantly, Will knew there was a problem. The nine-year-old was out of breath and gasping for air -- telltale signs he'd run as fast as his short legs would carry him. "Zak, Dad, out in the field!"
William reached out and grabbed Lee's shoulders, intending just to steady him. Instead, the young boy almost pulled away.
"Lee, what's wrong?" Will knew his voice sounded harsh, but he couldn't help it. Lee looked scared, and in turn was scaring his father. "Is your brother hurt? Do I need to call for help?"
Lee shook under his father's hands, his whole body trembling.
"Dad...sir... I don't know. A hole, out by the east lake. He fell, and he didn't answer me, and then I ran to get you. You said ... you always told us if one of us got hurt, to mark the spot and run for help, so I ran. Sir..."
William was already on his feet, pulling his jacket off the chair and debating the quickest way of finding his younger son. They could drive, but the old fields that led up to the lakes had numerous obstacles -- holes caused by erosion, tree roots that had never been completely removed, wild grass that grew almost up to Lee's shoulders. No, they would have to walk, and Will would have to rely on his older son to find the spot again.
After making sure his wireless was in his pocket, Will steered Lee out of the room, grabbing a flashlight from the front hall closet.
When they reached the door, Will knelt down in front of his son.
"Lee, I need you to take me to your brother. Now. The exact same way you came, no alterations. I want you to take me directly to him. Do you understand?"
Lee drew himself almost up to attention, straightening his back and rolling back his shoulders.
"Yes...yes, sir!" And then he took off running, his small legs moving so quickly that Adama fell 10 yards behind before he could react.
In spite of being an adult - taller by two feet, legs longer by at least half that - Will found himself struggling to keep pace with his son. Lee obviously knew where he was going; Adama could see now the path his older son had trodden through the flattened grass on his way back to the house. Lee was following that now, a child’s endurance and abandon carrying him forward. Will kept catching the toes of his shoes on small roots, rocks, even loose dirt that shifted around unexpectedly.
With Lee so far ahead, Will could see exactly when he came to a dead stop. His son turned quickly around, and waved his father forward frantically. Will grabbed a bit of reserve energy, and sprinted the last few yards to the small hole Lee now stood next to.
Will could hardly contain his surprise. If asked beforehand, he would never have thought either of his sons could have fit into this hole -- even deliberately. It was a foot, perhaps a foot and a half wide, and at one side, Will could see where the edge had been eroded - either by Zak’s fall or Lee trying to lean in after him.
He crouched down, and peered into the hole.
“Zak?” William didn’t hear a thing. Raising his voice, he tried again, peering down into the hole. "Zak!"
There was still no answer. Fear settled into his stomach like a lead weight, and William pulled out the flashlight as he raised his voice.
“Zachariah William Adama, this is your fath--"
He got cut off as Lee pushed in underneath him. Surprised, Will lost his balance and dropped onto his rear end as his older son stuck his head in the hole.
“Zak!" Lee's voice … William could hear the worry in it, the fear. "Zak, it’s me! C’mon, answer me, please, say some-“
William reached over and grabbed Lee by his shoulders, pulling him away from the hole. Lee looked at him balefully for a moment, anger blazing so clearly in his eyes that William unconsciously slid back on his heels. He only wanted to keep Lee safe, out of harm's way for the moment. The look he received in return bordered on uncontrollable fury.
Lee only relaxed when Will leaned forward into the hole and turned on the flashlight. What he saw made him freeze, the air seizing uncomfortably in his chest.
Zak was crumpled at the bottom of the hole, his limbs sprawled motionless in every direction. He quickly scanned the walls, looking for handholds, and sighted several jagged rock edges and gnarled tree roots which only increased his worry. Frightening possibilities ran through his mind, from the likelihood of a simple concussion to terrible possibility of a broken neck. Face-down, William could not even tell if his younger son was breathing.
The flashlight was pulled up and away, and Will found himself almost nose to nose with his son. To his shock, tears were streaming down Lee’s face.
"Let me climb down, Dad, let me see.” Lee already had his body leaning towards the hole, his hand tugging gently at the flashlight. ”I can get him out of there, and you won't fit. He's my responsibility, he needs me. You have to let me go. Please..."
Will wanted to shake his head no, refuse his son’s request and deflect the pain those words had caused. Zak should not have been Lee's charge; he should have been Adama's own. And he certainly didn't want to risk Lee being injured as well. But even if he called for help - and he would have to rather quickly - there would not be an adult able to crawl into the hole. They would need someone down there with Zak, and Lee was correct -- he knew his brother perhaps better than anyone.
He nodded, and Lee climbed into the hole. William noted with pride how much care Lee took, placing his feet on one side and wedging his back against the other. Lee inched his way down, making sure to avoid gouging his back on the rough surface.
Lee jumped lightly to the bottom, and reached out with his left hand. William felt every muscle in his body tense when he realized Lee was trying to figure out if his brother was alive. To see his older son's hand slip along Zak's, looking for a pulse, unnerved him.
In a fraction of a second, however, he saw Lee look up at him and nod. As Will reached for his wireless to call for help, he saw Lee move again out of the corner of his eye and pull Zak into his lap. And just as he was about to push the comm button, Will saw the blood on Zak's face.
Six feet below him, Lee burst into uncontrollable sobs.
"Wake up, Zak. Please, wake up." Lee's words were barely understandable, he was crying so hard. "I'm here now, and I'm going to get you out of here. Wake up, Zak, please...wake up ..."
"I'd offer you a cubit for your thoughts, Commander, but I'm reasonably sure what they are."
The gentle, pleasant voice snapped Adama out of his reverie and back into the present, where Laura Roslin stood in front of him, a half-smile on her gaunt features.
William felt a rush of annoyance as she pulled him out of his mental fog and back to the present. There were very few people he would have welcomed at the moment -- and the President of the Colonies was certainly not among them. Her uninvited presence was interrupting his self-reprisals, forcing him back into the present instead of the past.
He stood and crossed his arms, leveling a stare at Roslin that would've made anyone under his command quiver.
"Do you, Madame President?" He tried glaring at her, but it seemed to have no effect. And for a moment, he let the control slip out of his voice. "Why don't you tell me exactly what I'm thinking?"
If she was put off by his tone, she didn't show it.
"I would say you were thinking of your son." She again showed that gentle smile, her face calm and unruffled. "I've been standing her for a full minute without you noticing."
If she had been -- and he had no reason to doubt her -- he had indeed not noticed. The annoyance grew to grew to an intolerable level. Her presence was an intrusion, and he resented the hell out of it. She had no right to be here. This was his problem, his fear, and he had the right to be alone.
Adama looked down at his watch out of habit, and the irritation died abruptly. 10:51. It had been 45 minutes now, a space of time he could break down into fractions -- seconds spent thinking of Lee's long-ago sobs, and the reasons for them. Zak's pain, and how the sight of blood had unnerved him.
“Zak!” Lee almost screamed his brother’s name. “Please--”
"--just leave you alone." Roslin's voice filtered through to him again, and he looked up mutely. Vaguely, he wondered why she hadn't left yet, but he agreed with her sentiment, and nodded.
“That would be fine, Madame President. I’m truly not in the mood to talk.” He let his gaze wander across the room. The entrance to the operating theater -- where his son lay beyond -- was quiet, and he fought the urge to look at his watch again. The waiting felt interminable.
“Commander, are you listening to me?” He looked up sharply, and found Roslin still standing there. She looked ... Adama couldn't quite place the look on her face, nor did he really care to try.
“No.” He might as well be honest.
Roslin's face set itself in the familiar inarguable determination he had come to expect.
"You might consider doing so." She leveled a glance at him that looked vaguely scolding now, making him feel just a bit guilty at his own self-absorption. "I said I would NOT leave, Commander, not that I would."
He looked at her mutely for a moment, at a loss for words.
"Why?"
Roslin gently grabbed his elbow and steered him back into his chair. He followed the direction and sank gratefully back into it, puzzled by her kindness and cursing himself for his own weakness.
But Roslin didn't seem to see anything amiss.
"Because, Commander, you are a father whose son is suffering." Her mouth quirked into a sad smile as she sat down in the chair next to his. "I know all too well how it is to watch a child endure pain, and how difficult it can be to simply watch and wait."
For a clear moment, Roslin was no longer the President of the Colonies of Kobol. She was a simple schoolteacher, who had likely seen many children through their agony -- both physical and emotional. He knew little about Roslin's past career, but he knew of her steady devotion to the people under her charge and her sense of moral principle. It came in sharp contrast to his military bearings in so many ways.
But had that been the only thing that had drawn her to him? For a moment, his grief lost its hold on him.
"Do you have children of your own, Madame President?" Better to phrase it that way, than to state it in past tense. If she'd had children on Caprica, the likelihood they had survived was not only improbable, but close to impossible. With that realization, he found himself regretting the impetuous question, and he felt a touch of color rise in his cheeks. She had come here to comfort him, and now he would likely do nothing more than stir up bad memories.
Roslin held eye contact with him, though, the small half-smile he'd grown accustomed to seeing gracing her features again. It gave nothing away.
"I did, Commander." Adama winced and regretted the question again. But her voice was quiet and soft, the half-smile not slipping. "Have you ever heard of Ulsten-Ebarr Syndrome?"
The question forced Adama to concentrate for a minute, trying to remember what medical reading he had done. In a moment, he had it.
"The nerve disorder?"
Roslin nodded, folding her hands in front of her and staring down at her fingers.
"It's not a pretty disease, Commander. It's congenital, and the damage to the nerve sheaths begins at birth. Once those sheaths are destroyed, the nerves are gradually eaten away. It does not kill quickly, nor painlessly." She paused and then looked up at him again. "My daughter, Edina, was diagnosed with it within a few weeks of her birth. She died when she was five, two weeks before her sixth birthday."
Adama's breath stilled at her words. To lose a child, so young ...
"Daddy, it hurts." Zak's voice, almost a moan instead of words, reached Adama at the top of the shaft. "Lee, make Dad make it stop. Please..."
He could not imagine that pain, nor did he want to. His sons had lived a truly blessed childhood. Neither of them had ever been in true peril as a child -- even with Zak's fall down the hollowed, dried-out water hole. He'd suffered a concussion, needed stitches, sprained an ankle. But he had been silent only from the blow to the head.
The true challenge of the day had been trying to get them both out of the hole. It had been a full hour before emergency personnel could rig a safety harness to safety remove Zak. Lee had remained down there until the end, silent and strong beside his brother. But for years afterward, he would not voluntarily go anyplace that was not well-lit. Adama was willing to wager a good amount that Lee's memories of the incident were as strong as his own.
The same memories that had been chasing him all day. He looked at the president, his own pain suddenly falling into perspective to hers.
"I'm sorry." And he truly was. He hadn't intended to hurt her with the question, but ... He wondered now what he had been searching for when he had asked. A sympathetic soul, or perhaps he'd seen some of Ilya in her for a few moments.
Across from him, Laura Roslin surprised him with a smile.
"There's no need to apologize, Commander. It's been 20 years." She folded her hands together, relaxing slightly in the chair. "Time has had the effect of making memories ... golden. It's no longer just pain anymore. I've come to terms with it, found my peace."
Adama's anger suddenly, furiously flared up again. He pushed up and away from his chair, not daring to let himself stay within reach of her. He had hit a woman only once in his life -- just once -- and it had lost him a great many things. He would not allow it to happen again.
He glared down at her, though, intending to wound in return.
"Forgive for not being able to achieve that same peace, Madame President." His voice was laced with sarcasm, and pain. "Death and I are not on good terms."
He turned to leave, but fingers sunk into his command jacket and pulled him back around. He found himself face to face with Roslin, who had gotten to her feet.
"Is that what you think I am telling you?" Her smile was gone, replaced by an unreadable expression. But Adama could hear the hurt and pain he was feeling echoed in her voice. "Commander, I am not at ease with death, and I'm not saying your son will die or that you should accept it. I just..."
Her voice trailed off, a hint of color rising in her cheeks.
"Just what?"
"I'm sorry, Commander. This entire conversation is not what I had intended. I came down here to try and offer you some hope, not to have you think about the deaths of your children. I know you've already lost one son, and I wanted you to know I understood your suffering and that I cared."
"Why? Why do you ... you hardly know me, or my son."
"Commander, over the past 10 days, I've had my life saved at least three separate times by your son. I've had some time to get to know him, and I've heard about him ... and his brother." Her voice grew quiet again. "I also heard a good deal about what you and he have been through in the past two years. Forgive me, but I thought you might like to talk to someone, rather than dwell on the current situation."
"What would you like me to say?"
"That's entirely up to you, Commander. But I wanted you to have an ear if you chose to voice some of your thoughts." She pulled him gently back towards his chair, that gentle smile on her face yet again. "I've been where you are right now. Sometimes, a person just needs to talk."
And that, in a simple statement was the crux of the problem. He had held Lee less than an hour ago, certain that he would lose his son without being able to say the words they both most needed to hear. He had held Lee, and known that his sins had indeed been revisited -- like he known two weeks ago when his son had come aboard. Like he had known since then, but hadn't had the courage to address. He didn't have the words for what he needed to say to his son -- the words to bridge the gaping chasm the last two years had become. So much damage had been done. How could a few simple words repair what had taken a lifetime to rend?
He looked up at Roslin, a slight smile gracing his features.
"I don't know the right words, Madame President. For my son ... or myself. I'm ... afraid to take the next step." Or to lose what I've already gained. "Right now ..." Adama paused, reaching for the right words. "Right now, I simply want my son to remain in this world. And there is nothing I can do to facilitate that outcome."
Roslin regarded him for a moment, and then offered a small smile that seemed tinged with sadness -- and not a small amount of understanding. He raised an eyebrow.
"What is it, Madame President?"
She shook her head slowly, her features becoming sober.
"Sometimes, Commander, all we can do is surrender control of the situation to those better equiped than ourselves." Then her features softened. "Or perhaps, find a soul to share that situation with until we can regain that control."
Confusion swirled through his brain.
"Madame President?"
Roslin cracked a grim smile.
"Your XO ordered me down here, Commander, claiming that my security and yours were vital to the survival of this fleet. Listening to him talk, one could quickly assume that no one aboard this ship -- or as importantly, in this entire fleet -- is safe at the moment."
Prepare yourself for every eventuality. The possibilities of why this had happened were endless. A Cylon attack, dissendents ... even the horror of an assasination attempt. He remembered now that merely the family name had appeared on the personnel list issued to the Hephaestus early this morning, and a bitter smile crept across his face.
"He may be correct."
The president reached out and took his hand. She squeezed softly, and offered him a generous look.
"Then perhaps we should both make the best of the situation, Commander. Forget about trying to control the future for a little while, let others do their job." She leaned back in the chair, and inclined her head towards the operating room. "Why don't you tell me about Lee -- and your other son, Zak, was it? It might do you some good to remember them both."
"Dad, please..."
He was already remembering, and starting to realize a few things about himself and his remaining son. How much had his control cost him in his life? It was a question he wasn't sure he could totally comprehend, much less begin to answer it. And he couldn't do quite what she wanted -- surrendering complete control wasn't in his personality.
But he could speak of his sons, and hope they wouldn't share the same fate. He turned back towards the president, and raised her hand to his lips, gently kissing the knuckles in a show of respect.
"What would you like to know, Madame President?"
Chapter 10
She had lost control of the situation.
Kara Thrace was willing to concede that point, if only it would get her a little closer to her extraction from this clusterfrak. So far, she'd ripped up her back, rubbed her hands raw and torn off at least two fingernails trying to maneuver through the wreckage. And then sometime in the last few minutes, her left wrist had suddenly quit working. It might have had something to do with said hand slipping off the block she had been using for leverage and slamming into a slab of something hard and unforgiving, but she wasn't sure. All she knew was that the light at the end of the tunnel -- both the proverbial and the literal illumination she could actually see -- seemed too great a distance away.
This was why she hated being on ships instead of in a cockpit. It meant surrendering the element of control she needed to have in her life. Unless you were flying in a ship -- actually holding the controls and making her respond in the exact manner you wanted -- you weren't in control. It was why she fought to spend every frakking minute she could in a Viper.
Kara pulled herself another inch or two forward, then winced when another shard of metal ripped through her flight suit and put another gash in her back. She wasn't sure how much of the wetness on her back was sweat and how much was blood, but at the moment, it really didn't matter. All that mattered right now was getting enough control back to get herself the frak out of here.
Because somewhere in the last few minutes, she'd started hearing sounds. Lightweight popping noises, followed by somewhat more ominous creaks compounded by the groan of metal. Every pilot -- from the greenest rook in a Raptor to the commanders of star fleets -- knew what metal fatigue was, and what it sounded like. They had to know for their own survival.
And it was exactly what she was hearing. Regularly, and without any signs of easing. The meaning behind that noise was unmistakeable.
She was running out of time.
*~*~*~*
Everything was going too frakking fast, and he was losing his grip on the situation.
Galen Tyrol swallowed hard, and corrected his last mental statement. He HAD lost control of the situation. Or rather, it had never been his to begin with. As soon as that explosion had ripped through this ship, he'd merely been along for the ride, trying to keep pace with the changes from moment to moment.
But everything was happening too fast, and he was rapidly running out of options. He knew ships better than anyone else on his deck – It was his job to know them. He'd been in and out of all manner of vessels since he had turned six years old and his dad had smuggled him onto an old shipping freighter and taken him for a ride through the upper atmosphere of Picon.
He couldn’t have cared less about the flight. He wanted to know everything about the ship he was on, and why it flew. And since that age, he'd learned everything he could about every ship he worked with – and more than a few he hadn't.
So he felt pretty safe in his current assumption, and it frustrated him to no end that he could do nothing to prevent its approach.
Around him, voices piled upon voices, gradually rising in volume as one tried to be heard over the other. A growing group of people surrounded him, each one trying to tell him something he needed to know.
"There's too much debris in the-"
"The fractures in the hull are-"
"We don't know how many more trips we'll-"
"What about the shuttle fuel-"
"Do we remove the ship's essential-"
He couldn't comprehend a single word. He tried to follow one single voice, and let it complete a thought, and then another cut it off. Finally, Tyrol's last nerve snapped, and he closed his eyes.
"Would everyone please shut THE FRAK UP before I space all of you?!"
Immediately, there was silence. It was total, and gratifying. He opened his eyes to find each of the dozens of people surrounding him -- down to and including a humbled Captain Moore -- staring at him in stunned disbelief. He noticed with satisfaction that no one seemed willing to break the silence without further command.
Gritting his teeth, he spat out a simple command.
"One. At. A. Time."
*~*~*~*
Saul Tigh listened silently to Chief Tyrol, swallowed hard, and came to the abrupt conclusion that this day never should have even gotten started.
Either that, or Will had been tempting the hell out of the fates this morning. Saul dug his hands into the Dradis Console, relishing the bite of the edges into his palms. The pain helped him focus and kept him in the present. Right now, he didn't want to even think about drifting into the past.
It's happening again. I've lost control, we've all lost control, and I'm going to be the son of a bitch who –
"Sir?" Tyrol's voice came across the line. "Sir, did you copy?"
Tigh closed his eyes and swore softly under his breath.
"Yes, Chief, I copied you, and I understand." And the Lords of Kobol forgive me for what I have to do. "You have the timeframe you asked for, Chief, and that's it. No questions, no waiting, no 'just one minute.' Understood?"
Across the silence, Tigh could practically hear Tyrol's disgust. He latched onto it with both hands, both glad to know he wasn't alone in his feelings – and hoping like hell the chief wouldn't fight him on this.
Finally, Tyrol spoke.
"Yes, sir. I understand." Tigh could hear the choke of defeat in Tyrol's voice, echoing his own desperation.
"We're out of time."
*~*~*~*
Laura Roslin chuckled, shaking her head gently. William Adama found a smile of his own creep across his face, the first real smile
"Excuse me, commander, but really...you want me to believe that your Commander of Air Group was once rebellious enough to stand in your face and tell you to ..." Roslin paused and let her face become the sort of impassive mask Will knew his son had mastered from his father. " 'Frak your beliefs and frak your military. I want to be a race pilot. Sir.' "
It sounded absurd, and Will knew it. But it was also the absolute truth.
"He wasn't the CAG then. As I recall, he was a rather impulsive 12-year-old." Will's smile grew a little wry. "I had also recently given him a lecture on standing up for what he wanted. I suppose you can I say I asked for it."
Roslin let loose with a peal of delighted laughter.
"Somehow, I can just see your son adding the 'sir.'"
The laughter eased the tightness in Adama's chest. The worry still clung to him like sweat on a Caprican summer morning, refusing to let him claw free of the panic-ridden images of the morning. In his mind's eye, he could still see his son's face, absurdly purple and filled with the kind of fear he'd hoped his son would never face in his lifetime.
"Dad, please..."
But he was also starting to regain some of the inner calm he normally maintained. The panic was still there, along with the fear he would lose his only remaining child. It was, however, coming into perspective with the rest of the situation. Medtechs were moving around sickbay, but so far, only the critical patients had been brought in. Adama knew there were more injured, and could only guess that Saul had succeeded in confining all of the Hephaestus' crew and passengers on the hangar deck. That meant that the Galactica – at least temporarily, he hoped – would be considered secure.
" – one?"
He snapped back to present time to see the president waiting for an answer. He raised an eyebrow, and started to ask her to repeat the question, but President Roslin raised her hand to quiet him.
"I asked if your son ever got into – "
She never got a chance to finish her sentence. In the midst of the chaos surrounding him, one medtech had come to a stop directly in front of them, wearing a somber expression.
"Sir, we have Colonel Tigh on the line. He's asking to speak with you and the president. He says it's urgent."
Will was on his feet before the medtech had even finished the sentence. He could hear the click of the president's heels following him, and wondered how he had missed her coming up on him earlier. If anything, it was noisier in sickbay now than it had been before.
As soon as he reached the desk, another medtech handed him the comm. Will wondered briefly if it had been switched to the speaker setting, and then saw the tech hand Roslin a headpiece. As soon as it was secured, he opened the mike.
"This is Adama. President Roslin is also on the line." He heard the formality in his voice and found it ridiculous under the circumstances, but unavoidable with the president on the line. "Colonel Tigh?"
"Sir, we are dead in the water here." Saul cut right to the point without wasting a moment. "Chief Tyrol says the metal fatigue has worsened to the point where we're talking minutes now, not hours."
"Then tell them to come on home. Immediately."
"Sir..." Adama could hear the frustration bleeding through Saul's voice. "All the shuttles and Raptors got stacked up on this end on a refueling run. We're going to send one back, but we don't know if it will get there before the structure collapses in on itself. In any case, we're going to be lucky if we get Captain Moore and our crew back off the ship."
Our crew. Adama immediately noticed what had been omitted, and felt a cold chill creep down his back.
"What about Lieutenant Thrace?" He couldn't bring himself to break the formality now. His emotions would overtake him if he did.
There was silence for a moment, and then Tigh's voice came back across the line.
"There's still no sign of her. It's possible that she came over and we missed her among the critically injured, or that she just didn't catch up with our personnel – "
Adama caught himself almost wanting to laugh – a grim, hopeless bark near to escaping.
"Saul, this is Starbuck we're talking about." Will closed his eyes. "We would have seen her."
"I know." Adama closed his eyes for a moment as Saul spoke again. "I'm sorry, Will. Either she's dead or she's trapped in the wreckage, but we can't wait for her. If we do--"
"We lose more people. I understand." And the saddest part of it all was that the commander in him did. The good of the many outweighed the good of the few. Or the single pilot he was forced to leave behind.
I'm going to lose them both. And for a moment, it was everything Will could do not to scream. His emotions felt ready to run out of control, to take over everything he was doing.
Instead, he swallowed hard and forced his voice to some small level of professionalism.
"Get back to work, Colonel. Let me know what you find."
There was a brief acknowledgement, and then the line went dead. Adama carefully placed the comm back on the desk, and looked back up to find the president staring at him. He had forgotten she was even listening.
"We’re going to lose the ship, and everyone else left on board. Do we even have any idea how many we’ve gotten off?" For perhaps the first time since he'd know her, the president looked confused and out of sorts.
Adama didn’t care. His mind was somewhere else entirely. Saul had presented the facts, and they had to be accepted.
All of them.
I've lost them all now. There must have been something he could have done. For Kara. For Zak. Even for Lee, who had resisted his intrusion every step of the way.
"Commander? Who is Lieutenant Thrace?" The president's words snapped him out of his reverie. Will stared at her for a long moment, completely disbelieving. And then it dawned on him that she knew about his sons, but not their history - or that of Starbuck. For all the president knew, Lieutenant Thrace was another nameless pilot, another member of military personnel that until last week she had never deemed important.
She hadn't known Kara, or about her and Zak, or how those two and Lee had formed a center of friendship that had been the foundation of their very lives.
And now she wouldn't get the chance.
"Not now, Madame President." He turned away from her on his heel, deliberately cutting off the conversation as efficiently as possible. He heard her sputter a few half-formed questions and then fall silent. He could not bear to hear an offer of sympathy – or an expression of outrage at the military – at this moment. It would push him over the edge, and he wasn't sure whether he could deal with what he would find on the other side.
And as he turned, he spotted one of the medics that had brought his son into sickbay over an hour ago. She had come out of the operating area, expressionless under the mask on her face.
He veered over to the medic, and grabbed her by the shoulder. She stopped immediately, and almost came to attention when she realized who had stopped her.
I didn't need to know then. But I do now. Kara was outside of his control now, perhaps beyond all of their control. And there was nothing to be done about the situation on the Hephaestus. But he could find out about Lee.
"Ma'am, I need you to find out about my son." Will carefully kept every trace of emotion out of his voice, laying instead the seeds of command. "And I need you to find out now."