"Offering" - BSG2003 Fic by queenofthorns
Title: "Offering"
Author: queenofthorns
Fandom: "Battlestar Galactica" (2003 version!)
Characters: Lee, Kara, a few others
Spoilers: For the miniseries and Episode 1 ("33") - set between "33" and "Water"
Rating: PG
Summary: Everything belongs to the dead.
Thanks to adjrun, elspethsheir, linaerys and mnemo_syne for reading this and offering their fabulous suggestions...
Offering
Seven days since the end of the world; two days since the Cylons stopped coming like clockwork. Lee still can’t sleep.
First he thought it was the stims. What was it Crash had said? Ants behind his eyeballs? More like all over his body. Every time he’d get close to drifting off, the itch would start on a shoulder blade or the sole of his foot, and then he’d be wide awake again.
But the high's gone now, and the irritation that came with it; he can feel fatigue oozing out of him like sweat. His skin’s stretched too tight over his bones and his tongue’s too thick to form words even if he could think of anything to say to anyone. Lucky for him there’s no one in the pilots’ barracks so he doesn’t have to try. He stretches out on one of the empty racks, closes his eyes, and waits for sleep to take him.
Until he remembers where he is. With the curtains closed, it’s more like a coffin than a bed. Another pilot used to sleep here. Man or woman? Rowdy or quiet? Dead in the first attacks or later, during the thirty-three minute battles of attrition? He’ll never know. He’s afraid to ask, afraid his ghostly bunkmate was someone’s best friend or lover.
But then everything he has is scavenged from the dead - sweats, underwear, his toothbrush. Four hours on “Galactica” - that’s what his orders had said, so all he’d brought with him was a dress uniform and the wallet he’s left on the shelf above his head.
He reaches up, takes the wallet, dumps out the money. It’s useless now, colored paper with no meaning. There’s nothing to buy and no one to buy it from. He fingers an IOU with a drawing of a dog worrying a bone; a receipt from a bookstore; a temporary pass to the gym near his mother’s house. A card from “Endymion: Accessories” with an address in Caprica City. There’s a name and a number on the other side.
***
“Mom,” Lee protests, “you said lunch, not shopping for hats. I have to be back by eighteen-hundred.”
His mother pretends contrition. “I’m sorry, darling,” she says, “but the wedding’s only three months away. What do you think?” She models a pale hat with a broad brim and a wide blue ribbon.
“It's great, Mom!” It looks like six other hats she’s tried on and discarded.
“What about this one, ma’am?” the assistant says, smiling at Lee, whose stomach gives an audible growl. His mother giggles and Lee makes a face at her when the assistant turns her back.
“No,” Caroline says, taking pity on him. “The one I'm wearing is perfect.”
The assistant treats the hat like it’s a newborn baby, swaddling it in layers of color-coordinated tissue paper before she lays it in an enormous tasseled velvet box.
“If you need anything else, ma’am, just let me know…” She pulls out a business card, writes on the back and slides it across the counter to Lee’s mother, though her eyes never leave Lee. She’s pretty: brunette, dressed in something clingy that shows off every perfect curve. “My name’s Rebecca,” she says, her voice pitched low and husky.
When they've walked a block from the store, Caroline hands him the card. “I think this is for you ... Rebecca's written her number down.”
“Mom, I’m not calling her,” he says, but he takes the card and crams it into his wallet. Maybe this will keep her from asking about his non-existent love-life.
It’s unusually warm for the time of year and they sit outside at the cafe his mother’s chosen. Lee closes his eyes for a minute to enjoy the feel of the sun on his face. That’s something he misses on board. Well, and food that tastes like it grew somewhere and wasn’t extruded out of a machine.
“You are coming, aren’t you?” Caroline asks, picking the shredded carrots from her salad.
Lee frowns, confused. “Coming where?” His mother has a habit of beginning conversations in the middle, as though he's been privy to her thoughts all along.
“To the wedding?” she says. “You’ve asked for leave?”
“Of course,” he says. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“I know it seems a little rushed.” Caroline twists the band of rubies on her finger. “But when you’re older, you don’t waste time.”
Lee met his mother’s fiancé for the first time a few days ago, and Caroline's known him for less than a year. But she looks radiant, better than she has in a couple of years; that's reason enough for Lee to like the man.
“I know this isn’t easy for you ...” she says. “After all these years...”
“Mom,” he says, “I’m happy for you. Peter seems like a nice guy.”
“Oh, Lee!” She takes his hand. “I’m so glad.” She smiles at him, warm and joyful, and for a moment, he sees Zak in her eyes.
***
Kara strides past the “keep off the grass” signs posted all over the Botanical Garden, and throws down the blanket like a challenge. Lee and Zak follow along, light cruisers behind a Battlestar. Zak’s unusually quiet, laying out the food they’ve brought.
“So how’s teaching?” Lee asks Kara. “I bet you’re a total hardass. I feel sorry for your students.”
Kara grins and flicks a bread pellet at him.
“She’s the best,” Zak says, loyally. “She can teach anyone how to fly.”
Lee grabs a beer, props himself on one elbow, basking in the warmth and the tickle of grass on his bare arms.
He’s half comatose from the sunshine and the beer and too much food, and at first he doesn’t think he’s heard right. He sits up and Zak says it again, rubbing a little circle with his thumb on the back of Kara’s neck where she has the sun tattoo. “We’re engaged.”
They won’t ask for his approval, his blessing, because that would be ridiculous; but he can tell that’s exactly what Zak wants. And Zak always gets what he wants because no one can resist the way his blue eyes light up when he’s happy. He’s three years younger, but he's had more girlfriends than Lee’s had dates in the last two years. And by some magic Lee doesn’t understand, none of them get mad at Zak when he dumps them, as he always does.
Lee feels a twinge of disappointment that even Kara Thrace wasn’t immune to his brother’s charms.
“Congratulations.” Lee smiles. “I’m happy for you both.” For a moment, he almost means it, until he thinks of all the reasons why this is insane.
Zak and Kara barely know each other; Zak’s too young to get married; Kara’s his flight-instructor; military marriages don’t work out. “Just look at our parents,” he wants to tell Zak. “Look at how they turned out!”
But he can’t say a word. Not for Zak’s sake. He’s seen Zak fall in love a dozen times before. For Zak each girl is The One until she suddenly isn’t.
No, he can’t spoil this for Kara; hard, bright Kara who’s softened somehow, brass burnished into purest gold. She and Zak are still at that stage where they touch each other constantly, each gesture proof, if he needed it, of their intimacy. Lee looks away as they kiss, watches the parade of ants headed for the crumbs of their picnic, and thinks of a good excuse to leave. It shouldn’t be too hard; they’ll barely notice his absence.
“Let’s take a picture,” Kara says, suddenly. “Celebrate confessing our guilty secret.” She leans across the blanket, rummages in one of the bags next to Lee and pulls out a camera.
“An official engagement picture...” Lee forces another smile. “I’ll take it.”
“No,” Zak says. “The three of us.”
They find a chest-high rock and set the timer. As the shutter whirs and clicks, Kara turns into Zak’s arms, laughing. Lee stands apart, outside their enchanted circle, and stares into the lens, wondering if anyone will ever look at him the way Kara looks at Zak.
***
“Do you ever hear anything from that girl?” Caroline asks, as they finish their coffee. “Zak’s fiancée?”
“Kara.” Lee says. “No.” He hasn’t talked to her since he heard she’d transferred to “Galactica.” She’s on his father’s side now.
“That’s too bad,” his mother says. “I liked her. Wasn’t she a friend of yours too?”
“Yeah. We were at the academy together.”
He remembers Kara’s wide grin and her utter disregard for rules of any kind; late night “study sessions” that turned into games of pyramid; barroom brawls that would have gotten them both kicked out of the academy if Lee hadn’t dragged Kara away from whoever had gotten her mad that night. She made life interesting, even if you only stood on the edges of the whirlwind.
That was a long time ago, he thinks. Things are different now. He’s different now.
“I have to go,” he says. “I need to get back.”
“Be careful, darling!” His mother hugs him. “I’ll see you in three months!”
He kisses her forehead. “Don’t forget the hat,” he says as he leaves.
***
Lee reads his orders a second time, because there’s no way this can really be happening. He looks up to meet his Admiral’s shrewd gray eyes.
“Any questions, Captain?” she asks, in a tone that tells him he’s not getting out of this one.
“No, sir,” Lee says, through tightly clenched teeth.
“Bill Adama’s a hero,” she says, giving him the explanation he didn't ask for. “He deserves a proper send-off. The Colonial Fleet has determined that a proper send-off includes his son leading the fly-by. Do you understand, Captain Adama?”
Bill Adama had two sons. One of them wanted to be a hero too and it killed him.
Lee considers saying this out loud, just as he considers refusing these orders - he won’t have to see his father if he’s in hack. But insubordination and Lee Adama are concepts foreign to each other. Anyway, knowing the Admiral, she’d probably make him go to “Galactica” first and then toss him in the brig.
“Yes, sir!” he says, throwing the Admiral a crisp salute.
He all but clicks his heels on the way out. It’s not much of a protest, but it’s all he can do.
***
Lee’s squashing his dress grays into a bag small enough to fit in his cockpit when Chew Toy wanders in.
“Adama,” he says, leaning against Lee's locker. “Didn’t you just get back from leave? Must be nice to have friends in high places.”
“It’s not leave,” Lee snaps. He hates when the other pilots assume his name means he gets special privileges.
“Hey, man,” Chew says, shrugging. “I was just kidding.”
Lee relents. No one stays mad at Chew for long. Well, the mastiff that gave Chew his call-sign had stayed mad, but that was Chew’s own fault. They’d all told him dogs didn’t purr; three bottles of ambrosia had made him stubborn and deaf.
“Something you want?” Lee asks.
“Lend me fifty.”
“Again?” Lee rolls his eyes. “What’s it for this time?”
“The usual.” Chew grins. “Booze, gambling, loose women. You’ll get it back soon. Payday’s next week. Or maybe I’ll get lucky tonight.”
Lee sighs, fishes out his wallet and counts the notes into Chew’s hand. In return, Chew presents him with an elaborately folded piece of paper that turns out to be an IOU.
“You had this ready?” Lee asks. “What if I’d said no?”
“I knew I could count on you, Captain Apollo,” Chew says, pocketing the bills. “Have a good flight and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“I’m not sure I can spell anything you wouldn’t do,” Lee says.
He’s still laughing as he heads down to the hangar bay.
***
The windows of the “Olympic Carrier” are empty. There’s no one inside, Lee tells himself. The Cylons have already killed them. He’s destroying a machine. Metal and plastic and circuitry. Nothing else.
He lines up his Viper and fires a burst at point-blank range into the engines. He doesn’t miss, but nothing happens and the liner continues on its path toward the fleet. He flies by again, slow and careful; and this time, the seats are full of people looking out at him.
He know them all: Zak; his mother; the Admiral; Chew; the President; his father; Kara. Thank the gods he misfired. He switches on the wireless, to tell “Galactica” why he can’t do this.
For a few seconds before the “Olympic Carrier” explodes into hundreds of chunks of molten metal, their faces are still at the windows, haloed in flames. It’s some trick of the blast, but he can hear them calling his name as he guns his Viper into the heart of the largest fireball.
***
“Lee… Lee!” Kara’s shaking him.
He jerks awake, sweating. “Cylons?” he asks, reaching for the flight-suit draped across the bottom of the bunk.
“No,” she says. “No Cylons. Just trying to shut you up.”
He rubs his eyes and tries to focus on Kara's face. She's frowning.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to wake anyone.”
“Lee,” she says, shaking her head. “There’s no one else here. I came in for a stogie.” Her eyes narrow. “Bad dream?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Want to talk about it?”
He’s tempted. But Kara’s the one who begged him not to fire on the “Olympic Carrier.” He can’t lay this on her.
“Not really...” The look on Kara’s face is almost funny. “That’s a relief, huh?”
“Damn straight,” she says. “Do I look like a therapist?” She punches him lightly on the arm.
“Anything's possible,” he says. “The crazies are running the nuthouse these days. They made me CAG.”
Kara laughs. “You have a point. The last CAG would probably...” She stops, remembering, and there's an awkward silence that neither of them knows how to break.
“Your cigar?” Lee asks, finally.
“Right.” Her eyes are dangerously bright. “Right.” She rummages in her locker. When she emerges, hair rumpled, cigar in hand, her voice is steady again. “Hey, since you’re awake anyway ... Come join the game ...”
“Maybe later.” He grabs a fistful of coins and bills scattered on top of the blankets. “Here. Take these. For stakes.”
“Thanks... but we play for real stuff now. You know, clothes...” She grins and they're back on firmer ground.
Lee raises an eyebrow.
“It's OK,” she says, “I never lose.”
She turns at the door, serious again. “Need anything?” she asks.
Lee nods. “Can I borrow your lighter?”
He waits for her to ask him why, but all she says is “Catch!”
When she’s pulled the door shut behind her, he stacks the contents of his wallet on the metal table that runs down the room. A couple flicks of the lighter and Lee has his own miniature bonfire. Chew's crinkled paper flares up and is gone in seconds; the banknotes burn in their colors, green and blue and red. The card's the slowest, runnels of flame outlining the engraved letters, but eventually it’s gone too.
Lee brushes the ash onto the floor and heads out to play Starbuck’s game, stopping only to toss the empty wallet into the trashcan by the door.
The dead need nothing they cannot borrow from their comrades.
Author: queenofthorns
Fandom: "Battlestar Galactica" (2003 version!)
Characters: Lee, Kara, a few others
Spoilers: For the miniseries and Episode 1 ("33") - set between "33" and "Water"
Rating: PG
Summary: Everything belongs to the dead.
Thanks to adjrun, elspethsheir, linaerys and mnemo_syne for reading this and offering their fabulous suggestions...
Offering
Seven days since the end of the world; two days since the Cylons stopped coming like clockwork. Lee still can’t sleep.
First he thought it was the stims. What was it Crash had said? Ants behind his eyeballs? More like all over his body. Every time he’d get close to drifting off, the itch would start on a shoulder blade or the sole of his foot, and then he’d be wide awake again.
But the high's gone now, and the irritation that came with it; he can feel fatigue oozing out of him like sweat. His skin’s stretched too tight over his bones and his tongue’s too thick to form words even if he could think of anything to say to anyone. Lucky for him there’s no one in the pilots’ barracks so he doesn’t have to try. He stretches out on one of the empty racks, closes his eyes, and waits for sleep to take him.
Until he remembers where he is. With the curtains closed, it’s more like a coffin than a bed. Another pilot used to sleep here. Man or woman? Rowdy or quiet? Dead in the first attacks or later, during the thirty-three minute battles of attrition? He’ll never know. He’s afraid to ask, afraid his ghostly bunkmate was someone’s best friend or lover.
But then everything he has is scavenged from the dead - sweats, underwear, his toothbrush. Four hours on “Galactica” - that’s what his orders had said, so all he’d brought with him was a dress uniform and the wallet he’s left on the shelf above his head.
He reaches up, takes the wallet, dumps out the money. It’s useless now, colored paper with no meaning. There’s nothing to buy and no one to buy it from. He fingers an IOU with a drawing of a dog worrying a bone; a receipt from a bookstore; a temporary pass to the gym near his mother’s house. A card from “Endymion: Accessories” with an address in Caprica City. There’s a name and a number on the other side.
***
“Mom,” Lee protests, “you said lunch, not shopping for hats. I have to be back by eighteen-hundred.”
His mother pretends contrition. “I’m sorry, darling,” she says, “but the wedding’s only three months away. What do you think?” She models a pale hat with a broad brim and a wide blue ribbon.
“It's great, Mom!” It looks like six other hats she’s tried on and discarded.
“What about this one, ma’am?” the assistant says, smiling at Lee, whose stomach gives an audible growl. His mother giggles and Lee makes a face at her when the assistant turns her back.
“No,” Caroline says, taking pity on him. “The one I'm wearing is perfect.”
The assistant treats the hat like it’s a newborn baby, swaddling it in layers of color-coordinated tissue paper before she lays it in an enormous tasseled velvet box.
“If you need anything else, ma’am, just let me know…” She pulls out a business card, writes on the back and slides it across the counter to Lee’s mother, though her eyes never leave Lee. She’s pretty: brunette, dressed in something clingy that shows off every perfect curve. “My name’s Rebecca,” she says, her voice pitched low and husky.
When they've walked a block from the store, Caroline hands him the card. “I think this is for you ... Rebecca's written her number down.”
“Mom, I’m not calling her,” he says, but he takes the card and crams it into his wallet. Maybe this will keep her from asking about his non-existent love-life.
It’s unusually warm for the time of year and they sit outside at the cafe his mother’s chosen. Lee closes his eyes for a minute to enjoy the feel of the sun on his face. That’s something he misses on board. Well, and food that tastes like it grew somewhere and wasn’t extruded out of a machine.
“You are coming, aren’t you?” Caroline asks, picking the shredded carrots from her salad.
Lee frowns, confused. “Coming where?” His mother has a habit of beginning conversations in the middle, as though he's been privy to her thoughts all along.
“To the wedding?” she says. “You’ve asked for leave?”
“Of course,” he says. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“I know it seems a little rushed.” Caroline twists the band of rubies on her finger. “But when you’re older, you don’t waste time.”
Lee met his mother’s fiancé for the first time a few days ago, and Caroline's known him for less than a year. But she looks radiant, better than she has in a couple of years; that's reason enough for Lee to like the man.
“I know this isn’t easy for you ...” she says. “After all these years...”
“Mom,” he says, “I’m happy for you. Peter seems like a nice guy.”
“Oh, Lee!” She takes his hand. “I’m so glad.” She smiles at him, warm and joyful, and for a moment, he sees Zak in her eyes.
***
Kara strides past the “keep off the grass” signs posted all over the Botanical Garden, and throws down the blanket like a challenge. Lee and Zak follow along, light cruisers behind a Battlestar. Zak’s unusually quiet, laying out the food they’ve brought.
“So how’s teaching?” Lee asks Kara. “I bet you’re a total hardass. I feel sorry for your students.”
Kara grins and flicks a bread pellet at him.
“She’s the best,” Zak says, loyally. “She can teach anyone how to fly.”
Lee grabs a beer, props himself on one elbow, basking in the warmth and the tickle of grass on his bare arms.
He’s half comatose from the sunshine and the beer and too much food, and at first he doesn’t think he’s heard right. He sits up and Zak says it again, rubbing a little circle with his thumb on the back of Kara’s neck where she has the sun tattoo. “We’re engaged.”
They won’t ask for his approval, his blessing, because that would be ridiculous; but he can tell that’s exactly what Zak wants. And Zak always gets what he wants because no one can resist the way his blue eyes light up when he’s happy. He’s three years younger, but he's had more girlfriends than Lee’s had dates in the last two years. And by some magic Lee doesn’t understand, none of them get mad at Zak when he dumps them, as he always does.
Lee feels a twinge of disappointment that even Kara Thrace wasn’t immune to his brother’s charms.
“Congratulations.” Lee smiles. “I’m happy for you both.” For a moment, he almost means it, until he thinks of all the reasons why this is insane.
Zak and Kara barely know each other; Zak’s too young to get married; Kara’s his flight-instructor; military marriages don’t work out. “Just look at our parents,” he wants to tell Zak. “Look at how they turned out!”
But he can’t say a word. Not for Zak’s sake. He’s seen Zak fall in love a dozen times before. For Zak each girl is The One until she suddenly isn’t.
No, he can’t spoil this for Kara; hard, bright Kara who’s softened somehow, brass burnished into purest gold. She and Zak are still at that stage where they touch each other constantly, each gesture proof, if he needed it, of their intimacy. Lee looks away as they kiss, watches the parade of ants headed for the crumbs of their picnic, and thinks of a good excuse to leave. It shouldn’t be too hard; they’ll barely notice his absence.
“Let’s take a picture,” Kara says, suddenly. “Celebrate confessing our guilty secret.” She leans across the blanket, rummages in one of the bags next to Lee and pulls out a camera.
“An official engagement picture...” Lee forces another smile. “I’ll take it.”
“No,” Zak says. “The three of us.”
They find a chest-high rock and set the timer. As the shutter whirs and clicks, Kara turns into Zak’s arms, laughing. Lee stands apart, outside their enchanted circle, and stares into the lens, wondering if anyone will ever look at him the way Kara looks at Zak.
***
“Do you ever hear anything from that girl?” Caroline asks, as they finish their coffee. “Zak’s fiancée?”
“Kara.” Lee says. “No.” He hasn’t talked to her since he heard she’d transferred to “Galactica.” She’s on his father’s side now.
“That’s too bad,” his mother says. “I liked her. Wasn’t she a friend of yours too?”
“Yeah. We were at the academy together.”
He remembers Kara’s wide grin and her utter disregard for rules of any kind; late night “study sessions” that turned into games of pyramid; barroom brawls that would have gotten them both kicked out of the academy if Lee hadn’t dragged Kara away from whoever had gotten her mad that night. She made life interesting, even if you only stood on the edges of the whirlwind.
That was a long time ago, he thinks. Things are different now. He’s different now.
“I have to go,” he says. “I need to get back.”
“Be careful, darling!” His mother hugs him. “I’ll see you in three months!”
He kisses her forehead. “Don’t forget the hat,” he says as he leaves.
***
Lee reads his orders a second time, because there’s no way this can really be happening. He looks up to meet his Admiral’s shrewd gray eyes.
“Any questions, Captain?” she asks, in a tone that tells him he’s not getting out of this one.
“No, sir,” Lee says, through tightly clenched teeth.
“Bill Adama’s a hero,” she says, giving him the explanation he didn't ask for. “He deserves a proper send-off. The Colonial Fleet has determined that a proper send-off includes his son leading the fly-by. Do you understand, Captain Adama?”
Bill Adama had two sons. One of them wanted to be a hero too and it killed him.
Lee considers saying this out loud, just as he considers refusing these orders - he won’t have to see his father if he’s in hack. But insubordination and Lee Adama are concepts foreign to each other. Anyway, knowing the Admiral, she’d probably make him go to “Galactica” first and then toss him in the brig.
“Yes, sir!” he says, throwing the Admiral a crisp salute.
He all but clicks his heels on the way out. It’s not much of a protest, but it’s all he can do.
***
Lee’s squashing his dress grays into a bag small enough to fit in his cockpit when Chew Toy wanders in.
“Adama,” he says, leaning against Lee's locker. “Didn’t you just get back from leave? Must be nice to have friends in high places.”
“It’s not leave,” Lee snaps. He hates when the other pilots assume his name means he gets special privileges.
“Hey, man,” Chew says, shrugging. “I was just kidding.”
Lee relents. No one stays mad at Chew for long. Well, the mastiff that gave Chew his call-sign had stayed mad, but that was Chew’s own fault. They’d all told him dogs didn’t purr; three bottles of ambrosia had made him stubborn and deaf.
“Something you want?” Lee asks.
“Lend me fifty.”
“Again?” Lee rolls his eyes. “What’s it for this time?”
“The usual.” Chew grins. “Booze, gambling, loose women. You’ll get it back soon. Payday’s next week. Or maybe I’ll get lucky tonight.”
Lee sighs, fishes out his wallet and counts the notes into Chew’s hand. In return, Chew presents him with an elaborately folded piece of paper that turns out to be an IOU.
“You had this ready?” Lee asks. “What if I’d said no?”
“I knew I could count on you, Captain Apollo,” Chew says, pocketing the bills. “Have a good flight and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“I’m not sure I can spell anything you wouldn’t do,” Lee says.
He’s still laughing as he heads down to the hangar bay.
***
The windows of the “Olympic Carrier” are empty. There’s no one inside, Lee tells himself. The Cylons have already killed them. He’s destroying a machine. Metal and plastic and circuitry. Nothing else.
He lines up his Viper and fires a burst at point-blank range into the engines. He doesn’t miss, but nothing happens and the liner continues on its path toward the fleet. He flies by again, slow and careful; and this time, the seats are full of people looking out at him.
He know them all: Zak; his mother; the Admiral; Chew; the President; his father; Kara. Thank the gods he misfired. He switches on the wireless, to tell “Galactica” why he can’t do this.
For a few seconds before the “Olympic Carrier” explodes into hundreds of chunks of molten metal, their faces are still at the windows, haloed in flames. It’s some trick of the blast, but he can hear them calling his name as he guns his Viper into the heart of the largest fireball.
***
“Lee… Lee!” Kara’s shaking him.
He jerks awake, sweating. “Cylons?” he asks, reaching for the flight-suit draped across the bottom of the bunk.
“No,” she says. “No Cylons. Just trying to shut you up.”
He rubs his eyes and tries to focus on Kara's face. She's frowning.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to wake anyone.”
“Lee,” she says, shaking her head. “There’s no one else here. I came in for a stogie.” Her eyes narrow. “Bad dream?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Want to talk about it?”
He’s tempted. But Kara’s the one who begged him not to fire on the “Olympic Carrier.” He can’t lay this on her.
“Not really...” The look on Kara’s face is almost funny. “That’s a relief, huh?”
“Damn straight,” she says. “Do I look like a therapist?” She punches him lightly on the arm.
“Anything's possible,” he says. “The crazies are running the nuthouse these days. They made me CAG.”
Kara laughs. “You have a point. The last CAG would probably...” She stops, remembering, and there's an awkward silence that neither of them knows how to break.
“Your cigar?” Lee asks, finally.
“Right.” Her eyes are dangerously bright. “Right.” She rummages in her locker. When she emerges, hair rumpled, cigar in hand, her voice is steady again. “Hey, since you’re awake anyway ... Come join the game ...”
“Maybe later.” He grabs a fistful of coins and bills scattered on top of the blankets. “Here. Take these. For stakes.”
“Thanks... but we play for real stuff now. You know, clothes...” She grins and they're back on firmer ground.
Lee raises an eyebrow.
“It's OK,” she says, “I never lose.”
She turns at the door, serious again. “Need anything?” she asks.
Lee nods. “Can I borrow your lighter?”
He waits for her to ask him why, but all she says is “Catch!”
When she’s pulled the door shut behind her, he stacks the contents of his wallet on the metal table that runs down the room. A couple flicks of the lighter and Lee has his own miniature bonfire. Chew's crinkled paper flares up and is gone in seconds; the banknotes burn in their colors, green and blue and red. The card's the slowest, runnels of flame outlining the engraved letters, but eventually it’s gone too.
Lee brushes the ash onto the floor and heads out to play Starbuck’s game, stopping only to toss the empty wallet into the trashcan by the door.
The dead need nothing they cannot borrow from their comrades.