BSG Fic : Long Time Coming (14/17)
Title : Long Time Coming
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.
Fandom : BSG
Spoilers : Everything aired so far is fair game.
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in Crossroads II.
AN2. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for beta'ing this! As usual, I tinkered. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Chapter Thirteen
"Shouldn't I feel better?" Lee asked, his voice weak and hoarse. He tried to lift his head and take a look around but couldn't gather enough strength to do it.
Scott looked at him, compassionate. "Well, you were pretty banged up. Give yourself time."
Lee felt something prick his arm and tried to pull it away.
"Hey," Scott said softly. "I'm trying to help." He studied Lee for a moment, then added, "Don't you trust me?"
For a second, Lee saw Zak, looking at him the same way, asking him to trust him, telling him that he knew what he was doing, that he could pilot just as well as Lee did. Don't you trust me?
I trusted you, Zak. But you killed yourself flying.
"Lee?"
He blinked, surprised to see Scott in front of him.
Things were getting blurry again and he felt himself sink.
*
"How long has it been?" Lee asked.
He didn't think he had been here very long-he could only remember falling asleep once or twice, three times at most, but surely not more than that.
"Oh, less than a day," Scott replied, smiling. "Don't worry, you're getting better."
Lee tried to test that statement by leaning up on an elbow, only to find that everything was spinning around him. He fell back to the bed, breathless.
Okay, that was worrisome.
"Hey, easy!" Scott said. "You're still pretty weak."
I thought I was getting better, Lee tried to say, but the words stayed stuck in his throat.
"It's just going to take some time, that's all," was the last thing he heard before falling asleep again.
*
"He's beginning to suspect something."
"I know, okay? I know."
Lee tried to turn his head away from the voices and groaned slightly. His head was pounding with each breath he took, the pain sharp and unrelenting. The voices stopped talking, then resumed when he didn't move again.
"He doesn't tolerate the drugs very well."
That voice was familiar.
Where had he heard it before?
"I keep asking him but he's not coherent enough to tell me anything useful."
Wasn't that Scott? Scott, leaning over him, asking him what he knew about Nate's papers and where he kept them.
Scott, saying that Lee could trust him, that everything was going to be all right, that they were friends.
"Well, try again."
There was a silence, then, "Maybe he really doesn't know anything. In which case..."
Lee drifted off before the man finished talking, sinking into disturbed dreams.
When he woke up, he was alone in the room and covered in cold sweat. The ghosts of the people he and Roslin had left behind, the day of the attacks, had been chasing him through endless corridors, clinging to him, begging him to help them, begging him to have some mercy, cursing him. "I hope you people rot in hell for this." He wondered if the person who had said that would think that life on the Fleet qualified as hell.
He could feel himself being dragged under again and he tried to resist, to sit up in bed, but he was too weak.
He tried to fight the drowsiness-he wasn't sure what was going on, but something was telling him that he needed to get out of here.
He wasn't strong enough to win the battle against unconsciousness, though.
*
"Here, take these," Scott said.
Lee accepted the pills, noticing that his hands were shaking ever so slightly. "I don't think-" he started, wondering how many times they had played that scene already. Hadn't he already tried to tell Scott that he didn't need more drugs?
Tell me, Lee. What did Nate tell you about the case he was working on?
"You need them," Scott said. "You trust me, right?"
Sure, Zak. But I shouldn't.
Scott looked taken aback and Lee wondered if he had said that out loud. "Sorry," he said, thinking he might as well say it. "I'm just tired."
Look, I'm trying to help you here. Just tell me. You can trust me.
"I understand." Scott looked at him. "You'll feel better soon."
"Okay," Lee said.
He was more than ready for this to be over.
He was frakking tired of feeling so beat all the time.
For gods' sake, Apollo, you're really dense, aren't you?
"Starbuck?" he called, but he couldn't hear anything but silence.
*
"Here, take these."
You're right, bro. You shouldn't trust me.
Lee dragged his eyes open. "Zak?"
"No, Lee."
He recognized Scott and tried to move away from him. He was too weak-
-stoned, honey. You're high, and you need to stop this right now.
Sam? I think I'm in trouble.
"Here, you need these."
What for, damn it? So you can keep lounging around like a damn zombie? You know better. What are you waiting for?
"Sam?"
Scott looked worried as he handed Lee the pills. "Hey, wake up!"
The raised voice brought Lee back to the present and he watched Scott's hand, a few inches from his own, the pills in it.
Don’t take them, bro. Don't be stupid. Time is running against you.
Scott was waiting so Lee nodded and took the pills.
I'm waiting for you, Sam whispered near his ear.
Sam.
He needed to find Sam, and the kids.
He needed to get out of here.
"I know it's not easy," Scott said. "But it won't be much longer."
Lee put the pills in his mouth and swallowed hard, making sure to keep them stuck under his tongue, and took the water with a smile of thanks.
He waited until Scott had stepped out of the room to spit the pills back into his hand. He curled up under the covers, keeping them in his closed fist, and willed his strength to return.
Not badly done, Apollo.
"Kara?" he whispered.
Shut up.
He did.
*
Lee didn't know how long he stayed in bed, either sleeping or staring into nothing, until he finally grew coherent enough to start panicking.
Scott had been keeping him drugged for… how long had it been? Days? How many times had Lee taken the pills he was given and allowed himself to fall asleep? How many times had they injected drugs into his veins? He peered at his right arm, noticing faint bruises.
Trust me, Lee.
How long until Scott stopped trying to win his trust?
It'll be fine.
He needed to get out of here before Scott and whoever was with him decided he had outlasted his usefulness.
About damn time, Lee.
"Shut up, Zak. I'm thinking."
Think faster. Think in silence, too.
He had to escape now, while he still could.
And then...
Well, then, he'd try to reach the landing deck and see if anyone could take him to the Galactica. If that didn't work, there must be plenty civilian police officers around; hopefully, Lee would manage to talk to one of them and explain what was happening.
There, see. You already have a plan A and a plan B. Now, why don't you move?
He took a few deep breaths, pushed himself up on an elbow and listened. These were standard quarters aboard the Orion-a living room, separated from the bedroom by a hatch. No space to cook, but since these were apparently high-paying quarters, the bathroom was included.
He couldn't hear anything from the living room.
Had Scott left him here alone, confident that the drugs would keep him under for several more hours?
Only one way to find out, honey, isn't there?
He slowly sat up, waited a few moment before trying to get to his feet. The room was tilting alarmingly but eventually, the universe stopped spinning and things gained their edge back. He took several deep breaths before taking a step away from the bed.
It was almost funny; once upon a time, he ended up in these stupid situations because of his job. Now, he was a bartender and he had been abducted because he had been friends with a nosy journalist who had obviously found something people really didn't want anyone to know.
Ah, well, when he saw Sam again, they'd have a good laugh about the way the universe kept throwing them into these situations.
He opened the hatch carefully, taking on a stoned look. Should anyone ask, you have no idea where you are and you’re drugged to the gills, he told himself, wondering if he could pull that off. He had never been much of an actor.
Of course, he had learned long ago that people could do all kinds of things when sufficiently scared or in trouble.
There was no one in the living room.
This is way too easy.
Maybe, but on the other hand, once away from the quarters, he stood a better chance at escaping the bad guys than he did in here. He might be able to outrun someone for a short while, hopefully long enough to attract attention and call for help. Fighting off anyone was out of the question. He may have been able to take on Mark, but even that wasn't for sure, he thought grimly, worried about how drained he was already starting to feel.
He slunk out in the hallway, looking both ways to make sure no one was waiting for him.
No one was-or rather, no one seemed to be.
He put a few feet between him and Scott's quarters before going to the next phase of the plan and heading to the flight deck.
He spared a moment to bemoan the fact that he couldn't move faster but didn't allow himself to dwell on it. Later, when there was time, he'd take some time to freak out at how damn out of it he felt.
The most direct way to the flight deck lead him to the memorial wall. Lee walked past the pictures of people long gone, people only remembered by their loved ones, now reduced to symbols of what had happened to humankind.
Hide in plain sight, Lee. That's the way to go.
He stopped walking, startled.
You know how it goes. It's easier to hide in a city of several thousand people than in the woods, and believe me, if you need to hide something, put it right in front of the eyes of everyone. No one will ever believe you've been stupid enough to do that.
He would have smiled at the memory if it hadn't been so bitter now that Nate was dead. How long ago had they had this discussion? One year? Two?
Hide in plain sight.
Lee shook his head, disturbed. Why was it coming back to him now?
He looked around.
Hide in plain sight.
No one would have thought twice to see Nate linger here. Some people spent hours walking along the wall, praying for the dead.
Hide in plain sight, Lee.
Each colony had an assigned space on the wall. On a hunch, Lee headed straight to the pictures from the Picon colony-Nate had spent most of his life on Picon-and he scanned the wall for a picture that might look familiar. He didn't know how long he stared at the smiling faces of strangers-entire families, now blown to dust, light years away-until his eyes fell on Nate's face. He startled, taken aback by the smile on his friend's face, the way his eyes shone on the picture. Lee had never seen him like that; of course, they had met each other after the end of the world. There hadn't been that many reasons to be happy since then.
He looked around, didn't spot anyone-it must have been the dead of the night for it to be so quiet-and unhooked the picture, smiling when he saw that it covered an envelope taped to the wall.
Hide in plain sight, Nate, he thought.
He debated opening the enveloped there and then, if only so he could know why he had been abducted and held prisoner. As he was about to, something hard pressed on his back. "Well done, Lee. I knew you'd figure it out."
Chapter 14
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.
Fandom : BSG
Spoilers : Everything aired so far is fair game.
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in Crossroads II.
AN2. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for beta'ing this! As usual, I tinkered. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Chapter Thirteen
"Shouldn't I feel better?" Lee asked, his voice weak and hoarse. He tried to lift his head and take a look around but couldn't gather enough strength to do it.
Scott looked at him, compassionate. "Well, you were pretty banged up. Give yourself time."
Lee felt something prick his arm and tried to pull it away.
"Hey," Scott said softly. "I'm trying to help." He studied Lee for a moment, then added, "Don't you trust me?"
For a second, Lee saw Zak, looking at him the same way, asking him to trust him, telling him that he knew what he was doing, that he could pilot just as well as Lee did. Don't you trust me?
I trusted you, Zak. But you killed yourself flying.
"Lee?"
He blinked, surprised to see Scott in front of him.
Things were getting blurry again and he felt himself sink.
*
"How long has it been?" Lee asked.
He didn't think he had been here very long-he could only remember falling asleep once or twice, three times at most, but surely not more than that.
"Oh, less than a day," Scott replied, smiling. "Don't worry, you're getting better."
Lee tried to test that statement by leaning up on an elbow, only to find that everything was spinning around him. He fell back to the bed, breathless.
Okay, that was worrisome.
"Hey, easy!" Scott said. "You're still pretty weak."
I thought I was getting better, Lee tried to say, but the words stayed stuck in his throat.
"It's just going to take some time, that's all," was the last thing he heard before falling asleep again.
*
"He's beginning to suspect something."
"I know, okay? I know."
Lee tried to turn his head away from the voices and groaned slightly. His head was pounding with each breath he took, the pain sharp and unrelenting. The voices stopped talking, then resumed when he didn't move again.
"He doesn't tolerate the drugs very well."
That voice was familiar.
Where had he heard it before?
"I keep asking him but he's not coherent enough to tell me anything useful."
Wasn't that Scott? Scott, leaning over him, asking him what he knew about Nate's papers and where he kept them.
Scott, saying that Lee could trust him, that everything was going to be all right, that they were friends.
"Well, try again."
There was a silence, then, "Maybe he really doesn't know anything. In which case..."
Lee drifted off before the man finished talking, sinking into disturbed dreams.
When he woke up, he was alone in the room and covered in cold sweat. The ghosts of the people he and Roslin had left behind, the day of the attacks, had been chasing him through endless corridors, clinging to him, begging him to help them, begging him to have some mercy, cursing him. "I hope you people rot in hell for this." He wondered if the person who had said that would think that life on the Fleet qualified as hell.
He could feel himself being dragged under again and he tried to resist, to sit up in bed, but he was too weak.
He tried to fight the drowsiness-he wasn't sure what was going on, but something was telling him that he needed to get out of here.
He wasn't strong enough to win the battle against unconsciousness, though.
*
"Here, take these," Scott said.
Lee accepted the pills, noticing that his hands were shaking ever so slightly. "I don't think-" he started, wondering how many times they had played that scene already. Hadn't he already tried to tell Scott that he didn't need more drugs?
Tell me, Lee. What did Nate tell you about the case he was working on?
"You need them," Scott said. "You trust me, right?"
Sure, Zak. But I shouldn't.
Scott looked taken aback and Lee wondered if he had said that out loud. "Sorry," he said, thinking he might as well say it. "I'm just tired."
Look, I'm trying to help you here. Just tell me. You can trust me.
"I understand." Scott looked at him. "You'll feel better soon."
"Okay," Lee said.
He was more than ready for this to be over.
He was frakking tired of feeling so beat all the time.
For gods' sake, Apollo, you're really dense, aren't you?
"Starbuck?" he called, but he couldn't hear anything but silence.
*
"Here, take these."
You're right, bro. You shouldn't trust me.
Lee dragged his eyes open. "Zak?"
"No, Lee."
He recognized Scott and tried to move away from him. He was too weak-
-stoned, honey. You're high, and you need to stop this right now.
Sam? I think I'm in trouble.
"Here, you need these."
What for, damn it? So you can keep lounging around like a damn zombie? You know better. What are you waiting for?
"Sam?"
Scott looked worried as he handed Lee the pills. "Hey, wake up!"
The raised voice brought Lee back to the present and he watched Scott's hand, a few inches from his own, the pills in it.
Don’t take them, bro. Don't be stupid. Time is running against you.
Scott was waiting so Lee nodded and took the pills.
I'm waiting for you, Sam whispered near his ear.
Sam.
He needed to find Sam, and the kids.
He needed to get out of here.
"I know it's not easy," Scott said. "But it won't be much longer."
Lee put the pills in his mouth and swallowed hard, making sure to keep them stuck under his tongue, and took the water with a smile of thanks.
He waited until Scott had stepped out of the room to spit the pills back into his hand. He curled up under the covers, keeping them in his closed fist, and willed his strength to return.
Not badly done, Apollo.
"Kara?" he whispered.
Shut up.
He did.
*
Lee didn't know how long he stayed in bed, either sleeping or staring into nothing, until he finally grew coherent enough to start panicking.
Scott had been keeping him drugged for… how long had it been? Days? How many times had Lee taken the pills he was given and allowed himself to fall asleep? How many times had they injected drugs into his veins? He peered at his right arm, noticing faint bruises.
Trust me, Lee.
How long until Scott stopped trying to win his trust?
It'll be fine.
He needed to get out of here before Scott and whoever was with him decided he had outlasted his usefulness.
About damn time, Lee.
"Shut up, Zak. I'm thinking."
Think faster. Think in silence, too.
He had to escape now, while he still could.
And then...
Well, then, he'd try to reach the landing deck and see if anyone could take him to the Galactica. If that didn't work, there must be plenty civilian police officers around; hopefully, Lee would manage to talk to one of them and explain what was happening.
There, see. You already have a plan A and a plan B. Now, why don't you move?
He took a few deep breaths, pushed himself up on an elbow and listened. These were standard quarters aboard the Orion-a living room, separated from the bedroom by a hatch. No space to cook, but since these were apparently high-paying quarters, the bathroom was included.
He couldn't hear anything from the living room.
Had Scott left him here alone, confident that the drugs would keep him under for several more hours?
Only one way to find out, honey, isn't there?
He slowly sat up, waited a few moment before trying to get to his feet. The room was tilting alarmingly but eventually, the universe stopped spinning and things gained their edge back. He took several deep breaths before taking a step away from the bed.
It was almost funny; once upon a time, he ended up in these stupid situations because of his job. Now, he was a bartender and he had been abducted because he had been friends with a nosy journalist who had obviously found something people really didn't want anyone to know.
Ah, well, when he saw Sam again, they'd have a good laugh about the way the universe kept throwing them into these situations.
He opened the hatch carefully, taking on a stoned look. Should anyone ask, you have no idea where you are and you’re drugged to the gills, he told himself, wondering if he could pull that off. He had never been much of an actor.
Of course, he had learned long ago that people could do all kinds of things when sufficiently scared or in trouble.
There was no one in the living room.
This is way too easy.
Maybe, but on the other hand, once away from the quarters, he stood a better chance at escaping the bad guys than he did in here. He might be able to outrun someone for a short while, hopefully long enough to attract attention and call for help. Fighting off anyone was out of the question. He may have been able to take on Mark, but even that wasn't for sure, he thought grimly, worried about how drained he was already starting to feel.
He slunk out in the hallway, looking both ways to make sure no one was waiting for him.
No one was-or rather, no one seemed to be.
He put a few feet between him and Scott's quarters before going to the next phase of the plan and heading to the flight deck.
He spared a moment to bemoan the fact that he couldn't move faster but didn't allow himself to dwell on it. Later, when there was time, he'd take some time to freak out at how damn out of it he felt.
The most direct way to the flight deck lead him to the memorial wall. Lee walked past the pictures of people long gone, people only remembered by their loved ones, now reduced to symbols of what had happened to humankind.
Hide in plain sight, Lee. That's the way to go.
He stopped walking, startled.
You know how it goes. It's easier to hide in a city of several thousand people than in the woods, and believe me, if you need to hide something, put it right in front of the eyes of everyone. No one will ever believe you've been stupid enough to do that.
He would have smiled at the memory if it hadn't been so bitter now that Nate was dead. How long ago had they had this discussion? One year? Two?
Hide in plain sight.
Lee shook his head, disturbed. Why was it coming back to him now?
He looked around.
Hide in plain sight.
No one would have thought twice to see Nate linger here. Some people spent hours walking along the wall, praying for the dead.
Hide in plain sight, Lee.
Each colony had an assigned space on the wall. On a hunch, Lee headed straight to the pictures from the Picon colony-Nate had spent most of his life on Picon-and he scanned the wall for a picture that might look familiar. He didn't know how long he stared at the smiling faces of strangers-entire families, now blown to dust, light years away-until his eyes fell on Nate's face. He startled, taken aback by the smile on his friend's face, the way his eyes shone on the picture. Lee had never seen him like that; of course, they had met each other after the end of the world. There hadn't been that many reasons to be happy since then.
He looked around, didn't spot anyone-it must have been the dead of the night for it to be so quiet-and unhooked the picture, smiling when he saw that it covered an envelope taped to the wall.
Hide in plain sight, Nate, he thought.
He debated opening the enveloped there and then, if only so he could know why he had been abducted and held prisoner. As he was about to, something hard pressed on his back. "Well done, Lee. I knew you'd figure it out."
Chapter 14