BSG Fic : Long Way Home (2/4)
Title : Long Way Home
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG
Summary : A series of four unrelated, AU ficlets, exploring possible ways for the Fleet to find Earth (with unfortunate results, most times). In other words, four ways the show won't deal with that particular storyline.
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. Many thanks to mick1997 for beta'ing this! As usual, I tinkered before posting; all remaining mistakes are mine.
AN2. I've been told that this is even darker than part 1. I'm inclined to believe it. Consider yourself warned…
Part Two
They reach Earth half an hour too late.
When they make the jump according to Kara's coordinates (after weeks of testing and questioning her to ensure that she's not the enemy, after weeks of asking her who or what she is and getting for an answer, "I don't know how I came back, I just did, frak it!"), the Cylons are already busy bombing the planet to ashes.
There isn't enough time to swallow the bitter taste of deja-vu. As soon as the DRADIS picks up the basestars, alarms start blaring in the ship, like they did on so many other occasions. Everyone seems edgy, angry and resigned at the same time.
If they lose Earth…
Lee shakes the thought as he climbs into his Viper.
They don't have time for this. They don't have time to think about anything but defending the planet, they don't have time to think about anything but shooting down Cylons.
Lee can picture the CIC bustling with activity, Gaeta calculating coordinates for another jump, his father gritting his teeth and doing what needs to be done, Tigh at his side.
The Vipers are ordered to launch, but even before they're clear of the Galactica, all the pilots know they won't win. There are four basestars out there, and apparently, the people of Earth are not able to defend themselves against the Cylon's assault.
Lee tries not to let it get to him that once again, they're getting their asses kicked, that once again, they're going to lose hope and shelter and everything to these machines. The only thing they can do is try anyway, so that's what they all set out to do.
*
Most of the fight is a blur. All the pilots have been through this before, so many times that avoiding missiles and shooting back has become second nature. It may be the only thing most of them know how to do, but damn, they do it well.
It should probably worry Lee that his pilots don't even need to think anymore, the reflexes drilled into them by too many years of war.
Once upon a time, back when they still had a civilization to fall back to, most of them would have been discharged and sent back to civilian life, and would have been allowed some time to grieve, to deal with various forms of self-destructive behaviors and PTSD. He wonders whether or not they would have adapted to that. He knows enough about the previous Cylon war to know that all the veterans didn't become well-adjusted members of society after the end of the hostilities-far from it.
Mostly, he's pissed as hell that he'll never get to know, because that will never, ever happen. The Cylons are winning, and once again, the military is going to be kicked back, and they'll keep on fighting, again and again, to the last one. And when there are no pilots left, when the Galactica is destroyed, when no one is left to protect the civilians… well, that will be the end of that.
Helo's voice, loud in his ears, snaps him out of his thoughts. "Apollo, bank right, now!"
He does, without thinking, and an explosion briefly blinds him as his bird shakes so hard that he thinks it's going to fall apart.
Then, everything gets silent. He opens his eyes-when did he close them?-vaguely surprised that his Viper is still in one piece, solid all around him.
"…you read me?" he hears.
The familiar voice startles him. "Kara?"
"The one and only," she says, her tone insufferably cocky. "How the frak did you survive without me to cover your pretty ass anyway?"
He gasps out a laugh, relieved beyond measure that she's here. "Go figure," he says, automatically checking the status of his Viper.
"Apollo, Actual. What's… How are you?"
There's an undercurrent of worry in his father's voice and Lee carefully stores the memory away for later, when he has time to think about what it means-later, when they're not involved in the worst battle this side of the fall of the Colonies. "I'm good," he says, matter-of-factly. Ready to fight, he almost adds, but keeps it to himself.
Kara's voice, grim and confident, sounds loud and clear over the comm.. "Then, let's get to work."
They do.
*
They put up one hell of a fight, but in the end, it's no use.
It happened before and it will happen again, Lee thinks as he lands. He gives CIC the all-clear for the jump and sits in his cockpit for a few minutes, his mind blank.
When he climbs out of his Viper, dizzy, his ears still buzzing from all the frantic shouting over the comm., all he sees around him are pale, shocked faces. Cally is crying. Racetrack is sitting on the ground next to her Raptor, Helo hovering near her. Athena looks uncomfortable; she's probably expecting the backlash for this. Whenever they lose pilots, as they did today (their names come to Lee's mind before he can stomp the memory down. Hotdog. Skull. Seelix. Narco. Hiccup.), Athena can be sure to hear many heated comments heading her way.
Lee never tried to stop it, as he would have if it had been any other pilot suffering from being shunned.
He hates her.
It's not something he explores often, he doesn't like feeling that way, but all he can see when he looks at her is his father bleeding to death in his arms, reduced to a victim.
All he can see when he looks at her is a Cylon, the enemy. That she worked to earn the trust of everyone on board, including his own, doesn't matter. That she's not technically the same Sharon who shot his father doesn't matter.
She wears the face of the woman who almost killed his father, and he can't get past it. He never tried very hard to.
Everyone is looking in his direction and he tries to gather himself. He should say something, he should find the right words to make everyone feel better. He should tell them that they'll survive, that they'll find another suitable planet, that they'll make it, but what would be the point?
They lost more today than they did when the Colonies fell.
Part of him is almost curious to see how his father will spin this, how he'll find a way to make them all go on. Will he find another goal for the Fleet to reach?
Lee blinks in the harsh light of the deck, watches all the pale, drawn faces, and grits his teeth. If he opens his mouth, he's going to start screaming. Or worse, he'll say what he thinks-that the situation is hopeless, that they're frakked in every possible way, that there's no way out, that they fought for nothing.
That the Cylons will have to die to the last one before the humans can find peace.
That he's sick as hell of all this, and that Kara shouldn't have saved his life earlier today. That maybe they should all have just laid their arms down and allowed the Cylons to shoot them out of the sky.
Jaws clenched so hard it hurts, he turns and heads out, his steps echoing in the stunned silence. He can hear a few broken sobs here and there, quickly muffled. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kara take a step to follow him, then stop. He feels eyes on his back as he leaves, and he just can't bring himself to care that he's not behaving like an officer, that he's allowing them all to see his anger and his bitterness. For once, he doesn't give a flying frak about professionalism or appropriate conduct.
The only thing he cares about is finding a way to vent his grief before it consumes him.
*
One hour later, his father finds him in the gym, pounding the hell out of a punching bag. Helo and Kara have both dropped by and left him alone to his anger after their questions only drew a few monosyllabic answers out of him. Everyone but his father and Kara knows to leave him alone when he's like this, and even Kara didn't take the risk of getting slugged today.
Who said Starbuck was idiotically insane and reckless?
"Are you all right?" his father asks, his tone giving nothing away.
Lee keeps hitting the bag, grunting. His clothes are clinging to his sweaty skin, his hands are bleeding over the bag, leaving bloody imprints every time his fists collide with the fabric. He's pretty sure he dislocated two fingers but he still keeps hitting. The pain is good. The pain reminds him that he's alive, the pain fuels his anger, and anger is better than despair or grief.
"Lee," his father starts. Then, he stops. Some part of Lee wonders what his father will say now. That maybe those who died were the lucky ones? That as long as there's life, there's hope? That they did all they could? That in the end, they fought well-even if it was all for nothing? "Wanna hit something that can hit back?" his father eventually asks.
That surprises Lee and makes him stop long enough to look at his father, assess the offer, and nod. He's ready to drop and he won't even last five minutes, but that doesn't worry him in the least.
His father eyes the gloves hanging on the wall, smiles wryly, shrugs. "What the hell?" he says, clenching his fists without even bothering to wrap them (not that Lee is one to talk).
Maybe four minutes, Lee thinks as he leaves the punching bag and faces his father.
*
He actually lasts six minutes and if he wasn't so wiped, maybe he would enjoy the surprise and grudging respect on his old man's face. As it is, it's all he can do to remain standing on his shaking legs.
"Better?" his father asks.
"No."
His father sighs and takes Lee's most injured hand, grimacing when he sees the swollen fingers. "How did you manage to give me a shiner using that hand?" he asks, more to himself than to Lee.
Lee shrugs, dizzy with endorphins and the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He's going to crash very soon and maybe, when he wakes up, he'll feel a little less raw, a little less like he lost everything and everyone, a little less like life isn't worth living anymore.
His father starts talking again and Lee forces his thoughts back on the moment. "You… I was worried…" His father fumbles for words and Lee is too tired to try to guess what he's getting at. "I'm glad you survived," his father eventually says, scowling, either chastising himself for having such a hard time saying the words, or for saying them at all.
Lee nods. "Yeah." He can't manage more than that, not even when his father puts an arm on his shoulders and guides him to the hatch.
*
Cottle rolls his eyes when he sees them both enter sickbay, bloodied and bruised, with Lee holding his injured hand cradled to his chest-and maybe his assessment of the damage was little understated, because the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks that these fingers are probably broken.
"The way you look, you probably won't even feel it," Cottle growls at Lee as he snaps his fingers back into place.
Lee feels it and clenches his teeth against the pain, then takes a sharp breath when it recedes, covered in cold sweat.
He closes his eyes as Cottle puts a hard splint over his fingers and his hand. "Come back tomorrow," the doctor orders, before starting to examine the two cuts on Lee's face and arm. He decides it's not worth stitching them, puts disinfectant on them and tells Lee not to open them again before they've had time to heal.
When he leaves, muttering about idiotic pilots with no common sense, Lee meets his father's amused gaze and fights down the urge to laugh, terrified that if he starts now, he'll never be able to stop.
*
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Lee asks when his father fills his glass for the second time.
"I don't think it would take much, tonight," his father retorts.
Lee shrugs but doesn't argue the point, knowing it's certainly true. He was already about to collapse at the end of the battle and his time in the gym didn't help. There isn't one inch of his body that doesn't ache or sting in some way, his hand is throbbing like crazy, but he welcomes the pain, just as he welcomes the anger that's still simmering just under the surface.
If he wasn't so bruised already, he'd provoke Helo or Kara to a sparring match. Hell, the state he's in, he might even try to take on both of them, and get his ass kicked for his trouble.
They drink in silence for a while. Lee isn't surprised when his father starts talking again. "We'll have a ceremony tomorrow. To salute those we lost."
The declaration doesn't call for an answer and Lee doesn't offer any. After a while, he does ask, "What are you going to say?"
He looks up. His father is staring at his desk, his expression haunted. "I have no frakking idea." He gives a bitter, un-amused chuckle.
They take a swig of their drink at the same time.
"We received a radio transmission from the planet, but there was too much interference. It didn't go through, and we don't know what they were saying" his father says after a while.
"Kara did say there were people down there," Lee replies. Before the Cylons came and made their planet another barren wasteland only they will be able to live on, banning the humans again.
"Yes."
"Did you… Did anyone on the planet try to escape?"
"No." His father sighs, meets his eyes. "It's possible they didn't have space capable ships."
Lee feels his stomach clench painfully at the thought of another civilization wiped out-one that had probably never heard about the Cylons or the Colonies, one that may not have understood what was happening at all.
He puts his glass back on the table and rubs his eyes, acutely aware of his father's worried eyes following his every more. Funny, ever since the trial, he and his father have avoided spending too much time in the same room. Lee got his commission back, but his father's words and his own actions weighed heavily on them. They never talked about it. They went about their business, keeping all their interactions strictly professional and ignoring the issue altogether, as they always do.
It took another biting defeat, another crisis, another fight against unbeatable odds, to get them talking again-and still not about anything personal.
The silence is getting heavier by the minute and Lee eventually hears his own voice breaking it. "It's our fault. We led the Cylons right to Earth."
His father nods, as if he was expecting that. "We had to try."
Lee snorts. "Had to? Why?" It's not like they expected Earth to be able to defend them from the Cylons, is it? They were seeking shelter, but they never once stopped to think that if the Cylons found them, and there were people on Earth, there would be yet another few millions helpless people they wouldn't be able to defend. "What gives us the right to be saved?" Lee shakes his head, thinking about Gianne, Phelan, and the Olympic Carrier-the faces of the passengers still haunt his dreams, and will probably keep doing so for as long as he lives. He takes another swallow of his drink.
"I don't know," his father says with a sigh. "Maybe nothing. But there are children, babies in the Fleet. They deserve a chance."
A chance they'll never get as long as the Cylons are after them. The machines won't stop until the humans are all dead-dead, or used as tools for reproduction in the Cylons farms.
A cold voice from the hatch startles him. "Which brings us back to the fact that we need to wipe out the Cylons."
Both he and his father make to stand up at the President's arrival and she gestures them down. "You've got more of that?" she asks, eyeing the bottle.
"What about your treatment?" Lee's father asks.
She shrugs. "One glass won't kill me." She smiles, a strange mixture of sadness and bitterness. "So…"
Lee's father hands her a glass, fills it to the brim. "Cheers," he says, and she chuckles.
They drink in silence for a while. It's only when the President has finished her glass that she speaks again. "We should give the virus another chance."
When neither Lee nor his father reply for a while, she adds, "I know it's extreme, but…"
"Preaching to the choir, ma'am," Lee says. She turns to him, surprised. He shrugs, too drunk to feel apologetic. "They'll never allow us to live in peace. And we can't just settle down anywhere as long as they're still out there. They outnumber us, we can't fight them down. I say we outsmart them."
"If we do this," his father says, "We won't really be an army again. Or a civilization for that matter."
"We're not a civilization anymore," Lee retorts. He wishes it wasn't so, wishes his words didn't echo the ones he spoke at Baltar's trial, but it has to be said. "We're survivors, and we won't survive much longer this way."
They're almost out of resources, their pilots' ranks dwindle a little more each month, as do the marines'.
They can't outgun the Cylons. They don't have the resources or the manpower to build more battlestars, they don't have many more potential Viper pilots on the Fleet. Hell, if the Galactica took too bad a hit, they wouldn't be able to repair her.
So what if their future generations have to live with the sins they commit? At least, they'll be alive.
"What gives us the right to live?" his father asks, throwing his own question back at Lee.
Lee sighs, staring at the ceiling. Helo wasn't totally wrong. There won't be any coming back if they wipe out an entire race.
But.
The Cylons did bomb thirteen planets to bits, sparing no one, and are still relentlessly hunting down what few survivors of the human race are left.
"What gives them the right to exterminate us?" Lee replies.
His father nods, both in acknowledgement and in agreement. "Let's do it, then," he says, looking ten years older.
Lee thinks he should feel relieved that they're going to do something, that they'll fight to ensure their survival, but all he feels is like he just sold his soul, and that of his entire race.
He just hopes that in the end, the sacrifice will prove to be worthwhile.
end
Part Three
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG
Summary : A series of four unrelated, AU ficlets, exploring possible ways for the Fleet to find Earth (with unfortunate results, most times). In other words, four ways the show won't deal with that particular storyline.
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. Many thanks to mick1997 for beta'ing this! As usual, I tinkered before posting; all remaining mistakes are mine.
AN2. I've been told that this is even darker than part 1. I'm inclined to believe it. Consider yourself warned…
Part Two
They reach Earth half an hour too late.
When they make the jump according to Kara's coordinates (after weeks of testing and questioning her to ensure that she's not the enemy, after weeks of asking her who or what she is and getting for an answer, "I don't know how I came back, I just did, frak it!"), the Cylons are already busy bombing the planet to ashes.
There isn't enough time to swallow the bitter taste of deja-vu. As soon as the DRADIS picks up the basestars, alarms start blaring in the ship, like they did on so many other occasions. Everyone seems edgy, angry and resigned at the same time.
If they lose Earth…
Lee shakes the thought as he climbs into his Viper.
They don't have time for this. They don't have time to think about anything but defending the planet, they don't have time to think about anything but shooting down Cylons.
Lee can picture the CIC bustling with activity, Gaeta calculating coordinates for another jump, his father gritting his teeth and doing what needs to be done, Tigh at his side.
The Vipers are ordered to launch, but even before they're clear of the Galactica, all the pilots know they won't win. There are four basestars out there, and apparently, the people of Earth are not able to defend themselves against the Cylon's assault.
Lee tries not to let it get to him that once again, they're getting their asses kicked, that once again, they're going to lose hope and shelter and everything to these machines. The only thing they can do is try anyway, so that's what they all set out to do.
*
Most of the fight is a blur. All the pilots have been through this before, so many times that avoiding missiles and shooting back has become second nature. It may be the only thing most of them know how to do, but damn, they do it well.
It should probably worry Lee that his pilots don't even need to think anymore, the reflexes drilled into them by too many years of war.
Once upon a time, back when they still had a civilization to fall back to, most of them would have been discharged and sent back to civilian life, and would have been allowed some time to grieve, to deal with various forms of self-destructive behaviors and PTSD. He wonders whether or not they would have adapted to that. He knows enough about the previous Cylon war to know that all the veterans didn't become well-adjusted members of society after the end of the hostilities-far from it.
Mostly, he's pissed as hell that he'll never get to know, because that will never, ever happen. The Cylons are winning, and once again, the military is going to be kicked back, and they'll keep on fighting, again and again, to the last one. And when there are no pilots left, when the Galactica is destroyed, when no one is left to protect the civilians… well, that will be the end of that.
Helo's voice, loud in his ears, snaps him out of his thoughts. "Apollo, bank right, now!"
He does, without thinking, and an explosion briefly blinds him as his bird shakes so hard that he thinks it's going to fall apart.
Then, everything gets silent. He opens his eyes-when did he close them?-vaguely surprised that his Viper is still in one piece, solid all around him.
"…you read me?" he hears.
The familiar voice startles him. "Kara?"
"The one and only," she says, her tone insufferably cocky. "How the frak did you survive without me to cover your pretty ass anyway?"
He gasps out a laugh, relieved beyond measure that she's here. "Go figure," he says, automatically checking the status of his Viper.
"Apollo, Actual. What's… How are you?"
There's an undercurrent of worry in his father's voice and Lee carefully stores the memory away for later, when he has time to think about what it means-later, when they're not involved in the worst battle this side of the fall of the Colonies. "I'm good," he says, matter-of-factly. Ready to fight, he almost adds, but keeps it to himself.
Kara's voice, grim and confident, sounds loud and clear over the comm.. "Then, let's get to work."
They do.
*
They put up one hell of a fight, but in the end, it's no use.
It happened before and it will happen again, Lee thinks as he lands. He gives CIC the all-clear for the jump and sits in his cockpit for a few minutes, his mind blank.
When he climbs out of his Viper, dizzy, his ears still buzzing from all the frantic shouting over the comm., all he sees around him are pale, shocked faces. Cally is crying. Racetrack is sitting on the ground next to her Raptor, Helo hovering near her. Athena looks uncomfortable; she's probably expecting the backlash for this. Whenever they lose pilots, as they did today (their names come to Lee's mind before he can stomp the memory down. Hotdog. Skull. Seelix. Narco. Hiccup.), Athena can be sure to hear many heated comments heading her way.
Lee never tried to stop it, as he would have if it had been any other pilot suffering from being shunned.
He hates her.
It's not something he explores often, he doesn't like feeling that way, but all he can see when he looks at her is his father bleeding to death in his arms, reduced to a victim.
All he can see when he looks at her is a Cylon, the enemy. That she worked to earn the trust of everyone on board, including his own, doesn't matter. That she's not technically the same Sharon who shot his father doesn't matter.
She wears the face of the woman who almost killed his father, and he can't get past it. He never tried very hard to.
Everyone is looking in his direction and he tries to gather himself. He should say something, he should find the right words to make everyone feel better. He should tell them that they'll survive, that they'll find another suitable planet, that they'll make it, but what would be the point?
They lost more today than they did when the Colonies fell.
Part of him is almost curious to see how his father will spin this, how he'll find a way to make them all go on. Will he find another goal for the Fleet to reach?
Lee blinks in the harsh light of the deck, watches all the pale, drawn faces, and grits his teeth. If he opens his mouth, he's going to start screaming. Or worse, he'll say what he thinks-that the situation is hopeless, that they're frakked in every possible way, that there's no way out, that they fought for nothing.
That the Cylons will have to die to the last one before the humans can find peace.
That he's sick as hell of all this, and that Kara shouldn't have saved his life earlier today. That maybe they should all have just laid their arms down and allowed the Cylons to shoot them out of the sky.
Jaws clenched so hard it hurts, he turns and heads out, his steps echoing in the stunned silence. He can hear a few broken sobs here and there, quickly muffled. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kara take a step to follow him, then stop. He feels eyes on his back as he leaves, and he just can't bring himself to care that he's not behaving like an officer, that he's allowing them all to see his anger and his bitterness. For once, he doesn't give a flying frak about professionalism or appropriate conduct.
The only thing he cares about is finding a way to vent his grief before it consumes him.
*
One hour later, his father finds him in the gym, pounding the hell out of a punching bag. Helo and Kara have both dropped by and left him alone to his anger after their questions only drew a few monosyllabic answers out of him. Everyone but his father and Kara knows to leave him alone when he's like this, and even Kara didn't take the risk of getting slugged today.
Who said Starbuck was idiotically insane and reckless?
"Are you all right?" his father asks, his tone giving nothing away.
Lee keeps hitting the bag, grunting. His clothes are clinging to his sweaty skin, his hands are bleeding over the bag, leaving bloody imprints every time his fists collide with the fabric. He's pretty sure he dislocated two fingers but he still keeps hitting. The pain is good. The pain reminds him that he's alive, the pain fuels his anger, and anger is better than despair or grief.
"Lee," his father starts. Then, he stops. Some part of Lee wonders what his father will say now. That maybe those who died were the lucky ones? That as long as there's life, there's hope? That they did all they could? That in the end, they fought well-even if it was all for nothing? "Wanna hit something that can hit back?" his father eventually asks.
That surprises Lee and makes him stop long enough to look at his father, assess the offer, and nod. He's ready to drop and he won't even last five minutes, but that doesn't worry him in the least.
His father eyes the gloves hanging on the wall, smiles wryly, shrugs. "What the hell?" he says, clenching his fists without even bothering to wrap them (not that Lee is one to talk).
Maybe four minutes, Lee thinks as he leaves the punching bag and faces his father.
*
He actually lasts six minutes and if he wasn't so wiped, maybe he would enjoy the surprise and grudging respect on his old man's face. As it is, it's all he can do to remain standing on his shaking legs.
"Better?" his father asks.
"No."
His father sighs and takes Lee's most injured hand, grimacing when he sees the swollen fingers. "How did you manage to give me a shiner using that hand?" he asks, more to himself than to Lee.
Lee shrugs, dizzy with endorphins and the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He's going to crash very soon and maybe, when he wakes up, he'll feel a little less raw, a little less like he lost everything and everyone, a little less like life isn't worth living anymore.
His father starts talking again and Lee forces his thoughts back on the moment. "You… I was worried…" His father fumbles for words and Lee is too tired to try to guess what he's getting at. "I'm glad you survived," his father eventually says, scowling, either chastising himself for having such a hard time saying the words, or for saying them at all.
Lee nods. "Yeah." He can't manage more than that, not even when his father puts an arm on his shoulders and guides him to the hatch.
*
Cottle rolls his eyes when he sees them both enter sickbay, bloodied and bruised, with Lee holding his injured hand cradled to his chest-and maybe his assessment of the damage was little understated, because the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks that these fingers are probably broken.
"The way you look, you probably won't even feel it," Cottle growls at Lee as he snaps his fingers back into place.
Lee feels it and clenches his teeth against the pain, then takes a sharp breath when it recedes, covered in cold sweat.
He closes his eyes as Cottle puts a hard splint over his fingers and his hand. "Come back tomorrow," the doctor orders, before starting to examine the two cuts on Lee's face and arm. He decides it's not worth stitching them, puts disinfectant on them and tells Lee not to open them again before they've had time to heal.
When he leaves, muttering about idiotic pilots with no common sense, Lee meets his father's amused gaze and fights down the urge to laugh, terrified that if he starts now, he'll never be able to stop.
*
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Lee asks when his father fills his glass for the second time.
"I don't think it would take much, tonight," his father retorts.
Lee shrugs but doesn't argue the point, knowing it's certainly true. He was already about to collapse at the end of the battle and his time in the gym didn't help. There isn't one inch of his body that doesn't ache or sting in some way, his hand is throbbing like crazy, but he welcomes the pain, just as he welcomes the anger that's still simmering just under the surface.
If he wasn't so bruised already, he'd provoke Helo or Kara to a sparring match. Hell, the state he's in, he might even try to take on both of them, and get his ass kicked for his trouble.
They drink in silence for a while. Lee isn't surprised when his father starts talking again. "We'll have a ceremony tomorrow. To salute those we lost."
The declaration doesn't call for an answer and Lee doesn't offer any. After a while, he does ask, "What are you going to say?"
He looks up. His father is staring at his desk, his expression haunted. "I have no frakking idea." He gives a bitter, un-amused chuckle.
They take a swig of their drink at the same time.
"We received a radio transmission from the planet, but there was too much interference. It didn't go through, and we don't know what they were saying" his father says after a while.
"Kara did say there were people down there," Lee replies. Before the Cylons came and made their planet another barren wasteland only they will be able to live on, banning the humans again.
"Yes."
"Did you… Did anyone on the planet try to escape?"
"No." His father sighs, meets his eyes. "It's possible they didn't have space capable ships."
Lee feels his stomach clench painfully at the thought of another civilization wiped out-one that had probably never heard about the Cylons or the Colonies, one that may not have understood what was happening at all.
He puts his glass back on the table and rubs his eyes, acutely aware of his father's worried eyes following his every more. Funny, ever since the trial, he and his father have avoided spending too much time in the same room. Lee got his commission back, but his father's words and his own actions weighed heavily on them. They never talked about it. They went about their business, keeping all their interactions strictly professional and ignoring the issue altogether, as they always do.
It took another biting defeat, another crisis, another fight against unbeatable odds, to get them talking again-and still not about anything personal.
The silence is getting heavier by the minute and Lee eventually hears his own voice breaking it. "It's our fault. We led the Cylons right to Earth."
His father nods, as if he was expecting that. "We had to try."
Lee snorts. "Had to? Why?" It's not like they expected Earth to be able to defend them from the Cylons, is it? They were seeking shelter, but they never once stopped to think that if the Cylons found them, and there were people on Earth, there would be yet another few millions helpless people they wouldn't be able to defend. "What gives us the right to be saved?" Lee shakes his head, thinking about Gianne, Phelan, and the Olympic Carrier-the faces of the passengers still haunt his dreams, and will probably keep doing so for as long as he lives. He takes another swallow of his drink.
"I don't know," his father says with a sigh. "Maybe nothing. But there are children, babies in the Fleet. They deserve a chance."
A chance they'll never get as long as the Cylons are after them. The machines won't stop until the humans are all dead-dead, or used as tools for reproduction in the Cylons farms.
A cold voice from the hatch startles him. "Which brings us back to the fact that we need to wipe out the Cylons."
Both he and his father make to stand up at the President's arrival and she gestures them down. "You've got more of that?" she asks, eyeing the bottle.
"What about your treatment?" Lee's father asks.
She shrugs. "One glass won't kill me." She smiles, a strange mixture of sadness and bitterness. "So…"
Lee's father hands her a glass, fills it to the brim. "Cheers," he says, and she chuckles.
They drink in silence for a while. It's only when the President has finished her glass that she speaks again. "We should give the virus another chance."
When neither Lee nor his father reply for a while, she adds, "I know it's extreme, but…"
"Preaching to the choir, ma'am," Lee says. She turns to him, surprised. He shrugs, too drunk to feel apologetic. "They'll never allow us to live in peace. And we can't just settle down anywhere as long as they're still out there. They outnumber us, we can't fight them down. I say we outsmart them."
"If we do this," his father says, "We won't really be an army again. Or a civilization for that matter."
"We're not a civilization anymore," Lee retorts. He wishes it wasn't so, wishes his words didn't echo the ones he spoke at Baltar's trial, but it has to be said. "We're survivors, and we won't survive much longer this way."
They're almost out of resources, their pilots' ranks dwindle a little more each month, as do the marines'.
They can't outgun the Cylons. They don't have the resources or the manpower to build more battlestars, they don't have many more potential Viper pilots on the Fleet. Hell, if the Galactica took too bad a hit, they wouldn't be able to repair her.
So what if their future generations have to live with the sins they commit? At least, they'll be alive.
"What gives us the right to live?" his father asks, throwing his own question back at Lee.
Lee sighs, staring at the ceiling. Helo wasn't totally wrong. There won't be any coming back if they wipe out an entire race.
But.
The Cylons did bomb thirteen planets to bits, sparing no one, and are still relentlessly hunting down what few survivors of the human race are left.
"What gives them the right to exterminate us?" Lee replies.
His father nods, both in acknowledgement and in agreement. "Let's do it, then," he says, looking ten years older.
Lee thinks he should feel relieved that they're going to do something, that they'll fight to ensure their survival, but all he feels is like he just sold his soul, and that of his entire race.
He just hopes that in the end, the sacrifice will prove to be worthwhile.
end
Part Three