BSG Fic: Crash (9/9)
Title : Crash
Author : Helen C.
Rating : R
Summary : Galactica, Apollo, I've been hit. Repeat, I've been hit. (Set in S2, somewhere between Final Cut and Flight of the Phoenix).
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 elzed, siljamus and joey51 for beta'ing this, and to the countless people on LiveJournal who held my hand while I whined and whined and whined about this fic.
AN2. Pure, unadulterated H/C. (If you don't like it, lie to me. And if you feel the need to offer con. crit., thanks, but not on this one, please...)
Chapter 9
As expected, Lee started pleading with Cottle to release him four days after getting admitted to sickbay-in other words, when he started being able to stay awake for a few hours in a stretch.
Bill sympathized; at least, when he had been shot, he'd been able to bully his way out of sickbay soon after waking up. Too soon, probably, but he hadn't felt like he had a choice, with the Fleet split in two and Saul looking desperate to get out of the situation.
Lee had a choice, though, and if Bill wanted to be honest with himself, he'd rather his son took his time before he got back into a cockpit. Before the war, when they still had a military infrastructure, Lee would have been ordered to see a shrink before he was allowed back to flight status.
There were four shrinks on the Fleet. None of them was specialized in battle-fatigue or PTSD treatment, all of them were ridiculously overbooked.
They didn't have the kind of time they needed to get their pilots back into reasonable shape, and that was yet another thing that drove all the officers above the rank of lieutenant insane. Eventually, they wouldn't have a choice but to order leave for their personnel; eventually, one of their fighters would need more serious help than his co-workers, friends or superior officers could provide.
Cross that bridge when you get to it, he told himself. Being a commander in these circumstances meant that he had to accept that some things were out of his control and would remain so indefinitely.
He peered into Lee's cubicle. As he had expected, his son was staring at the ceiling, looking angry and tired and bored out of his skull.
"He hasn't tried to sneak out yet but I expect it won't take much longer," Cottle said, walking up to Bill. "I think he already tried to bribe at least one of his visitors."
"He can hear you," Lee called from the other side of the curtain.
"He must have been a joy as a teenager," Cottle added, not bothering to lower his voice.
"He still is," Lee griped. Bill chuckled, looking as his son leaned up on an elbow. He looked unnervingly like he had when he was sulking, back when he was fifteen, come to think of it-a welcome sight after wondering whether or not his son was going to survive. It was a clear sign that Lee was still… Lee. Fighting and kicking and screaming his way back into his old life.
"You don't know the half of it," he said to Cottle, and he saw Lee's lips twitch as he rolled his eyes, in a gesture of teenager defiance that Bill dearly hoped he was putting on for show.
Cottle retreated as Bill made his way to the bed. "I'd ask how you feel, but I think I can guess the answer to that."
"Yeah, well…" Lee gestured around him. "Sickbay. Feeling better. Do the math."
Bill knew that Cottle didn't want Kara to sneak him paperwork, nor did he want Lee to work on his report yet, so all his son could do was sleep and wait until Cottle deemed him well enough to move on to the next step.
"You're supposed to rest," he pointed out.
"I'm rested."
Bill disagreed; his son hadn't even started gaining back the weight he'd lost, he still slept more than fifteen hours a day, and his hands started shaking, barely noticeably, when he forced himself to stay awake too long. Bill didn't think it would go over well if he said it, though. "You'll be back on duty soon enough," he promised.
"Right." Lee passed a hand through his hair and Bill noticed that the IV was gone. "I just hope Cottle won't wait for all my memories to become crystal clear, 'cause I don’t think it would ever happen then."
"Anything else come back?"
Lee was frowning at the covers, and Bill smiled at the telltale sign that he was wiggling his toes under the cover. He had forgotten that Lee often did that when he was a small kid and he or Carolanne read a story to him at bedtime. "Did I try to shoot Kara, on the planet?"
Though Lee had asked the question in a detached tone, he was studying Bill intently. Even if he tried to lie, Lee was bound to spot it.
"Afraid so."
"Great." He lay back down, absently rubbing at his wrist. There were fading bruises there, still darkening the skin. "Just great."
"She knows you weren't yourself, Lee."
"Yeah." The reply was non-committal and half-hearted at best. It was impossible to tell what was going on in his mind, but then Bill rarely managed to read his son well.
Wasn't that why hearing that Lee had pulled a gun at Saul's head had shocked him so much? He should have seen it coming; if it had been any other officer under his command, he might have seen it coming. But Lee had taken him totally by surprise.
Hell, no one had seen it coming; popular opinion before that incident was that Lee was a by-the-book officer who would never dream of putting a toe over the line, and Bill had agreed with that assessment. He should have known his CAG-his son-better than that.
Lee brought a hand to his head and softly massaged his temple, suddenly looking very tired. Bill didn't think that now was the time to tell Lee that he had also tried to kill him before trying to take his own life. In fact, there would never be a good time for that.
It was probable Lee would learn about it anyway; news about incidents such as this traveled fast. Maybe it would be gentler if it came from him, but Bill just couldn't bring himself to do that.
Hopefully Lee would never hear, and if he did… Well, Bill just prayed that he would never actually remember the scene.
His son spoke up again, not looking at him anymore. "Is that why you're…" He gestured vaguely, which didn't exactly help Bill to understand what he meant.
How did his behavior appear to his son? He didn't think he was acting any different, but if Lee had picked up on something, maybe some of his relief must have shown-which was certainly a good thing. Carolanne had often said that half of his and Lee's problems came from the fact that they weren't able to express their emotions correctly, or at all.
"Partly," he said. "I'm just…" He trailed off when Lee looked at him. His eyes seemed to look right through him, examining every nuance, every word he said, every move he made. "I'm glad you're back on board," he eventually forced out, hoping that for once, Lee would understand what he wasn't saying.
He breathed out softly when Lee nodded, his face softening. "Yeah. I'm glad to be back on board," he said, a hint of humor coloring his voice.
Bill got to his feet and Lee put his hands behind his head, frowning up at the ceiling. "And now, I'm back to counting the seconds until I'm sprung from his place."
Bill could only pat his leg comfortingly and leave before Lee decided to take out his frustration on him.
*
It took ten days for Cottle to release Lee for light duty, threatening dire consequences if Lee stretched the limits of what light was supposed to mean.
As if he was going to be able to steal a Viper and offer himself an unauthorized flight.
As if Kara was going to allow him to hurry his way through recovery. "This is my payback for when you played mother hen after I crashed," she told him gleefully when he took possession of his rack again.
"Don't call me mother hen ever again," he replied. Not the snappiest comeback ever, but nothing else came to mind.
She left, shaking her head, and he resisted the absurd urge to stick out his tongue at her; after all, Hotdog and Racetrack were looking on and he had to set an example.
So, he took the high road, and instead of following her to engage in a pissing contest, he wandered the corridors for a while, wondering what he could do. His whole life had been centered around work for so long that he didn't know what to do with himself when he wasn't on duty. An evening off was fine but he was facing at least another week of… this, before Cottle allowed him to resume his duties.
Yup, still bored, he thought, his steps leading him straight to the CAG office. He stood in front of the hatch for a while, then shrugged, knocked, and stepped in when he got no answer. Kara was probably using it since she was covering for him, but she wasn't in for now. He might as well take the opportunity to enjoy some time to himself. After over a week stuck in sickbay, some privacy would be welcome.
He should probably get to work on his report. His memories still didn't add up to anything truly coherent, but Cottle didn't think that it was likely to get any better. "Learn to live with it," he told Lee at some point. Letting go of points of concern and just living with it wasn't something Lee was very good at, but at this point, trying to assemble the pieces of the puzzle was wearing on his nerves.
He picked up a chair and studied the papers strewn on the desk in front of him.
Kara had never hidden her disdain for paperwork, but the sight was impressive, even for her. He smiled softly, but the smile faded as he remembered waking up in the infirmary, hands around her throat. They hadn't had any chance to discuss it in private yet, but what could he say to her after that, anyway?
"Sorry I tried to kill you," was likely to earn him a punch in the face for being too direct and for breaking their tacit agreement not to discuss those kind of things.
"Thanks for saving my life," was likely to make her laugh and mock him for days, if not weeks. Kara wasn't really big on having deep discussions-at least not when he was ready to have them.
"Thank you," no more said, would just annoy her.
A rustling sound from the entrance got him to look up just as he was deciding that the situation was hopeless. His father was staring at him from the doorway.
"Commander," Lee said, getting to his feet.
"Lee," his father replied. "Cottle finally let you go, then?" He came into the room and closed the hatch behind him, gesturing for Lee to sit, then took the lone chair in front of the desk.
Lee shrugged. "Yeah. I think he got sick of me asking."
"I don't think Cottle can get sick of people begging out. In fact, he probably enjoys hearing people begging out."
While Lee recognized the doctor's value (where would they all be without him?), it felt good to smile about it, now that he wasn't stuck in sickbay any longer.
"You're working on your report?"
Lee looked down at the papers on his desk, covered in Kara's handwriting. He could see an inventory report, old flight rosters with annotations all over them, and sit-rep sheets. Obviously, she didn't believe in filing-but then, as she was covering for him and they were one pilot short, she had excuses. "Yeah," he said, as his father was still waiting for a reply. He shuffled the papers absently, but his mind wasn't in putting them in order.
He hated not being able to remember, hated the thought that he had been frakked up enough to try to kill Kara, hated the fact that he had almost allowed himself to be taken prisoner down there.
What if Leoben had shown up at a point when I didn't remember anything about Cylons looking human? What if he had walked to me when I was unconscious, when I was sleeping? What if-?
"I'm sorry," he said, cutting off his own thoughts. He faced his father. "Looks like I lost this round."
The cut-the-crap commander's voice was softened by something like pride when his father said, "You survived almost three days on hostile territory with a head injury and a bad fever and you managed to evade capture. You're still alive. I'd say you did just fine."
Lee looked up in surprise as his father rested his hands on the desk, covering a performance report. "I'm the one who should apologize."
"What for?" Lee asked.
"I told you we wouldn't leave. I told you we'd come back for you." His father was looking at him, offering no excuse or explanations, awaiting his judgment without comment, and Lee couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound stupid or petty or childish.
He knew how close the Fleet had come to leaving him behind, and he had mixed feelings about that. He understood the reasoning behind the decision and he even agreed with it, but he couldn't help being relieved that they had stayed long enough to rescue him, and guilty because he didn't think they would have tried so hard if he hadn't been his father's son (and how ironic was that, considering how hard he had struggled all his life to avoid being seen as a daddy's boy?), and, he might as well admit it, angry and hurt that they had considered leaving without him.
"If it was you, we'd never leave."
Back then, he hadn't believed it for more than a few seconds. He knew his father had told him what he needed to hear, but he had never thought that he would actually keep his promise. There was too much at stake, they had too few resources and too little hope of saving themselves to waste time fighting on a lost cause.
And yet, here he was-because his father had come back for him, risking other pilots' lives to save his, looking for three days.
In light of the fact that his father had missed out on most of his and Zak's childhoods, Lee may be entitled to ask for more, ask of his father that he prove himself again and again. The question was, should he?
"We were about to leave," his father said, his voice laced with regret.
"But you didn't," Lee replied.
The fact that his father had come back had to mean more than the fact that in the end, he had been ready to sacrifice Lee in order to save the rest of the Fleet.
His father looked old and weary, and Lee went on, hoping that for once, he'd be able to make his father's life easier, not worse. "You did come back." And he knew enough to know that his father must have fought for the right to do so, for the right to put the Fleet in danger for his sake.
"Three days is staying," he insisted, because his father still didn't look convinced.
Yes, he was torn. As an officer understood about necessary sacrifices, about putting the lives of the many before the lives of the few (more so now that before the attacks), but he was also a human being who didn't want to die any time soon.
"I was terrified," he wanted to say. "I didn't want to die alone." He didn't see himself being that honest, though-especially not with his father.
He didn't think it would be a good idea to tell him that he would probably have blamed him for leaving him behind, if it had come to that and he had been lucid enough to notice.
His father was looking at his hands, splayed on the papers of the desk. His wedding band was still shining on his finger, a testament to the fact that his father was no better at letting go of the past than Lee was.
He put his own hand on top of his father's, noticing how they tensed at the touch.
He waited for his father to look at him, held his eyes. "Thank you," he said, hoping his father would take it as the absolution it was meant to be.
*
Kara was doing crunches when Lee entered the bunkroom, taking her time to give the muscles a real workout. Between taking over the CAG's duties and trying to figure out a way to make a flight roster that would allow them to be efficient while Apollo was out of commission, she hadn't had time to focus on physical training as much as she would have liked.
She needed to blow off some steam.
For a few moments, she went on like he wasn't there, only stopping when she realized that he was staring at her like he didn't recognize her. She paused mid-movement, her back a few inches from the floor, and frowned up at him.
"Lee?" she called, uncomfortably reminded of his vacant expression on the planet.
He shook his head distractedly, nodded in greeting and went to his locker. She rested her elbows on the floor and watched on as he took out his running shoes.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Cottle cleared me to go running." He got his hands on his running shorts, and shot her a look. "Wanna come?" he asked.
"As if I'd miss an opportunity to watch you take your first steps, Apollo," she replied, getting to her feet.
"You're going to be a pain, aren't you?" he asked, undoing his belt.
She gave him a mocking grin. "No, your leg is going to be a pain. The lack of exercise in the last two weeks is going to be a pain." She put a foot on the table and stretched her leg as he hurriedly took off his pants. "I'm just going to be here, making fun of you every step of the way," she added.
He put on his short and shoes, turning his back to her as he knotted the laces. She waited for him as he went through his own warm-up routine, making a show of checking her watch and shifting from one foot to the other. "I'm starting to think that maybe it was a bad idea, after all," he said.
"Too bad, Apollo," she replied. "You don't get to rethink this one."
She headed to the door without waiting for him, leaving him to hurry after her.
Because she remembered that he had tried to help her when she had busted her knee, she didn't try to run him into the ground. It was clear that he was still favoring his leg and she knew from experience that taking up running again after two weeks wasn't easy.
It didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy this a least a little, though. Gods knew he had teased her enough when she had been in his place. "Have you always been so damn slow, Apollo?" she called over her shoulder, goading him.
He ignored her, taking a deep breath instead of wasting energy replying to her.
"You can do better than that."
"Whatever you say, Starbuck," he replied distractedly. He was slowing down and when she turned to make sure he was fine, he had stopped completely and was staring around, white-faced and breathless.
"Apollo?" she called, when he started to rub the spot where his leg had been injured.
He blinked and the confused expression vanished from his face as quickly as it had come.
"You want to stop?"
His reply shot out sharp and fast. "No!"
Surprised at his forcefulness, she opened her mouth to ask if he was sure, but he was quicker. "It's okay," he said. "Just…" He gave a nervous chuckle, a little winded. "I think I may have broken my personal speed record, down there."
She bit her lip. He seemed to be waiting for an answer, so she said, "And no one was there to see it, so I guess we only have your word."
"Oh, the despair of it all," he shot back. He took off again and she muffled a curse, darting in after him. For a while, they ran in silence, nodding to a few people on the way, adjusting their pace to one another's. This was like flying together-their movements harmonized as if they shared a brain.
They turned a corner and Lee almost bumped into the Commander, who shot both of them an amused glance as Lee saluted sloppily, not stopping.
"Do you hear something, Lieutenant?" the Commander asked her as she passed him.
"Nothing but the rain, Sir," she called back.
"Same here," Lee threw in, then picked up his pace.
"Oh, no, you don't," Kara said, rushing after him. "If you think for a second that I'm going to allow you to get your sorry ass into the shower before I can…"
"Big words, Starbuck. Big words."
She caught up with him easily and they kept running, their steps and breathing in synch.
Just like flying.
end
Author : Helen C.
Rating : R
Summary : Galactica, Apollo, I've been hit. Repeat, I've been hit. (Set in S2, somewhere between Final Cut and Flight of the Phoenix).
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 elzed, siljamus and joey51 for beta'ing this, and to the countless people on LiveJournal who held my hand while I whined and whined and whined about this fic.
AN2. Pure, unadulterated H/C. (If you don't like it, lie to me. And if you feel the need to offer con. crit., thanks, but not on this one, please...)
Chapter 9
As expected, Lee started pleading with Cottle to release him four days after getting admitted to sickbay-in other words, when he started being able to stay awake for a few hours in a stretch.
Bill sympathized; at least, when he had been shot, he'd been able to bully his way out of sickbay soon after waking up. Too soon, probably, but he hadn't felt like he had a choice, with the Fleet split in two and Saul looking desperate to get out of the situation.
Lee had a choice, though, and if Bill wanted to be honest with himself, he'd rather his son took his time before he got back into a cockpit. Before the war, when they still had a military infrastructure, Lee would have been ordered to see a shrink before he was allowed back to flight status.
There were four shrinks on the Fleet. None of them was specialized in battle-fatigue or PTSD treatment, all of them were ridiculously overbooked.
They didn't have the kind of time they needed to get their pilots back into reasonable shape, and that was yet another thing that drove all the officers above the rank of lieutenant insane. Eventually, they wouldn't have a choice but to order leave for their personnel; eventually, one of their fighters would need more serious help than his co-workers, friends or superior officers could provide.
Cross that bridge when you get to it, he told himself. Being a commander in these circumstances meant that he had to accept that some things were out of his control and would remain so indefinitely.
He peered into Lee's cubicle. As he had expected, his son was staring at the ceiling, looking angry and tired and bored out of his skull.
"He hasn't tried to sneak out yet but I expect it won't take much longer," Cottle said, walking up to Bill. "I think he already tried to bribe at least one of his visitors."
"He can hear you," Lee called from the other side of the curtain.
"He must have been a joy as a teenager," Cottle added, not bothering to lower his voice.
"He still is," Lee griped. Bill chuckled, looking as his son leaned up on an elbow. He looked unnervingly like he had when he was sulking, back when he was fifteen, come to think of it-a welcome sight after wondering whether or not his son was going to survive. It was a clear sign that Lee was still… Lee. Fighting and kicking and screaming his way back into his old life.
"You don't know the half of it," he said to Cottle, and he saw Lee's lips twitch as he rolled his eyes, in a gesture of teenager defiance that Bill dearly hoped he was putting on for show.
Cottle retreated as Bill made his way to the bed. "I'd ask how you feel, but I think I can guess the answer to that."
"Yeah, well…" Lee gestured around him. "Sickbay. Feeling better. Do the math."
Bill knew that Cottle didn't want Kara to sneak him paperwork, nor did he want Lee to work on his report yet, so all his son could do was sleep and wait until Cottle deemed him well enough to move on to the next step.
"You're supposed to rest," he pointed out.
"I'm rested."
Bill disagreed; his son hadn't even started gaining back the weight he'd lost, he still slept more than fifteen hours a day, and his hands started shaking, barely noticeably, when he forced himself to stay awake too long. Bill didn't think it would go over well if he said it, though. "You'll be back on duty soon enough," he promised.
"Right." Lee passed a hand through his hair and Bill noticed that the IV was gone. "I just hope Cottle won't wait for all my memories to become crystal clear, 'cause I don’t think it would ever happen then."
"Anything else come back?"
Lee was frowning at the covers, and Bill smiled at the telltale sign that he was wiggling his toes under the cover. He had forgotten that Lee often did that when he was a small kid and he or Carolanne read a story to him at bedtime. "Did I try to shoot Kara, on the planet?"
Though Lee had asked the question in a detached tone, he was studying Bill intently. Even if he tried to lie, Lee was bound to spot it.
"Afraid so."
"Great." He lay back down, absently rubbing at his wrist. There were fading bruises there, still darkening the skin. "Just great."
"She knows you weren't yourself, Lee."
"Yeah." The reply was non-committal and half-hearted at best. It was impossible to tell what was going on in his mind, but then Bill rarely managed to read his son well.
Wasn't that why hearing that Lee had pulled a gun at Saul's head had shocked him so much? He should have seen it coming; if it had been any other officer under his command, he might have seen it coming. But Lee had taken him totally by surprise.
Hell, no one had seen it coming; popular opinion before that incident was that Lee was a by-the-book officer who would never dream of putting a toe over the line, and Bill had agreed with that assessment. He should have known his CAG-his son-better than that.
Lee brought a hand to his head and softly massaged his temple, suddenly looking very tired. Bill didn't think that now was the time to tell Lee that he had also tried to kill him before trying to take his own life. In fact, there would never be a good time for that.
It was probable Lee would learn about it anyway; news about incidents such as this traveled fast. Maybe it would be gentler if it came from him, but Bill just couldn't bring himself to do that.
Hopefully Lee would never hear, and if he did… Well, Bill just prayed that he would never actually remember the scene.
His son spoke up again, not looking at him anymore. "Is that why you're…" He gestured vaguely, which didn't exactly help Bill to understand what he meant.
How did his behavior appear to his son? He didn't think he was acting any different, but if Lee had picked up on something, maybe some of his relief must have shown-which was certainly a good thing. Carolanne had often said that half of his and Lee's problems came from the fact that they weren't able to express their emotions correctly, or at all.
"Partly," he said. "I'm just…" He trailed off when Lee looked at him. His eyes seemed to look right through him, examining every nuance, every word he said, every move he made. "I'm glad you're back on board," he eventually forced out, hoping that for once, Lee would understand what he wasn't saying.
He breathed out softly when Lee nodded, his face softening. "Yeah. I'm glad to be back on board," he said, a hint of humor coloring his voice.
Bill got to his feet and Lee put his hands behind his head, frowning up at the ceiling. "And now, I'm back to counting the seconds until I'm sprung from his place."
Bill could only pat his leg comfortingly and leave before Lee decided to take out his frustration on him.
*
It took ten days for Cottle to release Lee for light duty, threatening dire consequences if Lee stretched the limits of what light was supposed to mean.
As if he was going to be able to steal a Viper and offer himself an unauthorized flight.
As if Kara was going to allow him to hurry his way through recovery. "This is my payback for when you played mother hen after I crashed," she told him gleefully when he took possession of his rack again.
"Don't call me mother hen ever again," he replied. Not the snappiest comeback ever, but nothing else came to mind.
She left, shaking her head, and he resisted the absurd urge to stick out his tongue at her; after all, Hotdog and Racetrack were looking on and he had to set an example.
So, he took the high road, and instead of following her to engage in a pissing contest, he wandered the corridors for a while, wondering what he could do. His whole life had been centered around work for so long that he didn't know what to do with himself when he wasn't on duty. An evening off was fine but he was facing at least another week of… this, before Cottle allowed him to resume his duties.
Yup, still bored, he thought, his steps leading him straight to the CAG office. He stood in front of the hatch for a while, then shrugged, knocked, and stepped in when he got no answer. Kara was probably using it since she was covering for him, but she wasn't in for now. He might as well take the opportunity to enjoy some time to himself. After over a week stuck in sickbay, some privacy would be welcome.
He should probably get to work on his report. His memories still didn't add up to anything truly coherent, but Cottle didn't think that it was likely to get any better. "Learn to live with it," he told Lee at some point. Letting go of points of concern and just living with it wasn't something Lee was very good at, but at this point, trying to assemble the pieces of the puzzle was wearing on his nerves.
He picked up a chair and studied the papers strewn on the desk in front of him.
Kara had never hidden her disdain for paperwork, but the sight was impressive, even for her. He smiled softly, but the smile faded as he remembered waking up in the infirmary, hands around her throat. They hadn't had any chance to discuss it in private yet, but what could he say to her after that, anyway?
"Sorry I tried to kill you," was likely to earn him a punch in the face for being too direct and for breaking their tacit agreement not to discuss those kind of things.
"Thanks for saving my life," was likely to make her laugh and mock him for days, if not weeks. Kara wasn't really big on having deep discussions-at least not when he was ready to have them.
"Thank you," no more said, would just annoy her.
A rustling sound from the entrance got him to look up just as he was deciding that the situation was hopeless. His father was staring at him from the doorway.
"Commander," Lee said, getting to his feet.
"Lee," his father replied. "Cottle finally let you go, then?" He came into the room and closed the hatch behind him, gesturing for Lee to sit, then took the lone chair in front of the desk.
Lee shrugged. "Yeah. I think he got sick of me asking."
"I don't think Cottle can get sick of people begging out. In fact, he probably enjoys hearing people begging out."
While Lee recognized the doctor's value (where would they all be without him?), it felt good to smile about it, now that he wasn't stuck in sickbay any longer.
"You're working on your report?"
Lee looked down at the papers on his desk, covered in Kara's handwriting. He could see an inventory report, old flight rosters with annotations all over them, and sit-rep sheets. Obviously, she didn't believe in filing-but then, as she was covering for him and they were one pilot short, she had excuses. "Yeah," he said, as his father was still waiting for a reply. He shuffled the papers absently, but his mind wasn't in putting them in order.
He hated not being able to remember, hated the thought that he had been frakked up enough to try to kill Kara, hated the fact that he had almost allowed himself to be taken prisoner down there.
What if Leoben had shown up at a point when I didn't remember anything about Cylons looking human? What if he had walked to me when I was unconscious, when I was sleeping? What if-?
"I'm sorry," he said, cutting off his own thoughts. He faced his father. "Looks like I lost this round."
The cut-the-crap commander's voice was softened by something like pride when his father said, "You survived almost three days on hostile territory with a head injury and a bad fever and you managed to evade capture. You're still alive. I'd say you did just fine."
Lee looked up in surprise as his father rested his hands on the desk, covering a performance report. "I'm the one who should apologize."
"What for?" Lee asked.
"I told you we wouldn't leave. I told you we'd come back for you." His father was looking at him, offering no excuse or explanations, awaiting his judgment without comment, and Lee couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound stupid or petty or childish.
He knew how close the Fleet had come to leaving him behind, and he had mixed feelings about that. He understood the reasoning behind the decision and he even agreed with it, but he couldn't help being relieved that they had stayed long enough to rescue him, and guilty because he didn't think they would have tried so hard if he hadn't been his father's son (and how ironic was that, considering how hard he had struggled all his life to avoid being seen as a daddy's boy?), and, he might as well admit it, angry and hurt that they had considered leaving without him.
"If it was you, we'd never leave."
Back then, he hadn't believed it for more than a few seconds. He knew his father had told him what he needed to hear, but he had never thought that he would actually keep his promise. There was too much at stake, they had too few resources and too little hope of saving themselves to waste time fighting on a lost cause.
And yet, here he was-because his father had come back for him, risking other pilots' lives to save his, looking for three days.
In light of the fact that his father had missed out on most of his and Zak's childhoods, Lee may be entitled to ask for more, ask of his father that he prove himself again and again. The question was, should he?
"We were about to leave," his father said, his voice laced with regret.
"But you didn't," Lee replied.
The fact that his father had come back had to mean more than the fact that in the end, he had been ready to sacrifice Lee in order to save the rest of the Fleet.
His father looked old and weary, and Lee went on, hoping that for once, he'd be able to make his father's life easier, not worse. "You did come back." And he knew enough to know that his father must have fought for the right to do so, for the right to put the Fleet in danger for his sake.
"Three days is staying," he insisted, because his father still didn't look convinced.
Yes, he was torn. As an officer understood about necessary sacrifices, about putting the lives of the many before the lives of the few (more so now that before the attacks), but he was also a human being who didn't want to die any time soon.
"I was terrified," he wanted to say. "I didn't want to die alone." He didn't see himself being that honest, though-especially not with his father.
He didn't think it would be a good idea to tell him that he would probably have blamed him for leaving him behind, if it had come to that and he had been lucid enough to notice.
His father was looking at his hands, splayed on the papers of the desk. His wedding band was still shining on his finger, a testament to the fact that his father was no better at letting go of the past than Lee was.
He put his own hand on top of his father's, noticing how they tensed at the touch.
He waited for his father to look at him, held his eyes. "Thank you," he said, hoping his father would take it as the absolution it was meant to be.
*
Kara was doing crunches when Lee entered the bunkroom, taking her time to give the muscles a real workout. Between taking over the CAG's duties and trying to figure out a way to make a flight roster that would allow them to be efficient while Apollo was out of commission, she hadn't had time to focus on physical training as much as she would have liked.
She needed to blow off some steam.
For a few moments, she went on like he wasn't there, only stopping when she realized that he was staring at her like he didn't recognize her. She paused mid-movement, her back a few inches from the floor, and frowned up at him.
"Lee?" she called, uncomfortably reminded of his vacant expression on the planet.
He shook his head distractedly, nodded in greeting and went to his locker. She rested her elbows on the floor and watched on as he took out his running shoes.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Cottle cleared me to go running." He got his hands on his running shorts, and shot her a look. "Wanna come?" he asked.
"As if I'd miss an opportunity to watch you take your first steps, Apollo," she replied, getting to her feet.
"You're going to be a pain, aren't you?" he asked, undoing his belt.
She gave him a mocking grin. "No, your leg is going to be a pain. The lack of exercise in the last two weeks is going to be a pain." She put a foot on the table and stretched her leg as he hurriedly took off his pants. "I'm just going to be here, making fun of you every step of the way," she added.
He put on his short and shoes, turning his back to her as he knotted the laces. She waited for him as he went through his own warm-up routine, making a show of checking her watch and shifting from one foot to the other. "I'm starting to think that maybe it was a bad idea, after all," he said.
"Too bad, Apollo," she replied. "You don't get to rethink this one."
She headed to the door without waiting for him, leaving him to hurry after her.
Because she remembered that he had tried to help her when she had busted her knee, she didn't try to run him into the ground. It was clear that he was still favoring his leg and she knew from experience that taking up running again after two weeks wasn't easy.
It didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy this a least a little, though. Gods knew he had teased her enough when she had been in his place. "Have you always been so damn slow, Apollo?" she called over her shoulder, goading him.
He ignored her, taking a deep breath instead of wasting energy replying to her.
"You can do better than that."
"Whatever you say, Starbuck," he replied distractedly. He was slowing down and when she turned to make sure he was fine, he had stopped completely and was staring around, white-faced and breathless.
"Apollo?" she called, when he started to rub the spot where his leg had been injured.
He blinked and the confused expression vanished from his face as quickly as it had come.
"You want to stop?"
His reply shot out sharp and fast. "No!"
Surprised at his forcefulness, she opened her mouth to ask if he was sure, but he was quicker. "It's okay," he said. "Just…" He gave a nervous chuckle, a little winded. "I think I may have broken my personal speed record, down there."
She bit her lip. He seemed to be waiting for an answer, so she said, "And no one was there to see it, so I guess we only have your word."
"Oh, the despair of it all," he shot back. He took off again and she muffled a curse, darting in after him. For a while, they ran in silence, nodding to a few people on the way, adjusting their pace to one another's. This was like flying together-their movements harmonized as if they shared a brain.
They turned a corner and Lee almost bumped into the Commander, who shot both of them an amused glance as Lee saluted sloppily, not stopping.
"Do you hear something, Lieutenant?" the Commander asked her as she passed him.
"Nothing but the rain, Sir," she called back.
"Same here," Lee threw in, then picked up his pace.
"Oh, no, you don't," Kara said, rushing after him. "If you think for a second that I'm going to allow you to get your sorry ass into the shower before I can…"
"Big words, Starbuck. Big words."
She caught up with him easily and they kept running, their steps and breathing in synch.
Just like flying.
end