BSG Fic: Untitled (6/8)
Title: The One Where Lee... (6/8)
Author:
helen_c
Rating: PG-13
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.
Chapter 5
New Caprica City
Day 445
"I told you the Old Man would come," Tigh said.
He had, too. Ad nauseam and with such conviction that most of the former military also believed it.
James found that kind of faith admirable, and sometimes wished he could share it.
Sure, the Old Man was his father, but that didn't mean he would have bet any money on the Galactica coming back for them.
"What now?" he asked, because he didn't want to dwell on the reasons why his father had come back.
Sam pushed a gun in his hand. He looked ready for war. So did everyone in the tent.
What am I doing here? James wondered, a little dizzy. Almost all of them were soldiers, or part of the former Caprican resistance. There were only about a dozen civilians like him-looking terrified and out of their depth.
"I'm going to go look for Kara," Sam said.
Tigh looked about to protest. Sam didn't allow him to talk. "I'm not leaving without her."
"You're talking about breaking her out of the most secure building on the damn planet," Tigh pointed out.
"So?" Sam looked him in the eye.
Tigh looked away first. "Have it your way."
"Oh, I will." Sam smiled a smile that made James' blood run cold-and made him want to go with him. "I'm taking five people with me. Don't feel like you have to-"
Unsurprisingly, five members of the former Caprica resistance stepped to him before he was done talking.
Sam looked around. "Everyone else, gather the civilians, help them get to the ships and take off safely."
He left, his team close behind.
James swallowed, the gun in his hand feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds.
"You ever fired a gun?" Tyrol asked him discreetly.
"Fake ones in fairs," he replied, keeping his voice quiet.
Tyrol smiled. "Same principle. Don't use it unless you have to. Hopefully, you won't need it."
"Right." Because after all, they were only escaping an occupied planet and the Cylons were going to let them go without a fight, out of the goodness of their heart.
No reason why he should have to use a weapon.
"Be careful," Tyrol said.
James nodded. "You too." Tyrol was studying his wife and kid with concerned eyes and James couldn’t help feeling selfishly relieved. At least, he only had himself to worry about. He didn't know how he would have managed if he'd had a family to care for down here.
He turned on his heels and left before he could lose his nerve.
*
Battlestar Galactica
One month before the presidential election
The words flew out of James' mouth before he could think about them. "This is never going to work, is it?"
He tried not to allow his father's stricken face to get to him. He may not know a lot about families and how they worked, but he knew that whatever they were doing, he and his father were going at it the wrong way.
"What's not going to work?"
James gestured vaguely at the space between them. "This." He sighed. "Come on, we've barely spoken five words to each other in the last hour." He glanced down at his glass. "I don't know what to say to you." That wasn't a new feeling, though he had never said it so plainly before.
His father leaned back on his seat. "I know." He looked tired beyond words-enough so that James wondered how he managed to get out of bed every day. "I don't know how to talk to you, either. I didn't know back then either, apparently."
James smiled bitterly. "I can't give you the answers you need," he said. What else do you want from me?
Aren't I useless to you if I can't give you that?
His father's face seemed set in stone, as unreadable as that of a statue, and James felt his heartbeat quicken. The man unnerved him, even after all this time. He wondered whether that had always been the case. And what do you know, you can't give me the answers I need either.
"You're mad at me, aren't you?" he asked, not caring that he sounded like a ten-year-old who'd accidentally smashed a window, instead of the man he had become.
It took seventy-eight seconds (James counted) until his father nodded, however reluctantly. "You just… left."
He didn't add, "Without saying goodbye" but James heard it clearly.
He didn't think that now was a good time to tell his father that he had never been good at goodbyes, that all his almost-serious relationships in the last seven years had ended without a bang, but with him quietly walking out on the few women who had taken a chance on him.
Oh, sure, there was always a good excuse-It wasn't serious in the first place. His ship was leaving. She didn't love him. He didn't love her.
The truth was, he didn't want to get involved with anyone. Friends, he could live with.
Anything more than that, and he wanted to run.
He didn't know why, didn't want to know.
"You left," his father repeated, and he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and James balled his hands into fists. He hadn't noticed how cold they were until now.
"I don't remember." It sounded like yet another pitiful excuse to himself.
Hell, it didn't sound like an excuse at all.
"And I shouldn't be mad at you because of that. But I still am!" His father clenched his jaw hard enough that James was surprised not to hear his teeth grinding together. "It's not fair, it's not rational, but I'm only human, Lee! You're my son. Even if you don't remember that, you're still..." He breathed out deeply, ending on a whisper. "My son."
It took James a while to break the following silence. "Then, I guess we have a problem." I can't be that to you, any more. I'm sorry, but I can't be something I'm not.
"Yes." His father leaned back on the cushions as if all strength had left him. "I'd say we have."
*
New Caprica City
Day 445
It'll be all right, it'll be all right, it'll be all right, it'll be all right, it'll be all right, it'll be all right-James chanted under his breath, too low for the others to hear him.
The clanking of metal growing nearer could only mean one thing.
Centurion.
Or, even better, several of them.
He listened more closely, crouching behind abandoned crates. Mal was breathing fast next to him, his son cradled protectively against him.
The kid was calm, his wide eyes taking in the scene-the twelve adults and six children, trying to cross to the closest ship without being detected.
Let them pass without noticing us, let them pass without noticing us , let them pass without noticing us, let them-
One of the women with them got to her feet and called, "Here," revealing their position.
"What are you doing?" Mal hissed.
James knew her.
She used to work with him. Used to make a lot of noise about how she wanted to join the resistance, seemingly without caring about whether or not the toasters heard her.
Collaborator, he thought, surprised at the anger and disgust he felt at the notion.
"Run," he said, his voice eerily calm.
He felt the others looking at him and he repeated, never taking his eyes off her, "Run."
He raised the gun, pointing it at her head.
The rest of the group scattered, keeping crouched, trying to find cover wherever they could.
This is going to be a massacre, James thought.
Mal hadn't moved from his spot, but his son was no longer there.
"Where's-" James whispered.
"Sent him with the others."
"Go," James said.
The Centurions had spotted them, were walking to them.
Astonishingly, James didn't feel scared.
He was going to die, and right this moment, he was okay with that.
"It's hopeless," the woman-Kareen, James remembered now-said. "They'll win eventually."
"That's no reason to make it easier for them," Mal replied.
"You won't shoot," she told James.
There was a deafening detonation and her head exploded, blood spraying over James and Mal, the crates behind which they were still hiding, the ground.
James felt his heart rise in his throat and swallowed back convulsively.
Mal had drawn a gun from under his jacket. "You're part of the resistance?" James asked.
He shook his head. "No." He looked frightening with all the blood on his hair and face. "Just a citizen feeling concerned and involved in the life of his community." He smiled.
We're going to die.
Feeling like he was dreaming, James turned his gun in the direction of the centurions and fired, again and again and again, barely aware of the bullets flying around him, the noise, the recoil of the weapon as he fired-much stronger than he expected.
When he came back to himself, it was over.
The centurions were on the ground, holes bigger than James' fist in their armors.
His arm hurt all over. He looked down at the gun. Bastards gave me explosive rounds. Frak.
"Maybe a word of warning, next time," he muttered to himself.
Then, he saw Mal-still smiling widely but grimacing at the same time, holding his chest.
Bleeding on the ground.
"No," James said, dropping to his knees.
"Go," Mal said. "Others will come."
Blood came out of his mouth with every word.
Not good.
Oh frak.
"Don't be stupid," James replied. All over the settlement, now, he could hear gunfire, screams and yells. "I'll go get help and-"
"Take care of my son," Mal said, growing whiter with each second.
James shook him. "Frak. Mal! Don't do this!" He tried to keep his tone light, feeling like he might get sick if this became real. "You know I can barely keep a plant alive for more than five minutes, I-"
It was too late, he realized.
Mal had stopped breathing and he could see that the blood wasn't running as quickly as before.
He's dead.
Frak, frak, frak, frak, frak, frak, frak.
"Mal?" he called again, stupidly, knowing it was useless but trying anyway.
Miracles didn't often happen-at least not that kind of miracles.
Mal didn't reply.
For a long time-longer than was reasonable-James knelt next to the body, the cold of the ground seeping through his clothes, his skin, his flesh, right down to his bones.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm really sorry."
There was nothing more he could do here.
Take care of my son.
"Frak you," he told the body of his friend.
He got to his feet. He didn't want to leave Mal here, for the Cylons to find, but he needed to move fast and he couldn't carry him to the ship-not if he wanted to make it out of here alive.
"Just... Frak you."
Heart in his throat, he did the only thing he could and fled before more Centurions came.
Chapter 6
Author:
helen_c
Rating: PG-13
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.
Chapter 5
New Caprica City
Day 445
"I told you the Old Man would come," Tigh said.
He had, too. Ad nauseam and with such conviction that most of the former military also believed it.
James found that kind of faith admirable, and sometimes wished he could share it.
Sure, the Old Man was his father, but that didn't mean he would have bet any money on the Galactica coming back for them.
"What now?" he asked, because he didn't want to dwell on the reasons why his father had come back.
Sam pushed a gun in his hand. He looked ready for war. So did everyone in the tent.
What am I doing here? James wondered, a little dizzy. Almost all of them were soldiers, or part of the former Caprican resistance. There were only about a dozen civilians like him-looking terrified and out of their depth.
"I'm going to go look for Kara," Sam said.
Tigh looked about to protest. Sam didn't allow him to talk. "I'm not leaving without her."
"You're talking about breaking her out of the most secure building on the damn planet," Tigh pointed out.
"So?" Sam looked him in the eye.
Tigh looked away first. "Have it your way."
"Oh, I will." Sam smiled a smile that made James' blood run cold-and made him want to go with him. "I'm taking five people with me. Don't feel like you have to-"
Unsurprisingly, five members of the former Caprica resistance stepped to him before he was done talking.
Sam looked around. "Everyone else, gather the civilians, help them get to the ships and take off safely."
He left, his team close behind.
James swallowed, the gun in his hand feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds.
"You ever fired a gun?" Tyrol asked him discreetly.
"Fake ones in fairs," he replied, keeping his voice quiet.
Tyrol smiled. "Same principle. Don't use it unless you have to. Hopefully, you won't need it."
"Right." Because after all, they were only escaping an occupied planet and the Cylons were going to let them go without a fight, out of the goodness of their heart.
No reason why he should have to use a weapon.
"Be careful," Tyrol said.
James nodded. "You too." Tyrol was studying his wife and kid with concerned eyes and James couldn’t help feeling selfishly relieved. At least, he only had himself to worry about. He didn't know how he would have managed if he'd had a family to care for down here.
He turned on his heels and left before he could lose his nerve.
*
Battlestar Galactica
One month before the presidential election
The words flew out of James' mouth before he could think about them. "This is never going to work, is it?"
He tried not to allow his father's stricken face to get to him. He may not know a lot about families and how they worked, but he knew that whatever they were doing, he and his father were going at it the wrong way.
"What's not going to work?"
James gestured vaguely at the space between them. "This." He sighed. "Come on, we've barely spoken five words to each other in the last hour." He glanced down at his glass. "I don't know what to say to you." That wasn't a new feeling, though he had never said it so plainly before.
His father leaned back on his seat. "I know." He looked tired beyond words-enough so that James wondered how he managed to get out of bed every day. "I don't know how to talk to you, either. I didn't know back then either, apparently."
James smiled bitterly. "I can't give you the answers you need," he said. What else do you want from me?
Aren't I useless to you if I can't give you that?
His father's face seemed set in stone, as unreadable as that of a statue, and James felt his heartbeat quicken. The man unnerved him, even after all this time. He wondered whether that had always been the case. And what do you know, you can't give me the answers I need either.
"You're mad at me, aren't you?" he asked, not caring that he sounded like a ten-year-old who'd accidentally smashed a window, instead of the man he had become.
It took seventy-eight seconds (James counted) until his father nodded, however reluctantly. "You just… left."
He didn't add, "Without saying goodbye" but James heard it clearly.
He didn't think that now was a good time to tell his father that he had never been good at goodbyes, that all his almost-serious relationships in the last seven years had ended without a bang, but with him quietly walking out on the few women who had taken a chance on him.
Oh, sure, there was always a good excuse-It wasn't serious in the first place. His ship was leaving. She didn't love him. He didn't love her.
The truth was, he didn't want to get involved with anyone. Friends, he could live with.
Anything more than that, and he wanted to run.
He didn't know why, didn't want to know.
"You left," his father repeated, and he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and James balled his hands into fists. He hadn't noticed how cold they were until now.
"I don't remember." It sounded like yet another pitiful excuse to himself.
Hell, it didn't sound like an excuse at all.
"And I shouldn't be mad at you because of that. But I still am!" His father clenched his jaw hard enough that James was surprised not to hear his teeth grinding together. "It's not fair, it's not rational, but I'm only human, Lee! You're my son. Even if you don't remember that, you're still..." He breathed out deeply, ending on a whisper. "My son."
It took James a while to break the following silence. "Then, I guess we have a problem." I can't be that to you, any more. I'm sorry, but I can't be something I'm not.
"Yes." His father leaned back on the cushions as if all strength had left him. "I'd say we have."
*
New Caprica City
Day 445
It'll be all right, it'll be all right, it'll be all right, it'll be all right, it'll be all right, it'll be all right-James chanted under his breath, too low for the others to hear him.
The clanking of metal growing nearer could only mean one thing.
Centurion.
Or, even better, several of them.
He listened more closely, crouching behind abandoned crates. Mal was breathing fast next to him, his son cradled protectively against him.
The kid was calm, his wide eyes taking in the scene-the twelve adults and six children, trying to cross to the closest ship without being detected.
Let them pass without noticing us, let them pass without noticing us , let them pass without noticing us, let them-
One of the women with them got to her feet and called, "Here," revealing their position.
"What are you doing?" Mal hissed.
James knew her.
She used to work with him. Used to make a lot of noise about how she wanted to join the resistance, seemingly without caring about whether or not the toasters heard her.
Collaborator, he thought, surprised at the anger and disgust he felt at the notion.
"Run," he said, his voice eerily calm.
He felt the others looking at him and he repeated, never taking his eyes off her, "Run."
He raised the gun, pointing it at her head.
The rest of the group scattered, keeping crouched, trying to find cover wherever they could.
This is going to be a massacre, James thought.
Mal hadn't moved from his spot, but his son was no longer there.
"Where's-" James whispered.
"Sent him with the others."
"Go," James said.
The Centurions had spotted them, were walking to them.
Astonishingly, James didn't feel scared.
He was going to die, and right this moment, he was okay with that.
"It's hopeless," the woman-Kareen, James remembered now-said. "They'll win eventually."
"That's no reason to make it easier for them," Mal replied.
"You won't shoot," she told James.
There was a deafening detonation and her head exploded, blood spraying over James and Mal, the crates behind which they were still hiding, the ground.
James felt his heart rise in his throat and swallowed back convulsively.
Mal had drawn a gun from under his jacket. "You're part of the resistance?" James asked.
He shook his head. "No." He looked frightening with all the blood on his hair and face. "Just a citizen feeling concerned and involved in the life of his community." He smiled.
We're going to die.
Feeling like he was dreaming, James turned his gun in the direction of the centurions and fired, again and again and again, barely aware of the bullets flying around him, the noise, the recoil of the weapon as he fired-much stronger than he expected.
When he came back to himself, it was over.
The centurions were on the ground, holes bigger than James' fist in their armors.
His arm hurt all over. He looked down at the gun. Bastards gave me explosive rounds. Frak.
"Maybe a word of warning, next time," he muttered to himself.
Then, he saw Mal-still smiling widely but grimacing at the same time, holding his chest.
Bleeding on the ground.
"No," James said, dropping to his knees.
"Go," Mal said. "Others will come."
Blood came out of his mouth with every word.
Not good.
Oh frak.
"Don't be stupid," James replied. All over the settlement, now, he could hear gunfire, screams and yells. "I'll go get help and-"
"Take care of my son," Mal said, growing whiter with each second.
James shook him. "Frak. Mal! Don't do this!" He tried to keep his tone light, feeling like he might get sick if this became real. "You know I can barely keep a plant alive for more than five minutes, I-"
It was too late, he realized.
Mal had stopped breathing and he could see that the blood wasn't running as quickly as before.
He's dead.
Frak, frak, frak, frak, frak, frak, frak.
"Mal?" he called again, stupidly, knowing it was useless but trying anyway.
Miracles didn't often happen-at least not that kind of miracles.
Mal didn't reply.
For a long time-longer than was reasonable-James knelt next to the body, the cold of the ground seeping through his clothes, his skin, his flesh, right down to his bones.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm really sorry."
There was nothing more he could do here.
Take care of my son.
"Frak you," he told the body of his friend.
He got to his feet. He didn't want to leave Mal here, for the Cylons to find, but he needed to move fast and he couldn't carry him to the ship-not if he wanted to make it out of here alive.
"Just... Frak you."
Heart in his throat, he did the only thing he could and fled before more Centurions came.
Chapter 6