BSG Fic: Untitled (3/8)
Title: The One Where Lee... (3/8)
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 2
New Caprica City
Day 58
"Are you sure you want to stay down here?" Mal asked.
It was the tenth time they'd had this discussion in as many days and Mal wasn't the kind of man to dwell on decisions once they'd been made-whether his own decisions or those of others. His insistence went to show how worried he was.
"Still sure," James replied. "Just as I was yesterday and will be tomorrow."
The ships that remained in orbit, when contacted, all said that they didn't need other pilots. They might have changed their mind if James had pushed (two of the Captains owed him favors) but he preferred to leave it at that.
I gave it a try.
There's nothing more I could do.
It sounded too much like a lie for him to tell that to Mal, though.
"Look," Mal started. He looked around and eventually perched on the edge of the crate James was using as a table. Many people complained about the lack of luxuries down here, but he had lived on cramped ships for so long that having his own tent and the relative privacy that came with it felt like luxury enough.
Mal was waiting and James sighed, gesturing for him to go on. The man was going to tell him what he had on his mind anyway-if not today, then tomorrow, or the day after that.
He might as well get it over with.
"We've know each other for seven years, and in all that time, you've never really talked about your family, and you've never really stopped looking for it either, am I right?"
"I never talked about it because I couldn't remember anything," James replied. "There was nothing to say." Now, I know. For all the good that does me.
"But there's your father now."
"Yeah, there is." James sat down on the bed, resisted the urge to rub his eyes (damn, but helping to build this settlement was kicking his ass) and waited for Mal to get to the point.
"I know it's not easy, but..." He looked worried when he asked, "Are you sure you're not going to regret it?"
No, he wasn't sure.
Of course, he wasn't.
But he needed some distance, some time to put his thoughts into order, to deal with-well, with the disappointment, he might as well admit it.
It wasn't just that the Admiral was a tough man to talk to, although he was.
It was everything about his life, about who he was, that he needed to figure out.
Since the accident that had caused the head injury that had either rendered his memories inaccessible or erased them, he had been James Clark, twenty-seven, pilot, a man without a family, without a past.
The day the Admiral recognized him during a meeting on Colonial One, he suddenly became Lee Adama, twenty-five, son of William and Carolanne, brother of Zak (the latter two deceased) and with that new name had come a lot of expectations he didn't know how to deal with.
He had always thought that the day he found his family again, they would be able to answer some of his questions.
It turned out that his father knew very little about his life in the past, or the reasons why he had been so far away from his family when the accident happened.
He had always thought that it would be like in a book; his parents would see him on the street, recognize him, embrace him and… what?
He had never thought further than that. What had he expected? His childhood room? His old friends, who would know him better than he knew himself?
His old life back?
Well, he had found his family, or what was left of it, but no one had handed him a user manual to go with it. He didn't know how he was supposed to fit in his father's life, how he was supposed to relate to him, who he used to be, who he should be.
If nothing else, he was more confused than before.
Certainly, he felt more lonely than he had in a long time. His father was within his reach now, only a call away, and James didn't have the first clue as to how to reach out to the man, how to talk to him.
Before they found one another, James at least had the hope that somehow, some day, everything would get better.
Now, it didn't seem like it ever would.
"It's okay," he told Mal, who was waiting patiently. "It's better this way."
Maybe some distance, some time, is just what we need.
Maybe things will get less muddled if we're not trying so hard to make it work.
The day was getting darker and James shook himself. He needed to go see if there was something vaguely comestible at the mess, and Mal was going to be late to pick up his son from the makeshift school that was starting to run in one of the downed ships.
"If you need anything," Mal started.
"It's okay." James smiled, hoping he was more convincing than he felt. "But thanks."
He had always been a big believer in talking to resolve things (and in not pulling his punches when talking didn't work out) but in this particular case, the situation was going to require a lot more than words.
*
Battlestar Galactica
25 days after the fall of the colonies
James didn't know why he followed the Commander to the Galactica.
Sure, he had been waiting for a long time for someone to walk to him and say, "I know you, where were you all that time?" but he hadn't expected it to happen now-after the end of the world-and certainly not without warning.
What did you think would happen? he chastised himself. Did you think a stranger in a dark coat was going to whisper as you passed him on the street, that four days from now, you'd find your family?
Any other day, the idea would have made him smile.
Today, nothing seemed even remotely amusing.
He was following the Commander down hallways and it dawned on him that he would be unable to find his way back to the landing deck on his own. Cheerful thought, considering he didn't know the man.
He's the Commander of the fleet, he reminded himself.
Which didn't make him a nice man, or a good man.
He hadn't said a word since they had left Colonial One.
Neither had the Commander.
The Marines that had been following them since they had set foot on the Galactica stopped and positioned themselves on each side of a hatch. The Commander didn't so much as look at them, didn't even look back to see if James was still following him.
He just entered the room like he didn't doubt that everyone else was behaving according to his plans.
James stopped in front of the hatch and waited.
It took a few seconds for the Commander to turn back and say, "Please, come in."
There were hundreds of questions clamoring for James' attention, but the hallway wasn't the best place to start addressing them. Besides, it would have been pretty stupid to follow the man so far, and then not see it through.
He entered.
One of the Marines closed the hatch behind him.
Feeling trapped, James stayed rooted where he was, feeling self-conscious under the Commander's eyes.
The man was studying him, his face giving nothing away.
James made a note never to play triads with him-it was deeply unnerving to be unable to guess what was going on behind that mask, especially when it was pretty obvious that he was a warrior-dangerous.
And he's... family? James thought, something in him rebelling at the idea.
"Sit," the Commander offered. It sounded more like an order than an invitation-clearly, he was used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
"It's okay," James replied, aware this was growing ridiculous-at the very least, he might as well get all the way in, instead of staying near the hatch like he was ready to make a run for it.
The Commander sighed and sat in a chair, facing slightly away from James. He didn't look at him when he started, "My son disappeared when he was sixteen." The man's voice was deep and graveling, but he wasn't hesitating. No pause between words, no interrogation. "It was ten years ago, which would make him about your age," he continued. "He…"
He trailed off. Uncertainty, at last-a sign that the man was indeed human, and not as unaffected as he appeared to be.
"You think I'm him," James said, and it wasn't a question. His voice didn't shake, and he wondered, for the first time, what the Commander thought of him. Did he look as weirded out, as shaken as he felt, or did he look as impassive as the man in front of him?
The Commander-the man who had, pretty much single-handedly, saved them all and who was trying to lead them to safety-looked at him, face set in stone.
He didn't say anything.
James felt a cold finger of panic caress his neck, a ball of lead forming in the pit of his stomach. "That's-" he started. He had to stop talking, his voice suddenly uncooperative.
After everything that had happened, after everything they had all lost, after seven years spent wondering who he was and whether his family even missed him, it couldn't be.
It was just too coincidental.
He couldn't believe it. Not here, not now.
Not like this.
But what did you expect?
"Lee," the Commander said.
James cut him off, more harshly than he had intended to. "James!" he all but yelled. Then, in a calmer voice, he added, "It's James."
For a second, the carefully controlled mask of the Commander slipped away and James saw anger there. The mask was back on so quickly he couldn't be sure he hadn't dreamed it, though. "Damn it, Lee! After everything that happened, don't you think-"
This time, James shouted. "I'm James!" His fists were clenched, his chest heaving, and oh frak, one of the Marines standing guard outside the hatch was peering in, and the Commander was dismissing him with a wave of his hand, never taking his eyes off James.
There was a long silence, so long it seemed like it lasted several days.
Feeling like he could lie down and sleep right there on the floor, James made his way to the couch, sitting as far away from the Commander as he could.
The man was waiting, his fingers squeezed into fists.
A wedding band was shining on his finger.
"You married?" James asked hoarsely. He could barely recognize his own voice.
"We divorced a few years before the attacks." The Commander shifted in his chair with a sigh. "She was on Caprica when the Cylons... Well."
Eyes trained on the table in front of him, James said, "I woke up in a hospital seven years ago. I didn't know my name. I was told it was James Clark. I was told I was twenty-one. I was told I had been working on a freighter ship and there was an accident and my shipmates took me to the hospital, then left after saying my name and my age, and nothing else." He gave a short, mirthless chuckle. "They didn't even say which ship they were working on, so I could never find them, ask them questions." He met the Commander's eyes, tried and failed to interpret what he was seeing in them. "And that's pretty much all I can tell you about me."
It was pitifully little. He didn't even know if he had a wife, kids, living parents, siblings, grandparents, a pet. He didn't know on which planet he was born. He didn't know what his birthday was. He didn't know what he used to like, what he used to hate, whether he had many friends as a child or not.
And none of that mattered now that the world was over. Even if he got his answers, what good would it do to him? Thanks to the damn toasters, it was too late to recapture the past, as he had once dreamed would happen.
"Nothing else?" the Commander asked. He didn't sound like he didn't believe him; more like he just needed to say it out loud to convince himself.
"No," James said, hating how final it sounded.
He swallowed, refusing to think about the hours spent in his bunk, staring at the bulkheads, trying to remember something, anything, digging into his memory until he got a headache, until he wanted to shout, to lash out at someone or something in rage and frustration and helplessness.
"You are my son," the Commander said.
James closed his eyes. "How can you be so sure?" he asked. Convince me.
*
New Caprica City
Day 416
James was alone in his tent when Galen Tyrol walked in, followed by Sam Anders.
Both looked grimy and exhausted, even in the poor light of the end of the day.
"Guys," James said.
Everyone knew or suspected that these two were behind the resistance movement that was spreading on New Caprica.
A hopeless cause, some people claimed. Why bother fighting back, since they were all lost anyway?
But the resistance was garnering more support and sympathy every day among the population-even if the arbitrary arrests and the restrictions decided by the Cylons in reprisal made life that much more difficult, that much less worth living.
After all, what did they have to lose?
James had let it drop once, when only Tyrol could hear, that he was sympathetic to the cause.
Tyrol had, in turn, hinted that they had a few people in a position to help them, that they would contact them on a need-to basis. Until then, he had added, these people would help by laying low and not getting themselves noticed and arrested-or worse.
The Cylons had no reason to distrust James, but no reason to trust him either, and he intended to keep it that way as long as he could.
"Is it a good idea for you both to be here?" he asked.
Sam whispered, "No one saw us, we were careful. But if someone did see us, well..."
He took a deck of cards out of his pocket. "They haven't forbidden card games, yet."
James nodded and pushed a crate in the middle of the tent. They all sat around it, and Sam shuffled the cards. "Don't say that too loud," James said. "They might hear you and get ideas."
Tyrol snorted and muttered something under his breath. Knowing him, it wasn't very complimentary to toasters.
"How's the job going?" Sam asked.
James was part of a small team in charge of distributing some of the supplies in the settlement. So far, the Cylons hadn't made any overt attempt at replacing them with people they trusted more.
James tried not to think about what would happen the day they decided to change their minds.
"Okay. So far."
Sam nodded and exchanged a glance with Tyrol.
For a moment, they played in silence, but James' mind wasn't on the game.
At the end of the first hand, Tyrol said, "We think someone on your team is feeding information to the Cylons."
James shrugged. He didn't know his co-workers that well; they didn't have the time or the inclination to socialize.
Everyone was too tired to socialize these days.
"Possible," he admitted.
"Can you try to find out for sure?"
James shrugged again. "I can. Not sure there'll be any hard evidence to find, though."
"Anything you can do would be appreciated," Tyrol replied.
They played another hand in silence. When it was done, Sam and Tyrol got to their feet. "Why would you help us?" Sam asked.
"Why are you doing it?" James retorted.
"Better die fast and useful than slow and useless," Sam replied without hesitation.
Not too long ago, James would have been horrified at the matter-of-fact tone the other man used.
Today, he just nodded and said, "Exactly."
Chapter 3
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 2
New Caprica City
Day 58
"Are you sure you want to stay down here?" Mal asked.
It was the tenth time they'd had this discussion in as many days and Mal wasn't the kind of man to dwell on decisions once they'd been made-whether his own decisions or those of others. His insistence went to show how worried he was.
"Still sure," James replied. "Just as I was yesterday and will be tomorrow."
The ships that remained in orbit, when contacted, all said that they didn't need other pilots. They might have changed their mind if James had pushed (two of the Captains owed him favors) but he preferred to leave it at that.
I gave it a try.
There's nothing more I could do.
It sounded too much like a lie for him to tell that to Mal, though.
"Look," Mal started. He looked around and eventually perched on the edge of the crate James was using as a table. Many people complained about the lack of luxuries down here, but he had lived on cramped ships for so long that having his own tent and the relative privacy that came with it felt like luxury enough.
Mal was waiting and James sighed, gesturing for him to go on. The man was going to tell him what he had on his mind anyway-if not today, then tomorrow, or the day after that.
He might as well get it over with.
"We've know each other for seven years, and in all that time, you've never really talked about your family, and you've never really stopped looking for it either, am I right?"
"I never talked about it because I couldn't remember anything," James replied. "There was nothing to say." Now, I know. For all the good that does me.
"But there's your father now."
"Yeah, there is." James sat down on the bed, resisted the urge to rub his eyes (damn, but helping to build this settlement was kicking his ass) and waited for Mal to get to the point.
"I know it's not easy, but..." He looked worried when he asked, "Are you sure you're not going to regret it?"
No, he wasn't sure.
Of course, he wasn't.
But he needed some distance, some time to put his thoughts into order, to deal with-well, with the disappointment, he might as well admit it.
It wasn't just that the Admiral was a tough man to talk to, although he was.
It was everything about his life, about who he was, that he needed to figure out.
Since the accident that had caused the head injury that had either rendered his memories inaccessible or erased them, he had been James Clark, twenty-seven, pilot, a man without a family, without a past.
The day the Admiral recognized him during a meeting on Colonial One, he suddenly became Lee Adama, twenty-five, son of William and Carolanne, brother of Zak (the latter two deceased) and with that new name had come a lot of expectations he didn't know how to deal with.
He had always thought that the day he found his family again, they would be able to answer some of his questions.
It turned out that his father knew very little about his life in the past, or the reasons why he had been so far away from his family when the accident happened.
He had always thought that it would be like in a book; his parents would see him on the street, recognize him, embrace him and… what?
He had never thought further than that. What had he expected? His childhood room? His old friends, who would know him better than he knew himself?
His old life back?
Well, he had found his family, or what was left of it, but no one had handed him a user manual to go with it. He didn't know how he was supposed to fit in his father's life, how he was supposed to relate to him, who he used to be, who he should be.
If nothing else, he was more confused than before.
Certainly, he felt more lonely than he had in a long time. His father was within his reach now, only a call away, and James didn't have the first clue as to how to reach out to the man, how to talk to him.
Before they found one another, James at least had the hope that somehow, some day, everything would get better.
Now, it didn't seem like it ever would.
"It's okay," he told Mal, who was waiting patiently. "It's better this way."
Maybe some distance, some time, is just what we need.
Maybe things will get less muddled if we're not trying so hard to make it work.
The day was getting darker and James shook himself. He needed to go see if there was something vaguely comestible at the mess, and Mal was going to be late to pick up his son from the makeshift school that was starting to run in one of the downed ships.
"If you need anything," Mal started.
"It's okay." James smiled, hoping he was more convincing than he felt. "But thanks."
He had always been a big believer in talking to resolve things (and in not pulling his punches when talking didn't work out) but in this particular case, the situation was going to require a lot more than words.
*
Battlestar Galactica
25 days after the fall of the colonies
James didn't know why he followed the Commander to the Galactica.
Sure, he had been waiting for a long time for someone to walk to him and say, "I know you, where were you all that time?" but he hadn't expected it to happen now-after the end of the world-and certainly not without warning.
What did you think would happen? he chastised himself. Did you think a stranger in a dark coat was going to whisper as you passed him on the street, that four days from now, you'd find your family?
Any other day, the idea would have made him smile.
Today, nothing seemed even remotely amusing.
He was following the Commander down hallways and it dawned on him that he would be unable to find his way back to the landing deck on his own. Cheerful thought, considering he didn't know the man.
He's the Commander of the fleet, he reminded himself.
Which didn't make him a nice man, or a good man.
He hadn't said a word since they had left Colonial One.
Neither had the Commander.
The Marines that had been following them since they had set foot on the Galactica stopped and positioned themselves on each side of a hatch. The Commander didn't so much as look at them, didn't even look back to see if James was still following him.
He just entered the room like he didn't doubt that everyone else was behaving according to his plans.
James stopped in front of the hatch and waited.
It took a few seconds for the Commander to turn back and say, "Please, come in."
There were hundreds of questions clamoring for James' attention, but the hallway wasn't the best place to start addressing them. Besides, it would have been pretty stupid to follow the man so far, and then not see it through.
He entered.
One of the Marines closed the hatch behind him.
Feeling trapped, James stayed rooted where he was, feeling self-conscious under the Commander's eyes.
The man was studying him, his face giving nothing away.
James made a note never to play triads with him-it was deeply unnerving to be unable to guess what was going on behind that mask, especially when it was pretty obvious that he was a warrior-dangerous.
And he's... family? James thought, something in him rebelling at the idea.
"Sit," the Commander offered. It sounded more like an order than an invitation-clearly, he was used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
"It's okay," James replied, aware this was growing ridiculous-at the very least, he might as well get all the way in, instead of staying near the hatch like he was ready to make a run for it.
The Commander sighed and sat in a chair, facing slightly away from James. He didn't look at him when he started, "My son disappeared when he was sixteen." The man's voice was deep and graveling, but he wasn't hesitating. No pause between words, no interrogation. "It was ten years ago, which would make him about your age," he continued. "He…"
He trailed off. Uncertainty, at last-a sign that the man was indeed human, and not as unaffected as he appeared to be.
"You think I'm him," James said, and it wasn't a question. His voice didn't shake, and he wondered, for the first time, what the Commander thought of him. Did he look as weirded out, as shaken as he felt, or did he look as impassive as the man in front of him?
The Commander-the man who had, pretty much single-handedly, saved them all and who was trying to lead them to safety-looked at him, face set in stone.
He didn't say anything.
James felt a cold finger of panic caress his neck, a ball of lead forming in the pit of his stomach. "That's-" he started. He had to stop talking, his voice suddenly uncooperative.
After everything that had happened, after everything they had all lost, after seven years spent wondering who he was and whether his family even missed him, it couldn't be.
It was just too coincidental.
He couldn't believe it. Not here, not now.
Not like this.
But what did you expect?
"Lee," the Commander said.
James cut him off, more harshly than he had intended to. "James!" he all but yelled. Then, in a calmer voice, he added, "It's James."
For a second, the carefully controlled mask of the Commander slipped away and James saw anger there. The mask was back on so quickly he couldn't be sure he hadn't dreamed it, though. "Damn it, Lee! After everything that happened, don't you think-"
This time, James shouted. "I'm James!" His fists were clenched, his chest heaving, and oh frak, one of the Marines standing guard outside the hatch was peering in, and the Commander was dismissing him with a wave of his hand, never taking his eyes off James.
There was a long silence, so long it seemed like it lasted several days.
Feeling like he could lie down and sleep right there on the floor, James made his way to the couch, sitting as far away from the Commander as he could.
The man was waiting, his fingers squeezed into fists.
A wedding band was shining on his finger.
"You married?" James asked hoarsely. He could barely recognize his own voice.
"We divorced a few years before the attacks." The Commander shifted in his chair with a sigh. "She was on Caprica when the Cylons... Well."
Eyes trained on the table in front of him, James said, "I woke up in a hospital seven years ago. I didn't know my name. I was told it was James Clark. I was told I was twenty-one. I was told I had been working on a freighter ship and there was an accident and my shipmates took me to the hospital, then left after saying my name and my age, and nothing else." He gave a short, mirthless chuckle. "They didn't even say which ship they were working on, so I could never find them, ask them questions." He met the Commander's eyes, tried and failed to interpret what he was seeing in them. "And that's pretty much all I can tell you about me."
It was pitifully little. He didn't even know if he had a wife, kids, living parents, siblings, grandparents, a pet. He didn't know on which planet he was born. He didn't know what his birthday was. He didn't know what he used to like, what he used to hate, whether he had many friends as a child or not.
And none of that mattered now that the world was over. Even if he got his answers, what good would it do to him? Thanks to the damn toasters, it was too late to recapture the past, as he had once dreamed would happen.
"Nothing else?" the Commander asked. He didn't sound like he didn't believe him; more like he just needed to say it out loud to convince himself.
"No," James said, hating how final it sounded.
He swallowed, refusing to think about the hours spent in his bunk, staring at the bulkheads, trying to remember something, anything, digging into his memory until he got a headache, until he wanted to shout, to lash out at someone or something in rage and frustration and helplessness.
"You are my son," the Commander said.
James closed his eyes. "How can you be so sure?" he asked. Convince me.
*
New Caprica City
Day 416
James was alone in his tent when Galen Tyrol walked in, followed by Sam Anders.
Both looked grimy and exhausted, even in the poor light of the end of the day.
"Guys," James said.
Everyone knew or suspected that these two were behind the resistance movement that was spreading on New Caprica.
A hopeless cause, some people claimed. Why bother fighting back, since they were all lost anyway?
But the resistance was garnering more support and sympathy every day among the population-even if the arbitrary arrests and the restrictions decided by the Cylons in reprisal made life that much more difficult, that much less worth living.
After all, what did they have to lose?
James had let it drop once, when only Tyrol could hear, that he was sympathetic to the cause.
Tyrol had, in turn, hinted that they had a few people in a position to help them, that they would contact them on a need-to basis. Until then, he had added, these people would help by laying low and not getting themselves noticed and arrested-or worse.
The Cylons had no reason to distrust James, but no reason to trust him either, and he intended to keep it that way as long as he could.
"Is it a good idea for you both to be here?" he asked.
Sam whispered, "No one saw us, we were careful. But if someone did see us, well..."
He took a deck of cards out of his pocket. "They haven't forbidden card games, yet."
James nodded and pushed a crate in the middle of the tent. They all sat around it, and Sam shuffled the cards. "Don't say that too loud," James said. "They might hear you and get ideas."
Tyrol snorted and muttered something under his breath. Knowing him, it wasn't very complimentary to toasters.
"How's the job going?" Sam asked.
James was part of a small team in charge of distributing some of the supplies in the settlement. So far, the Cylons hadn't made any overt attempt at replacing them with people they trusted more.
James tried not to think about what would happen the day they decided to change their minds.
"Okay. So far."
Sam nodded and exchanged a glance with Tyrol.
For a moment, they played in silence, but James' mind wasn't on the game.
At the end of the first hand, Tyrol said, "We think someone on your team is feeding information to the Cylons."
James shrugged. He didn't know his co-workers that well; they didn't have the time or the inclination to socialize.
Everyone was too tired to socialize these days.
"Possible," he admitted.
"Can you try to find out for sure?"
James shrugged again. "I can. Not sure there'll be any hard evidence to find, though."
"Anything you can do would be appreciated," Tyrol replied.
They played another hand in silence. When it was done, Sam and Tyrol got to their feet. "Why would you help us?" Sam asked.
"Why are you doing it?" James retorted.
"Better die fast and useful than slow and useless," Sam replied without hesitation.
Not too long ago, James would have been horrified at the matter-of-fact tone the other man used.
Today, he just nodded and said, "Exactly."
Chapter 3