BSG Fic: Untitled (2/8)
Title: The One Where Lee... (2/8)
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 One
Battlestar Galactica
25 days after the fall of the colonies
"Aren't you glad things finally settled down?" Saul asked with a crooked smile, careful to walk a step behind Bill-just enough to dodge his glare.
"Elated," Bill replied, his tone flat. It was difficult, even for Saul (who had known Bill for a couple of decades) to read his expression. Was he bored, annoyed, pissed off? Gods knew he had reasons to be all of that.
After all, they had lost the war, twelve planets, billions of souls, all their friends and families, and all hope for the future.
And the worst of it was, Saul wasn't entirely sure that Bill had noticed.
Not much seemed to make an impression on him, not since Zak's death. Losing his one remaining son, after Lee's disappearance ten years ago, pretty much took all the fight out of Bill.
Some days, Saul worried that Bill was going to do something stupid-like swallow a bullet while cleaning out his gun, or lock himself on the wrong side of a hatch and open the airlock.
Most of the time, though, it seemed like the energy to do even that had deserted Bill.
There was a reason why he had ended up commanding the oldest of the Colonial Fleet's ships and why most of the men sent to the Galactica were misfits the brass wanted to keep out of the way.
And now, Bill and the band of misfits were the only thing standing between a handful of civilians and total annihilation.
Someone in the pantheon of their gods must have a twisted sense of humor.
He wondered what the reaction on the Fleet would be if they knew how screwed they really were.
Of course, they probably knew already.
At least, people on the Galactica had training-inadequate in the face of the problems they had to wade through, but training nonetheless.
They were scared and most of them had to deal with losing part or all of their families, but they were fighters.
Things on the civilian fleet must be even worse. It was partly why this meeting with Bill, Roslin and a representatives from the civilian crews was being organised in the first place.
A chance for the civilians to ask questions the authorities couldn't possibly answer, a chance to ask for assurances that couldn't be given.
Some days, he was glad he wasn't the commander. Frak, he was glad he wasn't the commander every day, even before this nightmare started. Send men to their deaths, choose between two evils, and face the questions of civilians. All in a day's work.
They reached the hangar deck where a Raptor was waiting to take Bill to Colonial One. "Have fun," Saul said, unable to hold it back.
Bill merely grunted in reply.
Saul wondered whether or not he should add anything. Once upon a time, communicating with Bill had been easy. It was just a matter of saying what was on his mind, as bluntly as necessary, and wait for the reaction.
Bill hadn't responded well to bluntness since Zak's death.
Bill hadn't responded well to anything since Zak's death.
He got the job done, said the right things at the right times, but the man who had once been Saul's friend had disappeared in the same crash that had killed Zak. He didn't live any more; he just went through the motions. And he didn't have anyone left to care, except Saul (who wasn't exactly the poster man for dealing with life).
Bill's wife had left him, and he had spent his life in the military, sacrificing everything to his duty. He didn't have friends, aside from Saul; he had superior officers and men under his command, that he considered his duty to treat as his children. (And truth be told, he was keeping his distance from his men since Zak's death; not so much that the newcomers would notice, but enough that the ones who'd served with him for years knew. That wasn't good for morale and Saul should really have addressed that sooner, when they weren't at war and they had time to coddle their men).
"She's all yours," Bill said.
Saul nodded, cursing his inattention. The moment when he might have said something had passed while he was wasting time thinking about things that couldn't be changed.
Maybe it was for the best, though.
Damn if he knew what he would have said.
*
Colonial One
The same day
Bill stopped at the threshold of the meeting room, taking in the sight.
There were probably over 150 people in the room, not counting the President and her advisor-who looked impossibly pale and young, standing next to her. He seemed to be briefing her on something, only rarely consulting the notebook he was carrying, and she nodded, looking crisp and efficient. For a school teacher, he thought uncharitably.
Too bad he hadn't been able to find a way to keep out of this meeting.
Hell, he should have sent Saul, but he knew the man's limited diplomatic abilities, and he wasn't quite ready to totally antagonize Roslin.
Yet.
Everyone was talking, but not yelling yet, keeping the noise level high but not excessively so.
For now, Bill thought. That was bound to change once the meeting got under way.
Then, people were going to start complaining about their own little lives and things would go downhill.
Nothing was going to be accomplished today, except maybe some shouting and some empty promises that of course, things would get better soon.
Roslin spotted him and nodded in greeting.
Bill gritted his teeth and made his way to her. The hatch closed behind him, signaling that the meeting could start.
The noise level dropped down to nothing as he made his way to the chair next to hers. She made a show of shaking his hand, of course, smiling like they were best friends-a clear manoeuvre to show everyone that the lead military officer and the President were allies, looking over the Fleet's best interests.
That was very presidential of her-she really was growing into her role very fast-and reinforced the first impression he had made of her.
She was, at the core, a politician.
All the more reason not to trust her.
They both sat down.
Instantly, questions started coming from every corner of the room.
"How long can we expect to run?"
"How long until we get a new shipment of water?"
"We're almost out of medicine!"
"We have kids on board!"
"What are you going to do to help us?"
President Roslin got back to her feet and raised both hands over her head, trying to get silence. Gradually, people started to quiet down.
"Things will go much more smoothly if you don't talk all at the same time," she said. Right this moment, Bill had no problem imagining what she had been like in a classroom. "Please, raise a hand if you wish to speak. I promise you, barring emergencies, we won't leave this room until all your concerns have been addressed."
Bill looked around the room, taking in the sea of faces in front of him-some young, some old, some wise and some not.
All of them scared or angry.
If he had been here, Saul certainly would have asked Roslin if she planned on sleeping again. Bill didn't, but promised himself to leave this room in exactly three hours, whether or not all the concerns of the civilians had been addressed.
Feeling so many eyes on him wasn't an unfamiliar sensation, yet this time, it unnerved Bill.
So many people stranded here-so many people he had almost abandoned to their death so he could keep fighting a lost war.
To this day, he wasn't sure it wouldn't have been better. Certainly, their death would have been quicker, and it might have been more merciful that way.
"They're understandably worried," Roslin whispered to him.
Yes, Bill had managed to figure that out on his own.
He just wasn't sure this meeting would make them worry any less.
"So," Roslin said, her voice calm. Bill noticed that her hands were clutching the file in front of her nervously, her knuckles growing white. Good, so she wasn't anywhere near as collected as she appeared to be. Her voice didn't shake, however, as she added, "Let's talk about shipments."
*
Bill didn't spot him until the end of the meeting, three and a half hours later.
Most of the civilians were going back to their ships but about a dozen of them were still sitting, talking amongst themselves.
Bill couldn't remember whether or not they had spoken during the meeting, as they were at the far end of the room.
Just as he was wondering why they weren't leaving with the rest of the civilians, they got to their feet and then, the man looked in his direction.
It felt like a punch to the gut and a blow to the head all at once.
His next thought was, It can't be.
The man had turned and was talking to someone behind him, and Bill still had trouble breathing.
It can't be.
The man faced in his direction again, smiling as he spoke, and something in that smile had Bill let out a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
"Are you all right?" Roslin asked.
He ignored her, focused on the man and his companions.
It couldn't be.
But apparently, it was.
"Commander?" Roslin insisted, a hint of worry in her voice.
Bill got to his feet, ignoring her, and walked up to the man.
The whole group fell silent as he approached, the civilians looking at him with curiosity, but Bill's eyes never left the one face he hadn't thought he'd ever see again.
"Lee?" he asked when he reached them.
The lack of recognition in Lee's eyes had Bill questioning his own sanity.
It had been so long, and the man in front of him did look slightly different than his sixteen-year-old son had. The coincidence, the odds of both of them surviving the apocalypse, were ridiculous.
He might me wrong.
Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see.
Except he had stopped hoping to ever see his son again a long time ago.
Lee was frowning, looking at him like he had never seen him before, and the expression on his face dispelled Bill's doubts.
This was Lee, all right.
"Excuse me?" Lee asked. "What did you call me?"
"Lee," Bill repeated. His heart was hammering in his chest, almost painfully.
"James? You two know each other?" a man asked, looking at both of them.
"James?" Bill repeated.
"I..." Lee started, then trailed off, looking around at the faces of the people who had come to the meeting with him, as if one of them held the answers to the situation.
"Frak me dead," the man said. As Lee seemed unable to talk, he was the one who asked Bill, "You know him?"
"Yes," Bill said, his throat tight. "Yes, I do."
What the hell is happening here?
Chapter 2
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 One
Battlestar Galactica
25 days after the fall of the colonies
"Aren't you glad things finally settled down?" Saul asked with a crooked smile, careful to walk a step behind Bill-just enough to dodge his glare.
"Elated," Bill replied, his tone flat. It was difficult, even for Saul (who had known Bill for a couple of decades) to read his expression. Was he bored, annoyed, pissed off? Gods knew he had reasons to be all of that.
After all, they had lost the war, twelve planets, billions of souls, all their friends and families, and all hope for the future.
And the worst of it was, Saul wasn't entirely sure that Bill had noticed.
Not much seemed to make an impression on him, not since Zak's death. Losing his one remaining son, after Lee's disappearance ten years ago, pretty much took all the fight out of Bill.
Some days, Saul worried that Bill was going to do something stupid-like swallow a bullet while cleaning out his gun, or lock himself on the wrong side of a hatch and open the airlock.
Most of the time, though, it seemed like the energy to do even that had deserted Bill.
There was a reason why he had ended up commanding the oldest of the Colonial Fleet's ships and why most of the men sent to the Galactica were misfits the brass wanted to keep out of the way.
And now, Bill and the band of misfits were the only thing standing between a handful of civilians and total annihilation.
Someone in the pantheon of their gods must have a twisted sense of humor.
He wondered what the reaction on the Fleet would be if they knew how screwed they really were.
Of course, they probably knew already.
At least, people on the Galactica had training-inadequate in the face of the problems they had to wade through, but training nonetheless.
They were scared and most of them had to deal with losing part or all of their families, but they were fighters.
Things on the civilian fleet must be even worse. It was partly why this meeting with Bill, Roslin and a representatives from the civilian crews was being organised in the first place.
A chance for the civilians to ask questions the authorities couldn't possibly answer, a chance to ask for assurances that couldn't be given.
Some days, he was glad he wasn't the commander. Frak, he was glad he wasn't the commander every day, even before this nightmare started. Send men to their deaths, choose between two evils, and face the questions of civilians. All in a day's work.
They reached the hangar deck where a Raptor was waiting to take Bill to Colonial One. "Have fun," Saul said, unable to hold it back.
Bill merely grunted in reply.
Saul wondered whether or not he should add anything. Once upon a time, communicating with Bill had been easy. It was just a matter of saying what was on his mind, as bluntly as necessary, and wait for the reaction.
Bill hadn't responded well to bluntness since Zak's death.
Bill hadn't responded well to anything since Zak's death.
He got the job done, said the right things at the right times, but the man who had once been Saul's friend had disappeared in the same crash that had killed Zak. He didn't live any more; he just went through the motions. And he didn't have anyone left to care, except Saul (who wasn't exactly the poster man for dealing with life).
Bill's wife had left him, and he had spent his life in the military, sacrificing everything to his duty. He didn't have friends, aside from Saul; he had superior officers and men under his command, that he considered his duty to treat as his children. (And truth be told, he was keeping his distance from his men since Zak's death; not so much that the newcomers would notice, but enough that the ones who'd served with him for years knew. That wasn't good for morale and Saul should really have addressed that sooner, when they weren't at war and they had time to coddle their men).
"She's all yours," Bill said.
Saul nodded, cursing his inattention. The moment when he might have said something had passed while he was wasting time thinking about things that couldn't be changed.
Maybe it was for the best, though.
Damn if he knew what he would have said.
*
Colonial One
The same day
Bill stopped at the threshold of the meeting room, taking in the sight.
There were probably over 150 people in the room, not counting the President and her advisor-who looked impossibly pale and young, standing next to her. He seemed to be briefing her on something, only rarely consulting the notebook he was carrying, and she nodded, looking crisp and efficient. For a school teacher, he thought uncharitably.
Too bad he hadn't been able to find a way to keep out of this meeting.
Hell, he should have sent Saul, but he knew the man's limited diplomatic abilities, and he wasn't quite ready to totally antagonize Roslin.
Yet.
Everyone was talking, but not yelling yet, keeping the noise level high but not excessively so.
For now, Bill thought. That was bound to change once the meeting got under way.
Then, people were going to start complaining about their own little lives and things would go downhill.
Nothing was going to be accomplished today, except maybe some shouting and some empty promises that of course, things would get better soon.
Roslin spotted him and nodded in greeting.
Bill gritted his teeth and made his way to her. The hatch closed behind him, signaling that the meeting could start.
The noise level dropped down to nothing as he made his way to the chair next to hers. She made a show of shaking his hand, of course, smiling like they were best friends-a clear manoeuvre to show everyone that the lead military officer and the President were allies, looking over the Fleet's best interests.
That was very presidential of her-she really was growing into her role very fast-and reinforced the first impression he had made of her.
She was, at the core, a politician.
All the more reason not to trust her.
They both sat down.
Instantly, questions started coming from every corner of the room.
"How long can we expect to run?"
"How long until we get a new shipment of water?"
"We're almost out of medicine!"
"We have kids on board!"
"What are you going to do to help us?"
President Roslin got back to her feet and raised both hands over her head, trying to get silence. Gradually, people started to quiet down.
"Things will go much more smoothly if you don't talk all at the same time," she said. Right this moment, Bill had no problem imagining what she had been like in a classroom. "Please, raise a hand if you wish to speak. I promise you, barring emergencies, we won't leave this room until all your concerns have been addressed."
Bill looked around the room, taking in the sea of faces in front of him-some young, some old, some wise and some not.
All of them scared or angry.
If he had been here, Saul certainly would have asked Roslin if she planned on sleeping again. Bill didn't, but promised himself to leave this room in exactly three hours, whether or not all the concerns of the civilians had been addressed.
Feeling so many eyes on him wasn't an unfamiliar sensation, yet this time, it unnerved Bill.
So many people stranded here-so many people he had almost abandoned to their death so he could keep fighting a lost war.
To this day, he wasn't sure it wouldn't have been better. Certainly, their death would have been quicker, and it might have been more merciful that way.
"They're understandably worried," Roslin whispered to him.
Yes, Bill had managed to figure that out on his own.
He just wasn't sure this meeting would make them worry any less.
"So," Roslin said, her voice calm. Bill noticed that her hands were clutching the file in front of her nervously, her knuckles growing white. Good, so she wasn't anywhere near as collected as she appeared to be. Her voice didn't shake, however, as she added, "Let's talk about shipments."
*
Bill didn't spot him until the end of the meeting, three and a half hours later.
Most of the civilians were going back to their ships but about a dozen of them were still sitting, talking amongst themselves.
Bill couldn't remember whether or not they had spoken during the meeting, as they were at the far end of the room.
Just as he was wondering why they weren't leaving with the rest of the civilians, they got to their feet and then, the man looked in his direction.
It felt like a punch to the gut and a blow to the head all at once.
His next thought was, It can't be.
The man had turned and was talking to someone behind him, and Bill still had trouble breathing.
It can't be.
The man faced in his direction again, smiling as he spoke, and something in that smile had Bill let out a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
"Are you all right?" Roslin asked.
He ignored her, focused on the man and his companions.
It couldn't be.
But apparently, it was.
"Commander?" Roslin insisted, a hint of worry in her voice.
Bill got to his feet, ignoring her, and walked up to the man.
The whole group fell silent as he approached, the civilians looking at him with curiosity, but Bill's eyes never left the one face he hadn't thought he'd ever see again.
"Lee?" he asked when he reached them.
The lack of recognition in Lee's eyes had Bill questioning his own sanity.
It had been so long, and the man in front of him did look slightly different than his sixteen-year-old son had. The coincidence, the odds of both of them surviving the apocalypse, were ridiculous.
He might me wrong.
Maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see.
Except he had stopped hoping to ever see his son again a long time ago.
Lee was frowning, looking at him like he had never seen him before, and the expression on his face dispelled Bill's doubts.
This was Lee, all right.
"Excuse me?" Lee asked. "What did you call me?"
"Lee," Bill repeated. His heart was hammering in his chest, almost painfully.
"James? You two know each other?" a man asked, looking at both of them.
"James?" Bill repeated.
"I..." Lee started, then trailed off, looking around at the faces of the people who had come to the meeting with him, as if one of them held the answers to the situation.
"Frak me dead," the man said. As Lee seemed unable to talk, he was the one who asked Bill, "You know him?"
"Yes," Bill said, his throat tight. "Yes, I do."
What the hell is happening here?
Chapter 2