BSG Fic : Long Time Coming (1/17)
Title : Long Time Coming
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.
Fandom : BSG
Spoilers : Everything aired so far is fair game.
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in Crossroads II.
AN2. Hello, my name is Helen and I'm a Bruce Springsteen fan. So in case you were wondering, as I was looking for a title, I started to think about this song, and it seemed to fit.
AN3. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for the time she spent beta'ing this!
Long Time Coming
Helen C.
Prologue
Today
"We have a problem," Saul said. Adama's only answer was a sigh. It would have seemed a waste of energy to react any other way.
Yes, they had a problem. Of course they had a problem.
There was always a problem to fix, a crisis to deal with, decisions to make to ensure their survival.
Sometimes it was the Fleet running from the Cylons. Sometimes it was the Fleet deciding to settle down on an unexplored planet. Sometimes his pilots burned out, died in battle or asked for retirement, unable to go on, and needed to be replaced. Sometimes…sometimes, Bill wondered why he still bothered.
Too many problems to fix, too little time and frankly, he was growing hard pressed to bring himself to care about all these voices clamoring for his attention. From Tigh to the President-the newly appointed President, a middle-aged man named Michael Ripley-from the Marines to the CIC crew, it seemed that no one spoke to him anymore unless they needed his opinion, his guidance.
Saul was still waiting, flopped on a chair in front of his desk. Adama braced himself. "What is it this time?"
He may not care, but he had to look like he did. He was the leader of humanity-not the President, not this President, who didn't have Roslin's charisma or her faith or any of the things that had made her a good leader and a friend. No, it fell back to Bill-the man who had saved them all the day of the attacks and had protected them every day afterwards.
Leaders didn't have the luxury to burn out.
"Another civilian ship reported attempted sabotage," Saul said. His brow furrowed deeper than usual. "We've increased military presence pretty much everywhere, but-"
"But there are only so many of us left," Adama completed, cutting him off. "And the ships are full of places where terrorists can hide and plant bombs, to disrupt activities or hurt people."
Most days, the Cylons weren't their biggest problem anymore, and if that wasn't frakked up, then Adama didn't know what was. They needed to rely on each other to survive, but most people didn't seem to understand that, or to care. After all, the military or the President's office would always be around to fix their problems, so why should they try to think and act like civilized human beings?
We're not a civilization anymore. We're a gang, and we're on the run.
Yes, his son had called it.
Bill could still grow infuriated when he thought about the trial and the way Lee had, once again, stuck to his guns and chosen to deal with the situation in his own way. But he had been more right than he had been wrong in that regard.
Their civilization was gone, and the thin social values that had kept them all together at the beginning (We'll rebuild because that's what humans do. We'll survive because that's what humans do. We deserve to be saved, because we're humans and humans just are worth saving) were slowly disappearing, forgotten in their struggle to survive.
Saul's voice brought him back to the matter at hand. "Yes." He needlessly looked down at the report he was holding. Saul always knew exactly what was in the reports he summarized to Bill. Come to think of it, he probably remembered every report he had ever given to Bill. "We don't even know where to start," he said. He huffed impatiently. "I don't know what these people hope to accomplish. It's not as if we didn't have enough on our plates already."
Adama could have blamed it on general discontent, but he knew they were way past that. There were factions now, among the civilians. Some wanted to continue to Earth, others wanted to settle down on the next habitable planet, even after New Caprica. Some still thought that keeping running was the only thing to do. It seemed that every day, the arguments were growing more bitter, the fights a little more fierce.
People were tired of surviving, tired of living on crowded ships, tired of looking for Earth.
How many civilians would accept to surrender now, if the Cylons promised that no harm would be done to them? How many civilians would accept to live in cages if it meant they could stop running?
Far too many for Bill's taste.
The last two years had been particularly hard for everyone-food shortages, water shortages, fabric shortages and constant lookout for the Cylons.
Things weren't much worse than immediately after the attacks. It was the duration that was killing hope, little by little.
The Cylons weren't even playing to win anymore. They just dropped in from time to time, engaged the Galactica and the rest of the fleet into a nerve-wracking battle and then left. They were wearing the humans down, and it was working.
"What do we do?" Tigh asked.
Bill rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Send people who can act as civilians and be convincing," he said. "Tell them to ask questions. Discreetly. We'll see how that goes."
He didn't expect it to go well. People were wary of strangers, and that tactic had been tried before to control the black market, to no avail.
Everything seemed to move out of his control, and he didn't like it.
Tigh nodded smartly and got to his feet. "Anything else?"
Bill didn't reply, waving a hand in dismissal. He barely noticed his XO stepping out of the room, closing the hatch behind him.
He was tired and for the first time in his life, he was starting to feel his age. But trying to keep the fleet together wasn't what was weighing the most heavily on his mind.
His son hadn't tried to contact him in over a year. Bill didn't blame him; after all, he was the one who had started to ignore Lee's openings. He couldn't blame his son for stopping trying to reach out after a while, but he regretted that his own stubbornness and Lee's pride had driven them to this point. (Or was it his pride and Lee's stubbornness that had damaged their relationship so? The thought could have been funny if the circumstances had been different. In the end, the fact that they were both alike had driven them apart in a way even Zak's death hadn't managed. It could have been funny, but the irony just hurt a little more each day).
He had thought that after the end of their worlds, he and Lee had found some common ground, some way to relate to each other.
It was only when Lee had resigned his commission, five years ago, that Bill had realized it wasn't so. He had felt hurt and betrayed, and yes, maybe he should made more of an effort to understand Lee's motivations, but he hadn't. Back then, he had just assumed that Lee was opposing him for the sake of opposing him, and it had hurt to see that they were still stuck in that situation.
Even when Bill heard that Dualla had left Lee, he didn't consider that his son was truly sincere in his convictions. Even when Lee had handed him his letter of resignation, at the end of the trial, he hadn't reconsidered his position.
He should have realized then that Lee had lost just about everyone in that trial-his wife, the President, the respect of the crew. And his father, because once again, anger had gotten the better of Bill and he had said things he didn't really think, even though he knew that his son wouldn't remain on the Galactica much longer. And even though he knew that Lee's memory was formidable and that he wouldn't forget the words spoken in anger and frustration.
The rift it had created between him and his son was probably one that couldn't, wouldn't be repaired, now.
A knock on the hatch startled him from his thoughts.
What now? he thought, trying to prepare himself for whatever problem lurked outside. "Come in."
He was surprised to see Racetrack enter and stand at attention a few feet from his desk. It had been years and he still vaguely expected to see either Lee or Kara report to him in their flight suits. Not Racetrack, or Helo, or even Athena.
He missed his family, and the fact that he only had himself to blame for losing it only complicated the situation.
"Sir," she said.
"At ease," he ordered, mostly out of habit. "What can I do for you, Major?"
She met his gaze and he saw the worry in her eyes. Strange. Racetrack was usually formal and to-the-point, the ultimate professional, when she dealt with him. She seemed too intimidated by him to be anything else.
He didn't try to be as close to his crew as he once had. Too many of them had disappointed him, or worse, had died. He just didn't feel it was worth the time and energy to learn to love them. It was just easier to keep a distance. Maybe he was finally starting to understand why Cain had ruled with such an iron fist on the Pegasus. She may have been alone, but he was reasonably sure she hadn't agonized over each of her decisions, each of the men she lost, each of her failures.
"Sir, Hotdog and I were on the Orion, on leave," she said.
Bill carefully kept his expression neutral, but he could feel his heart rate pick up. Over the years, the Orion had become the new Cloud Nine of the fleet-constant goings in and out, comfortable accommodations and, it was said, a lot of black market dealings. It was a place where people could unwind for a while, and rent a room for a few days if they wanted a change of scenery. Bill hadn't been sure it was such a good idea to have such a ship in the fleet, considering what had happened to the first Cloud Nine, but he couldn't deny that people needed a place where they could have fun and relax.
Unfortunately, the place was also a very good place to disappear, much as Cloud Nine had been, which had already hindered several of their investigations in the past.
It was also, more importantly, the ship where Lee lived with his family.
"Yes," he said, when Racetrack paused.
She swallowed and visibly steeled herself. "When we got back to the Raptor, there were two kids. One is about two, the other is ten. They said they needed to talk to you."
Well, that explained why Racetrack looked so peeked, then. That was certainly an unusual request, and one that didn't ease his bad feeling. He didn't think too many kids would ask for him personally.
His worst fears were confirmed when Racetrack added hesitantly, "Sir, they say they're your grandchildren."
Chapter 1
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : It was the only visible scar still left over by Baltar's trial, now that President Roslin was dead; Apollo's absence and the Admiral's obvious weariness.
Fandom : BSG
Spoilers : Everything aired so far is fair game.
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Ronald D. Moore and Universal Television Studios to name but a few. No money is being made. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN. Goes AU between the verdict and the Cylon attack in Crossroads II.
AN2. Hello, my name is Helen and I'm a Bruce Springsteen fan. So in case you were wondering, as I was looking for a title, I started to think about this song, and it seemed to fit.
AN3. Eternal gratitude to joey51 for the time she spent beta'ing this!
Long Time Coming
Helen C.
Prologue
Today
"We have a problem," Saul said. Adama's only answer was a sigh. It would have seemed a waste of energy to react any other way.
Yes, they had a problem. Of course they had a problem.
There was always a problem to fix, a crisis to deal with, decisions to make to ensure their survival.
Sometimes it was the Fleet running from the Cylons. Sometimes it was the Fleet deciding to settle down on an unexplored planet. Sometimes his pilots burned out, died in battle or asked for retirement, unable to go on, and needed to be replaced. Sometimes…sometimes, Bill wondered why he still bothered.
Too many problems to fix, too little time and frankly, he was growing hard pressed to bring himself to care about all these voices clamoring for his attention. From Tigh to the President-the newly appointed President, a middle-aged man named Michael Ripley-from the Marines to the CIC crew, it seemed that no one spoke to him anymore unless they needed his opinion, his guidance.
Saul was still waiting, flopped on a chair in front of his desk. Adama braced himself. "What is it this time?"
He may not care, but he had to look like he did. He was the leader of humanity-not the President, not this President, who didn't have Roslin's charisma or her faith or any of the things that had made her a good leader and a friend. No, it fell back to Bill-the man who had saved them all the day of the attacks and had protected them every day afterwards.
Leaders didn't have the luxury to burn out.
"Another civilian ship reported attempted sabotage," Saul said. His brow furrowed deeper than usual. "We've increased military presence pretty much everywhere, but-"
"But there are only so many of us left," Adama completed, cutting him off. "And the ships are full of places where terrorists can hide and plant bombs, to disrupt activities or hurt people."
Most days, the Cylons weren't their biggest problem anymore, and if that wasn't frakked up, then Adama didn't know what was. They needed to rely on each other to survive, but most people didn't seem to understand that, or to care. After all, the military or the President's office would always be around to fix their problems, so why should they try to think and act like civilized human beings?
We're not a civilization anymore. We're a gang, and we're on the run.
Yes, his son had called it.
Bill could still grow infuriated when he thought about the trial and the way Lee had, once again, stuck to his guns and chosen to deal with the situation in his own way. But he had been more right than he had been wrong in that regard.
Their civilization was gone, and the thin social values that had kept them all together at the beginning (We'll rebuild because that's what humans do. We'll survive because that's what humans do. We deserve to be saved, because we're humans and humans just are worth saving) were slowly disappearing, forgotten in their struggle to survive.
Saul's voice brought him back to the matter at hand. "Yes." He needlessly looked down at the report he was holding. Saul always knew exactly what was in the reports he summarized to Bill. Come to think of it, he probably remembered every report he had ever given to Bill. "We don't even know where to start," he said. He huffed impatiently. "I don't know what these people hope to accomplish. It's not as if we didn't have enough on our plates already."
Adama could have blamed it on general discontent, but he knew they were way past that. There were factions now, among the civilians. Some wanted to continue to Earth, others wanted to settle down on the next habitable planet, even after New Caprica. Some still thought that keeping running was the only thing to do. It seemed that every day, the arguments were growing more bitter, the fights a little more fierce.
People were tired of surviving, tired of living on crowded ships, tired of looking for Earth.
How many civilians would accept to surrender now, if the Cylons promised that no harm would be done to them? How many civilians would accept to live in cages if it meant they could stop running?
Far too many for Bill's taste.
The last two years had been particularly hard for everyone-food shortages, water shortages, fabric shortages and constant lookout for the Cylons.
Things weren't much worse than immediately after the attacks. It was the duration that was killing hope, little by little.
The Cylons weren't even playing to win anymore. They just dropped in from time to time, engaged the Galactica and the rest of the fleet into a nerve-wracking battle and then left. They were wearing the humans down, and it was working.
"What do we do?" Tigh asked.
Bill rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Send people who can act as civilians and be convincing," he said. "Tell them to ask questions. Discreetly. We'll see how that goes."
He didn't expect it to go well. People were wary of strangers, and that tactic had been tried before to control the black market, to no avail.
Everything seemed to move out of his control, and he didn't like it.
Tigh nodded smartly and got to his feet. "Anything else?"
Bill didn't reply, waving a hand in dismissal. He barely noticed his XO stepping out of the room, closing the hatch behind him.
He was tired and for the first time in his life, he was starting to feel his age. But trying to keep the fleet together wasn't what was weighing the most heavily on his mind.
His son hadn't tried to contact him in over a year. Bill didn't blame him; after all, he was the one who had started to ignore Lee's openings. He couldn't blame his son for stopping trying to reach out after a while, but he regretted that his own stubbornness and Lee's pride had driven them to this point. (Or was it his pride and Lee's stubbornness that had damaged their relationship so? The thought could have been funny if the circumstances had been different. In the end, the fact that they were both alike had driven them apart in a way even Zak's death hadn't managed. It could have been funny, but the irony just hurt a little more each day).
He had thought that after the end of their worlds, he and Lee had found some common ground, some way to relate to each other.
It was only when Lee had resigned his commission, five years ago, that Bill had realized it wasn't so. He had felt hurt and betrayed, and yes, maybe he should made more of an effort to understand Lee's motivations, but he hadn't. Back then, he had just assumed that Lee was opposing him for the sake of opposing him, and it had hurt to see that they were still stuck in that situation.
Even when Bill heard that Dualla had left Lee, he didn't consider that his son was truly sincere in his convictions. Even when Lee had handed him his letter of resignation, at the end of the trial, he hadn't reconsidered his position.
He should have realized then that Lee had lost just about everyone in that trial-his wife, the President, the respect of the crew. And his father, because once again, anger had gotten the better of Bill and he had said things he didn't really think, even though he knew that his son wouldn't remain on the Galactica much longer. And even though he knew that Lee's memory was formidable and that he wouldn't forget the words spoken in anger and frustration.
The rift it had created between him and his son was probably one that couldn't, wouldn't be repaired, now.
A knock on the hatch startled him from his thoughts.
What now? he thought, trying to prepare himself for whatever problem lurked outside. "Come in."
He was surprised to see Racetrack enter and stand at attention a few feet from his desk. It had been years and he still vaguely expected to see either Lee or Kara report to him in their flight suits. Not Racetrack, or Helo, or even Athena.
He missed his family, and the fact that he only had himself to blame for losing it only complicated the situation.
"Sir," she said.
"At ease," he ordered, mostly out of habit. "What can I do for you, Major?"
She met his gaze and he saw the worry in her eyes. Strange. Racetrack was usually formal and to-the-point, the ultimate professional, when she dealt with him. She seemed too intimidated by him to be anything else.
He didn't try to be as close to his crew as he once had. Too many of them had disappointed him, or worse, had died. He just didn't feel it was worth the time and energy to learn to love them. It was just easier to keep a distance. Maybe he was finally starting to understand why Cain had ruled with such an iron fist on the Pegasus. She may have been alone, but he was reasonably sure she hadn't agonized over each of her decisions, each of the men she lost, each of her failures.
"Sir, Hotdog and I were on the Orion, on leave," she said.
Bill carefully kept his expression neutral, but he could feel his heart rate pick up. Over the years, the Orion had become the new Cloud Nine of the fleet-constant goings in and out, comfortable accommodations and, it was said, a lot of black market dealings. It was a place where people could unwind for a while, and rent a room for a few days if they wanted a change of scenery. Bill hadn't been sure it was such a good idea to have such a ship in the fleet, considering what had happened to the first Cloud Nine, but he couldn't deny that people needed a place where they could have fun and relax.
Unfortunately, the place was also a very good place to disappear, much as Cloud Nine had been, which had already hindered several of their investigations in the past.
It was also, more importantly, the ship where Lee lived with his family.
"Yes," he said, when Racetrack paused.
She swallowed and visibly steeled herself. "When we got back to the Raptor, there were two kids. One is about two, the other is ten. They said they needed to talk to you."
Well, that explained why Racetrack looked so peeked, then. That was certainly an unusual request, and one that didn't ease his bad feeling. He didn't think too many kids would ask for him personally.
His worst fears were confirmed when Racetrack added hesitantly, "Sir, they say they're your grandchildren."
Chapter 1