FIC: She Wanders, My Friend
“Dinner’ll be ready in ten minutes!”
“OK, be there in a bit!” Oh, fresh air. Blue skies, green lands, and no Cylons chasing me. So, you know, one-up on Caprica at least. Still… something in the air…
As Karl Agathon stands in the middle of one of New Earth’s many green fields, he hears a song and a tale only a few months old…
***
“How’s the wife?” Kara sits at the mysterious piano, playing a simple and repetitive melody of hauntingly beautiful qualities. She’s almost glowing. Can’t even think how long it’s been since she sat at a piano.
“Oh, you know… she’s a machine that you can’t help but love, recently lost her daughter and is now fraught with so much rage that by comparison, I might as well be the machine.” It was a shared moment - happiness in dark times, a quality quite characteristic of their friendship. “How’s the husband?”
She strikes up a minor-key version of her melody. “Oh, you know… he’s a machine that you can’t help but love, recently lost his mind and is now fraught with so much nonsense that by comparison, I might as well be the machine.”
“Ah, we have something in common!”
The smile doesn’t leave her face. “Wonder what that makes us. Human? Cylon?” She pauses. “Devils? Angels? I can barely tell the difference anymore, of course…”
“Hey,” - reassuring pat on the shoulder, very nice touch - “you’re fine. Whatever happened to you then, and whatever else may happen to you, you’re still you.”
“And who would that be, Helo?” Maybe that smile was already faded. “Who is Kara Thrace?”
It’s a good question, given recent events. Her chord structures are now ending on dissonance, like the last calm breaths before a big op. But Helo breaks open a wide smile: “You’re the best godsdamned fighter pilot in the whole Fleet!”
Strange - even her laugh has wear and tear. “Come on, did Sharon forcibly download your memories into a Centurion?” She gently thrusts a fist into Helo’s shoulder. “To quote recent events, I forcibly flew into a frakkin’ maelstrom, then somehow crash-landed on Earth, where my body was found rotting some months later by… who again? Ah, yes, it was me and my good friend Leoben. Some pilot I am. Some human I am.” She lands on a mess of notes near the center of the keyboard and takes the longest shot ever recorded by Joe’s Bar’s patrons.
“Then maybe you should stop talking and play a song with me.”
Her eyes light up again, like hot Viper cannons. “You know how to fly this thing, Captain?”
“Passed Basic. Did some simulations. I can hold my own.” He motions his head towards the keys. “Care to launch first strike?”
***
“Karl!”
Lee Adama comes running up the hill towards Karl. He’s looking fit, despite the amount of New Earth meat he’s been hunting for himself. “Come on, time to eat. You must be starving - I heard Hera ran you ragged today.”
“Yeah… she did."
***
Karl and Lee enter the cabin door, which reads “Roslin” above the frame. A square-ish wooden table is set with places for the honored guests of the former Admiral of the Colonial Fleet. At one end sit the Tighs, Ellen looking vibrant as usual in a stark red dress and curled blonde hair falling neatly onto her shoulders, Saul with his newly outlined eye-patch but looking pleasantly humbled in possibly the last tux he’ll ever own.
To Ellen’s right, Bill Adama, finally showing some true age after months of piecing together the dream cabin, sits quietly, looking up only when Karl and Lee return. Across from him, Sharon and Hera are playing an impromptu game of peek-a-boo; the two of them each give Karl a kiss on the cheek as he sits down next to them, while Lee takes his place next to his father.
“Everything looks delicious, you guys!” Lee exclaims, a big booming smile on his face.
Karl adopts Kara’s aging smile. “Yeah, it looks really good, Ellen.”
Ellen flaps a hand back. “Oh, stop. Of course if it hadn’t been for Sharon, we might never have finished in time!”
“Well, then… shall we dig in?” Sharon says, placing Hera onto her seat.
“Um, actually… before we do.” Karl picks up his ambrosia glass and raises it. “I’d like to propose a toast.” He breathes in and out, a deep solid breath on the dissonant chord. “To the absent friend and daughter.”
Looks of understanding pass everyone’s faces. Hera, imitating everyone else with her water cup, finishes the thought: “Kara."