Those Who Lift Each Other, Chapter 3, part 2
"We're not screwed," Mercedes told Puck a few hours later. An odd near silence was spread over Galactica. With the Commander in the sick bay and the Fleet missing, no one was quite sure what they were supposed to be doing. They sat on the hangar deck with Finn and Santana, legs dangling off the catwalk. "They're working on it. They'll come up with some way for us to find the Fleet again."
"You have any idea how hard it is to find anything in space?" Santana asked her. "We could be, like, a hundred miles from them and still not see them."
"There are these little things called radios," Mercedes shot back. "You know, things you send signals out on? That the Fleet just might pick up?"
"Shut up," Puck ordered them both, leaning his forehead against the cool metal of the railing. "Just shut up. It's not like any of us can do anything anyway."
"What are we going to do?" Finn asked.
"Sit here and wait, genius," Puck said. "Unless you know how to find a Fleet."
"No, I mean, without a Fleet," Finn clarified. "What's the point? Without us, they're sitting ducks, but without them…" He swallowed hard, his hands closing around the rail. "Without them, what's the point?"
"The point is to blow up Cylons," Puck said. "That's always been the point."
Finn didn't answer or look at him; he just kept looking down at the flight deck. His jaw was working funny, and his eyes were slightly narrowed as his hands clenched tight on the rail. Puck sighed impatiently, but Finn was lost in his own thoughts.
"Come on," Mercedes said, hauling herself to her feet. "I don't know about you guys, but I've got to get back. My break's up."
"Same here," Santana said. She got to her feet more gracefully than Mercedes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Puck noticed for the first time that she'd cut it. Not a buzz like he was stuck with, just shorter. In her tanks and BDUs, she looked older and more confident than any of them.
"Come on," he said, touching Finn's shoulder as he got up himself. "We're not doing anything just sitting here."
Not that they'd be able to do anything anywhere else, either. But Puck was getting used to that.
***
Puck had gotten to know the Marines' ready room extremely well. It wasn't anything like the glimpses he'd gotten of the pilots' ready room. Instead, it was a small, enclosed area with gating, lockers, and two gateleg tables and steel frame chairs. Puck stood along the wall at ease.
"We have a security detail on the brig," Mathias said. "We'll take what we can off, but with a Cylon down there, we can't ignore it. So, we've got two squads to work with. Command says we're jumping back to Kobol. We fully expect to be entering enemy territory. Once we're there, the bunnies in the CIC will recalculate the coordinates, and we will jump away. According to Lieutenant Gaeta, we will be in enemy territory for twelve minutes. Any more than that, and we're all going to die."
"Cheerful, Gunny," Hollis said.
"I'm here all week," Mathias said dryly. "There's no ground component to this maneuver. It's either going to work or we're going to go down flaming. On the bright side, there is a planet to crash into, so if there are any survivors, we're the ones defending them.
"The possibility we have to be prepared for is that we're boarded. For the duration of the operation, we'll be stationed at two areas. One squad will guard the CIC. If we are boarded, we need to ensure that nothing interferes with those calculations and the jump away. The other squad will be stationed here." Mathias pointed to a schematic, but Puck couldn't see clearly from his position. Fischer, you take the squad that'll head here. I'll take the CIC."
"Yes, sir."
Puck hoped to be assigned to the squad that was headed "here", wherever that was. If there was action, they'd get it first. However, he found himself in Mathias's squad instead, and when she ordered, he followed them out.
The CIC had one door. Puck felt like it was a little excessive for twelve of them to be guarding one stupid door, but even as he stood there he could feel the anticipation and tension coursing through the ship. He gripped his rifle, his hands sweating a little and his stomach tight.
A woman stepped out of a door down the hall. Puck blinked; he'd become so used to duty blues, drabs, and tanks that her pink dress looked completely out of place. Mathias caught Puck's eye and gestured with her head. He saluted and went to corral the civilian.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, approaching her. The woman turned and cocked an eyebrow at him. "You need to get back into your quarters."
"No, I need to visit the little girls' room," the woman said. She was older, but damn, she was hot. Blonde, wavy hair, awesome boobs and a toned ass, and one hell of a smile. "Is that allowed?"
"Ma'am, we're beginning an operation-"
"Psh. I'm still allowed to pee."
Puck had had to listen to a lot of people ordering him around ever since he'd gotten on this ship. This woman who was most clearly a civilian was not going to be one of them, damn it. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the quarters she'd just exited. "Now, ma'am."
He'd expected that it might tick her off; what he hadn't expected was her sly, cat-like smile. "Oooh. Very authoritative for a…" her eyes flicked down to his jacket where an insignia should be and then back at his face, "recruit, even. Impressive. I like it when men know what they want."
She was totally into him, but even Puck's libido knew this wasn't the time or place. But he could use it. "Well, what I want is for you to get back in your quarters, ma'am."
She sighed. "If you're ordering me, I guess I have to do what you say." She looked up at him through her lashes. "Maybe I'll have to find you after all this and you can order me around again." She gripped his arm, feeling his biceps.
"Puckerman!" Mathias yelled. "How long does it take to get one woman back in her quarters? We jump in thirty seconds!"
"Right," the woman sighed. "The jump. Well, then, I'll go be a good little girl. For now." She winked at Puck, and retreated back into the quarters she had come from. Puck jogged back to the CIC, feeling immensely better. That lasted all of twenty-eight seconds. Then they jumped.
Immediately, the ship began to shake. Puck fell back against the wall because he wasn't expecting it; obviously a rookie mistake. He pushed himself back to standing and spread his legs and bent his knees, the stance improving his stability.
"We've got twelve minutes," Mathias said. She looked exactly like she had before they'd jumped, despite the way the floor pitched every now and then and the lights flickered.
It was strange. Puck knew they were being fired on, but he couldn't hear anything. He'd always expected that, in the middle of a battle (oh, gods, he was in the middle of a battle, finally), there would be loud explosions and he'd have to shout to be heard. But the only thing he ever heard was the thumps of something hitting Galactica and muffled, ordered shouting down in the CIC. There was a whole fight going on out there as ships engaged ships, but he couldn't hear or see a damn thing. Just this hallway.
"Eight minutes," Mathias said.
Eight minutes. Puck braced himself, looking around. A pair of officers hustled by, and he heard shouting down the hall. This was it. He swallowed hard, ready to shoot.
Nothing. The shouting was just a group of specialists headed to the turrets, bringing ammo.
The ship shook hard. There was some sort of alarm going off, a loud buzzing. A light near his head sparked, and he pulled away. There were more voices, but they didn't sound alarmed yet. Just… urgent. Active. Like a well-oiled machine doing what it was meant to do.
"Four minutes."
Gods, this was killing him. Puck found himself half-praying that a toaster party would round the corner. He'd be able to shoot, to kill, to do something. To take those bastards out, to be a hero, to give those CIC people just a little more time to jump the ship to… to… wherever the hell they were going, Puck didn't know and didn't care. He just wanted that party to come so he could finally-
They jumped away.
All of a sudden, the whole ship went quiet. There was no rocking, no thumps of things hitting the hull. There were still voices and shouting, but it sounded different now. And inside the CIC, he heard a cheer go up.
"We found the Fleet!" he heard the words from inside. There had been no Cylon boarding party, no chance to shoot… nothing. In the end, all Puck had done was stand in front of a door holding a gun.
Mathias's face was completely different, though. She looked relieved. She gestured to Puck, Sykes, Peters, and Jaffee. "Cottle will be over as soon as they can get him here," she said. "Go give the doctor an escort to sickbay. And this time, don’t lose him."
***
"Okay. Cottle's in sickbay," Jaffee said. "Did Mathias tell us where to go next?"
"No, I-" Puck was cut off when the lights flickered again. "Frak. Are they gonna keep that up all day, because-" The lights went out completely.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Peters said. "Does anyone have a flashlight?"
"We all have flashlights," Sykes said. "They're on our belts."
"Oh. Right."
Puck unhooked his flashlight and turned it on. The utter darkness of the ship was frakking eerie. "This has got to suck for the rest of the ship," he said.
"The auxiliary power will kick on," Jaffee said, clearly trying to sound tough but not really. "Just not through places like this."
Puck was going to say something more, but in the distance they heard screaming, and then the sharp, terrible sound of gunfire.
"What the hell?" Peters had her gun in front of her, gripping it.
"Run," Jaffee said.
"Where?" Sykes asked. "Towards the gunfire or away from it?"
"We're Marines. What the hell do you think?" Puck said, and his blood started to burn. He had no idea what was happening, but finally. Finally. This was what he'd joined up for. He pulled his gun off his shoulder and began to run through the halls, heedless of whether or not the others were following him.
He heard the gunshots right in front of them, and there were flashes of light against the metal of the walls, and then the fading sounds of mechanical footfalls on the floor as the Cylons continued away. Puck grit his teeth and increased his pace, his shoulders tensing in grim determination. Almost there-
"Get down!" someone ordered, grabbing him by the belt. Puck reeled back to see Nowart crouched behind a crate, reloading. "Get down!" Nowart ordered him again.
Automatically, Puck obeyed. He wanted to argue and tell Nowart that he wanted to fight, but Nowart's face stopped him. The man was already sweaty with blood smeared down one cheek.
"Okay, listen up," Nowart said as the other three joined them. "We've got a boarding party," he spoke quickly. "Near as I can count, there are sixteen of the frakkers. And they're tough. Tougher than we thought. Don't waste your ammo going for the body- it's got to be the head, or they're not going down. Worse, your bullets are just going to ricochet, and in close quarters like this, that's gonna get you killed. You guys with me so far?"
They all nodded.
"Good. Duck behind something to load, don't get in front of each other, and don't get shot. Got it? Let's go."
The corridors were still pitch dark, and Puck stumbled over something. Automatically, he looked down, and then stopped. It was a dead body.
"Just keep going unless you want to see more of those," Nowart ordered, pushing Puck.
Puck obeyed, schooling his mind back on what he was doing. But some part of his mind whispered that that person? They hadn't been a Marine or an officer. Puck didn't have the first idea who they were, but whoever it was, they hadn't been a ranker, and they were dead. Then he forgot it completely, because there in front of him were the Centurions. Which, holy shit. They were a lot bigger than Puck ever thought they'd be.
"Get down now!" Nowart yelled, and one of the Centurions turned, and then fired.
Puck had ducked behind one of the supports, and he'd never, ever admit it to anyone, but as the bullets rained by him he was terrified. His stomach was clenching and his mouth was dry and his hands were sweating, and for one horrible moment he thought about just running away and never, ever coming back.
And if he did that, when he did finally die, Lauren would kick his ass across the afterlife. And his mother and Sarah and Beth…. He leaned out and fired.
He didn't hit a damn thing; he was pretty sure of that. But when he ducked back behind the support that was shielding him, he was intact. That helped. That helped a lot. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the air hot and metallic in his lungs, and leaned out to fire again.
This time he could see the Cylons better. They didn't look like the ones he remembered seeing in museums, all gold and clunky. These were sleek and silver and a lot frakking scarier. They had razor sharp claws, guns in their arms, and red eyes flashing in the dark. The gun jerked in his hands, bucking back on his shoulder and the vibrations traveling up his arms. But he didn't take any of the Cylons down.
He hit the wall again and tried to catch his breath. Everything sounded so crisp and loud, and the smell of smoke and metal and blood was sharp in his nostrils. But the urge to run was… not gone, but at least he could ignore it now, and although he was still scared, that hot rage that had been driving him ever since the attack felt like it had purpose now. He glanced across the hall, where Nowart had ducked behind a crate and was changing guns.
Two things happened at once: Nowart rose up and fired with a much louder blast, and Jaffee screamed, jerking back and falling to the floor. Puck didn't even think; he dove out into the hall, grabbed Jaffee, and pulled him back as the Centurions fired at them. Jaffee was swearing and getting blood all over, but there was no place to even be able to see where he was bleeding from, much less a place to do something about it.
"You okay, man?" Puck asked, getting his gun back into position.
"No, I've been shot, you idiot!" Jaffee said grimacing in pain. "I'm not okay!"
Well, he was talking. He had to be sort of okay. Puck was about to say something when he realized that the guns had silenced and Nowart was right there.
"How is he?" he asked, looking at Jaffee.
"Alive," Puck said. "Yelling at me."
Peters and Sykes joined them. "What happened to the Centurions?" Peters asked.
"They aren't interested in killing each person off one at a time," Nowart answered briskly. "All right. Here's the situation. The Centurions are moving forward. All logic would say they're headed towards auxiliary fire control. Peters, I want you to get to the CIC and pass the word to the Colonel. Sykes, get Jaffee back to sick bay, and then rendezvous with us at the forward port enlisted head. You shouldn't run into much resistance on that path. Puckerman, you're coming with me."
"Where are we going, sir?"
Nowart made a face. "Explosive rounds," he said. "Only thing that's taking these bastards down." He looked at the other three. "You see anyone, you pass the word. Explosive rounds and head shots. Got it?" They nodded. "Good. Puckerman, let's go." Peters held up her fist, and Puck bumped it, and then nodded at Jaffee and Sykes before he scrambled after Nowart.
"Keep up," Nowart ordered him, but for once, the order didn't feel like something that had come from a ticked-off babysitter dealing with a particularly annoying charge. "We're going to start with locker A-176."
"Yes, sir."
Nowart glanced back over his shoulder with a surprised expression, like he'd expected an argument, but Puck had no reason whatsoever to argue. He ran after Nowart, eyes darting around him in the dark corridors, looking for some evidence of Centurions.
"Thought there'd be more of them," he said to Nowart. "Or they'd be after us."
Nowart shook his head. "We're not in their way," he explained. "They're focused on the mission. Can't let anything distract from that. Even killing humans."
Puck huffed a bitter laugh. "Must be a hardship for them, huh?"
"Right." Nowart skidded to a stop. "Here we are. At least with the power out, the locks are off." He opened the hatch.
"Hell, yeah," Puck said, looking at the shelves inside the ammo locker.
"My thoughts exactly," Nowart agreed with a grin. "I feel like a frakking kid in candy store. Load up. We can always hand off to others."
"Yes, sir." Puck grabbed the boxes of them, and then began reloading his gun. Nowart did the same.
"Go easy on shooting these, okay?" Nowart said. "We've only got a limited supply until they can make more, and we might need them. Shoot for the head. Got it, Puckerman?"
"Got it, Sarge."
"Good. Let's go."
***
Darkness. Gun fire. Smoke. Flashlight beams piercing through it all, and the red lights of Centurion eyes. The stench of blood, of metal, of cold urine from where he wet himself and didn't even realize it. At the time- hell, anytime he was conscious- Puck swore he lived for it. That the fire was in his blood and that this was exactly what he wanted.
He never admitted, even to himself, that these were the things that haunted his nightmares.
***
The Centurion's head exploded, and it stayed standing for a ludicrous moment before lurching forward and falling to the ground in a noisy clatter. Puck fell back against the wall, breathing hard, the metal of his gun hot in his hands, the silence almost deafening after the firefight.
"Nice one," Nowart said. He emerged from behind the crate and walked over, kicking the Cylon that Puck had taken down. The metal body didn't move. He kicked it again, harder. "Yup. This one's dead."
"Is that all of them, sir?" Puck asked.
"All of them that went this way, far as I can tell," Nowart said. He looked around. It was still dark, no power, and the sound of screaming was in the distance. Screaming, but no gunfire. Puck sank down the wall, and his legs finally started shaking.
"Holy shit," he said, trying to laugh.
Nowart looked at him. "You okay?"
"Holy shit," Puck repeated.
"You didn't do half-bad," Nowart allowed grudgingly. "Need to work more on your marksmanship."
"Frak that. I hit him, didn't I?"
"After gods know how many shots. Come on. Let's get up to CIC and see if we're needed elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?"
"We killed eight. Too small for a boarding party."
"Right." Puck struggled to his feet. He'd rested for two minutes, and he was ready to take on the world again. "What happens now, sir?"
Nowart glanced over at him. "You hurt?"
"Don't think so, sir." Puck was pretty sure that most of the blood on him wasn't his own.
Nowart shrugged. "Then let's go hunting and make sure they're all gone."
Puck grabbed his rifle and grinned.
***
They didn't find any more toasters, even after they swept the whole ship. Finally, Nowart told Puck he was dismissed.
"Dude!" Finn intercepted Puck on his way to the head to clean up. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Puck said with a cocky smile. "Took down two of those toasters myself." He held his hand for a high-five. Finn just stared at him for a long moment, leaving him hanging, and then suddenly grabbed him and hugged him tight.
"Hey, man," Puck said, a little alarmed. "I'm not dead or something. Are you drunk?"
"I heard they lost eight Marines," Finn said, still not letting him go. "I just thought-"
"How'd they let you into the Fleet?" Puck asked, pushing Finn away. "You're such a wuss." But the words hit him hard. Eight Marines. Eight. Puck turned away before Finn could see his face.
"You okay?" Finn asked.
"Fine," Puck said.
He finally had remembered to wonder if Jaffee was one of them.
"Eight," Puck heard someone say while he was in the shower. "That means we're back down to thirty Marines, and six of the ones left are wet behind the ears kids."
"Shit. Plus there's the ones we left on Kobol. How long before we don't have any Marines left at all?"
Puck leaned back against the wall, the water pounding down on his bare chest and face and closed his eyes. Eight Marines were dead, and it just hit him that he knew them all.
Shit.
***
The sickbay was stark and clinical, and after a quick, assessing glance to make sure he wasn't bleeding out, no one paid Puck the slightest bit of mind. Too many other injuries, too much else going on. Seeing the people in here needing treatment made Puck realize just how bad those frakkers had torn up the ship.
Jaffee was in a bed, an IV hooked up to his arm. Puck approached cautiously, but as he did, Jaffee opened his eyes.
"You're going to be impossible, aren't you?"
"Huh?"
"I heard you took down two of them."
Puck grinned. "Yeah, I did."
"Great. As if a shoulder wound wasn't bad enough, I have to listen to your ass brag about it." Jaffee rolled his eyes. "This sucks."
"Yeah. So…" Puck shoved his hands in his pocket. "You're okay, man?"
"Cottle says I'll be back on my feet in a few days."
"Good. It would suck if you died before you got to take a couple out."
"No kidding." Jaffee sighed. "Next time, you don't get them all. Save some for me."
"I'll do that." Puck could see that Jaffee was fading. Logic told him the pain meds were knocking him out, but he couldn't help the tightening in his throat and the wetness in his eyes. "You get better, you hear me?"
Jaffee looked at him like he was nuts. "I will. It's just a shoulder wound, Puckerman."
Puck forced a smile and backed out of the infirmary. He had no idea why he felt the need to run.
***
He was doing a circuit of Galactica on his own when he heard his name. "Puckerman."
"Yes, sir?" Puck said, surprised that Gunny Mathias was addressing him directly. She fell in step beside him as he ran.
"You're the one in that singing group," she said. "There are four of you on Galactica, am I right?"
"Yes, sir."
"It used to be that Marines got a decent funeral. With respect, with ceremony. I know we're down to the basics, but soldiers who die in combat deserve more than just to be shoved out the airlock with a few words."
"Yes, sir." Puck's throat tightened. "Is there… is there something that would normally be sung?"
"Find something appropriate," she ordered. "Non-denominational."
"Yes, sir."
She clapped him on the shoulder with a nod, and then jogged off. Puck pressed his lips together. It was just singing, but for some reason it felt like an honor he hadn't expected to deserve.
***
There wasn't a lot of time, so they ended up rehearsing while Puck had guard duty down in the brig. There was something of an irony there, given that he was guarding the former- current?- frak if he knew- President, and she was the one who had inadvertently gotten them this gig. Roslin lay on her cot and listened to them with closed eyes and a little smile playing on her lips.
"I don't like her being in there," Mercedes said when they were done. She was whispering, glancing back at Roslin to make sure she couldn't hear.
Santana shrugged. "She's in there. I don't see what the big deal is. She might be President of the Colonies, but the Colonies are like, fifty thousand people now. Less. Any idiot could do the job."
"That's not the point," Mercedes said. "It's a democracy. Locking up anyone who speaks against-"
"Whatever," Puck interrupted with a sigh. "This is my brig and, unless you two are going to settle this with a round of jello wrestling, we're done. Get out."
Mercedes rolled her eyes, but she and Santana took their argument out the door. That left Finn, who was standing with his hands shoved in his pockets. "What?" Puck asked. "You gonna turn this in to debate club, too?"
"No. I just… You okay, man?" Finn honestly looked worried. "I mean, I know you know all the Marines and everything."
"I'm fine," Puck insisted.
"And I know," Finn continued, like Puck hadn't even spoken, "that you haven't put your pictures on the Wall yet."
"What's that got to do with anything?" Puck demanded.
Finn shrugged. "Just… it seems to be what people do when they're ready to let people go."
"Dude. Are you seriously standing here in the brig arguing with me that I need to put my girlfriend's picture on the Memorial Wall to get that she's dead? I know she's dead, okay? And until you actually lose someone, you don't get to come in here and tell me how to deal with it. Got it?"
"Okay," Finn said, holding up his hands, and Puck realized that he was right in Finn's face. "I was just saying-"
"Yeah, well, don't."
"Got it."
"Yeah."
Finn clapped him on the shoulder. "See you at the funeral, right?"
"Right," Puck said, sinking back down to the desk. He heard the hatch shut behind Finn. Roslin must really be asleep; there was no way someone could fake it through an argument like that. Puck sat back in his chair, picking up a pen and doodling on a piece of paper in front of him. He began writing mindlessly, singing the words as he wrote.
Just a few more hours, and I'll be right home to you.
I think I hear them calling, oh Beth what can I do
He stopped suddenly, glared at the words and then crumpled the paper and threw it into the wastebasket. Ridiculous.
***
The funeral was exactly what Puck expected. It wasn't the first time he'd sung at one, although last time the whole club had been there instead of just the four of them. He wondered if he should feel more, but he was completely numb inside. The eight caskets draped with Colonial flags didn't seem like they held people, and the whole ceremony was short and solemn. There was no applause after they finished, not that Puck expected it. People didn't clap at funerals.
No one was crying. That was kind of weird. Puck looked at the faces of the Marines; they were all poker stiff and straight. Dead. No, not dead. They were like masks. Puck remembered Nowart drinking alone in the racks, and he suddenly realized that these dead expressions were honor. You paid respects in public and cried alone. Puck was kind of surprised it didn't take effort for him not to cry, but maybe it was just because he had to sing.
Or maybe it was because when he thought of the darkness and the Cylons and the gunfire and the screams, all he could feel was anger.
But when he went bed that night, he stared at the pictures of Lauren and Beth for a long, long time, and the tears finally came.
***
"You look cheerful."
Puck looked up from his dinner, and the first thing that registered was that the speaker was wearing purple. Purple wasn't a color he saw a lot of on Galactica. He dragged his eyes upward, lingering on a few choice assets, until he saw the woman's face. It was the woman he'd tried to herd back into her quarters a few days ago, when they were jumping back to the Fleet. When he didn't speak immediately, she pulled out the chair and sat down across from him. She rested her chin on her hand and peered at him coyly. "I'm Ellen, by the way."
"Puck."
"Puck," Ellen drawled. "Bet that's not what your mother named you." She winked, taking his glass and running her fingers up and down it.
"Noah," he admitted, sitting back and far more interested in this conversation.
"Mmm. I can see why you prefer 'Puck'. So, what's got you sitting here, all alone and sad?"
There were a hundred answers to that question, but Puck knew enough about women and cougars that he knew she didn't give a shit. And maybe this was exactly what he needed. Yeah- maybe bagging this chick was exactly what he needed to get his mojo back. So instead of taking her question seriously, he smirked and draped his arm across the back of his chair, giving her a good view of the guns. "It was just the lack of company, baby," he said. "But now that you're here, everything's looking up."
Her eyes lit up, and he grinned back. This was going to be fun.
***
His back hit the shelves in the storage locker as he hiked up her skirt. Ellen kissed hot and messy, but gods, she knew exactly what she was doing. Her hand was down his pants as soon as the hatch clanged shut behind them, and before he knew it he had her legs wrapped around his waist and she was frakking him. His back was killing him from holding up her weight but he wasn't going to complain, especially not when she did some swirly thing and his eyes nearly rolled back into his head.
When it was over, they sat together on the floor, Puck still trying to get his breath back. It hit him that he just had sex, and he looked at the woman sitting next to him. There was absolutely no possible way he could make believe she was Lauren- hell, he hadn't even thought of Lauren the entire time- but when he turned his head he was surprised to see blonde hair, not brown. Just for a second, but it hit him hard.
"Oh, no," Ellen said, looking annoyed. "You're not going to cry on me, are you?"
"What? No," Puck scoffed, blinking fast. "Course not. Why would I be crying?"
"Mmm." Ellen's eyes narrowed as she studied him. "You're a widower, aren't you?"
"Not legally," Puck admitted. "But I had a serious girlfriend."
"Pretty?"
"No. But hot. Smoking hot."
Ellen smiled and pushed her hair off her face. "I believe it. Is this the first sex you've had since she died?"
"Yeah. So what about you?" Puck dared to ask. "Are you doing this to piss off your husband or something?"
Ellen froze, and then turned wide eyes on him. "I thought you didn't know who I was."
"I don't. But I can tell you're married. Believe me, I've frakked enough married chicks to know."
She laughed at that one- flat out laughed. "You're a surprise," she admitted. Puck shrugged, and Ellen sighed, thunking her head back against the shelves. "You have no idea," she said, her voice low and sultry, "what it is like being a military wife. All the stress, all the worrying… and my husband is too much of a frakking idiot to move up the rank ladder when he's got the chance. He's content just to sit on his ass, letting other people command."
Puck couldn't help grinning at that. "Yeah, well, you can't just move up the ladder so easily in the military," he explained. "There's a lot of… I don't know… shit you have to go through." Ellen treated him to a flat glare. "What?" Puck asked. "I know what I'm talking about."
"You've been in the military three weeks and you're trying to explain it to me? I've been married for seven years!" Puck flushed, but Ellen patted his knee. "You're as bad as any of them," she sighed. "Convinced that someone who doesn't wear the uniform can't understand what it's like. It's not this holy, mystical, mysterious world, you know. It's just the military."
"Yeah?"
Ellen snorted. "For all that they go on about heart and soul and once a soldier always a soldier, it really is just another job. There are office politics and people cock-blocking you and games you have to play and petty reasons people don't get promotions, and anyone who doesn't see that is just fooling themselves." She studied him. "You don't believe me."
"Hard to believe you when you're on the bottom," Puck said.
Surprisingly, Ellen looked sympathetic. "Jarheads are the worst, too. Why'd you join?"
"To kill Cylons. Why else?"
"You don't tell them that, do you?"
"What else am I supposed to say?"
Ellen rolled her eyes, like she thought he was a complete idiot. "That you wanted to serve the Colonies. That you needed something bigger than yourself. All that bullshit about heart and soul and once a soldier always a soldier."
"But-"
"Look. Sweetie. You and I see the truth, okay? This is a different world, and the Colonial Fleet's got a different purpose. The rules have changed. It's not all about honor and love anymore, it's about exactly what you said. Fighting. Killing Cylons. But the old diehards like Bill and Saul and most of the jarheads? They don't get that, and they're not going to. They're holding on to their image of the Fleet because it's all they have left. Pathetic, but sadly true."
"Yeah," Puck said, looking down at his feet. He still had his boots on, he noticed. Boots like he never wore in high school. And the dog tags were still around his neck. He fingered one. "Yeah," he repeated, trying to sound more confident.
"There isn't much left in the world, but there still is a world left, and there's no reason to lose sight of that," Ellen said, standing up and straightening her skirt. Puck took the hint and stood up, tucking himself back into his pants and doing the fly. "If you're going to get somewhere in what's left, you can't be clinging to what used to be," Ellen said. She grabbed him by the tanks, pulled him in and kissed him hard. Puck wondered if he should have bothered to do up his fly, but she squirmed out of his embrace. "See you later, Puck," she said, winking at him as she left.
Damn. Not what he'd been expecting, but Puck felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders in some way. It wasn't that he agreed with everything Ellen said- chick was kind of cold when you thought about it- but still. Something clicked.
He headed out of the storage locker, whistling as he went.
***
The press conference was being broadcast on the PA system. They were supposed to be cleaning the weapons, but all of the recruits were listening to Tigh's voice with very little pretense at work. For that matter, so was Sergeant Nowart.
"The events which took place aboard Colonial One are unfortunate," Tigh said. "Laura Roslin's actions in suborning mutiny and sedition among the military could not be tolerated. Therefore, Commander Adama was left with no choice other than to remove her from office. Ms. Roslin is now resting comfortably aboard this ship, where she will remain until such time as the commander deems otherwise."
"That man cannot give a speech to save his life," Peters muttered. "It sounds like he's reading off cue cards."
"He's probably drunk," Sykes said. "I heard-"
"Shut up," Nowart ordered, although Puck wasn't sure if he was saying it because Tigh was CO, or because the press reaction was dying down, which meant Tigh was about to speak again.
"As it appears obvious that the government cannot function under the current circumstances, I have decided to dissolve the Quorum of Twelve. And as of this moment, I have declared martial law."
"Martial law?" Peters asked, her eyes wide.
Nowart clicked his gun together. "Get 'em done," he said, gesturing to the weapons. "Gunny Mathias is going to want us in the ready room immediately."
***
"Nothing changes," Mathias told them all as they met in the ready room. "Nothing changes. You still follow orders. If I hear about anyone exploiting the situation, there will be hell to pay. You all have superiors, and you will not act without a direct order. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir!" All in unison, from recruit to sergeant.
"Good. Nothing changes. Now get out of here."
***
"We're sending squads to each civilian ship that's refusing to cooperate," Mathias explained. "The objective is to get in, get the supplies, get out, and not have anyone on either side get hurt. Maintain order and get the supplies over here. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
Mathias began breaking them off into groups, but before she could get to Puck, Nowart inclined his head. "Puckerman. You're coming with me."
"Yes, sir."
The whole Raptor ride over, Puck sat with his gun clenched in his hands. Nowart sat next to him, silent and looking as nervous as Puck felt. He told himself not to be nervous; he'd already faced down Centurions. These were just people. But the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach wouldn't go away, and when he glanced at Nowart out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tendons in his neck straining. He wondered if you ever stopped feeling nervous.
The Raptor docked aboard the Gideon, and when the airlock hatch opened they jumped out of the Raptor. Puck followed Nowart, the bright lights of the Gideon deck blinding him for a moment. But when he blinked, he could see the people. A whole hoard of people, standing on the deck and on the catwalks and on the stairs, shouting. It was a frakking riot.
Their voices echoed off the metallic walls, becoming a deafening roar that only increased in volume as the Marines moved to try to get to the supplies intended for the Galactica. Puck remembered something Coach Sylvester had said a long time ago, back in his sophomore year about there not being much difference between an angry mob and a crowd of screaming fans. She was wrong. She was so frakking wrong. Puck could now say he'd been in the middle of both, and yeah, there was a hell of a lot of difference.
The crowd was pressing closer. Puck's breathing picked up and he felt that same terror he'd felt in the dark, with the Centurions shooting at them. They're not Cylons. They're just people. Just people. Underwear. Think of them all in their underwear. Normally it was a surefire trick, but right now, it didn't work. His mind stuttered over the images, and all he could see was the people closing in.
It started then; people throwing things, people attacking. They were really frakking attacking. The Marines had guns, but the civilians were throwing things, shoving, punching. Normally, that wouldn't bother Puck, because how much damage could you do with fists? But with this many people, the answer was a lot. One punch landed across Puck's face, knocking him to the side, and another landed in his ribs. It wasn’t well-delivered, but it hit the spot by sheer luck and it hurt.
Sometime around then, Nowart went down.
It wasn't even that he went down. It was that he was pulled down and swarmed, with feet stamping and shouting. Nowart was struggling to get back on his feet, but every time he trjed he couldn’t do it. It was just too overwhelming. Puck tried to push people away, but they were coming from too many directions.
No one cried out. No one told him what to do. The pilot who was in charge was pale and scared and wasn't saying a word. If Puck didn't do something, Nowart would die.
Ellen said it was a job, nothing more. No brothership, no heart, no soul. It came on him in a flash; Ellen was wrong. That's exactly what the Marines were; what they were meant to be. No man left behind. Look out for your brother. With that in mind, Puck raised his rifle and fired.
He meant to just fire into air, to scare the crowd with the noise. But a man jerked back, shot through the shoulder. It hit Puck like a sledge hammer. He'd shot a man, and an unarmed man at that. All for another Marine. He should be staring at his rifle in shock, but instead he was bringing it back up to his shoulder, ready to fire again. Other shots rang out as well, and people started to scream.
"Cease fire!" The words came to him like they were traveling through water. "Cease fire! They're civilians! CEASE FIRE!"
Cease fire. An order. Puck's body responded before his mind did, and his arms pulled the gun down to his side. He didn't even look at the crowd, but down at Nowart, who was lying on the ground groaning in pain. Puck shoved through, bodily moving aside civilians until he could reach down and pull Nowart to his feet.
"You okay?"
"Frakking ribs," Nowart said, hissing in pain. "Who told you to shoot?"
"I-"
"Did someone give the order to shoot?"
"No one gave any order, sir." Shit. The civilians were still backing off, still terrified. "They were attacking us and no one said a damn thing."
"Stupid pilots." Nowart tried to straighten and bent back down again, grabbing at his side. "Think they know everything, but…"
"Come on," Puck said, pulling Nowart's arm around his shoulders, "let's get you to sickbay."
Nowart looked around, and Puck was suddenly aware of the other damage. There were civilians that were- oh gods,- there were civilians that were dead. The screaming took on a new tenor, but something in it left Puck cold.
He'd shot. He didn't know if he'd killed one of those people, and he was a little surprised to find he didn't care. Because that's what happened when you asked for a fight. He pushed the guilt away. These were the frakkers who wanted them to fight for them, but weren't going to pick up a gun themselves. Puck pulled Nowart up higher and settled his arm more firmly around his shoulders and headed for the Raptor.
And if there was a part of him that want to look back, that wanted to scream in horror, he told it to shut the frak up.
***
He was sitting outside the infirmary, turning the picture of Beth over in his hands, waiting. There were bodies under sheets and the low, anxious voices that people used around the dead. They hovered on the edge of his awareness as he stared at the baby in the photograph.
"That your daughter?"
Puck looked up to see Nowart standing over him. "Hey. Yeah, it is. How are the ribs?"
"Cracked. But no punctured lung." Nowart eased himself down onto the bench beside Puck and looked at the picture. "She was just a baby?"
"No. She was two." Puck frowned. "I knocked her mom up sophomore year. We couldn't handle it- she couldn't handle it- so she gave Beth up. Guess it was better that way, but…" Puck shrugged and put the picture back in his pocket. "Doesn't matter anymore anyway. She's dead."
"Yeah." Nowart fiddled with his fingers and looked at him. "How you doing with the whole thing?"
Puck shrugged. "Okay, I guess."
"Doesn't surprise me."
Puck glared at him suspiciously. "This isn't one of those 'you're like me at your age' speeches, is it?" he asked. He ignored the little voice of hope that said maybe he wanted it to be.
Nowart made a face. "No," he said. "You don't remind me of myself at all. You remind me of the guys who used to toss me in the dumpster when I was in high school."
Puck's mouth fell open. "How the hell did you know that?"
"I didn't," Nowart said. "You did that for real? That exact thing?"
"It felt like the gods were laughing their asses off when you did it to me," Puck said. He rubbed his palms along his knees. "Guess they do get you."
Nowart huffed a laugh and then winced in pain again. "Well then. Guess it all worked out in a weird sort of way." He studied the floor. "You know," he said, his voice lower, "they're going to ask who fired the first shot."
Shit. "Yeah. I know."
"Too bad I was on the floor having the shit kicked out of me. I should have had some idea who did it, but it was kind of hard to see with all those people swarming me, you know?"
It took Puck a second to see what Nowart was saying, but when he got it, it shot right through him.
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Thanks for what? I didn't ask to get the shit kicked out of me." Nowart got to his feet. "See you around, Puck." Puck. Puck wanted to grin, but he didn't, because that wasn't what you did at times like this. He just sat back on the bench.
"Yeah. See you around."
***
"Private Puckerman," Finn said, holding up his glass.
"Don't forget we outrank your ass," Santana said, clinking her glass against Finn's, and trying to punch Puck on the arm, which he narrowly avoided.
"Don't," he said. "It still hurts."
"Let's see it," Mercedes said from her perch on his rack. "Come on. Show off your new ink."
Puck shrugged off his BDU jacket, showing off the new tattoo on his bicep. It wasn't as nice as the ones the other marines sported, but damn it, he didn't give a frak.
"Nowart put it there?" Finn asked.
"Awww," Mercedes teased as Puck blushed. "You're acting like you have a crush."
"Don't make me come up there and kick your ass." Ellen had said the same thing. Not that anyone knew about Ellen. Puck had finally found out exactly what her last name was, and he wasn't about to tell anyone he was nailing the XO's wife on occasion. "It's not a crush. It's mutual respect."
"Whatever," Santana said. "Let's get drunk."
"I don't often agree with Santana, but when she has good ideas, she has good ideas," Mercedes agreed. "Let's get drunk."
He was smiling when he collapsed in his rack later, pleasantly drunk, the new tattoo on his arm still a dull burn. For the first time since he'd gotten on Galactica, he felt like he was home. Because it was, and he was a frakking Marine now. Semper Fi and all that.
But there was one thing he still had to do.
***
"You sure you want to do this, man?" Finn asked.
"Yeah. It's a Galactica thing, you know?" Puck said. They stood together in the Memorial hallway, looking at all the faces. "Where do you think I should put her?"
"Uh…." Finn looked down the hall. "I have no idea." He frowned. "Should we have Mercedes and Santana here, too?"
Puck shook his head. "Nah. I would have done it alone if I-" could. He cut himself off abruptly. Lauren deserved better than that. He walked down the hall and found the spot of the picture with the two guys he didn't know. They were at least their age, and Lauren would probably think they were kind of cute. He tacked her picture beside them.
"Should we say something?" Finn asked. "Sing something?"
"Nope," Puck said. He touched Lauren's face, but it was just paper. Not her. He pulled his hand away reluctantly and said a little prayer he'd never admit to, then stepped back.
"Looks good," Finn said, when Puck didn't say anything. Puck nodded. "What about… what about your mom? Or Sarah?"
"Don't have pictures of them," Puck said.
"You could do a note," Finn said, pointing at one that someone else had done.
"Yeah. I could. I will."
Finn hesitated. "What about Beth?"
"You think I've even got any memories of her I can put up?" Puck snapped.
For a long moment, Finn didn't say anything. Then he put his hand on Puck's shoulder. "You ready?" he asked.
Puck wiped at his eyes. "Yeah," he said, surprised at how rough his voice was. "I'm ready."
Finn looked at Lauren's picture one more time. "She's at peace," he said awkwardly. "She's at rest."
"Like she ever wanted to be," Puck said grumpily, but he clapped his hand over Finn's. "Thanks."
"No problem." Finn hesitated again. "And if you ever want to do Beth-"
"I don't," Puck cut him off. "Leave it, okay?"
"Okay."
"Come on. Let's go." Puck gestured with his head, and they left the Memorial Hall.
On to Chapter 4 (Artie)