Those Who Lift Each Other, Chapter 3, part 1
Title: Those Who Lift Each Other, Chapter 3: But That Was When I Ruled the World
Author: lls_mutant
Fandom: Glee/Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Rating: R, for adult themes and violence
Pairing(s): BSG: canon pairings, plus Gaeta/Baltar. Glee: Burt/Carole and Tina/Mike. Cross-fandom: Puck/Ellen, Kurt/Baltar, Santana/various pilots, Sam/Rya Kibby.
Warning(s): War-related violence, abortion issues, BSG-canon suicide, torture, PTSD, character deaths. (Character deaths are both canon BSG deaths and Glee deaths.)
Fic Summary: When the Cylons attacked, the kids of New Directions were on board the Cybele, on their way to the All-Colony Show Choir Competition. Now they're members of the Fleet, being chased by the Cylons and trying to deal with the day-to-day aspects of a life after the worlds end.
Chapter Summary: Sometimes we must be lost to eventually be found. Puck might have been a bad-ass in high school, but now he's struggling to get his feet in the Marines and accept the imperative of protection.
Notes: This is a 16 part story. Each chapter is from the POV of a Glee character, working through the BSG canon. BSG canon does not change; this ends up being a "average people in the Fleet" story. More information can be found here. Also, huge thanks to kappamaki33, who is betaing this monster.
Chapter Notes: The BSG characters that are featured in Chapter 3 can be found here if you'd like an introduction/refresher/want to get an idea of which Marine is which.
Info Post | Chapter 1 (Will) | Chapter 2 (Brittany)
The Gods must still exist and they must have a frakking cruel sense of humor. Puck was sure of that as he climbed out of the trash pile. He'd thought people would be done this shit by the time they were adults, but apparently tossing people in dumpsters never got old.
Of course, if Puck had been doing the tossing, he would have actually meant that.
The Galactica's waste disposal unit stunk. Puck supposed he should be glad at least the sewage didn't get dumped in here as well. The walls were also high, so climbing out was going to be a bitch. Again. When he finally got leave, he was going to find Kurt and get down on his knees and grovel, then tell him how good he had it, because Kurt only had to climb out of a dumpster.
The only way to the top was to mound enough trash against the wall to give himself a boost. Several times he tried to scramble up, only finding that the pile wasn't nearly as stable as he thought, and he ended up flat on his stomach, his face in a pile of rotting greens or coffee grinds. Finally he managed to curl his fingers around the top of the wall and haul himself up onto the floor.
"Took you long enough. Nowart and Maldonaldo got you again, huh?"
Jaffee and Sykes, two of his fellow recruits, were sitting on the floor, watching. Sykes handed Jaffee a bag of popcorn. Jafee took a handful, crunching into it loudly.
"Frak you," Puck said. He lay on the metal grating for a moment, trying to get his breath. "What are you doing here?"
Sykes got to his feet. "Come on, Puckerman. Sarge said once you hauled your ass out of there you've still got five laps of the Galactica to go." Puck groaned, took a deep breath, and when they hit the corridors, began.
The Galactica, Puck had discovered, was not a big ship; it was frakking huge. In the week he'd been on board, he'd already learned how to pace it. Gods knew he'd had to run the frakking thing enough times. Apparently, the Marines really liked running. Or at least making the new guys run. Or making the frak-ups- no. He wasn't going to think about that.
Of the near-fifty-thousand people to survive, two hundred and twelve people had responded to the call for new recruits. Puck, Mercedes, Santana, and Finn had stuck together during those first days of testing. Over here on Galactica, everything felt very different. Here, the threat of the Cylons wasn't something you could ever block out; it was something that you had to keep on top of your mind every second, because you had to be ready. And when they saw how the Galactica crew functioned and the things they were doing, all four of them privately thought they were about to be tossed out on their asses.
Mercedes got pulled aside first. "They're kicking me out," she'd moaned as they pulled her from the morning run. "I know it. They're kicking me out and sending my ass back over to the Cybele without even a 'thank you very much.' " But the officer who'd pulled her told her to report to the CIC for training. He'd left immediately, and Mercedes had looked at them all with wide, wild, incredulous eyes. The next time Puck saw Mercedes, she had a new pin on her BDU jacket and a thick manual tucked under her arm.
Finn, Santana, and Puck had been sitting together three days later when they were assigned to their own training. Santana had been smug when she'd been called for flight training; Finn had been a little surprised when he was as well. And Puck… Puck had been one of eight people chosen for the Marines.
There weren't many Marines left on Galactica. It turned out that most of them had already been off the ship before the Galactica's decommissioning ceremony, and more had been killed in the first attacks. But you had to be tough to be in the Marines, and Puck had known that that was where he'd belonged from the start. After all, he was Noah Puckerman, starting Pyramid player, glee stud, and biggest all around bad-ass of McKinley High. (Or, at least, he'd dated her. But he was definitely number two on that list.) There were only thirty Marines left, but they were left for a reason. Once you were in, it was shape up or die.
"Four more laps," Sykes shouted at him as he ran by. "And Fischer wants us in weapons locker C12 in thirty!"
Shit. He was going to be late. There was no way he was going to get four more laps done in thirty minutes. No frakking way.
Shape up or die. Puck was sure he was so screwed.
***
"So what did you do?" Finn asked when Puck recounted the whole miserable day that night.
"What could I do? I bent over and took it, like the bitch they want me to be. I finished the laps and then reported to C12."
"Ouch." Finn frowned. "But you were late."
"I was told. In detail." Puck poked the gelatinous blob that was supposed to be macaroni and cheese and tried to forget Fischer's tirade. "I'm stuck on duty for Colonial Day next week, and I've got duty at 0430 tomorrow." He sighed. "And it's still frakking weird to call it 0430, instead of four thirty in the frakking morning."
Finn shrugged, shoveling his macaroni in like it actually tasted good. "I don't know. I'm used to it. It's just a little thing."
"Whatever," Puck muttered.
"Hey," Finn said, getting excited again, "have you been down to the deck? Did you see the raider?"
"The toaster one? Yeah, I saw it. Someone should blow that shit up."
"Are you kidding?" Finn said with a frown. "No way. That's, like… a military asset."
Puck stared at him. "Do you even know what that means?" he asked.
"No," Finn admitted. "I just heard Captain Adama saying it."
"Dude," Puck said, but he didn't have the energy to say more.
Finn shrugged. "Whatever. I just… I mean, have you met Lieutenant Thrace yet?"
Puck had to think for a minute. He was vaguely aware that there were other officers and soldiers on the ship, but right now his world had narrowed to the Marines. Finally, he placed her. "You've got to be the only person on this ship who calls her that," he said. "Everyone else calls her Starbuck."
"I know," Finn said, his face lighting up. "But seriously- she brought that thing home with a blown out knee. I mean, she's hard-core."
"Get over your crush, Hudson. Like she'd ever look at you."
"You're just jealous because she can kick your ass," Finn said around a mouthful of noodles.
Now he really wasn't hungry. Puck pushed his plate away. "I've got to go."
"Was it something I said?" Finn asked.
"Nah," Puck lied. "It's nothing." He clapped Finn on the shoulder. "See you later. Don't drool on Thrace. I'm pretty sure she'd make you mop the floor with it."
"Funny," Finn called after him, but Puck was too drained to do anything more than flash an obscene gesture with his fingers.
She can kick your ass. Just like that, there was Lauren in his mind, right there next to him. He turned right and headed down the hall.
The first time Puck had been in the Memorial Hallway, it had made him frakking angry. All those pictures pinned to the wall- all those notes and pieces of people's lives, the candles and the grief that hung in the air- they were more than photos. They were headstones. The fire that had been burning in him ever since the attacks flared hotter, and he wanted nothing more than to get a gun, find all the Cylons and blow every last one of them away. If he died in the process, he wasn't sure he really cared. But the truth was he knew he wouldn't die. If he had a gun and if he had Cylons in front of him, he would make the bastards die, and then he'd stand over their smoking tin can bodies and shoot them again.
As much as he tried to avoid the Memorial Hallway, though, it wasn't always possible. He usually tried to walk down the hall as fast as he could, but every now and then a face would pull his focus and he'd stop. Sometimes they were completely predictable: a thin woman with dark hair and dark eyes, a young girl with a popsicle-stained smile, a little blonde toddler, or a woman with glasses and straight hair and a soul-piercing gaze. Others weren't. Once he'd stopped and stared for five minutes at a picture of a skinny kid with curly red hair and freckles who had his arm draped around a taller blond boy's shoulders. They were standing outside in the sun. Puck had no idea if they were friends, if they were brothers, if they were boyfriends or what, and that bothered him. Because except for one person on this ship, no one else knew, either. And they were dead. They were probably about his age, and they were dead. And every time he looked at a face, the grief tainted the righteous anger a little more. He got why people were putting these pictures up now. Because they- the people in this Fleet- were the only ones left to remember.
He didn't have a picture of his mother, or of Sarah. He did have a picture of Lauren; their junior prom picture was the background on his phone. Mercedes printed that one out for him. He'd had a picture of Beth in his wallet, from the day she was born. But putting their pictures up here now felt like admitting the Cylons had won. Puck wasn't ready to do that, although he carried the two pictures in his pocket.
He stood in the Memorial Hall now, looking at the pictures. They were getting wrinkled from being carted around so much. Lauren glared at him, and he told himself she'd mock him for carrying it. She wouldn't- he loved her and that was what she wanted- but it was easier to believe that she would. Especially when the truth was she'd probably kick his ass for living in any kind of denial.
He shoved the pictures back in his pocket and went to his rack. He couldn't put the pictures up on the Wall, but Lauren and Beth both deserved more. He taped the pictures to the wall by his rack, where he could see them. Where he could keep them both close, and if he was really being sappy, tell himself that they were there beside him.
It was bullshit, and he knew it. But he stared at their pictures until he drifted off to sleep.
***
Puck snapped the two halves of his Cx4 Storm together, snapped the breakdown pin back in, and cocked it. He managed to finish it right as Sergeant Fischer blew his whistle. "Guns down!" he bellowed, and Puck looked down at his with a barely concealed sigh of relief.
Fischer walked down the ranks and picked up Jaffee's rifle, inspecting it. "Do it again."
"Sir?"
"Do it again!"
Jaffee looked confused, but immediately began to break his rifle down again. Puck watched, confident until Fischer stopped right in front of him. Gods, for a short guy, he was kind of scary.
"You're looking awfully smug, Puckerman."
Puck snapped to attention. "Not smug, sir." Although he was. He totally was. He'd finally gotten the hang of putting this damn gun back together.
Fischer picked up his gun and examined it, and then picked up a piece and dangled it in front of Puck's face. The scope. "You forgot something."
Puck tried for bravado. "Don't need it, sir," he said. "I'm a natural."
Fischer frowned. The frown made him look even more terrifying. "You couldn't shoot me at point blank range, Puckerman."
That stung. "I could!" It was a gun, for frak's sake. You pointed it and squeezed the trigger. Puck knew that as soon as he had a chance to fire one of the damn things, he'd be awesome at it. But Fischer didn't look convinced.
"Do it again."
"I don't need to," Puck said, taking the scope. "I can just snap it on and-"
"AGAIN!"
Right. Don't argue. Just do. It took everything he had, but Puck pressed his lips closed and started breaking his gun down again.
***
"So after she told my buddy to get lost, she told me that I was in." Ian Sykes and held his fist up for a bump. Puck obliged, because dude, Sykes deserved it. "Then I told her-"
"Puckerman." Two Marines blocked their path. Nowart and Maldonaldo. Again.
Maldonaldo looked at Sykes. "You're dismissed, recruit." Sykes saluted and hustled away, leaving Puck standing alone and facing the two marines.
"Heard you were giving Sergeant Fischer a hard time today," Nowart accused him. "You don't get the message too quickly, do you?"
"What message?" Puck asked, and then realized he'd better add that "Sir!" damn fast.
Nowart leaned in. He wasn't taller than Puck- if anything, he was a little shorter. But his face was hard and lean, his hair was shaved close, and he reminded Puck of those days in juvvie. Days he hadn't told the Marines about, but had been playing on the edges of his mind anyway. Days where there were other people a lot scarier than him, where they could make him do what they wanted. Days where he was completely out of his league.
Puck really didn't like feeling like that.
"The message that you are not the shit you think you are," Nowart said. "We told you when you came in. You know nothing. You are nothing. You are not the top dog; you are not even the bottom dog. You aren't even the flea on a dog. You are the shit that that flea takes when its been kicked off the dog. You. Are. Nothing. And you're gonna get that message, or you're gonna find your ass back in the crew, and you'll be doing galley work and scrubbing the head after the real soldiers take a shit."
They tried to break you. Puck wasn't going to let them. "Aren't you guys a little old for shit like this?" he asked. "You throw me in the disposal unit again, you might throw out your backs."
Maldonaldo put a hand on Puck's back and shoved. "Let's go."
They pushed him down the halls and into a head where two other Marines were waiting. Twinam was in her BDUs, but Harder had stripped down to her tanks.
"What the-?" Puck suddenly realized that Harder was holding a razor blade. "Frak that!" he yelled, and lurched for the door. Maldonaldo slammed a hand against his chest, and Nowart grabbed his arm and twisted it up so Puck couldn't get free. He pulled on his arm so Puck had to follow or break a limb, and led him back over to the sink. Twinam trapped his head against her chest. She must have sensed that Puck was coming up with a great comment about those pillows his head was on, because she squeezed tightly enough that he saw stars.
"Got a good angle, Brandy?" Twinam asked.
"It will work. Hold still," Harder ordered Puck. "You don't, I'll cut you. Literally."
"Frak this.". He couldn't see in the mirror, but he didn't have to in order to know what was going on. "This is insane."
"This is the Colonial Marines," Nowart corrected him, twisting his arm again. "You step out of line, Puckerman, and there are consequences. You're paying them."
The Colonial Fleet didn't require any specific hairstyles from recruits, so Puck had kept his mohowk. It established his street cred before he even opened his mouth. The one time it had been shaved off the results had been a frakking disaster.
They poured water over his head. He tried to struggle, but as soon as the cold blade touched his scalp he froze. The razor scraped across his scalp, leaving his bare skin exposed to air that suddenly felt cold. When they finally let him up, his head dripping wet and his hair in the sink, he knew everything was going to be a disaster again. Especially when Nowart grabbed him by the back of the neck.
"You got the message, Puckerman? This is the Marines. This isn't high school, and you're not some frakking big man on campus anymore. If you want to be a Marine, you better start acting like it. Fall in line or get the frak out." He shoved Puck away and stormed out of the head.
***
Hair really did have a mojo. When Puck looked in the mirror and ran a hand over his shaved head, he felt like a different person. Not just a geek or a dweeb or a reject, but a loser. A Lima loser, the kind that failed at life and never amounted to anything. Not someone who never achieved fame, but someone who never even got respect. Someone who couldn't get things done.
You're nothing, he heard in his head, over and over again. Nothing.
Puck had expected to fail at a lot of things in life. And he hadn't cared, because he hadn't wanted most of those things. But he'd never really expected that he'd fail at this.
***
"What happened?" Mercedes asked, horrified when she saw his shaved head.
"Nowart and Maldonaldo," Puck said. Mercedes cocked her head inquiringly, but Puck just shook his in response. He really didn't want to talk about it, and Mercedes had a big mouth.
Mercifully, she got the hint and changed the subject. "I've got news. They showed our segment on TV last night."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. And we're being asked to sing at Colonial Day. By the President. Artie said Mr. Schuester said to practice on our own, and he'd get us over in time to run through it a couple times before we have to sing. It's all stuff we've done before."
"They're not gonna let me go. I've got duty that day."
"It's an order from the President. They have to let you go," Mercedes said. "When do you have downtime today?"
Puck sighed. "Nine- twenty one hundred hours."
"All right. Hangar deck. Be there." And before Puck could argue, Mercedes walked away.
He should be using his downtime to study up or to grab a shower before bed or whatever. But as much as he knew that was true and he was hanging in the Marines by a thread, he knew he'd be down there.
***
It was a good thing that the corner of the hangar deck they were using was deserted at this hour. It was dangerous.
"Step, kick, step, kick, step ball change, kick, spin- FINN!" Mercedes ducked. "After three years, how can you still be this bad?"
"He's faking it," Santana said.
"I am not!" Finn said. "I'm just exhausted!"
"Well, so are we, but we still aren't whacking each other and breaking noses," Mercedes said sourly.
"I thought we weren't ever going to mention that again."
"Which is why we've made it a thing to mention it once a month since it happened," Santana said.
"Come on," Puck said, glancing at his watch. "I've got to crash sometime tonight."
"All right," Mercedes agreed. "This time, let's add in the singing. Two, three, four…." They went through the song, and by the end Puck thought they actually sounded pretty damn good.
"Oh, bravo. Bravo." A woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man with chiseled features were both clapping and smirking. Puck didn't recognize either of them, but Finn and Santana both straightened up immediately.
"Lieutenant Edmondson," Finn said. "Lieutenant McCall."
"I didn't know nuggets could sing and dance," McCall said.
"I think it's adorable," Edmondson said. They're like puppies. Slobbering, untrained puppies. Hudson, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"How long have you been singing and dancing?"
"Uh, about a half hour."
Edmondson's eye-roll rivaled Santana's. "I meant how long in your life, Hudson."
"Oh. Three years."
"Three years, huh? All right. Let's see it."
"Sir?" Finn said, glancing back at the others. Puck shrugged.
Edmondson gestured imperiously, with a superior sort of smirk. "You, Hudson. Sing and dance for us."
"When a senior officer gives you an order, you don't stand there and gape!" McCall backed her up. "She wants you to sing and dance! You say 'yes sir' and you sing and dance!"
"Oh. Um. Okay." Finn looked at Puck with a bit of panic. "What do you want me to sing, sir?"
"I'm not the musician here. Just sing and dance, Hudson." When Finn still hesitated, she shouted, "NOW!"
Puck was suddenly very, very relieved the Marines had no idea he was down here.
Finn launched into "I've Gotta Be Me." The singing was good, but, as ordered, Finn tried to dance, too. The two pilots didn't even bother to hide their laughter. After the first verse, Finn gave in and started to ham it up. Which, looking at the reactions of the pilots, might have been exactly the right thing to do. When he finished with a flourish, their applause actually seemed real.
"Not bad, Twinkletoes," McCall said.
Edmondson nodded. "Twinkletoes," she said. "There you go. That's your callsign."
Finn's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but all he said was, "Thank you, sir."
She winked. Frakking winked. "As you were," she said, and the two of them took off.
"You got a call sign already?" Santana said as soon as they were out of earshot. "That's just ridiculous. You haven't even gotten in a Raptor."
"Jealous much?" Mercedes said. "Congratulations, Finn." Finn just looked stunned.
Finn was still grinning like an idiot. Probably because he was one, Puck thought uncharitably. Finn was always too eager to have everybody like him. And yeah, pretty much everyone did, but still. Sometimes you had to piss people off. That was just part of life.
"Come on," Puck said, feeling a lot grumpier than he should. "Let's go through it again."
***
"Heard you put on quite the show last night, Puckerman," Nowart taunted, jogging up beside Puck as the recruits ran the circuit of Galactica. "Maybe we'll have to get you to do your little dancing monkey routine for us, if we can find an organ grinder."
Puck kept his eyes forward and his jaw clenched.
"Recruits!" Nowart shouted. "Article One of the Marine Code of Conduct!"
"'I am a Colonial, fighting in the forces which guard the Colonies and our way of life!'" eight voices shouted back in unison. "'I am prepared to give my life in their defense!'"
"And what are the values?" Nowart's voice was rough, echoing off the corridor walls, and he glared right at Puck.
"Honor! Courage! Commitment!"
"Puckerman! Define commitment!"
Puck's feet were starting to hurt and his mouth was getting dry, but he shouted it out. "'Commitment is the spirit of determination and dedication found in Marines. It leads to the highest order of discipline for individuals and units. It is the ingredient that enables 24-hour a day dedication to Corps and country. It inspires the unrelenting determination to achieve a standard of excellence in every endeavor,' sir!"
Nowart glared at Puck meaningfully. Subtle, asshole, Puck wanted to say. Real subtle. But he got the message. Marines stuck with Marines, at least for now.
***
"Puckerman." Sergeant Fischer caught Puck as he headed out of the first aid class.
"Yes, sir?" Puck couldn't help the slump of his shoulders. Fischer noticed and grimaced.
"Downtime tonight starts at twenty hundred hours. I want you in my office, first aid notes in hand by twenty oh five. We're getting this right tonight. Got it?"
Puck's ears burned. Before, he would have argued that you didn't have to know this shit, only how to shoot a gun. Now, he knew better, and the embarrassment was that he was the only one who needed remedial lessons. "Yes, sir."
"Don't be late."
***
"Dude, everyone gets downtime!" Finn protested. "It's regulation or something."
Puck tried to affect a confidence he wasn't even close to feeling. "Look, man, it's just because I'm so awesome. They know what they've got and they're giving me extra training, all right?"
For a moment, Puck was worried Finn wouldn't believe him. But then, this was Finn, who had once believed you could get a girl pregnant in a hot tub through bathing suits and with your dick two feet away from her twat. Sure enough, Finn shrugged. "They don't do it that way with the pilots," he said, "but that's pretty cool, man. So things are going good?"
"Yeah," Puck said, lying through his teeth and then some. "Things are going great."
***
They heard the sounds through the blast doors in the landing bay. Sergeant Fischer was lecturing about the contents of the weapons locker they were standing in and didn't seem in any way concerned- he just raised his voice to shout over the deep, thundering booms that were followed by the hair-raising, spine-tingling screech of metal on metal.
"Of course, the mags here are for the C-4," Fischer explained. "There is also more ammo for Tristan 25, which is what you'll be carrying on guard duty."
Guard duty. Puck frakking hated those words. He hadn't joined the military to guard shit- he'd joined to fight Cylons. Fischer just kept talking about the ammo that was in this locker. Not that it wasn't interesting- Puck was interested in anything that would blow the frakkers up- but the frustration was niggling at the back of his mind.
The blast doors opened. "Get yourself down to the launch tube and do it again!" someone shouted. "And this time, I want your hands on the controls at all time!"
"They were on the controls, sir!" Puck knew that voice instantly. Santana.
"Like hell they were, recruit! What were you doing, picking your nose or scratching your ass?"
"I was-"
"You are so full of shit. Now get your ass down there and do it again! When you land, you need to let up on the throttle and pull the nose up or you're going to put holes the size of craters in the deck again."
"Yes, sir," Santana said. She stalked by the Marines, not even looking at them. Puck lifted his gun just a bit in acknowledgement anyway.
"Puckerman!" Fischer yelled. "Repeat what I just said!" Puck opened his mouth, but his brain didn't kick in right away. Fischer's expression hardened. "Quarterdeck, Puckerman."
He knew from extensive experience that "quarterdeck" meant gods only knew how long of bends, squat thrusts, and jumping jacks. Puck barely managed to conceal his groan, and sharpened his focus on the ammo lecture that Fischer was giving. But right outside the door, the flight instructor was arguing with someone else.
"Geeze, Kara, are you trying to scare her off? She's a recruit, all right? It's her first time in the cockpit."
"Look, Lee. You guys put me on flight instruction because I know what I'm doing. So back the frak off and let me do my job!"
"But she-"
"She's the only one in that group of rejects that might be worth something!" Kara shouted back. "Of course I'm frakking hard on her! That's how she's going to get good, okay? So back the hell off!"
Puck wondered how high you had to be ranked to talk to a superior officer like that.
Fischer had finished his lecture and was leading them out when they heard the shouting, the triumphant whoops and laughter. As they walked through the landing bay, Puck spotted Santana being carried by a few other pilots in flight uniforms. She had her fist in the air and she was laughing. He knew he should be happy, and he was. But his very first thought was bitch. Especially when he saw Starbuck standing off to the side, clapping.
He knew the Marines were being harder on him than any of the other recruits, but it wasn't the same thing as what Starbuck was doing to Santana at all.
Definitely bitch.
***
Finally, the day he'd been waiting for came. The first time Puck ever fired a gun was on the shooting range of Galactica. It kicked back against his hands and nearly knocked him off his feet, and it was just at one of those paper targets, but it felt good. The first time he hit one of those paper targets felt even better.
This was why he was on Galactica. This was what he meant to be doing. For the first time since he'd joined up, he felt like he was taking a step in the right direction towards his goal.
Now he just had to fire at some of those damn toasters for real.
***
"Bridge bunny hazing!" The shout echoed through the rec room. Puck looked at Jaffee, who shook his head in confusion.
"Oh, I heard this is great!" Sykes said, leaning forward.
"What's so great about it?" Puck asked.
"You know any geeks in high school?"
Puck snorted. "Yeah."
"Can you imagine them hazing someone?"
Puck suddenly imagined what a hazing for New Directions might look like and groaned.
Two petty officers led in six recruits, Mercedes included. She spotted Puck and gave him a wave with her fingertips. She was already swaying drunkenly, and for some reason, she had a pair of underpants on her head and there was a smeared design drawn in lipstick on her cheeks. One petty officer carried a carton of eggs, and the other had a bottle of liquor and a shot glass.
"Recruit Hazelton!" the woman with the eggs shouted. "Give the protocol for relaying coordinates to a ship with a XTL980 computer!"
"Sir. First, a recruit connects with the… with the…."
As he faltered, the woman grinned evilly and smashed the egg on the recruit's head. As the shell broke it became obvious the eggs were rotten. He covered his nose.
"Who's next, Specialist Green?" she asked her companion.
"Recruit Jones, Petty Officer Dualla."
"Recruit Jones!" Petty Officer Dualla shouted, and Mercedes- gods, how much had they given her to drink?- swayed on her feet but saluted. "What is the authentication code for a civilian shuttle?"
Mercedes didn't even hesitate. "Gulf Juliet Tango one three eight, sir!"
Dualla nodded, and Green handed Mercedes a shot glass. She took it, took a deep breath, and then swallowed it down.
"Shit," Puck said, shaking his head. "She's gonna hurl."
It was the stupidest hazing he'd ever seen, and he got why so many people were laughing their asses off. In fact, he kind of wondered why he wasn't. But something about it made him feel… shit.
"I'm going to bed."
"But they just got started!" Jaffee protested.
"Whatever. I'm out of here." He stalked out of the room, bumping shoulders with someone coming in and barely noticing. He got Santana making her landing and Finn being everybody's little brother, but even though Mercedes was a cool enough chick, she wasn't military type. Not like him. He grit his teeth and punched the wall, then regretted it when it really frakking hurt. Stupid frakking bridge bunnies.
As he headed down the hall, he spotted Nowart talking to an officer. Nowart was leaning against the wall, standing very close to the officer, who ducked his head and smiled flirtatiously. Puck stared for a long moment before he remembered that staring at same-sex couples wasn't something you did off Gemenon, but Nowart caught him looking and scowled. He grabbed the officer by the arm and pulled him away, and Puck's shoulder's sagged.
Damn it, even when he was trying not to frak up, it happened anyway.
***
Mercedes was right about Colonial Day; it had been an order from the President, and so all four of them were given four hours leave. Puck was not going to admit how great it was to see New Directions again, and how great it felt to get off Galactica. When the others swarmed them like it had been years, not just a couple of weeks that they'd been gone, Puck stood back with a cocky grin.
"How is it?" Artie asked eagerly. "Is it as awesome as you thought it would be?"
"Hell, yeah," Puck said, stripping off his BDU jacket to change into his costume. "Better, even. I've shot down six toasters already."
"You have not," Santana snapped. "None of us have. We're still recruits- you're not even a private yet."
He glared at her, but Santana didn't notice. Or, more likely, didn't care. Besides, she was too busy pretending she wasn't eyeing up Brittany. Whatever. Puck turned back to Artie and socked him on the shoulder. "No, seriously, man, it's awesome. Wish you were over there."
"Yeah, well." Artie gestured at his chair. He didn't seem to broken up about it though. For a moment, Puck hated him.
"Come on," he said, pushing the chair. "Let's knock em dead before I have to go back to killing toasters." He had four hours to just be with New Directions and sing and be on top. Puck didn't want to waste a single second of it.
***
He'd in no way expected that just because his absence was ordered didn't mean he'd get away with it, and when the Raptor docked, there were Nowart and Maldonaldo, waiting for him. Maldonaldo had an evil grin on his face, Nowart had a scowl. Puck didn't know which one honestly scared him more.
"All right," he said with a sigh, resigned to whatever punishment they were planning to dole out. "Let's get this over with. Sirs."
***
The sound of gunshot echoed in his ears, despite the headphones. He fired again and again, each shot finding the torso of the target down the range. The gun jerked in his hands and strained against his arms, but he expected that now. And damn, he was getting good.
"Hey, Puckerman," Sykes said when Puck took off the headphones. "Did you hear?"
"Did I hear what?" Puck asked.
"Word has it we're in orbit around a planet," Sykes said. "Like, a real one. One people can actually get down on."
"The word is 'habitable', idiot," Peters said.
"Yeah? Are we settling or something?"
"Got me," Sykes said with a shrug, snapping a few parts on his gun. "But I hear they're sending Marines down to the surface. I guess- Puckerman? Where are you going?"
Puck was already headed for the door. Frak this shit. He'd joined. He'd learned how to shoot a gun, and a lot of other stuff, too. It was time that he got to fight for a change.
***
Puck had only seen Gunnery Sergeant Mathias a couple of times before he barged into her office; most of the recruit business was handled by underlings. She was sitting at her desk, her light hair pulled back in a tight tail, a frown on her solid face. She didn't pause in her writing when Puck stormed in.
"I hear there's a mission," Puck said. "I'm volunteering, sir."
"I wasn't aware I was asking for volunteers," Mathias said.
"But I'm ready and I'm willing-"
"That's not how this works." She finally looked up. "If I want volunteers, I volunteer them. Get out of my office."
"What do you want from me?" Puck demanded. "I'm here! I've been training! I'm ready to fight! And I'm not afraid of dying! If I die, so what? As long as I take some toasters out with me-"
Mathias put her pen down. "I don't have so much as a company of Marines, recruit. Counting the eight of you, I have a platoon. That's it. One platoon." She stood up. She was shorter than Puck, but there was something about the way she stood that made Puck take a step back. "So I repeat, that's not how this works. Now get out of my office."
He felt like he should have tried to argue it more, but there was nothing more he could say. He left.
***
"You didn't really try to volunteer for a mission on a planet, did you?" Mercedes asked him when he saw her in the head.
"How the frak did you hear that?" he asked.
Mercedes just grinned. "I hear everything." Puck rolled his eyes, because yeah, she did. "So is it true?"
"Yeah, it's true," Puck said. "What's the big deal?"
"We find a planet where people can get outside for the first time in two months, and you don't get why that would be an assignment people would be fighting over?" Mercedes asked skeptically. "Tell me you are not that stupid."
There was something funny about her face. Puck paused, his hands on his belt, studying her. "What? Are there toasters down there?"
"No. No, it's not that." Mercedes sat down on the bench. "It's just some rumors I've been hearing. Puck, how well do you know the Scriptures?"
He shrugged. "Not that well. My family's always followed Mithras and I only went to temple when my Nana dragged me."
"And you probably spent most of the time drawing dirty pictures or pulling pigtails."
"Yup," Puck said proudly.
Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she said, "you know about Kobol, right?"
"Kobol? The Thirteen Tribes and birthplace of humanity and the Exodus and all that? Yeah, who doesn't know about that shit?" Puck shrugged and pulled off his pants. If he was hoping Mercedes would be impressed or embarrassed by the view he was disappointed, because she wasn't looking at him at all. "What about Kobol?"
"They're saying this is Kobol."
"Who?" Puck scoffed. "Like anyone would know. It doesn't have a road sign on it, does it?"
"No, but they've found ruins."
Puck snorted. "Doesn't mean it's Kobol."
"Doesn't mean it's not," Mercedes said, and Puck suddenly remembered that Mercedes was religious. Like, not just the kind of religious like he was, where he vaguely believed something out there existed and listened, but really religious, like where she believed the stories in the Scrolls and prophets and stuff. In other words, this conversation wasn't a place Puck wanted to go.
"Yeah," he said. "Look, I've got to get my shower. They aren't sending me down, but I've actually got some sort of guard duty shit going on in a half hour. I'll see you later."
"See you later," Mercedes said, and Puck really hoped she wasn't praying on the bench in the enlisted head. He shook his head and headed for the shower. Kobol. It didn't matter what that planet was; all that mattered was that he was stuck on this ship and not in the thick of the action.
***
His first guard duty was excruciatingly dull. He was stuck guarding the brig, which was bullshit because the only person in there was a knuckledragger sleeping one off. It was boring as shit, and he mainly ended up watching the hands go around the clock and studying the handbook he was allowed to bring. On the bright side, he knew that handbook backwards and forwards by the end of four hours. And he still had another four to go.
The hatch opened. Puck drew himself up, ready to challenge whoever was entering, but relaxed when he saw it was Finn. "What are you doing down here?" he asked.
"Looking for you," Finn said. "Look, I heard something I thought you might want to know."
"What is it?"
"The three Raptors that were sent down to Kobol? One's back already."
"If you're going to tell me they found evidence of the gods or whatever, go tell Mercedes," Puck said. "She's the one who-"
"Not gods," Finn interrupted. "Cylons."
"What?"
"One Raptor's gone already. I mean, really gone." Finn's face was a little pale, and it wasn't just the harsh lighting of the brig. "Like, it exploded. The other Raptor crashed on Kobol. They think that people might be alive, but…."
"You're kidding." Puck's stomach turned a little. "How many-"
"There were ten people on the first Raptor," Finn said. "The pilots, the ECO, three specialists, and a fire squad of Marines."
Four Marines dead. And maybe four more dead on the surface of that planet below. Puck stared at Finn. "You're not shitting me?"
"Why would I be?" Finn asked, spreading his hands out. "We knew this when we signed on, Puck. It's war. People die."
"Yeah. Right." Puck pulled himself together. "Look, I told you, you're not supposed to be down here."
"I know. I just thought you'd want to know."
"Well, you told me, so get out, okay?"
"Okay." Finn shot him one more annoyingly sympathetic look and then headed out. The hatch clanged shut, echoing through the small room. In the cell, the knuckledragger snorted and turned over, but didn't wake up.
Four Marines dead. Puck's jaw clenched, and he gripped his handbook. Well, like Finn said, this was why they signed on. Puck wasn't going to be bothered by it- it was all part of the job. And one more reason to shoot those frakkers down.
His hands shook as he read.
***
The racks were nearly dark when Puck entered. He pulled off his jacket and hung it in his locker, and then sighed and rolled his shoulders.
"Want a drink?"
He started. Nowart was sitting on the edge of a rack, a bottle in hand. His face looked sunken in the dim light, and his eyes were little more than glittering pinpoints. He extended the bottle to Puck. "Want a drink?" he repeated.
"Didn't think you were supposed to give me booze," Puck said.
"What's it matter right now?" Nowart asked, taking a swig from the bottle himself. "They should have a wake, but no one can do it right now. No one except me and you."
"Why can't anyone do it?"
"You know how many Marines are supposed to be on this ship?" Nowart asked him.
"Two companies worth, sir," Puck responded automatically.
"Sir," Nowart repeated, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. "Sir. Right. That's what's left of the Marine Corps. Twenty nine of us and eight recruits to call us Sir. Out of the three hundred and sixty stationed on Galactica. Out of the… out of the thousands of us that took the oath."
"I heard about the Raptor that went down to Kobol," Puck said, backing up a little and wondering if he could crash somewhere else for tonight. Nowart was freaking him out. "Any word on the one that crashed?"
Nowart ignored his question and instead took another deep drink from the bottle, and then extended it again. "Drink with me, Puckerman," he said. "Drink to the Marines that lost their lives."
"Sir, I-"
"DRINK!"
Well, it wasn't like he had issues with booze. Puck took the bottle and took a deep swallow, grimacing at the rawness of it. He handed the bottle back.
"I've wanted to be a Marine since I was eight," Nowart said. "Eight. My aunt was a Marine, and she was… she was something. You ever know someone like that? Someone who could kick your ass and make you love it?"
"My girlfriend," Puck said. "Hottest thing ever."
"Girlfriend." Nowart snorted. "She in your singing group?"
"She was. She wasn't on our flight, though." Puck raised his head. "She's dead," he forced himself to say, and it was the first time he said the words.
"That sucks. Have another drink." This time Puck took it without arguing. "Who else did you lose?" Nowart asked him.
"My mom. My sister. My old man, but he was a deadbeat anyway."
"Yeah. Mine, too."
Puck nodded. The couple swallows of alcohol he'd had weren't enough to get him even tipsy, but something in him was loose enough to say, "Beth."
"You said her." Nowart took another long drink.
"No I didn’t."
"Girlfriend."
"She wasn't my girlfriend." That caught Nowart's attention enough that he looked up. "Daughter," Puck explained, and his face felt like it had been frozen.
"Oh." Nowart shook his head. "Lot of people died. Lot of people. You know what the worst is? When you watch them die, when you swore you'd protect them, and then when you live and you're left with the knowledge that you couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. That's your problem, you know."
"My problem?"
Nowart was sitting, but he was swaying even harder now, and his words were slurring. "Your problem," he repeated. "You think… you think that you can come in here and pick up a gun and save the world. Take 'em all down and that will somehow change things. But you know what? You'll be lucky to save a person. And for what? Gods only know, but-" Nowart cut off abruptly, the skin around his mouth turning green.
"Oh, frak," Puck sighed, and got a waste basket under him just in time.
A part of him wondered why he was doing this. Nowart had done nothing but make his life hell ever since Puck had been tapped for the Marines, and it wasn't like Puck would do this for anyone else. Hell, when Artie- Artie- had puked his guts after that train wreck of a party Rachel had, Puck had just laughed and handed him a water after. And it wasn't like the guy had hair to hold back. But there he was, holding a bucket as the guy puked.
"You need water," Puck said as Nowart groaned and lay back in the bed. "I'll- oh, frak it." He rummaged through a locker and got a glass, and then found a canteen and ducked out to fill it. When he got back, Nowart was barely conscious. "Come on, sir," Puck said. "You need to drink. I'm guessing you don't want to be hung over tomorrow."
He ended up having to practically pour the water down the man's throat, and well as the painkiller. Finally, he gave up. "Whatever, sir," he said as Nowart collapsed on the mattress. Puck hesitated, sighed, and pulled the man's boots off and hauled his feet up onto the rack. Screw whoever's rack that actually was. "You owe me for this," Puck told him as Nowart started snoring. And then, because Nowart was unconscious and couldn't answer, he added, "Asshole."
He'd thought about finding Finn or Mercedes or Santana, but decided that right now sleep trumped everything. Hoping he'd be able to sleep over the sound of Nowart's snores, he climbed up into his own and toed off his boots. He lay on side, staring at the pictures of Beth and Lauren that he'd taped to the wall until he fell asleep.
***
Nowart was pulling on his jacket when Puck hauled himself out of the rack the next morning. Their eyes met, and Nowart looked stony. He nodded once, and then looked away.
He walked out of the room without saying a word, and Puck breathed a sigh of relief.
***
"That frakking bitch!"
"Who, President Roslin?" Puck asked, looking up from his hand of cards as Santana stormed into his bunkroom. The room was empty- a lot of the Marines were on missions and the recruits were taking advantage.
"It's your turn, Finn," Mercedes complained from her seat next to Puck. "Go already."
"I'm going," Finn answered, still not putting down his cards.
"No," Santana answered, staring at Puck like he was insane. She sat down on Jaffee's bed. "Starbuck."
"Starbuck? I thought you were all over her ass," Puck said.
Santana glared at him. "You heard what happened, right?"
"She took the Raider under Roslin's orders," Finn said, finally tossing his card in. He looked defensive. "You can't refuse an order from the President."
"Um, yes, you can," Mercedes said. "Especially when your orders come from the Commander."
"Who cares who gave the order?" Santana said, sitting down next to Finn. "The point is that the bitch is gone."
"Why are you so worked up about it? I thought you'd be glad to have the chance to be out from under her. Didn't you call her a hair-pulling, ass-riding dominatrix?" Mercedes asked.
"Yes," Santana said, completely unapologetic, "but who else is going to teach me to fly? I'm finally behind the controls of a damn Viper and she goes jumping off to Gods know where for some 'mission'," she made the sarcastic air quotes, "and leaves us with Catman training us. The guy got his callsign because he's a frakking pussy when it comes to flying." She crossed her arms and glared down at the discard pile. "Frak Starbuck. Are you ever going to deal me in?"
"If Hudson ever takes his turn," Puck said. "Seriously, dude, you are the slowest Triad player in the history of the Colonies."
"Maybe we should stick to Go Fish," Mercedes suggested, snickering.
"Hey," Finn said, spreading his hands. "I'm not that bad. I just don't like losing all my cubits, all right? And don't," he said, glaring at Santana, "even suggest that we play strip Triad."
Santana shut her mouth.
Puck grinned and played his own turn. The room was empty except for the four of them; something that didn't happen often. He wasn't even going to admit to himself how much he was enjoying it.
"What do you think everyone else is doing right now?" Finn asked.
"Drinking themselves into a stupor," Santana said as she fanned her cards out. "That's what I would be doing if it wouldn't get my ass busted."
"I meant New Directions," Finn said.
"So did I."
Finn frowned. "Do you think they're all right?"
"Of course they're all right," Puck scoffed. But Finn looked serious. "You regretting this?"
"What? No, not at all," Finn said. "Just… nothing."
"It's okay," Mercedes said, putting a hand on Finn's arm. "You can say you miss them. We miss them, too."
"Right," Santana said with a snort.
"Whatever," Puck agreed. Puck might have gotten sentimental, but the PA crackled into life.
"Action stations, action stations. Set Condition One throughout the Fleet."
Puck had heard that call before, but something sounded different about it this time. Normally, Lieutenant Gaeta's voice was brisk and unemotional. This time, there was genuine panic. But by the time that analysis sunk in, he was already down in the Marine ready room, waiting for orders. The other recruits were coming in, along with the few Marines that hadn't been sent on missions.
"Did you hear?" Peters said. "Adama's been shot." Her words set off a flurry of protests.
"The Old Man-"
"There's no way that could happen. How the hell could that happen?"
"How does someone shoot the Commander in the middle of the CIC?" Puck demanded. The whole thing didn't make any frakking sense. It wasn't that he even knew Commander Adama or anything. Puck recognized him, but Adama wouldn't be able to return the favor and pick him out of a pile of dead bodies; Puck was sure about that. But even still, it felt like chopping down that tree in Aphrodisias Park- the one that was like five thousand years old or something. It just wasn't something that was supposed to happen.
"Attention!"
The Marines in the ready room snapped to attention, and Mathias hustled in. "The Commander's been shot," she said, with no preamble. "We have a Cylon agent on board. In addition, we've got two new prisoners in the brig; Captain Adama and President Roslin." There was murmuring at that announcement, but one sharp glare from Mathias shut them all up. "Our job is to maintain order on this ship. Fire Squad Delta, I want you up in the CIC. Fire Squad Episilon, head for the brig." Her eyes flicked over to where the recruits were bunched together. "Puckerman, Jaffee, Sykes, and Peters, I want you on landing bay. Cottle is coming back from the Rising Star, and he needs to get to the infirmary as fast as possible. Go!"
"Like anyone's going to get in the way," Sykes said as they jogged in formation down to the landing bay.
"A toaster will," Puck said. "If there's another one on Galactica, Cottle would be their target."
"Frak," Jaffee breathed, and then looked at his three companions. "How do we know that we're not Cylons, then? I mean, I know about me, but not you guys."
Puck's stomach froze.
"Be too much of a coincidence," Peters said firmly. " Mathias assigned us. If we volunteered it would be different, but what are the chances?" They'd made it to the landing deck and fanned out, waiting for the Raptor. Nothing landed.
"We jumped on the way here, didn't we?" Jaffee asked when five minutes had gone by.
The funny thing was, Puck didn't even notice jumps anymore if he was in the middle of something. Part of it was that the Galactica was so huge, but he'd just gotten so used to it that he had to think about the question. "Yeah," he said finally. "I thought I heard it on the PA."
"Well, then, what the frak is going on?"
"I'll go find out." Puck jogged over. The people in the landing bay were in knots. He looked for a familiar face, and finally spotted Lieutenant Edmondson- Racetrack, Finn had finally told him. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I'm looking for the Raptor that Dr. Cottle is on."
Racetrack looked at him as if he was insane, and then her face cleared. "You haven't heard?"
"Heard what, sir?"
"The Fleet's missing."
He blinked at her. "Excuse me, sir?" For a moment, he thought she was playing some joke. That this was his hazing. Hey, kid, guess what! The Fleet is missing and we're lost in space! Let's see if you get panicked enough to try to find a window! But Racetrack's frown deepened, and Puck realized she wasn't joking. This was real. The Fleet was missing.
"Shit."
"My thoughts exactly."
"I can't believe we frakked up bringing back the doctor."
Racetrack shrugged and turned away, her attention on something else. Puck took that as a tacit dismissal and jogged back. "Well?" Jaffee asked when Puck got closer.
"We're in a shitload of trouble."
"He isn't even here!" Sykes protested. "How can we-"
"Not just us," Puck said, gesturing to the four of them. "All of us. We're frakking screwed."
***
On to Part 2
Author: lls_mutant
Fandom: Glee/Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Rating: R, for adult themes and violence
Pairing(s): BSG: canon pairings, plus Gaeta/Baltar. Glee: Burt/Carole and Tina/Mike. Cross-fandom: Puck/Ellen, Kurt/Baltar, Santana/various pilots, Sam/Rya Kibby.
Warning(s): War-related violence, abortion issues, BSG-canon suicide, torture, PTSD, character deaths. (Character deaths are both canon BSG deaths and Glee deaths.)
Fic Summary: When the Cylons attacked, the kids of New Directions were on board the Cybele, on their way to the All-Colony Show Choir Competition. Now they're members of the Fleet, being chased by the Cylons and trying to deal with the day-to-day aspects of a life after the worlds end.
Chapter Summary: Sometimes we must be lost to eventually be found. Puck might have been a bad-ass in high school, but now he's struggling to get his feet in the Marines and accept the imperative of protection.
Notes: This is a 16 part story. Each chapter is from the POV of a Glee character, working through the BSG canon. BSG canon does not change; this ends up being a "average people in the Fleet" story. More information can be found here. Also, huge thanks to kappamaki33, who is betaing this monster.
Chapter Notes: The BSG characters that are featured in Chapter 3 can be found here if you'd like an introduction/refresher/want to get an idea of which Marine is which.
Info Post | Chapter 1 (Will) | Chapter 2 (Brittany)
The Gods must still exist and they must have a frakking cruel sense of humor. Puck was sure of that as he climbed out of the trash pile. He'd thought people would be done this shit by the time they were adults, but apparently tossing people in dumpsters never got old.
Of course, if Puck had been doing the tossing, he would have actually meant that.
The Galactica's waste disposal unit stunk. Puck supposed he should be glad at least the sewage didn't get dumped in here as well. The walls were also high, so climbing out was going to be a bitch. Again. When he finally got leave, he was going to find Kurt and get down on his knees and grovel, then tell him how good he had it, because Kurt only had to climb out of a dumpster.
The only way to the top was to mound enough trash against the wall to give himself a boost. Several times he tried to scramble up, only finding that the pile wasn't nearly as stable as he thought, and he ended up flat on his stomach, his face in a pile of rotting greens or coffee grinds. Finally he managed to curl his fingers around the top of the wall and haul himself up onto the floor.
"Took you long enough. Nowart and Maldonaldo got you again, huh?"
Jaffee and Sykes, two of his fellow recruits, were sitting on the floor, watching. Sykes handed Jaffee a bag of popcorn. Jafee took a handful, crunching into it loudly.
"Frak you," Puck said. He lay on the metal grating for a moment, trying to get his breath. "What are you doing here?"
Sykes got to his feet. "Come on, Puckerman. Sarge said once you hauled your ass out of there you've still got five laps of the Galactica to go." Puck groaned, took a deep breath, and when they hit the corridors, began.
The Galactica, Puck had discovered, was not a big ship; it was frakking huge. In the week he'd been on board, he'd already learned how to pace it. Gods knew he'd had to run the frakking thing enough times. Apparently, the Marines really liked running. Or at least making the new guys run. Or making the frak-ups- no. He wasn't going to think about that.
Of the near-fifty-thousand people to survive, two hundred and twelve people had responded to the call for new recruits. Puck, Mercedes, Santana, and Finn had stuck together during those first days of testing. Over here on Galactica, everything felt very different. Here, the threat of the Cylons wasn't something you could ever block out; it was something that you had to keep on top of your mind every second, because you had to be ready. And when they saw how the Galactica crew functioned and the things they were doing, all four of them privately thought they were about to be tossed out on their asses.
Mercedes got pulled aside first. "They're kicking me out," she'd moaned as they pulled her from the morning run. "I know it. They're kicking me out and sending my ass back over to the Cybele without even a 'thank you very much.' " But the officer who'd pulled her told her to report to the CIC for training. He'd left immediately, and Mercedes had looked at them all with wide, wild, incredulous eyes. The next time Puck saw Mercedes, she had a new pin on her BDU jacket and a thick manual tucked under her arm.
Finn, Santana, and Puck had been sitting together three days later when they were assigned to their own training. Santana had been smug when she'd been called for flight training; Finn had been a little surprised when he was as well. And Puck… Puck had been one of eight people chosen for the Marines.
There weren't many Marines left on Galactica. It turned out that most of them had already been off the ship before the Galactica's decommissioning ceremony, and more had been killed in the first attacks. But you had to be tough to be in the Marines, and Puck had known that that was where he'd belonged from the start. After all, he was Noah Puckerman, starting Pyramid player, glee stud, and biggest all around bad-ass of McKinley High. (Or, at least, he'd dated her. But he was definitely number two on that list.) There were only thirty Marines left, but they were left for a reason. Once you were in, it was shape up or die.
"Four more laps," Sykes shouted at him as he ran by. "And Fischer wants us in weapons locker C12 in thirty!"
Shit. He was going to be late. There was no way he was going to get four more laps done in thirty minutes. No frakking way.
Shape up or die. Puck was sure he was so screwed.
***
"So what did you do?" Finn asked when Puck recounted the whole miserable day that night.
"What could I do? I bent over and took it, like the bitch they want me to be. I finished the laps and then reported to C12."
"Ouch." Finn frowned. "But you were late."
"I was told. In detail." Puck poked the gelatinous blob that was supposed to be macaroni and cheese and tried to forget Fischer's tirade. "I'm stuck on duty for Colonial Day next week, and I've got duty at 0430 tomorrow." He sighed. "And it's still frakking weird to call it 0430, instead of four thirty in the frakking morning."
Finn shrugged, shoveling his macaroni in like it actually tasted good. "I don't know. I'm used to it. It's just a little thing."
"Whatever," Puck muttered.
"Hey," Finn said, getting excited again, "have you been down to the deck? Did you see the raider?"
"The toaster one? Yeah, I saw it. Someone should blow that shit up."
"Are you kidding?" Finn said with a frown. "No way. That's, like… a military asset."
Puck stared at him. "Do you even know what that means?" he asked.
"No," Finn admitted. "I just heard Captain Adama saying it."
"Dude," Puck said, but he didn't have the energy to say more.
Finn shrugged. "Whatever. I just… I mean, have you met Lieutenant Thrace yet?"
Puck had to think for a minute. He was vaguely aware that there were other officers and soldiers on the ship, but right now his world had narrowed to the Marines. Finally, he placed her. "You've got to be the only person on this ship who calls her that," he said. "Everyone else calls her Starbuck."
"I know," Finn said, his face lighting up. "But seriously- she brought that thing home with a blown out knee. I mean, she's hard-core."
"Get over your crush, Hudson. Like she'd ever look at you."
"You're just jealous because she can kick your ass," Finn said around a mouthful of noodles.
Now he really wasn't hungry. Puck pushed his plate away. "I've got to go."
"Was it something I said?" Finn asked.
"Nah," Puck lied. "It's nothing." He clapped Finn on the shoulder. "See you later. Don't drool on Thrace. I'm pretty sure she'd make you mop the floor with it."
"Funny," Finn called after him, but Puck was too drained to do anything more than flash an obscene gesture with his fingers.
She can kick your ass. Just like that, there was Lauren in his mind, right there next to him. He turned right and headed down the hall.
The first time Puck had been in the Memorial Hallway, it had made him frakking angry. All those pictures pinned to the wall- all those notes and pieces of people's lives, the candles and the grief that hung in the air- they were more than photos. They were headstones. The fire that had been burning in him ever since the attacks flared hotter, and he wanted nothing more than to get a gun, find all the Cylons and blow every last one of them away. If he died in the process, he wasn't sure he really cared. But the truth was he knew he wouldn't die. If he had a gun and if he had Cylons in front of him, he would make the bastards die, and then he'd stand over their smoking tin can bodies and shoot them again.
As much as he tried to avoid the Memorial Hallway, though, it wasn't always possible. He usually tried to walk down the hall as fast as he could, but every now and then a face would pull his focus and he'd stop. Sometimes they were completely predictable: a thin woman with dark hair and dark eyes, a young girl with a popsicle-stained smile, a little blonde toddler, or a woman with glasses and straight hair and a soul-piercing gaze. Others weren't. Once he'd stopped and stared for five minutes at a picture of a skinny kid with curly red hair and freckles who had his arm draped around a taller blond boy's shoulders. They were standing outside in the sun. Puck had no idea if they were friends, if they were brothers, if they were boyfriends or what, and that bothered him. Because except for one person on this ship, no one else knew, either. And they were dead. They were probably about his age, and they were dead. And every time he looked at a face, the grief tainted the righteous anger a little more. He got why people were putting these pictures up now. Because they- the people in this Fleet- were the only ones left to remember.
He didn't have a picture of his mother, or of Sarah. He did have a picture of Lauren; their junior prom picture was the background on his phone. Mercedes printed that one out for him. He'd had a picture of Beth in his wallet, from the day she was born. But putting their pictures up here now felt like admitting the Cylons had won. Puck wasn't ready to do that, although he carried the two pictures in his pocket.
He stood in the Memorial Hall now, looking at the pictures. They were getting wrinkled from being carted around so much. Lauren glared at him, and he told himself she'd mock him for carrying it. She wouldn't- he loved her and that was what she wanted- but it was easier to believe that she would. Especially when the truth was she'd probably kick his ass for living in any kind of denial.
He shoved the pictures back in his pocket and went to his rack. He couldn't put the pictures up on the Wall, but Lauren and Beth both deserved more. He taped the pictures to the wall by his rack, where he could see them. Where he could keep them both close, and if he was really being sappy, tell himself that they were there beside him.
It was bullshit, and he knew it. But he stared at their pictures until he drifted off to sleep.
***
Puck snapped the two halves of his Cx4 Storm together, snapped the breakdown pin back in, and cocked it. He managed to finish it right as Sergeant Fischer blew his whistle. "Guns down!" he bellowed, and Puck looked down at his with a barely concealed sigh of relief.
Fischer walked down the ranks and picked up Jaffee's rifle, inspecting it. "Do it again."
"Sir?"
"Do it again!"
Jaffee looked confused, but immediately began to break his rifle down again. Puck watched, confident until Fischer stopped right in front of him. Gods, for a short guy, he was kind of scary.
"You're looking awfully smug, Puckerman."
Puck snapped to attention. "Not smug, sir." Although he was. He totally was. He'd finally gotten the hang of putting this damn gun back together.
Fischer picked up his gun and examined it, and then picked up a piece and dangled it in front of Puck's face. The scope. "You forgot something."
Puck tried for bravado. "Don't need it, sir," he said. "I'm a natural."
Fischer frowned. The frown made him look even more terrifying. "You couldn't shoot me at point blank range, Puckerman."
That stung. "I could!" It was a gun, for frak's sake. You pointed it and squeezed the trigger. Puck knew that as soon as he had a chance to fire one of the damn things, he'd be awesome at it. But Fischer didn't look convinced.
"Do it again."
"I don't need to," Puck said, taking the scope. "I can just snap it on and-"
"AGAIN!"
Right. Don't argue. Just do. It took everything he had, but Puck pressed his lips closed and started breaking his gun down again.
***
"So after she told my buddy to get lost, she told me that I was in." Ian Sykes and held his fist up for a bump. Puck obliged, because dude, Sykes deserved it. "Then I told her-"
"Puckerman." Two Marines blocked their path. Nowart and Maldonaldo. Again.
Maldonaldo looked at Sykes. "You're dismissed, recruit." Sykes saluted and hustled away, leaving Puck standing alone and facing the two marines.
"Heard you were giving Sergeant Fischer a hard time today," Nowart accused him. "You don't get the message too quickly, do you?"
"What message?" Puck asked, and then realized he'd better add that "Sir!" damn fast.
Nowart leaned in. He wasn't taller than Puck- if anything, he was a little shorter. But his face was hard and lean, his hair was shaved close, and he reminded Puck of those days in juvvie. Days he hadn't told the Marines about, but had been playing on the edges of his mind anyway. Days where there were other people a lot scarier than him, where they could make him do what they wanted. Days where he was completely out of his league.
Puck really didn't like feeling like that.
"The message that you are not the shit you think you are," Nowart said. "We told you when you came in. You know nothing. You are nothing. You are not the top dog; you are not even the bottom dog. You aren't even the flea on a dog. You are the shit that that flea takes when its been kicked off the dog. You. Are. Nothing. And you're gonna get that message, or you're gonna find your ass back in the crew, and you'll be doing galley work and scrubbing the head after the real soldiers take a shit."
They tried to break you. Puck wasn't going to let them. "Aren't you guys a little old for shit like this?" he asked. "You throw me in the disposal unit again, you might throw out your backs."
Maldonaldo put a hand on Puck's back and shoved. "Let's go."
They pushed him down the halls and into a head where two other Marines were waiting. Twinam was in her BDUs, but Harder had stripped down to her tanks.
"What the-?" Puck suddenly realized that Harder was holding a razor blade. "Frak that!" he yelled, and lurched for the door. Maldonaldo slammed a hand against his chest, and Nowart grabbed his arm and twisted it up so Puck couldn't get free. He pulled on his arm so Puck had to follow or break a limb, and led him back over to the sink. Twinam trapped his head against her chest. She must have sensed that Puck was coming up with a great comment about those pillows his head was on, because she squeezed tightly enough that he saw stars.
"Got a good angle, Brandy?" Twinam asked.
"It will work. Hold still," Harder ordered Puck. "You don't, I'll cut you. Literally."
"Frak this.". He couldn't see in the mirror, but he didn't have to in order to know what was going on. "This is insane."
"This is the Colonial Marines," Nowart corrected him, twisting his arm again. "You step out of line, Puckerman, and there are consequences. You're paying them."
The Colonial Fleet didn't require any specific hairstyles from recruits, so Puck had kept his mohowk. It established his street cred before he even opened his mouth. The one time it had been shaved off the results had been a frakking disaster.
They poured water over his head. He tried to struggle, but as soon as the cold blade touched his scalp he froze. The razor scraped across his scalp, leaving his bare skin exposed to air that suddenly felt cold. When they finally let him up, his head dripping wet and his hair in the sink, he knew everything was going to be a disaster again. Especially when Nowart grabbed him by the back of the neck.
"You got the message, Puckerman? This is the Marines. This isn't high school, and you're not some frakking big man on campus anymore. If you want to be a Marine, you better start acting like it. Fall in line or get the frak out." He shoved Puck away and stormed out of the head.
***
Hair really did have a mojo. When Puck looked in the mirror and ran a hand over his shaved head, he felt like a different person. Not just a geek or a dweeb or a reject, but a loser. A Lima loser, the kind that failed at life and never amounted to anything. Not someone who never achieved fame, but someone who never even got respect. Someone who couldn't get things done.
You're nothing, he heard in his head, over and over again. Nothing.
Puck had expected to fail at a lot of things in life. And he hadn't cared, because he hadn't wanted most of those things. But he'd never really expected that he'd fail at this.
***
"What happened?" Mercedes asked, horrified when she saw his shaved head.
"Nowart and Maldonaldo," Puck said. Mercedes cocked her head inquiringly, but Puck just shook his in response. He really didn't want to talk about it, and Mercedes had a big mouth.
Mercifully, she got the hint and changed the subject. "I've got news. They showed our segment on TV last night."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. And we're being asked to sing at Colonial Day. By the President. Artie said Mr. Schuester said to practice on our own, and he'd get us over in time to run through it a couple times before we have to sing. It's all stuff we've done before."
"They're not gonna let me go. I've got duty that day."
"It's an order from the President. They have to let you go," Mercedes said. "When do you have downtime today?"
Puck sighed. "Nine- twenty one hundred hours."
"All right. Hangar deck. Be there." And before Puck could argue, Mercedes walked away.
He should be using his downtime to study up or to grab a shower before bed or whatever. But as much as he knew that was true and he was hanging in the Marines by a thread, he knew he'd be down there.
***
It was a good thing that the corner of the hangar deck they were using was deserted at this hour. It was dangerous.
"Step, kick, step, kick, step ball change, kick, spin- FINN!" Mercedes ducked. "After three years, how can you still be this bad?"
"He's faking it," Santana said.
"I am not!" Finn said. "I'm just exhausted!"
"Well, so are we, but we still aren't whacking each other and breaking noses," Mercedes said sourly.
"I thought we weren't ever going to mention that again."
"Which is why we've made it a thing to mention it once a month since it happened," Santana said.
"Come on," Puck said, glancing at his watch. "I've got to crash sometime tonight."
"All right," Mercedes agreed. "This time, let's add in the singing. Two, three, four…." They went through the song, and by the end Puck thought they actually sounded pretty damn good.
"Oh, bravo. Bravo." A woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man with chiseled features were both clapping and smirking. Puck didn't recognize either of them, but Finn and Santana both straightened up immediately.
"Lieutenant Edmondson," Finn said. "Lieutenant McCall."
"I didn't know nuggets could sing and dance," McCall said.
"I think it's adorable," Edmondson said. They're like puppies. Slobbering, untrained puppies. Hudson, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"How long have you been singing and dancing?"
"Uh, about a half hour."
Edmondson's eye-roll rivaled Santana's. "I meant how long in your life, Hudson."
"Oh. Three years."
"Three years, huh? All right. Let's see it."
"Sir?" Finn said, glancing back at the others. Puck shrugged.
Edmondson gestured imperiously, with a superior sort of smirk. "You, Hudson. Sing and dance for us."
"When a senior officer gives you an order, you don't stand there and gape!" McCall backed her up. "She wants you to sing and dance! You say 'yes sir' and you sing and dance!"
"Oh. Um. Okay." Finn looked at Puck with a bit of panic. "What do you want me to sing, sir?"
"I'm not the musician here. Just sing and dance, Hudson." When Finn still hesitated, she shouted, "NOW!"
Puck was suddenly very, very relieved the Marines had no idea he was down here.
Finn launched into "I've Gotta Be Me." The singing was good, but, as ordered, Finn tried to dance, too. The two pilots didn't even bother to hide their laughter. After the first verse, Finn gave in and started to ham it up. Which, looking at the reactions of the pilots, might have been exactly the right thing to do. When he finished with a flourish, their applause actually seemed real.
"Not bad, Twinkletoes," McCall said.
Edmondson nodded. "Twinkletoes," she said. "There you go. That's your callsign."
Finn's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but all he said was, "Thank you, sir."
She winked. Frakking winked. "As you were," she said, and the two of them took off.
"You got a call sign already?" Santana said as soon as they were out of earshot. "That's just ridiculous. You haven't even gotten in a Raptor."
"Jealous much?" Mercedes said. "Congratulations, Finn." Finn just looked stunned.
Finn was still grinning like an idiot. Probably because he was one, Puck thought uncharitably. Finn was always too eager to have everybody like him. And yeah, pretty much everyone did, but still. Sometimes you had to piss people off. That was just part of life.
"Come on," Puck said, feeling a lot grumpier than he should. "Let's go through it again."
***
"Heard you put on quite the show last night, Puckerman," Nowart taunted, jogging up beside Puck as the recruits ran the circuit of Galactica. "Maybe we'll have to get you to do your little dancing monkey routine for us, if we can find an organ grinder."
Puck kept his eyes forward and his jaw clenched.
"Recruits!" Nowart shouted. "Article One of the Marine Code of Conduct!"
"'I am a Colonial, fighting in the forces which guard the Colonies and our way of life!'" eight voices shouted back in unison. "'I am prepared to give my life in their defense!'"
"And what are the values?" Nowart's voice was rough, echoing off the corridor walls, and he glared right at Puck.
"Honor! Courage! Commitment!"
"Puckerman! Define commitment!"
Puck's feet were starting to hurt and his mouth was getting dry, but he shouted it out. "'Commitment is the spirit of determination and dedication found in Marines. It leads to the highest order of discipline for individuals and units. It is the ingredient that enables 24-hour a day dedication to Corps and country. It inspires the unrelenting determination to achieve a standard of excellence in every endeavor,' sir!"
Nowart glared at Puck meaningfully. Subtle, asshole, Puck wanted to say. Real subtle. But he got the message. Marines stuck with Marines, at least for now.
***
"Puckerman." Sergeant Fischer caught Puck as he headed out of the first aid class.
"Yes, sir?" Puck couldn't help the slump of his shoulders. Fischer noticed and grimaced.
"Downtime tonight starts at twenty hundred hours. I want you in my office, first aid notes in hand by twenty oh five. We're getting this right tonight. Got it?"
Puck's ears burned. Before, he would have argued that you didn't have to know this shit, only how to shoot a gun. Now, he knew better, and the embarrassment was that he was the only one who needed remedial lessons. "Yes, sir."
"Don't be late."
***
"Dude, everyone gets downtime!" Finn protested. "It's regulation or something."
Puck tried to affect a confidence he wasn't even close to feeling. "Look, man, it's just because I'm so awesome. They know what they've got and they're giving me extra training, all right?"
For a moment, Puck was worried Finn wouldn't believe him. But then, this was Finn, who had once believed you could get a girl pregnant in a hot tub through bathing suits and with your dick two feet away from her twat. Sure enough, Finn shrugged. "They don't do it that way with the pilots," he said, "but that's pretty cool, man. So things are going good?"
"Yeah," Puck said, lying through his teeth and then some. "Things are going great."
***
They heard the sounds through the blast doors in the landing bay. Sergeant Fischer was lecturing about the contents of the weapons locker they were standing in and didn't seem in any way concerned- he just raised his voice to shout over the deep, thundering booms that were followed by the hair-raising, spine-tingling screech of metal on metal.
"Of course, the mags here are for the C-4," Fischer explained. "There is also more ammo for Tristan 25, which is what you'll be carrying on guard duty."
Guard duty. Puck frakking hated those words. He hadn't joined the military to guard shit- he'd joined to fight Cylons. Fischer just kept talking about the ammo that was in this locker. Not that it wasn't interesting- Puck was interested in anything that would blow the frakkers up- but the frustration was niggling at the back of his mind.
The blast doors opened. "Get yourself down to the launch tube and do it again!" someone shouted. "And this time, I want your hands on the controls at all time!"
"They were on the controls, sir!" Puck knew that voice instantly. Santana.
"Like hell they were, recruit! What were you doing, picking your nose or scratching your ass?"
"I was-"
"You are so full of shit. Now get your ass down there and do it again! When you land, you need to let up on the throttle and pull the nose up or you're going to put holes the size of craters in the deck again."
"Yes, sir," Santana said. She stalked by the Marines, not even looking at them. Puck lifted his gun just a bit in acknowledgement anyway.
"Puckerman!" Fischer yelled. "Repeat what I just said!" Puck opened his mouth, but his brain didn't kick in right away. Fischer's expression hardened. "Quarterdeck, Puckerman."
He knew from extensive experience that "quarterdeck" meant gods only knew how long of bends, squat thrusts, and jumping jacks. Puck barely managed to conceal his groan, and sharpened his focus on the ammo lecture that Fischer was giving. But right outside the door, the flight instructor was arguing with someone else.
"Geeze, Kara, are you trying to scare her off? She's a recruit, all right? It's her first time in the cockpit."
"Look, Lee. You guys put me on flight instruction because I know what I'm doing. So back the frak off and let me do my job!"
"But she-"
"She's the only one in that group of rejects that might be worth something!" Kara shouted back. "Of course I'm frakking hard on her! That's how she's going to get good, okay? So back the hell off!"
Puck wondered how high you had to be ranked to talk to a superior officer like that.
Fischer had finished his lecture and was leading them out when they heard the shouting, the triumphant whoops and laughter. As they walked through the landing bay, Puck spotted Santana being carried by a few other pilots in flight uniforms. She had her fist in the air and she was laughing. He knew he should be happy, and he was. But his very first thought was bitch. Especially when he saw Starbuck standing off to the side, clapping.
He knew the Marines were being harder on him than any of the other recruits, but it wasn't the same thing as what Starbuck was doing to Santana at all.
Definitely bitch.
***
Finally, the day he'd been waiting for came. The first time Puck ever fired a gun was on the shooting range of Galactica. It kicked back against his hands and nearly knocked him off his feet, and it was just at one of those paper targets, but it felt good. The first time he hit one of those paper targets felt even better.
This was why he was on Galactica. This was what he meant to be doing. For the first time since he'd joined up, he felt like he was taking a step in the right direction towards his goal.
Now he just had to fire at some of those damn toasters for real.
***
"Bridge bunny hazing!" The shout echoed through the rec room. Puck looked at Jaffee, who shook his head in confusion.
"Oh, I heard this is great!" Sykes said, leaning forward.
"What's so great about it?" Puck asked.
"You know any geeks in high school?"
Puck snorted. "Yeah."
"Can you imagine them hazing someone?"
Puck suddenly imagined what a hazing for New Directions might look like and groaned.
Two petty officers led in six recruits, Mercedes included. She spotted Puck and gave him a wave with her fingertips. She was already swaying drunkenly, and for some reason, she had a pair of underpants on her head and there was a smeared design drawn in lipstick on her cheeks. One petty officer carried a carton of eggs, and the other had a bottle of liquor and a shot glass.
"Recruit Hazelton!" the woman with the eggs shouted. "Give the protocol for relaying coordinates to a ship with a XTL980 computer!"
"Sir. First, a recruit connects with the… with the…."
As he faltered, the woman grinned evilly and smashed the egg on the recruit's head. As the shell broke it became obvious the eggs were rotten. He covered his nose.
"Who's next, Specialist Green?" she asked her companion.
"Recruit Jones, Petty Officer Dualla."
"Recruit Jones!" Petty Officer Dualla shouted, and Mercedes- gods, how much had they given her to drink?- swayed on her feet but saluted. "What is the authentication code for a civilian shuttle?"
Mercedes didn't even hesitate. "Gulf Juliet Tango one three eight, sir!"
Dualla nodded, and Green handed Mercedes a shot glass. She took it, took a deep breath, and then swallowed it down.
"Shit," Puck said, shaking his head. "She's gonna hurl."
It was the stupidest hazing he'd ever seen, and he got why so many people were laughing their asses off. In fact, he kind of wondered why he wasn't. But something about it made him feel… shit.
"I'm going to bed."
"But they just got started!" Jaffee protested.
"Whatever. I'm out of here." He stalked out of the room, bumping shoulders with someone coming in and barely noticing. He got Santana making her landing and Finn being everybody's little brother, but even though Mercedes was a cool enough chick, she wasn't military type. Not like him. He grit his teeth and punched the wall, then regretted it when it really frakking hurt. Stupid frakking bridge bunnies.
As he headed down the hall, he spotted Nowart talking to an officer. Nowart was leaning against the wall, standing very close to the officer, who ducked his head and smiled flirtatiously. Puck stared for a long moment before he remembered that staring at same-sex couples wasn't something you did off Gemenon, but Nowart caught him looking and scowled. He grabbed the officer by the arm and pulled him away, and Puck's shoulder's sagged.
Damn it, even when he was trying not to frak up, it happened anyway.
***
Mercedes was right about Colonial Day; it had been an order from the President, and so all four of them were given four hours leave. Puck was not going to admit how great it was to see New Directions again, and how great it felt to get off Galactica. When the others swarmed them like it had been years, not just a couple of weeks that they'd been gone, Puck stood back with a cocky grin.
"How is it?" Artie asked eagerly. "Is it as awesome as you thought it would be?"
"Hell, yeah," Puck said, stripping off his BDU jacket to change into his costume. "Better, even. I've shot down six toasters already."
"You have not," Santana snapped. "None of us have. We're still recruits- you're not even a private yet."
He glared at her, but Santana didn't notice. Or, more likely, didn't care. Besides, she was too busy pretending she wasn't eyeing up Brittany. Whatever. Puck turned back to Artie and socked him on the shoulder. "No, seriously, man, it's awesome. Wish you were over there."
"Yeah, well." Artie gestured at his chair. He didn't seem to broken up about it though. For a moment, Puck hated him.
"Come on," he said, pushing the chair. "Let's knock em dead before I have to go back to killing toasters." He had four hours to just be with New Directions and sing and be on top. Puck didn't want to waste a single second of it.
***
He'd in no way expected that just because his absence was ordered didn't mean he'd get away with it, and when the Raptor docked, there were Nowart and Maldonaldo, waiting for him. Maldonaldo had an evil grin on his face, Nowart had a scowl. Puck didn't know which one honestly scared him more.
"All right," he said with a sigh, resigned to whatever punishment they were planning to dole out. "Let's get this over with. Sirs."
***
The sound of gunshot echoed in his ears, despite the headphones. He fired again and again, each shot finding the torso of the target down the range. The gun jerked in his hands and strained against his arms, but he expected that now. And damn, he was getting good.
"Hey, Puckerman," Sykes said when Puck took off the headphones. "Did you hear?"
"Did I hear what?" Puck asked.
"Word has it we're in orbit around a planet," Sykes said. "Like, a real one. One people can actually get down on."
"The word is 'habitable', idiot," Peters said.
"Yeah? Are we settling or something?"
"Got me," Sykes said with a shrug, snapping a few parts on his gun. "But I hear they're sending Marines down to the surface. I guess- Puckerman? Where are you going?"
Puck was already headed for the door. Frak this shit. He'd joined. He'd learned how to shoot a gun, and a lot of other stuff, too. It was time that he got to fight for a change.
***
Puck had only seen Gunnery Sergeant Mathias a couple of times before he barged into her office; most of the recruit business was handled by underlings. She was sitting at her desk, her light hair pulled back in a tight tail, a frown on her solid face. She didn't pause in her writing when Puck stormed in.
"I hear there's a mission," Puck said. "I'm volunteering, sir."
"I wasn't aware I was asking for volunteers," Mathias said.
"But I'm ready and I'm willing-"
"That's not how this works." She finally looked up. "If I want volunteers, I volunteer them. Get out of my office."
"What do you want from me?" Puck demanded. "I'm here! I've been training! I'm ready to fight! And I'm not afraid of dying! If I die, so what? As long as I take some toasters out with me-"
Mathias put her pen down. "I don't have so much as a company of Marines, recruit. Counting the eight of you, I have a platoon. That's it. One platoon." She stood up. She was shorter than Puck, but there was something about the way she stood that made Puck take a step back. "So I repeat, that's not how this works. Now get out of my office."
He felt like he should have tried to argue it more, but there was nothing more he could say. He left.
***
"You didn't really try to volunteer for a mission on a planet, did you?" Mercedes asked him when he saw her in the head.
"How the frak did you hear that?" he asked.
Mercedes just grinned. "I hear everything." Puck rolled his eyes, because yeah, she did. "So is it true?"
"Yeah, it's true," Puck said. "What's the big deal?"
"We find a planet where people can get outside for the first time in two months, and you don't get why that would be an assignment people would be fighting over?" Mercedes asked skeptically. "Tell me you are not that stupid."
There was something funny about her face. Puck paused, his hands on his belt, studying her. "What? Are there toasters down there?"
"No. No, it's not that." Mercedes sat down on the bench. "It's just some rumors I've been hearing. Puck, how well do you know the Scriptures?"
He shrugged. "Not that well. My family's always followed Mithras and I only went to temple when my Nana dragged me."
"And you probably spent most of the time drawing dirty pictures or pulling pigtails."
"Yup," Puck said proudly.
Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she said, "you know about Kobol, right?"
"Kobol? The Thirteen Tribes and birthplace of humanity and the Exodus and all that? Yeah, who doesn't know about that shit?" Puck shrugged and pulled off his pants. If he was hoping Mercedes would be impressed or embarrassed by the view he was disappointed, because she wasn't looking at him at all. "What about Kobol?"
"They're saying this is Kobol."
"Who?" Puck scoffed. "Like anyone would know. It doesn't have a road sign on it, does it?"
"No, but they've found ruins."
Puck snorted. "Doesn't mean it's Kobol."
"Doesn't mean it's not," Mercedes said, and Puck suddenly remembered that Mercedes was religious. Like, not just the kind of religious like he was, where he vaguely believed something out there existed and listened, but really religious, like where she believed the stories in the Scrolls and prophets and stuff. In other words, this conversation wasn't a place Puck wanted to go.
"Yeah," he said. "Look, I've got to get my shower. They aren't sending me down, but I've actually got some sort of guard duty shit going on in a half hour. I'll see you later."
"See you later," Mercedes said, and Puck really hoped she wasn't praying on the bench in the enlisted head. He shook his head and headed for the shower. Kobol. It didn't matter what that planet was; all that mattered was that he was stuck on this ship and not in the thick of the action.
***
His first guard duty was excruciatingly dull. He was stuck guarding the brig, which was bullshit because the only person in there was a knuckledragger sleeping one off. It was boring as shit, and he mainly ended up watching the hands go around the clock and studying the handbook he was allowed to bring. On the bright side, he knew that handbook backwards and forwards by the end of four hours. And he still had another four to go.
The hatch opened. Puck drew himself up, ready to challenge whoever was entering, but relaxed when he saw it was Finn. "What are you doing down here?" he asked.
"Looking for you," Finn said. "Look, I heard something I thought you might want to know."
"What is it?"
"The three Raptors that were sent down to Kobol? One's back already."
"If you're going to tell me they found evidence of the gods or whatever, go tell Mercedes," Puck said. "She's the one who-"
"Not gods," Finn interrupted. "Cylons."
"What?"
"One Raptor's gone already. I mean, really gone." Finn's face was a little pale, and it wasn't just the harsh lighting of the brig. "Like, it exploded. The other Raptor crashed on Kobol. They think that people might be alive, but…."
"You're kidding." Puck's stomach turned a little. "How many-"
"There were ten people on the first Raptor," Finn said. "The pilots, the ECO, three specialists, and a fire squad of Marines."
Four Marines dead. And maybe four more dead on the surface of that planet below. Puck stared at Finn. "You're not shitting me?"
"Why would I be?" Finn asked, spreading his hands out. "We knew this when we signed on, Puck. It's war. People die."
"Yeah. Right." Puck pulled himself together. "Look, I told you, you're not supposed to be down here."
"I know. I just thought you'd want to know."
"Well, you told me, so get out, okay?"
"Okay." Finn shot him one more annoyingly sympathetic look and then headed out. The hatch clanged shut, echoing through the small room. In the cell, the knuckledragger snorted and turned over, but didn't wake up.
Four Marines dead. Puck's jaw clenched, and he gripped his handbook. Well, like Finn said, this was why they signed on. Puck wasn't going to be bothered by it- it was all part of the job. And one more reason to shoot those frakkers down.
His hands shook as he read.
***
The racks were nearly dark when Puck entered. He pulled off his jacket and hung it in his locker, and then sighed and rolled his shoulders.
"Want a drink?"
He started. Nowart was sitting on the edge of a rack, a bottle in hand. His face looked sunken in the dim light, and his eyes were little more than glittering pinpoints. He extended the bottle to Puck. "Want a drink?" he repeated.
"Didn't think you were supposed to give me booze," Puck said.
"What's it matter right now?" Nowart asked, taking a swig from the bottle himself. "They should have a wake, but no one can do it right now. No one except me and you."
"Why can't anyone do it?"
"You know how many Marines are supposed to be on this ship?" Nowart asked him.
"Two companies worth, sir," Puck responded automatically.
"Sir," Nowart repeated, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. "Sir. Right. That's what's left of the Marine Corps. Twenty nine of us and eight recruits to call us Sir. Out of the three hundred and sixty stationed on Galactica. Out of the… out of the thousands of us that took the oath."
"I heard about the Raptor that went down to Kobol," Puck said, backing up a little and wondering if he could crash somewhere else for tonight. Nowart was freaking him out. "Any word on the one that crashed?"
Nowart ignored his question and instead took another deep drink from the bottle, and then extended it again. "Drink with me, Puckerman," he said. "Drink to the Marines that lost their lives."
"Sir, I-"
"DRINK!"
Well, it wasn't like he had issues with booze. Puck took the bottle and took a deep swallow, grimacing at the rawness of it. He handed the bottle back.
"I've wanted to be a Marine since I was eight," Nowart said. "Eight. My aunt was a Marine, and she was… she was something. You ever know someone like that? Someone who could kick your ass and make you love it?"
"My girlfriend," Puck said. "Hottest thing ever."
"Girlfriend." Nowart snorted. "She in your singing group?"
"She was. She wasn't on our flight, though." Puck raised his head. "She's dead," he forced himself to say, and it was the first time he said the words.
"That sucks. Have another drink." This time Puck took it without arguing. "Who else did you lose?" Nowart asked him.
"My mom. My sister. My old man, but he was a deadbeat anyway."
"Yeah. Mine, too."
Puck nodded. The couple swallows of alcohol he'd had weren't enough to get him even tipsy, but something in him was loose enough to say, "Beth."
"You said her." Nowart took another long drink.
"No I didn’t."
"Girlfriend."
"She wasn't my girlfriend." That caught Nowart's attention enough that he looked up. "Daughter," Puck explained, and his face felt like it had been frozen.
"Oh." Nowart shook his head. "Lot of people died. Lot of people. You know what the worst is? When you watch them die, when you swore you'd protect them, and then when you live and you're left with the knowledge that you couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. That's your problem, you know."
"My problem?"
Nowart was sitting, but he was swaying even harder now, and his words were slurring. "Your problem," he repeated. "You think… you think that you can come in here and pick up a gun and save the world. Take 'em all down and that will somehow change things. But you know what? You'll be lucky to save a person. And for what? Gods only know, but-" Nowart cut off abruptly, the skin around his mouth turning green.
"Oh, frak," Puck sighed, and got a waste basket under him just in time.
A part of him wondered why he was doing this. Nowart had done nothing but make his life hell ever since Puck had been tapped for the Marines, and it wasn't like Puck would do this for anyone else. Hell, when Artie- Artie- had puked his guts after that train wreck of a party Rachel had, Puck had just laughed and handed him a water after. And it wasn't like the guy had hair to hold back. But there he was, holding a bucket as the guy puked.
"You need water," Puck said as Nowart groaned and lay back in the bed. "I'll- oh, frak it." He rummaged through a locker and got a glass, and then found a canteen and ducked out to fill it. When he got back, Nowart was barely conscious. "Come on, sir," Puck said. "You need to drink. I'm guessing you don't want to be hung over tomorrow."
He ended up having to practically pour the water down the man's throat, and well as the painkiller. Finally, he gave up. "Whatever, sir," he said as Nowart collapsed on the mattress. Puck hesitated, sighed, and pulled the man's boots off and hauled his feet up onto the rack. Screw whoever's rack that actually was. "You owe me for this," Puck told him as Nowart started snoring. And then, because Nowart was unconscious and couldn't answer, he added, "Asshole."
He'd thought about finding Finn or Mercedes or Santana, but decided that right now sleep trumped everything. Hoping he'd be able to sleep over the sound of Nowart's snores, he climbed up into his own and toed off his boots. He lay on side, staring at the pictures of Beth and Lauren that he'd taped to the wall until he fell asleep.
***
Nowart was pulling on his jacket when Puck hauled himself out of the rack the next morning. Their eyes met, and Nowart looked stony. He nodded once, and then looked away.
He walked out of the room without saying a word, and Puck breathed a sigh of relief.
***
"That frakking bitch!"
"Who, President Roslin?" Puck asked, looking up from his hand of cards as Santana stormed into his bunkroom. The room was empty- a lot of the Marines were on missions and the recruits were taking advantage.
"It's your turn, Finn," Mercedes complained from her seat next to Puck. "Go already."
"I'm going," Finn answered, still not putting down his cards.
"No," Santana answered, staring at Puck like he was insane. She sat down on Jaffee's bed. "Starbuck."
"Starbuck? I thought you were all over her ass," Puck said.
Santana glared at him. "You heard what happened, right?"
"She took the Raider under Roslin's orders," Finn said, finally tossing his card in. He looked defensive. "You can't refuse an order from the President."
"Um, yes, you can," Mercedes said. "Especially when your orders come from the Commander."
"Who cares who gave the order?" Santana said, sitting down next to Finn. "The point is that the bitch is gone."
"Why are you so worked up about it? I thought you'd be glad to have the chance to be out from under her. Didn't you call her a hair-pulling, ass-riding dominatrix?" Mercedes asked.
"Yes," Santana said, completely unapologetic, "but who else is going to teach me to fly? I'm finally behind the controls of a damn Viper and she goes jumping off to Gods know where for some 'mission'," she made the sarcastic air quotes, "and leaves us with Catman training us. The guy got his callsign because he's a frakking pussy when it comes to flying." She crossed her arms and glared down at the discard pile. "Frak Starbuck. Are you ever going to deal me in?"
"If Hudson ever takes his turn," Puck said. "Seriously, dude, you are the slowest Triad player in the history of the Colonies."
"Maybe we should stick to Go Fish," Mercedes suggested, snickering.
"Hey," Finn said, spreading his hands. "I'm not that bad. I just don't like losing all my cubits, all right? And don't," he said, glaring at Santana, "even suggest that we play strip Triad."
Santana shut her mouth.
Puck grinned and played his own turn. The room was empty except for the four of them; something that didn't happen often. He wasn't even going to admit to himself how much he was enjoying it.
"What do you think everyone else is doing right now?" Finn asked.
"Drinking themselves into a stupor," Santana said as she fanned her cards out. "That's what I would be doing if it wouldn't get my ass busted."
"I meant New Directions," Finn said.
"So did I."
Finn frowned. "Do you think they're all right?"
"Of course they're all right," Puck scoffed. But Finn looked serious. "You regretting this?"
"What? No, not at all," Finn said. "Just… nothing."
"It's okay," Mercedes said, putting a hand on Finn's arm. "You can say you miss them. We miss them, too."
"Right," Santana said with a snort.
"Whatever," Puck agreed. Puck might have gotten sentimental, but the PA crackled into life.
"Action stations, action stations. Set Condition One throughout the Fleet."
Puck had heard that call before, but something sounded different about it this time. Normally, Lieutenant Gaeta's voice was brisk and unemotional. This time, there was genuine panic. But by the time that analysis sunk in, he was already down in the Marine ready room, waiting for orders. The other recruits were coming in, along with the few Marines that hadn't been sent on missions.
"Did you hear?" Peters said. "Adama's been shot." Her words set off a flurry of protests.
"The Old Man-"
"There's no way that could happen. How the hell could that happen?"
"How does someone shoot the Commander in the middle of the CIC?" Puck demanded. The whole thing didn't make any frakking sense. It wasn't that he even knew Commander Adama or anything. Puck recognized him, but Adama wouldn't be able to return the favor and pick him out of a pile of dead bodies; Puck was sure about that. But even still, it felt like chopping down that tree in Aphrodisias Park- the one that was like five thousand years old or something. It just wasn't something that was supposed to happen.
"Attention!"
The Marines in the ready room snapped to attention, and Mathias hustled in. "The Commander's been shot," she said, with no preamble. "We have a Cylon agent on board. In addition, we've got two new prisoners in the brig; Captain Adama and President Roslin." There was murmuring at that announcement, but one sharp glare from Mathias shut them all up. "Our job is to maintain order on this ship. Fire Squad Delta, I want you up in the CIC. Fire Squad Episilon, head for the brig." Her eyes flicked over to where the recruits were bunched together. "Puckerman, Jaffee, Sykes, and Peters, I want you on landing bay. Cottle is coming back from the Rising Star, and he needs to get to the infirmary as fast as possible. Go!"
"Like anyone's going to get in the way," Sykes said as they jogged in formation down to the landing bay.
"A toaster will," Puck said. "If there's another one on Galactica, Cottle would be their target."
"Frak," Jaffee breathed, and then looked at his three companions. "How do we know that we're not Cylons, then? I mean, I know about me, but not you guys."
Puck's stomach froze.
"Be too much of a coincidence," Peters said firmly. " Mathias assigned us. If we volunteered it would be different, but what are the chances?" They'd made it to the landing deck and fanned out, waiting for the Raptor. Nothing landed.
"We jumped on the way here, didn't we?" Jaffee asked when five minutes had gone by.
The funny thing was, Puck didn't even notice jumps anymore if he was in the middle of something. Part of it was that the Galactica was so huge, but he'd just gotten so used to it that he had to think about the question. "Yeah," he said finally. "I thought I heard it on the PA."
"Well, then, what the frak is going on?"
"I'll go find out." Puck jogged over. The people in the landing bay were in knots. He looked for a familiar face, and finally spotted Lieutenant Edmondson- Racetrack, Finn had finally told him. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I'm looking for the Raptor that Dr. Cottle is on."
Racetrack looked at him as if he was insane, and then her face cleared. "You haven't heard?"
"Heard what, sir?"
"The Fleet's missing."
He blinked at her. "Excuse me, sir?" For a moment, he thought she was playing some joke. That this was his hazing. Hey, kid, guess what! The Fleet is missing and we're lost in space! Let's see if you get panicked enough to try to find a window! But Racetrack's frown deepened, and Puck realized she wasn't joking. This was real. The Fleet was missing.
"Shit."
"My thoughts exactly."
"I can't believe we frakked up bringing back the doctor."
Racetrack shrugged and turned away, her attention on something else. Puck took that as a tacit dismissal and jogged back. "Well?" Jaffee asked when Puck got closer.
"We're in a shitload of trouble."
"He isn't even here!" Sykes protested. "How can we-"
"Not just us," Puck said, gesturing to the four of them. "All of us. We're frakking screwed."
***
On to Part 2