(no subject)
He doesn't hear Lee telling him that Lee knows he wouldn't approve of what's about to happen, but that it's not about the two of them.
He doesn't hear Lee telling him goodbye.
He doesn't feel Lee pick up his hand and hold it for a moment.
He feels it when Lee lets go -- feels something -- but he can't catch hold of anything, and by the time his eyes finally open Lee is long gone.
***
Cylon Centurions crash-land on Galactica and run all over his ship, after his prime order -- the 'antiquarian notion' that saved everybody's life -- was violated, and the computers on the ship were networked. Pilots, pressed into forcing ships to give up supplies, fire on civilians when the civilians show signs of resistance. Saul declares martial law.
Laura Roslin escapes Galactica's brig, and takes Lee Adama with her.
He doesn't know any of this when he sees Doc Cottle standing over him with his arms folded.
"About time," Cottle grunts.
Bill blinks.
"There was plenty of internal bleeding -- " Cottle says this as though Bill did it intentionally. " -- but you'll live. We had to go in twice." Cottle's turning around; he turns back with a small cup with a straw dangling over the side. "Your XO hasn't exactly done a bang-up job in your absence. Drink a little of this."
It's not anything but water -- almost impossibly good, more than good, miraculous -- and it's hard to raise his head. It hurts to raise his head.
Cottle surveys him impassively. "I can give you something that'll knock you out, or I can give you something that won't do as much good. You can talk. And you need to talk to your XO about what the hell's gone on around here in the last three days."
Bill has plenty of questions. One of them is more pressing than the others. It's also far more selfish.
Bill figures that getting shot twice gives you the right to let your first question be selfish.
He swallows (and even that hurts, at the base of it, the pain spreading in a swathe from the top of his chest all the way down) and says, croaks, "Where's Lee?"
The shadow that falls over Cottle's face -- there's fear, now, and Bill isn't in a state to hide it.
Cottle catches it, and then his mouth sets in an exasperated way.
"Ask your XO," the doctor says, and Bill could be imagining it, but it sounds bitter.
Bill closes his eyes. Opens them.
"Get me my glasses." The weakness in his voice -- he hates it. "And get me up."
***
By the time the stuff Cottle gives him kicks in, he's dressed, or close enough to it. Nothing on his dressing -- still too new for that -- but one of the marines brings his bathrobe. Four of them, total, are waiting by the door.
Adama sits on the edge of the bed and looks at the wheelchair, and looks up at Cottle.
"You know where the XO's quarters are from here." Cottle's face radiates to hell with your pride. "You can't make it."
"I want a cane."
When Cottle doesn't move: "That's an order."
Cottle raises his eyebrows and says, over his shoulder, "Get in here, help me get the commander in his wheelchair." When the medic comes past the curtain, Adama doesn't say anything further.
But Cottle stops one of the marines as another wheels him out, and says, "When he gets there, and not before."
Adama looks from the cane that the marine is now holding to Cottle's face -- Cottle with his cigarette, and only now does Bill realize that Cottle hasn't been smoking, realizes the compliment and the worry that that infers, realizes that because it's back it means he'll be all right -- and says, "Thanks."
"I want him back here in half an hour," Cottle tells the marine pushing his chair. And then the doctor turns away.
***
The trip down the corridor isn't something he remembers, afterward; he's thinking, thinking about what he'll say, how he'll say it, and the corridor is empty. When they're nearly outside Saul's quarters Adama holds up a hand. "We stop here."
It takes two of his escort to help him up. It takes twenty seconds for the pain to subside enough for him to try to walk. It takes four steps before he can say to them, "All right," and they let him walk on his own to the hatch, to open the hatch.
The first thing he hears is Ellen Tigh -- ragging on Saul. Just like old times. "Bill Adama's little baby boy pulls the wool over your eyes, and you let him get away scot-free. You're a laughingstock. You didn't want this command. Well, don't worry about it. You won't have it for much longer. All because when push came to shove, you got shoved."
He can see them now -- Saul at his desk, Ellen standing over him, punctuating every word with staccato gestures, Saul's shoulders hunched, miserable. "It was his son -- "
And that's enough for Adama. "Saul."
The look in Saul Tigh's eyes when he turns around in his chair fills Bill not with fear -- but with dread. On its heels is resignation -- because it cannot possibly get worse than the things they've already been through in the last two months. Whatever's happened, it's fixable.
The look in Saul Tigh's eyes is disbelieving relief.
Ellen looks like she's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"What's been happening on my ship." And it's not a question. It's a declaration.
Two slugs in the chest, and three days later he's back to work.
There are worse turnaround times.
As Saul gets up, comes to his side, Adama turns his head to his marines. "Wait in the corridor." To Ellen: "Can I speak to my XO?"
Ellen assents, flustered; Saul tries to take his arm; Bill steps forward -- without Saul's help. There's a chair open and he needs it. And he also needs Ellen Tigh to see him on his feet.
He wants her intimidated. He wants her scared of him. And until she leaves the room and one of his marines closes the hatch, his steps have to be steady, and his back has to be as straight as it can.
And it is.
Bill does let Saul help him down in the chair. There isn't much of an alternative -- and it hurts like hell, and it's going to take him a moment to catch his breath. Without looking up: "What's happened?"
Saul's settled in his chair. "I frakked things up -- and good."
Bill looks up. Saul isn't looking any less wide-eyed, or any less miserable. "How?"
"I made some bad calls."
And Bill laughs. "I've done that." If Ellen's been on his case, he's fragile. Bill can't have that. Cannot. It starts top-down -- you can't have a solid ship, a solid fleet, if your second in command isn't solid.
"Not like these." He's shaking his head.
Adama's eyes go to the bottle. Saul's bottle. Saul's nearly empty bottle.
Saul's three glasses, clean. Saul's one glass, dirty.
"You gonna pour us one of those, or what?"
"Yeah." And that gets a smile out of Saul. Good enough.
"Never had much use for people who second-guessed my decisions. Especially if they've never held a command. They don't understand the pressure." And now he looks up at Saul, and Saul looks like he's surprised Adama isn't angry. Like it's hard to hold Adama's gaze. "You make a call. It affects the lives of thousands. And you have no one to turn to for back-up." He picks up the glass, drinks -- and that's a different kind of burn.
Good kind of burn.
"Well, you make it look easy."
Adama says, "You know that's a lie now." And he drinks again.
Saul, tentative: "A lot of pieces to pick up."
Bill's had enough. "Then we'll pick them up together." He looks up. "Where's my son?"
Saul swallows.
Saul reaches for his glass.
And Saul tells him.
He doesn't hear Lee telling him goodbye.
He doesn't feel Lee pick up his hand and hold it for a moment.
He feels it when Lee lets go -- feels something -- but he can't catch hold of anything, and by the time his eyes finally open Lee is long gone.
***
Cylon Centurions crash-land on Galactica and run all over his ship, after his prime order -- the 'antiquarian notion' that saved everybody's life -- was violated, and the computers on the ship were networked. Pilots, pressed into forcing ships to give up supplies, fire on civilians when the civilians show signs of resistance. Saul declares martial law.
Laura Roslin escapes Galactica's brig, and takes Lee Adama with her.
He doesn't know any of this when he sees Doc Cottle standing over him with his arms folded.
"About time," Cottle grunts.
Bill blinks.
"There was plenty of internal bleeding -- " Cottle says this as though Bill did it intentionally. " -- but you'll live. We had to go in twice." Cottle's turning around; he turns back with a small cup with a straw dangling over the side. "Your XO hasn't exactly done a bang-up job in your absence. Drink a little of this."
It's not anything but water -- almost impossibly good, more than good, miraculous -- and it's hard to raise his head. It hurts to raise his head.
Cottle surveys him impassively. "I can give you something that'll knock you out, or I can give you something that won't do as much good. You can talk. And you need to talk to your XO about what the hell's gone on around here in the last three days."
Bill has plenty of questions. One of them is more pressing than the others. It's also far more selfish.
Bill figures that getting shot twice gives you the right to let your first question be selfish.
He swallows (and even that hurts, at the base of it, the pain spreading in a swathe from the top of his chest all the way down) and says, croaks, "Where's Lee?"
The shadow that falls over Cottle's face -- there's fear, now, and Bill isn't in a state to hide it.
Cottle catches it, and then his mouth sets in an exasperated way.
"Ask your XO," the doctor says, and Bill could be imagining it, but it sounds bitter.
Bill closes his eyes. Opens them.
"Get me my glasses." The weakness in his voice -- he hates it. "And get me up."
***
By the time the stuff Cottle gives him kicks in, he's dressed, or close enough to it. Nothing on his dressing -- still too new for that -- but one of the marines brings his bathrobe. Four of them, total, are waiting by the door.
Adama sits on the edge of the bed and looks at the wheelchair, and looks up at Cottle.
"You know where the XO's quarters are from here." Cottle's face radiates to hell with your pride. "You can't make it."
"I want a cane."
When Cottle doesn't move: "That's an order."
Cottle raises his eyebrows and says, over his shoulder, "Get in here, help me get the commander in his wheelchair." When the medic comes past the curtain, Adama doesn't say anything further.
But Cottle stops one of the marines as another wheels him out, and says, "When he gets there, and not before."
Adama looks from the cane that the marine is now holding to Cottle's face -- Cottle with his cigarette, and only now does Bill realize that Cottle hasn't been smoking, realizes the compliment and the worry that that infers, realizes that because it's back it means he'll be all right -- and says, "Thanks."
"I want him back here in half an hour," Cottle tells the marine pushing his chair. And then the doctor turns away.
***
The trip down the corridor isn't something he remembers, afterward; he's thinking, thinking about what he'll say, how he'll say it, and the corridor is empty. When they're nearly outside Saul's quarters Adama holds up a hand. "We stop here."
It takes two of his escort to help him up. It takes twenty seconds for the pain to subside enough for him to try to walk. It takes four steps before he can say to them, "All right," and they let him walk on his own to the hatch, to open the hatch.
The first thing he hears is Ellen Tigh -- ragging on Saul. Just like old times. "Bill Adama's little baby boy pulls the wool over your eyes, and you let him get away scot-free. You're a laughingstock. You didn't want this command. Well, don't worry about it. You won't have it for much longer. All because when push came to shove, you got shoved."
He can see them now -- Saul at his desk, Ellen standing over him, punctuating every word with staccato gestures, Saul's shoulders hunched, miserable. "It was his son -- "
And that's enough for Adama. "Saul."
The look in Saul Tigh's eyes when he turns around in his chair fills Bill not with fear -- but with dread. On its heels is resignation -- because it cannot possibly get worse than the things they've already been through in the last two months. Whatever's happened, it's fixable.
The look in Saul Tigh's eyes is disbelieving relief.
Ellen looks like she's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"What's been happening on my ship." And it's not a question. It's a declaration.
Two slugs in the chest, and three days later he's back to work.
There are worse turnaround times.
As Saul gets up, comes to his side, Adama turns his head to his marines. "Wait in the corridor." To Ellen: "Can I speak to my XO?"
Ellen assents, flustered; Saul tries to take his arm; Bill steps forward -- without Saul's help. There's a chair open and he needs it. And he also needs Ellen Tigh to see him on his feet.
He wants her intimidated. He wants her scared of him. And until she leaves the room and one of his marines closes the hatch, his steps have to be steady, and his back has to be as straight as it can.
And it is.
Bill does let Saul help him down in the chair. There isn't much of an alternative -- and it hurts like hell, and it's going to take him a moment to catch his breath. Without looking up: "What's happened?"
Saul's settled in his chair. "I frakked things up -- and good."
Bill looks up. Saul isn't looking any less wide-eyed, or any less miserable. "How?"
"I made some bad calls."
And Bill laughs. "I've done that." If Ellen's been on his case, he's fragile. Bill can't have that. Cannot. It starts top-down -- you can't have a solid ship, a solid fleet, if your second in command isn't solid.
"Not like these." He's shaking his head.
Adama's eyes go to the bottle. Saul's bottle. Saul's nearly empty bottle.
Saul's three glasses, clean. Saul's one glass, dirty.
"You gonna pour us one of those, or what?"
"Yeah." And that gets a smile out of Saul. Good enough.
"Never had much use for people who second-guessed my decisions. Especially if they've never held a command. They don't understand the pressure." And now he looks up at Saul, and Saul looks like he's surprised Adama isn't angry. Like it's hard to hold Adama's gaze. "You make a call. It affects the lives of thousands. And you have no one to turn to for back-up." He picks up the glass, drinks -- and that's a different kind of burn.
Good kind of burn.
"Well, you make it look easy."
Adama says, "You know that's a lie now." And he drinks again.
Saul, tentative: "A lot of pieces to pick up."
Bill's had enough. "Then we'll pick them up together." He looks up. "Where's my son?"
Saul swallows.
Saul reaches for his glass.
And Saul tells him.