Adama Brothers Update: Where are they now?
Title: two years later...
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Pairing: Kara/Lee, Zak/Dee, Adama/Roslin, Sam/OC
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: AU, baby! Spoilers through Daybreak II, just to be safe. This isn't for profit, just for fun. All characters & situations belong to RDM, David Eick, Sci-Fi, NBC Universal and their various subsidiaries. Title from a song by Dashboard Confessional, which I also had nothing to do with.
A/N: This is a "Where are they now," update, which, as you might have guessed from the title, occurs about two years after the end of the series. I couldn't just leave Lee jobless and living on Kara's couch, you guys. The places mentioned in this story are 100% real, btw. Except for Kara's Mandala Gallery. That's a thing I made up. OR DID I.
This is one of those things that I just have to get out of my G-docs, because it's starting to drive me mad that it's there. It's not the best thing I've ever written. There are probably errors. Basically, this is 100% ridiculous, self-indulgent fanfiction, as you will see when/if you read it. This is also all
miabicicletta's fault. I'm not sure how, exactly, but I know that it's her fault. (I love you, bb! You know I have to pay you back for this with some quality enabling, right?) And if she's involved
olga_theodora is probably not far behind. We are making those Enabler t-shirts, boos. Trust.
It's not a wedding, exactly. They can't call it a wedding, because Kara Thrace does not get married, she does not get hitched, she does not tie the knot or acquire a ball-and-a-chain, unless it's an actual ball and chain for an art project.
Naturally, Zak refers to it as "the wedding" as often as he can, until Dee pulls him aside and whispers something to the effect of, "You, me, sex, ever again, cut it out."
The not-wedding ceremony is tomorrow, on the sprawling grounds of the new art museum, Kara's favorite haunt, at least when she's not hiking in the mountains or boozing it up at the brew pub. All of their families have flown in for the occasion, even Kara's itinerant musician father, who spends the better part of the morning in a spontaneous jam session with Sam. They play the wedding march in as many musical styles as they can think of, from jazz to ragtime to baroque before ending with a wild, raucous Jimi Hendrix-esque rock anthem version that Laura and Carolanne swear transports them both right back to Woodstock.
There is then a very necessary, very spirited discussion on how each of them had come to be at Woodstock, and what they had done there. Mostly both ladies just smile and let everyone else draw their own conclusions, and with Zak and Kara in the room, there are, of course, some pretty wild accusations flying around for awhile.
It is a beautiful day-- there are so many beautiful days, here, nothing but old, well-worn mountains and clear blue skies with the University towers rising up like twin lighthouses-- so they drive out to one of the lakes with half a car full of food and spend the afternoon there with their families. Kara chases Sam's kids all over the park, Dee talks politics with Carolanne, Bill and Zak shuffle around the trail, Jo sweet-talks Laura into renting a canoe to glide around on the calm water of the lake, and everyone else lounges around.
It's bliss, really. Lee can't remember a time when he's been happier.
And now he stands on the deck of the old hotel where they're having what is certainly not in any way a rehearsal dinner for what is in no way a wedding. The view from the deck, even in the early dusk of evening, is almost absurdly wonderful: the hills roll on for as far as he can see, bedizened with a palette of leaves that rival even the intense colors of Kara's paintings. Autumn in the Ozarks is not something he ever planned on making a habit of living through, but then, he hasn't planned much of anything that has happened in the past two years. Living without a plan is occasionally terrifying, especially for someone who used to fall asleep every night comforted by the certainty of the ordered life he had arranged, but he's adjusting, ever so slowly.
Two years ago, he had flown back to New York, cleaned out his desk at the firm, sold his place, and sat on Kara's couch for a week, trying to figure out what the hell to do with himself. Zak could not understand why he wasn't thrilled-- fuck, Lee, how many people get to just press the reset button like that?-- but Dee had rolled her eyes affectionately at her husband and then quietly reminded Lee that her offer of freelance work still stood, if ever he had need.
The work didn't pay very well, though it was more rewarding than anything else he'd ever done. Kara, a dripping paintbrush sticking out of the pocket of her raggedy jeans, had just shrugged and told him they'd make it, that it mattered more that he was happier doing this than he was doing the other stuff.
"I just want us to have future that's...bright," he had said, slumping down onto the sofa next to a pile of pleadings.
"Bright shiny futures are overrated," Kara had replied automatically. "Look, Adama, I'm covered in paint and I need a shower. You interested in helping a girl out?"
He had been very interested. That had certainly put a smile on his face.
+ + + +
It had been his mother and her wife who had ended up saving the day.
"Jo has a friend who works for a nonprofit, and I think you should give them a call," Carolanne had said, after listening to Lee's financial worries for fifteen minutes. "They could use someone as capable as you."
She had conveniently left out the part where the nonprofit was located in Arkansas, a minor detail he had not realized until halfway through a very engaging, very exciting phone call with the director of the place.
"If I end up with a weird accent, this is all your fault," he said to Carolanne when he called her back.
She had just laughed.
When the job offer had come through, Lee had agonized for all of ten minutes before Kara grabbed his cell, dialed the number, and handed the phone back, saying, "Tell them yes and book me a damn plane ticket, Adama, and I'll go find some boxes. We have packing to do."
While he settled into his new job, Kara set up an art gallery on the square, sandwiched between a boutique clothing store and a Scandinavian restaurant. Lee had been moderately shocked to see a Scandinavian restaurant down here, but he's learned in the past two years to keep his mouth shut when he's surprised by the opportunities this place has: Southern hospitality does not, apparently, prevent the lady who owns the bakery on the square from dressing down a Yankee who thinks he knows everything about life in her hometown. It had been a fairly useful lecture, though, and she had softened the blow by giving them free cupcakes and cheerfully calling, "Y'all come back now!" as they walked out of the shop.
"I didn't think people really said that," Lee said, and Kara nearly choked on a mouthful of homemade buttercream.
"She was giving you shit, Lee," Kara had laughed, and dragged him back to the gallery.
Neither of them had really expected Kara's Mandala Gallery to do very well, but between the wealthy businesspeople, the academics, and the surprisingly large number of hippies, her biggest worry is finding the time to eat her typical breakfast of prepackaged-bear-claw-and-coffee before the gallery is packed with customers.
So this place is full of surprises, not least, the one that came six months ago, when she dropped into the seat across from him at their usual table at Hugo's, the basement bar just off the square, and tossed a box at him. She hadn't proposed, because that's something people do when they get married, but she did make the ring in the box herself, with a little help from a local metalworker.
"It's not a wedding ring," she had said, popping about eight greasy french fries into her mouth at once. The ring, a burnished silver, glinted in its handmade box, reflecting the soft, low light of the pub.
"Of course not," he had replied. It had been difficult, but he'd managed not to do anything untoward, like leaping onto the table and professing his love for her to the crowded bar. He'd at least waited until they shambled home to the privacy of their tiny old house to do anything like that. As it was, he had nearly knocked over his glass of beer in his haste to get the ring out of the box and onto his finger.
There's a thump and a shuffle, and the door to the deck swings open.
"Lee, man," Sam calls, leaning around the open door, "you gotta come back in, Saul's ordering rounds in the lounge and he says he's not gonna quit with the tequila shots until you're in there."
"I already warned the bartender," Lee laughs, waving him outside. "What do you think the odds are that we could sneak off to Dickson with Zak and Dee? Hit a bar or two? Smoke a cigar on the deck of the coffeehouse I showed you guys yesterday?"
"And leave K here with our parents and Uncle Saul?" Sam chuckles. "Hell of a way to start a marriage."
The door creaks open. "It's not a marriage," Zak says, in a fair imitation of Lee. "It's a-- what is it, anyway, bro? You've never actually said."
"It's...working," Lee says, a smile lighting up his face. "That's really all that matters, isn't it?"
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Pairing: Kara/Lee, Zak/Dee, Adama/Roslin, Sam/OC
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: AU, baby! Spoilers through Daybreak II, just to be safe. This isn't for profit, just for fun. All characters & situations belong to RDM, David Eick, Sci-Fi, NBC Universal and their various subsidiaries. Title from a song by Dashboard Confessional, which I also had nothing to do with.
A/N: This is a "Where are they now," update, which, as you might have guessed from the title, occurs about two years after the end of the series. I couldn't just leave Lee jobless and living on Kara's couch, you guys. The places mentioned in this story are 100% real, btw. Except for Kara's Mandala Gallery. That's a thing I made up. OR DID I.
This is one of those things that I just have to get out of my G-docs, because it's starting to drive me mad that it's there. It's not the best thing I've ever written. There are probably errors. Basically, this is 100% ridiculous, self-indulgent fanfiction, as you will see when/if you read it. This is also all
miabicicletta's fault. I'm not sure how, exactly, but I know that it's her fault. (I love you, bb! You know I have to pay you back for this with some quality enabling, right?) And if she's involved
olga_theodora is probably not far behind. We are making those Enabler t-shirts, boos. Trust.
It's not a wedding, exactly. They can't call it a wedding, because Kara Thrace does not get married, she does not get hitched, she does not tie the knot or acquire a ball-and-a-chain, unless it's an actual ball and chain for an art project.
Naturally, Zak refers to it as "the wedding" as often as he can, until Dee pulls him aside and whispers something to the effect of, "You, me, sex, ever again, cut it out."
The not-wedding ceremony is tomorrow, on the sprawling grounds of the new art museum, Kara's favorite haunt, at least when she's not hiking in the mountains or boozing it up at the brew pub. All of their families have flown in for the occasion, even Kara's itinerant musician father, who spends the better part of the morning in a spontaneous jam session with Sam. They play the wedding march in as many musical styles as they can think of, from jazz to ragtime to baroque before ending with a wild, raucous Jimi Hendrix-esque rock anthem version that Laura and Carolanne swear transports them both right back to Woodstock.
There is then a very necessary, very spirited discussion on how each of them had come to be at Woodstock, and what they had done there. Mostly both ladies just smile and let everyone else draw their own conclusions, and with Zak and Kara in the room, there are, of course, some pretty wild accusations flying around for awhile.
It is a beautiful day-- there are so many beautiful days, here, nothing but old, well-worn mountains and clear blue skies with the University towers rising up like twin lighthouses-- so they drive out to one of the lakes with half a car full of food and spend the afternoon there with their families. Kara chases Sam's kids all over the park, Dee talks politics with Carolanne, Bill and Zak shuffle around the trail, Jo sweet-talks Laura into renting a canoe to glide around on the calm water of the lake, and everyone else lounges around.
It's bliss, really. Lee can't remember a time when he's been happier.
And now he stands on the deck of the old hotel where they're having what is certainly not in any way a rehearsal dinner for what is in no way a wedding. The view from the deck, even in the early dusk of evening, is almost absurdly wonderful: the hills roll on for as far as he can see, bedizened with a palette of leaves that rival even the intense colors of Kara's paintings. Autumn in the Ozarks is not something he ever planned on making a habit of living through, but then, he hasn't planned much of anything that has happened in the past two years. Living without a plan is occasionally terrifying, especially for someone who used to fall asleep every night comforted by the certainty of the ordered life he had arranged, but he's adjusting, ever so slowly.
Two years ago, he had flown back to New York, cleaned out his desk at the firm, sold his place, and sat on Kara's couch for a week, trying to figure out what the hell to do with himself. Zak could not understand why he wasn't thrilled-- fuck, Lee, how many people get to just press the reset button like that?-- but Dee had rolled her eyes affectionately at her husband and then quietly reminded Lee that her offer of freelance work still stood, if ever he had need.
The work didn't pay very well, though it was more rewarding than anything else he'd ever done. Kara, a dripping paintbrush sticking out of the pocket of her raggedy jeans, had just shrugged and told him they'd make it, that it mattered more that he was happier doing this than he was doing the other stuff.
"I just want us to have future that's...bright," he had said, slumping down onto the sofa next to a pile of pleadings.
"Bright shiny futures are overrated," Kara had replied automatically. "Look, Adama, I'm covered in paint and I need a shower. You interested in helping a girl out?"
He had been very interested. That had certainly put a smile on his face.
+ + + +
It had been his mother and her wife who had ended up saving the day.
"Jo has a friend who works for a nonprofit, and I think you should give them a call," Carolanne had said, after listening to Lee's financial worries for fifteen minutes. "They could use someone as capable as you."
She had conveniently left out the part where the nonprofit was located in Arkansas, a minor detail he had not realized until halfway through a very engaging, very exciting phone call with the director of the place.
"If I end up with a weird accent, this is all your fault," he said to Carolanne when he called her back.
She had just laughed.
When the job offer had come through, Lee had agonized for all of ten minutes before Kara grabbed his cell, dialed the number, and handed the phone back, saying, "Tell them yes and book me a damn plane ticket, Adama, and I'll go find some boxes. We have packing to do."
While he settled into his new job, Kara set up an art gallery on the square, sandwiched between a boutique clothing store and a Scandinavian restaurant. Lee had been moderately shocked to see a Scandinavian restaurant down here, but he's learned in the past two years to keep his mouth shut when he's surprised by the opportunities this place has: Southern hospitality does not, apparently, prevent the lady who owns the bakery on the square from dressing down a Yankee who thinks he knows everything about life in her hometown. It had been a fairly useful lecture, though, and she had softened the blow by giving them free cupcakes and cheerfully calling, "Y'all come back now!" as they walked out of the shop.
"I didn't think people really said that," Lee said, and Kara nearly choked on a mouthful of homemade buttercream.
"She was giving you shit, Lee," Kara had laughed, and dragged him back to the gallery.
Neither of them had really expected Kara's Mandala Gallery to do very well, but between the wealthy businesspeople, the academics, and the surprisingly large number of hippies, her biggest worry is finding the time to eat her typical breakfast of prepackaged-bear-claw-and-coffee before the gallery is packed with customers.
So this place is full of surprises, not least, the one that came six months ago, when she dropped into the seat across from him at their usual table at Hugo's, the basement bar just off the square, and tossed a box at him. She hadn't proposed, because that's something people do when they get married, but she did make the ring in the box herself, with a little help from a local metalworker.
"It's not a wedding ring," she had said, popping about eight greasy french fries into her mouth at once. The ring, a burnished silver, glinted in its handmade box, reflecting the soft, low light of the pub.
"Of course not," he had replied. It had been difficult, but he'd managed not to do anything untoward, like leaping onto the table and professing his love for her to the crowded bar. He'd at least waited until they shambled home to the privacy of their tiny old house to do anything like that. As it was, he had nearly knocked over his glass of beer in his haste to get the ring out of the box and onto his finger.
There's a thump and a shuffle, and the door to the deck swings open.
"Lee, man," Sam calls, leaning around the open door, "you gotta come back in, Saul's ordering rounds in the lounge and he says he's not gonna quit with the tequila shots until you're in there."
"I already warned the bartender," Lee laughs, waving him outside. "What do you think the odds are that we could sneak off to Dickson with Zak and Dee? Hit a bar or two? Smoke a cigar on the deck of the coffeehouse I showed you guys yesterday?"
"And leave K here with our parents and Uncle Saul?" Sam chuckles. "Hell of a way to start a marriage."
The door creaks open. "It's not a marriage," Zak says, in a fair imitation of Lee. "It's a-- what is it, anyway, bro? You've never actually said."
"It's...working," Lee says, a smile lighting up his face. "That's really all that matters, isn't it?"