omg BSG fic
So this entry marks two firsts:
a) it's the first time I've ever posted fanfic in this journal, and
b) it's the first fic I've ever written on assignment for a ficathon. In the spirit of Keanu, "whoa."
Title: Two Little Words
Fandom: BSG, le new version
Author: Kim
Genre: Drama with a tablespoon of angst
Rating: PG (I think this may be another first for me...)
Characters: Lee, Adama. Kara is mentioned but alas, she makes no appearance.
Spoilers: Miniseries
Summary: Extended scene (or I suppose you could say it's a "missing scene" because of the way the end of the mini was edited, but that's kind of a stretch). Take guilt and a couple of near-death experiences. Mix them together, and you get a Lee who needs to say two words to his father but can't figure out how.
Could’ve died, could’ve been some kind of sacrifice or martyr or what have you. Could’ve stumbled head first into heaven or hell, everything or nothing, whatever the Scriptures said or maybe something no one had ever thought to write down. Could’ve drifted, alone, into oblivion, aided by a Cylon raider if he was lucky or a slow sort of suffocation if he wasn’t. He was prepared for it all, or at least prepared to accept it as being inevitable. Prepared to convince himself in whatever amount of time he had left that there wasn’t really much worth living for, anyway, now that the world was over; a life of running and serving a military he no longer wanted to be a part of was nothing to look forward to. But then there was Kara, careening toward him like the madwoman she so often was, hell-bent on saving his ass for the second time that night.
Kara, the responsible party. The woman who had unfairly passed Zak and, in so doing, had sentenced him to death. Two years wasted despising the wrong person and now, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to despise her. Could’ve been because she’d come to his rescue; could’ve been because he was tired of exerting so much unnecessary energy. Mostly, he wondered if it was because five words were now playing over and over in his head, wracking him with guilt.
"Face it; you killed him."
The comment had been meant to sting and it most certainly had, perhaps to a greater extent than he had initially intended. He’d somewhat regretted it the moment he’d said it, his father’s rapidly stiffening back and sudden shift into silence striking him with the sense that he’d finally pushed things too far. But the slight remorse he’d felt then had been tempered by his belief that he was in the right. With that excuse, he had been able to push it down and comfort himself with the thought that perhaps it was severe enough a statement to make Adama finally understand. Catching sight of the man’s photographs had made him waver slightly, as had the hug with which he had been greeted upon his return to Galactica, but he had still had plenty of rationalizations to fall back on. Now it was all gone. Now, he was in the wrong, and it was he who didn’t understand, and it was he who didn’t listen.
Could’ve gone the way of human civilization, obliterated and soon to be forgotten. The Twelve Colonies were ended and he could’ve ended as well, could’ve died with his guilt, could’ve died with his father thinking that he was hated by one son and responsible for the death of the other. Maybe he was still hated a little and maybe he was still somewhat responsible, but certainly not to the extent that he had been only a few hours before. Not even close.
A blink, a step, and everything had changed. Lee had wanted his father to admit that he had had a role in the incident and to apologize for what he had done since it had happened. He had pictured the older man breaking down, crying, begging for forgiveness while he himself had filled with a cold brand of satisfaction. Now, he found himself wanting to own up to those thoughts and to the icy receptions and to every terrible thing that he had said in the past two years, particularly the most recent. Incredible that it should be Adama who most deserved an apology after all this time.
Hundreds of days squandered on tension and argument. Hundreds of days of unwarranted hostility and where had it gotten him? No wonder he couldn’t bring himself to hate Kara.
Could’ve never had the chance to say what needed saying.
He trailed him now, rattling off reports and plans and this and that while following him to his quarters. Nearly all that had happened since the escape had been clouded by the nature of his thoughts, consuming as they were. He’d chewed over how best to go about his task and whether or not he should wait a time before moving to carry it out. A part of him feared that the near-death experiences of the evening had pushed him into the realm of insincerity as far as his emotions were concerned, and he didn’t want something as important as this to ring false. He also feared the manner in which Adama would receive his words. The man clearly still cared deeply for his son, no matter the animosity that had existed between them the past couple of years. Another might have been comforted by such a reality; Lee, on the other hand, saw it as reason to worry that he’d be forgiven because he was family and not because it was truly worth it to forgive him.
Strange how he so often found himself held back by such details. He was a man of principles and conviction, and many times he’d rather languish in indecision than make the wrong choice. Overanalyze, that was his business. Coming up with an apology had proven, throughout the evening, to be no exception to that rule.
And now here he was, continuing to veer back and forth and cling to the fence only moments before the opportunity was set to present itself. So many ways to say two little words, and he still couldn’t figure out which one would do the situation justice. Maybe none would. Maybe that was what made it so hard.
"...and tomorrow I’ll begin a full combat patrol around the fleet," he heard himself say, finishing his series of reports just as the two men arrived at Adama’s quarters. A few seconds more and he could go for it or back away, stand up or move back and try some other time.
"Good," his father replied. He turned to face his son. "You have a good night, too."
Could’ve been blown out of the sky, could’ve never experienced this moment. Could’ve faded and become but a memory.
Two little words, that was all it took. Two little words and the weight of galaxy.
Lee stepped back, looked down, looked up. Caught his father’s eye and searched within himself for some manner of articulation, some way to impart how terrible he felt and how badly he now wanted to patch things up. But how does a man apologize for calling his father a killer, for accusing him of causing his son’s death, for hating him when there truly was no reason to? What could he possibly say that would make it better?
It was so difficult, an ugly truth diligently kept under the rug. It had always been said that it was good and right to do and that it took a person strong in character to do it. But no one had ever said a thing about the fire that now pulsed through his veins, about the words that wouldn’t come no matter how hard he forced them, about the heaviness that sunk into his throat and stomach.
"I just..." he was finally able to say. He couldn’t tell whether he felt relieved or disappointed when the older man interrupted him.
"Let it wait. Save this for another time, son."
He sucked in a breath and let his gaze fall to the floor. It was definitely relief that he felt at this point, releasing the anxiety as it coursed through him. He thought briefly that this was a wonderful excuse to keep his feelings to himself. After all, his father clearly understood to some extent already, and any understanding at all was welcome. But the five words he had uttered only a day before still nagged him, as did every other hostile comment he had made since that awful event so seemingly long ago. Whether the man wanted to hear it right now or not, if he didn’t attempt to say his piece and atone for his sins at this moment, he might never be able to work up to it again.
Could’ve joined Zak, one way or another.
"No," he began. The Commander seemed slightly taken aback. "I...I have to get this out now. I’m..." He paused, closing his eyes briefly and sighing heavily as he attempted to pull together something resembling a coherent collection of sentences. "I don’t blame you. You know, for..." He paused again and Adama nodded.
"I...was wrong. I want you to...I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m...well, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say."
He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting from his father, whether it be another hug or a handshake, a display of emotion or of poise. What he definitely was not expecting was silence, resting alongside an almost sorrowful expression on his father’s face. The older man regarded him in this manner for long, somewhat tense moments before acknowledging the apology with quiet, almost whispered words.
"Thank you, son."
Lee smiled slightly. He had to admit that he had wanted more. He had wanted to have to put up a fight, to have to prove his worth. But that was something to dwell upon some other day. This was a start, and at the moment, that was all that mattered.
He looked upon his father, his expression warm -- the first time it had been so in too long a while. "Good night, Commander."
"Good night, Captain."
He turned, with a nod, and reentered the corridors of the ship, for once more than happy to be leaving his father on a positive note. Incredible, he thought; a step and everything had changed.
Could’ve died, sure. But he was still alive, wasn’t he?
a) it's the first time I've ever posted fanfic in this journal, and
b) it's the first fic I've ever written on assignment for a ficathon. In the spirit of Keanu, "whoa."
Title: Two Little Words
Fandom: BSG, le new version
Author: Kim
Genre: Drama with a tablespoon of angst
Rating: PG (I think this may be another first for me...)
Characters: Lee, Adama. Kara is mentioned but alas, she makes no appearance.
Spoilers: Miniseries
Summary: Extended scene (or I suppose you could say it's a "missing scene" because of the way the end of the mini was edited, but that's kind of a stretch). Take guilt and a couple of near-death experiences. Mix them together, and you get a Lee who needs to say two words to his father but can't figure out how.
Could’ve died, could’ve been some kind of sacrifice or martyr or what have you. Could’ve stumbled head first into heaven or hell, everything or nothing, whatever the Scriptures said or maybe something no one had ever thought to write down. Could’ve drifted, alone, into oblivion, aided by a Cylon raider if he was lucky or a slow sort of suffocation if he wasn’t. He was prepared for it all, or at least prepared to accept it as being inevitable. Prepared to convince himself in whatever amount of time he had left that there wasn’t really much worth living for, anyway, now that the world was over; a life of running and serving a military he no longer wanted to be a part of was nothing to look forward to. But then there was Kara, careening toward him like the madwoman she so often was, hell-bent on saving his ass for the second time that night.
Kara, the responsible party. The woman who had unfairly passed Zak and, in so doing, had sentenced him to death. Two years wasted despising the wrong person and now, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to despise her. Could’ve been because she’d come to his rescue; could’ve been because he was tired of exerting so much unnecessary energy. Mostly, he wondered if it was because five words were now playing over and over in his head, wracking him with guilt.
"Face it; you killed him."
The comment had been meant to sting and it most certainly had, perhaps to a greater extent than he had initially intended. He’d somewhat regretted it the moment he’d said it, his father’s rapidly stiffening back and sudden shift into silence striking him with the sense that he’d finally pushed things too far. But the slight remorse he’d felt then had been tempered by his belief that he was in the right. With that excuse, he had been able to push it down and comfort himself with the thought that perhaps it was severe enough a statement to make Adama finally understand. Catching sight of the man’s photographs had made him waver slightly, as had the hug with which he had been greeted upon his return to Galactica, but he had still had plenty of rationalizations to fall back on. Now it was all gone. Now, he was in the wrong, and it was he who didn’t understand, and it was he who didn’t listen.
Could’ve gone the way of human civilization, obliterated and soon to be forgotten. The Twelve Colonies were ended and he could’ve ended as well, could’ve died with his guilt, could’ve died with his father thinking that he was hated by one son and responsible for the death of the other. Maybe he was still hated a little and maybe he was still somewhat responsible, but certainly not to the extent that he had been only a few hours before. Not even close.
A blink, a step, and everything had changed. Lee had wanted his father to admit that he had had a role in the incident and to apologize for what he had done since it had happened. He had pictured the older man breaking down, crying, begging for forgiveness while he himself had filled with a cold brand of satisfaction. Now, he found himself wanting to own up to those thoughts and to the icy receptions and to every terrible thing that he had said in the past two years, particularly the most recent. Incredible that it should be Adama who most deserved an apology after all this time.
Hundreds of days squandered on tension and argument. Hundreds of days of unwarranted hostility and where had it gotten him? No wonder he couldn’t bring himself to hate Kara.
Could’ve never had the chance to say what needed saying.
He trailed him now, rattling off reports and plans and this and that while following him to his quarters. Nearly all that had happened since the escape had been clouded by the nature of his thoughts, consuming as they were. He’d chewed over how best to go about his task and whether or not he should wait a time before moving to carry it out. A part of him feared that the near-death experiences of the evening had pushed him into the realm of insincerity as far as his emotions were concerned, and he didn’t want something as important as this to ring false. He also feared the manner in which Adama would receive his words. The man clearly still cared deeply for his son, no matter the animosity that had existed between them the past couple of years. Another might have been comforted by such a reality; Lee, on the other hand, saw it as reason to worry that he’d be forgiven because he was family and not because it was truly worth it to forgive him.
Strange how he so often found himself held back by such details. He was a man of principles and conviction, and many times he’d rather languish in indecision than make the wrong choice. Overanalyze, that was his business. Coming up with an apology had proven, throughout the evening, to be no exception to that rule.
And now here he was, continuing to veer back and forth and cling to the fence only moments before the opportunity was set to present itself. So many ways to say two little words, and he still couldn’t figure out which one would do the situation justice. Maybe none would. Maybe that was what made it so hard.
"...and tomorrow I’ll begin a full combat patrol around the fleet," he heard himself say, finishing his series of reports just as the two men arrived at Adama’s quarters. A few seconds more and he could go for it or back away, stand up or move back and try some other time.
"Good," his father replied. He turned to face his son. "You have a good night, too."
Could’ve been blown out of the sky, could’ve never experienced this moment. Could’ve faded and become but a memory.
Two little words, that was all it took. Two little words and the weight of galaxy.
Lee stepped back, looked down, looked up. Caught his father’s eye and searched within himself for some manner of articulation, some way to impart how terrible he felt and how badly he now wanted to patch things up. But how does a man apologize for calling his father a killer, for accusing him of causing his son’s death, for hating him when there truly was no reason to? What could he possibly say that would make it better?
It was so difficult, an ugly truth diligently kept under the rug. It had always been said that it was good and right to do and that it took a person strong in character to do it. But no one had ever said a thing about the fire that now pulsed through his veins, about the words that wouldn’t come no matter how hard he forced them, about the heaviness that sunk into his throat and stomach.
"I just..." he was finally able to say. He couldn’t tell whether he felt relieved or disappointed when the older man interrupted him.
"Let it wait. Save this for another time, son."
He sucked in a breath and let his gaze fall to the floor. It was definitely relief that he felt at this point, releasing the anxiety as it coursed through him. He thought briefly that this was a wonderful excuse to keep his feelings to himself. After all, his father clearly understood to some extent already, and any understanding at all was welcome. But the five words he had uttered only a day before still nagged him, as did every other hostile comment he had made since that awful event so seemingly long ago. Whether the man wanted to hear it right now or not, if he didn’t attempt to say his piece and atone for his sins at this moment, he might never be able to work up to it again.
Could’ve joined Zak, one way or another.
"No," he began. The Commander seemed slightly taken aback. "I...I have to get this out now. I’m..." He paused, closing his eyes briefly and sighing heavily as he attempted to pull together something resembling a coherent collection of sentences. "I don’t blame you. You know, for..." He paused again and Adama nodded.
"I...was wrong. I want you to...I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m...well, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say."
He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting from his father, whether it be another hug or a handshake, a display of emotion or of poise. What he definitely was not expecting was silence, resting alongside an almost sorrowful expression on his father’s face. The older man regarded him in this manner for long, somewhat tense moments before acknowledging the apology with quiet, almost whispered words.
"Thank you, son."
Lee smiled slightly. He had to admit that he had wanted more. He had wanted to have to put up a fight, to have to prove his worth. But that was something to dwell upon some other day. This was a start, and at the moment, that was all that mattered.
He looked upon his father, his expression warm -- the first time it had been so in too long a while. "Good night, Commander."
"Good night, Captain."
He turned, with a nod, and reentered the corridors of the ship, for once more than happy to be leaving his father on a positive note. Incredible, he thought; a step and everything had changed.
Could’ve died, sure. But he was still alive, wasn’t he?