FIC: With Full Honors (3/3)
These occasions had become rote for her, and she didn’t like that. Sometimes she even had to write the names down on a card to make sure that she didn't make a mistake. The last service a few days ago had been a hurried affair, with no bodies recovered, no family to take the folded flag--it had felt empty, as empty as the caskets.
“Ready, Tory?” she said briskly, blowing by her assistant’s desk, not even slowing down for her answer. She wanted to be early and check on Bill.
The hanger was set up for the military funeral, with the flags in place, the banners hung, the lectern in front, the draped casket by the airlock doors.
Bill, in dress grays, slowly paced around the lectern, not looking at the casket. Lee stood back, watching his father, looking worried. His expression became relieved when he saw Laura.
He murmured in her ear, “I don’t think he’s up to this.”
She nodded, noting how Bill seemed to be concentrating to put one foot in front of the other, and how hunched his shoulders were. She came up to him and placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.
“How’re you doing, Bill?”
He shrugged. “Fine, just fine.” His voice was slightly slurred.
She squeezed his bicep. “Will you do me a favor, Bill?”
“Huh?” he mumbled, peering at her with red-rimmed eyes.
“Let me take this one today, please.” She gripped his gloved hand and heard Lee expel a breath behind them. “I want to.”
“Oh,” he said, dropping his gaze to think. He looked tired and worn-out. So much for his pronouncement from the center of the boxing ring, how he was going to stay emotionally distant and make all his decisions from that lofty perch. She should be furious; he’d tossed her on that heap too, only to backslide within the month. But she could only sigh, and hum, and squeeze his hand again. “I’ll do a good job; I promise.”
He managed to smile and squeezed her hand back. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks,” he added as an afterthought.
“That’s what I’m here for,” she told him and he blinked in wonder at her.
When the crew began filing in, she released his hand and went to the lectern. The bridge officers and Lee lined up behind her. She remembered the first times that she had been surrounded by the military pomp and circumstance, feeling ridiculous and small and alien. Now she knew what every move signified, her salute was crisp, she knew when the white gloves stayed on and when they came off. She supposed these were her people now; she’d joined the tribe.
When they all went to their at ease stance that suggested no ease, she cleared her throat and addressed them: “I’ve asked Admiral Adama if I may speak today in his place and he has honored my request. We have lost a fine officer and pilot. She made her sacrifice, as many before her, and as some of you will in the future.” She noticed how the pilots shifted their eyes. It won’t be me. Not today, not tomorrow. She waited until their attention returned.
“We make our choice to sacrifice everything for the good of humanity. This young woman should have been planning her career, thinking about a family--that won’t happen now. But it will happen for thousands more because of her sacrifice.” Her voice faltered at this point and she heard Bill clear his throat behind her.
Laura stared down that pattern of the Caprican flag on the coffin. “Kat was one of first group of citizens who became Viper pilots for our new Colonial Fleet. Many of you joined the service in a time of peace, and received the finest training in the Twelve Colonies at the Academy.
“I was forty-third in the line of succession, with only the vaguest notion how the presidency works from my seat on the Cabinet. Kat was a simple shuttle pilot on Caprica--“ Laura made eye contact with Starbuck, daring her to speak. “And she may have dreamed of wearing your uniform, with no real hope of ever doing so. But when the human race needed her, she came forward, as I came forward. I will always feel a bond with her and those others in the room who serve with little foundation for their duties. Yet now we all, citizen, soldier, are bound together as one family--“ Her voice wobbled again and she wondered how the hell that Bill did this every week. She said, “You are our children,” and the young people shifted from foot to foot, looking from Adama to her, as though something obvious had suddenly been said aloud.
Taking a deep breath, Laura went on: “It’s instinctual to protect our children, but at some point, they fly away. We watch each of you balance on the branch and lift your wings, and pray for your return. I can only stand here and ask--beg you--to be careful, be safe, and remember that we’re going to need every one of you when we get to Earth.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room when they realized that she was finished. Finally from behind her, Bill boomed, “So say we all.”
She echoed, “So say we all,” as she came around the lectern and snapped her salute at Kat’s casket. The honor guard stepped up and began to fold the flag. Laura looked around the room. No one stepped forward, so she did. She held out her hands.
“Please. I’d be honored; today I am her family.” The sergeant of the guard gave her the folded flag and saluted.
She turned to face the airlock as the casket was slowly moved into it, then the doors closed. Everyone waited, and she realized that they expected her to do this as well. She nodded to the soldier at the switch and the sergeant at arms called out his command, salutes were snapped again, flags dipped and the outer doors opened. Laura dropped her head so that she didn’t see Kat leave the Galactica one last time.
The crew dispersed; duty called. Lee came by to thank her, which she thought was pretty nice of him. Bill sidled up and thanked her too.
“I told you, that’s my job. President, remember?” she said, pressing the flag over her heart.
“Yeah,” he rumbled. He looked around the nearly empty room. “So how you doin’, Laura?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice going a bit high.
He hunched his shoulders in a shrug, and she could see his retreat like a turtle pulling into his shell. “Did you get enough to eat this week?”
“Oh, you mean that.” She squeezed the flag. “I...I ate the chocolates you gave me.” For some reason, she found herself fighting tears. “I ate them all, Bill.”
He chuckled, not seeing her distress. “That’s good, Laura. You needed fuel--“
“You don’t understand. I just sat down one day and ate them all, one after the other.” Her eyes brimming, she told, “I meant for us to enjoy them together one day.”
“You had to eat,” he said firmly, tugging his gloves off. “I’ll get you some more--“
She cut him off. “No! I’m not worthy--“
He rolled his eyes. “Laura, don’t be silly--“ Then he stopped; he saw that she was serious.
He told her, “I’ll trade my damn medals away and get you ten pounds of chocolate. I’ll have it melted down and you can bathe in it--“
She slapped his chest half-heartedly, turning away. “Idiot.”
“I’m serious,” he insisted, capturing her hand.
She stared out the airlock’s window at the long, hard way outa this place. “I know. That’s why you’re an idiot.” The image of Bill lapping chocolate from her nipples--so inappropriate at a funeral--danced through her mind.
“You wanna do that talking now?” he asked, his thumb rubbing at her pulse point.
“We are talking.”
“Not what you wanted to talk about.”
“I thought you were the one who wanted to talk about it,” she said.
“I don’t have to talk,” he mumbled, “but I thought you might want to.”
Laura was the one to shrug this time, with one shoulder, as though shedding a heavy garment.
He smoothed his hand down her palm and off her fingertips as he released it. Quietly, he said, “Then we won’t. Maybe we should just let things rest for a bit. Let’s not say anything that will become definite.”
She nodded quickly, as though making the final bid at an auction. “Okay,” she managed to squeak out.
His footsteps echoed out the empty room and she decided to stay a bit longer, with her flags all around her.
The end
“Ready, Tory?” she said briskly, blowing by her assistant’s desk, not even slowing down for her answer. She wanted to be early and check on Bill.
The hanger was set up for the military funeral, with the flags in place, the banners hung, the lectern in front, the draped casket by the airlock doors.
Bill, in dress grays, slowly paced around the lectern, not looking at the casket. Lee stood back, watching his father, looking worried. His expression became relieved when he saw Laura.
He murmured in her ear, “I don’t think he’s up to this.”
She nodded, noting how Bill seemed to be concentrating to put one foot in front of the other, and how hunched his shoulders were. She came up to him and placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.
“How’re you doing, Bill?”
He shrugged. “Fine, just fine.” His voice was slightly slurred.
She squeezed his bicep. “Will you do me a favor, Bill?”
“Huh?” he mumbled, peering at her with red-rimmed eyes.
“Let me take this one today, please.” She gripped his gloved hand and heard Lee expel a breath behind them. “I want to.”
“Oh,” he said, dropping his gaze to think. He looked tired and worn-out. So much for his pronouncement from the center of the boxing ring, how he was going to stay emotionally distant and make all his decisions from that lofty perch. She should be furious; he’d tossed her on that heap too, only to backslide within the month. But she could only sigh, and hum, and squeeze his hand again. “I’ll do a good job; I promise.”
He managed to smile and squeezed her hand back. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks,” he added as an afterthought.
“That’s what I’m here for,” she told him and he blinked in wonder at her.
When the crew began filing in, she released his hand and went to the lectern. The bridge officers and Lee lined up behind her. She remembered the first times that she had been surrounded by the military pomp and circumstance, feeling ridiculous and small and alien. Now she knew what every move signified, her salute was crisp, she knew when the white gloves stayed on and when they came off. She supposed these were her people now; she’d joined the tribe.
When they all went to their at ease stance that suggested no ease, she cleared her throat and addressed them: “I’ve asked Admiral Adama if I may speak today in his place and he has honored my request. We have lost a fine officer and pilot. She made her sacrifice, as many before her, and as some of you will in the future.” She noticed how the pilots shifted their eyes. It won’t be me. Not today, not tomorrow. She waited until their attention returned.
“We make our choice to sacrifice everything for the good of humanity. This young woman should have been planning her career, thinking about a family--that won’t happen now. But it will happen for thousands more because of her sacrifice.” Her voice faltered at this point and she heard Bill clear his throat behind her.
Laura stared down that pattern of the Caprican flag on the coffin. “Kat was one of first group of citizens who became Viper pilots for our new Colonial Fleet. Many of you joined the service in a time of peace, and received the finest training in the Twelve Colonies at the Academy.
“I was forty-third in the line of succession, with only the vaguest notion how the presidency works from my seat on the Cabinet. Kat was a simple shuttle pilot on Caprica--“ Laura made eye contact with Starbuck, daring her to speak. “And she may have dreamed of wearing your uniform, with no real hope of ever doing so. But when the human race needed her, she came forward, as I came forward. I will always feel a bond with her and those others in the room who serve with little foundation for their duties. Yet now we all, citizen, soldier, are bound together as one family--“ Her voice wobbled again and she wondered how the hell that Bill did this every week. She said, “You are our children,” and the young people shifted from foot to foot, looking from Adama to her, as though something obvious had suddenly been said aloud.
Taking a deep breath, Laura went on: “It’s instinctual to protect our children, but at some point, they fly away. We watch each of you balance on the branch and lift your wings, and pray for your return. I can only stand here and ask--beg you--to be careful, be safe, and remember that we’re going to need every one of you when we get to Earth.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room when they realized that she was finished. Finally from behind her, Bill boomed, “So say we all.”
She echoed, “So say we all,” as she came around the lectern and snapped her salute at Kat’s casket. The honor guard stepped up and began to fold the flag. Laura looked around the room. No one stepped forward, so she did. She held out her hands.
“Please. I’d be honored; today I am her family.” The sergeant of the guard gave her the folded flag and saluted.
She turned to face the airlock as the casket was slowly moved into it, then the doors closed. Everyone waited, and she realized that they expected her to do this as well. She nodded to the soldier at the switch and the sergeant at arms called out his command, salutes were snapped again, flags dipped and the outer doors opened. Laura dropped her head so that she didn’t see Kat leave the Galactica one last time.
The crew dispersed; duty called. Lee came by to thank her, which she thought was pretty nice of him. Bill sidled up and thanked her too.
“I told you, that’s my job. President, remember?” she said, pressing the flag over her heart.
“Yeah,” he rumbled. He looked around the nearly empty room. “So how you doin’, Laura?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice going a bit high.
He hunched his shoulders in a shrug, and she could see his retreat like a turtle pulling into his shell. “Did you get enough to eat this week?”
“Oh, you mean that.” She squeezed the flag. “I...I ate the chocolates you gave me.” For some reason, she found herself fighting tears. “I ate them all, Bill.”
He chuckled, not seeing her distress. “That’s good, Laura. You needed fuel--“
“You don’t understand. I just sat down one day and ate them all, one after the other.” Her eyes brimming, she told, “I meant for us to enjoy them together one day.”
“You had to eat,” he said firmly, tugging his gloves off. “I’ll get you some more--“
She cut him off. “No! I’m not worthy--“
He rolled his eyes. “Laura, don’t be silly--“ Then he stopped; he saw that she was serious.
He told her, “I’ll trade my damn medals away and get you ten pounds of chocolate. I’ll have it melted down and you can bathe in it--“
She slapped his chest half-heartedly, turning away. “Idiot.”
“I’m serious,” he insisted, capturing her hand.
She stared out the airlock’s window at the long, hard way outa this place. “I know. That’s why you’re an idiot.” The image of Bill lapping chocolate from her nipples--so inappropriate at a funeral--danced through her mind.
“You wanna do that talking now?” he asked, his thumb rubbing at her pulse point.
“We are talking.”
“Not what you wanted to talk about.”
“I thought you were the one who wanted to talk about it,” she said.
“I don’t have to talk,” he mumbled, “but I thought you might want to.”
Laura was the one to shrug this time, with one shoulder, as though shedding a heavy garment.
He smoothed his hand down her palm and off her fingertips as he released it. Quietly, he said, “Then we won’t. Maybe we should just let things rest for a bit. Let’s not say anything that will become definite.”
She nodded quickly, as though making the final bid at an auction. “Okay,” she managed to squeak out.
His footsteps echoed out the empty room and she decided to stay a bit longer, with her flags all around her.
The end