Through the Startled Sky (Part I)
Title: Through the Startled Sky (the Flip Side Remix)
Author: miabicicletta
Summary: The Cylons have invaded New Caprica, the Fleet has jumped away, and Bill Adama is not happy about a damn thing.
Pairing/Characters: Adama/Roslin, Kara/Lee
Rating: T+
Wordcount: 15,000
Warnings: None
Beta: Thanks to sunshine_queen for her efforts!
Original Story: If Not, Winter by olga_theodora
Author’s Note: Original story was written between Seasons 2 and 3, so this goes AU after Lay Down Your Burdens Pt II.
---
PART ONE
---
I will call him Zeus
I have no words to do him justice.
- Aeschylus
---
The day the Cylons invaded New Caprica, several important things happened in the Fleet: another dozen of Galactica’s crew submitted formal requests for settlement, the deck gang ran out of building materials on the Pegasus, and Bill Adama decided that the next time he saw Laura Roslin, he was going to ask her to marry him.
It was, all things considered, a day of poorly-timed endeavors.
---
“Order the emergency jump coordinates!” He barked. “We’re leaving.”
Sirens rang out through the CIC, sending out the alert down the lines of his ship like a riding sentry. Warning, warning, Condition One. Bill’s eyes locked on the DRADIS, where Raiders swarmed around the planet as moths to a flame. “But we’ll be back.”
Over the comm, he could almost hear Lee frown. “Sir, I think we need to consider our options.”
“Yes,” Bill answered, glowering at the mental picture his son’s slight lecturing tone conjured. “We do. I want full inventories of your deck and arms lockers within the hour. Get your officers. Full strategy meeting at 0800.”
Lee signed off. Bill handed the CIC over to Helo and made straight for his quarters, gears in his mind already at work on the rescue at hand.
---
He studied the sparse guest quarters Laura Roslin had taken up after the results of the election displaced her from Colonial One. The room was little different than the numerous cabins he’d seen, visited, lived in aboard a score of battlestars. It had been a long while since he’d had peace enough to diverge from his usual path between his quarters and the CIC, his quarters and the deck, his quarters and the Ward Room, and he had forgotten just how stark military accommodations could be. He was almost embarrassed it was all there was to offer a former president of the Colonies, (though her former title and office had little to do with the matter).
“What do you plan on doing down there?” Bill asked as she packed her few belongings into a small bag.
The corners of her mouth rose, a little insolently, if her read her expression right. He had been getting good at it before the election, but he saw her less often now and was out of practice.“Teaching.” Well that certainly it made sense.“I am a schoolteacher, after all. I think you might have pointed that out once or twice.”
Her tone was teasing, a wink to those days, not so long ago, when they’d been at such odds with each other that fighting off their Cylon enemies seemed, at times, secondary to the cold war between them, and their every encounter was one hostile engagement after another.
When he did not respond, she looked up from her packing.
“You should take up knitting,” he said, pushing away thoughts of that time. Seeing Laura’s quizzical expression, he explained, “It’s gonna be cold down there, come winter.”
She pressed a crease into the carefully folded sweater she must have bartered for. “I’m sure we’ll find ways to keep warm by then.”
---
Some hours later (many hours, in fact, but Bill had long since lost track of how much time had passed since the basestars jumped into the nebula), and he was still at work.
He consulted star charts and personnel figures, fuel reports and orbital geometry. He looked over the settlement map and FTL engine design for every ship in the Fleet, as well as what little information they had on the Cylon ship schematics. He pulled up the projected demands a growing metropolis would need as it grew both outward and population-wise (noting rather bitterly, as he did so, how ill-suited the word “metropolis” was for a shoddy collection of tents unwisely placed on the lip of a hundred-year flood plain).
He wracked his brain over every number he could find, used every best-case scenario model and backdoor strategy he had. All the while, Bill longed for Starbuck’s delightful anarchy, for the way her mind thought in loops and arcs and slingshot trajectories when all other angles plotted straight from A to B to C.
But Starbuck was down in the mud with her husband. Somewhere nearby were Saul and Ellen, Galen Tyrol and Cally and their baby. And...
He focused back on the task at hand. But every way he drew the scenario, he came up short. They were too few pilots, with too few birds.
We won’t be able to rescue them.
He shook his head in frustration, fighting the instincts that had compelled him during the early hours of the first Cylon attack; he wanted to stand and fight. The President had wisely convinced him otherwise, and it was her words he drew on now. Were they to jump back to the planet, Laura would never forgive him for attempting a fundamentally flawed rescue operation, for going into battle expecting to die. Which, he told himself, he could live with (or, more to the point, not live with), just as long as she survived. But any attempt to retrieve even a small number of refugees on the surface could only mean greater punishment and hardship for those who could not be saved. More likely that the Cylons would finish the job they had started two years ago.
And that Bill could not live with.
---
How can I just leave this fleet,
and let my fellow warriors down?
-Aeschylus
---
If the Admiral of the Fleet had allowed himself the luxury of imagining life beyond the endless trek of years in space (which, as the settlement on New Caprica began to grow and many of his men and women began requesting permission to muster out, he too -- tentatively -- began to contemplate) then he would be lying if his idle musings did not include Laura Roslin.
Since she had lost the election and moved to the surface some months before, Bill had found himself at a loss for what to do in the absence of the first real friend he had had in years. Saul, of course, was his brother in arms, but a very different sort of camaraderie had been formed between he and Laura, particularly since Kobol. It was a bond he had resisted at the outset, and now found himself thinking on with fond and wistful longing when he came across the scattered pieces of her that still cluttered his quarters. A book they had argued over one night; a report she had signed; a photo taken on Colonial Day; a wisp of red hair stuck to his couch. She was everywhere at once, and no where at all.
He missed her.
Consulting the CIC schedule for the upcoming week, Bill made a quick call to the pilot ready room and scheduled a trip to the surface.
---
Lee was pouting. Or, if one was feeling more considerably more charitable towards him than Bill was at the moment, one might instead characterize him as “showing extreme disappointment in his superior officer’s decision-making capabilities.”
Which was to say that Lee was pouting.
Bill rubbed deeply at the bridge of his nose, fingers edging under his glasses. “You want go over this again?”
“Once more, for the record,” Lee said, doing his best to bite back his ire. “I don’t see how a rescue is possible. We have, at maximum only a few dozen Vipers. What Raptors we have, even those with fully functional jump capabilities, don’t have the maneuverability to be of value in a dogfight. Our weapons cache is at eighty-percent but we don’t have the birds or men to use them.”
Lee ran on through the list of deficits, all of which Bill knew intimately and needed no reminding of. “You’ve made your point, Commander.”
“Sir...” His son’s voice lost some its petulant edge as he shuffled before Bill’s desk.
“Yes?”
Lee hesitated. “Dad, I want to go back. For Tigh and Galen and Kara, all our people, even for frakking Anders,” his voice softened. “And I know you do, too. For your own reasons. I just don’t see how we can hope to succeed.”
Bill sighed. That makes two of us, son, he did not say.
---
The halls of Galactica were lonelier now that so many of its crew members had gone, leaving her halls dark and empty without even the hope of returning shuttles from the surface at the end of weekend leave.
Bill did not see the emptiness, or, he chose not to see it as he felt haunted by the many ghosts who had once passed alongside the Old Girl’s metal bulkheads, had slept in her racks, used her gym, flown her birds. Ghosts, however, implied death, and that he could not allow himself to believe in.
They would be back. They’d all be back.
On this, the force of his will, he felt not even the gods could challenge him.
---
His first visit was almost his last. Laura was not pleased. She’d been on-planet just over six weeks, the longest either of them had gone without seeing or speaking to the other. It was probably just as well: laying the foundational infrastructure for the settlement and then populating it had demanded more resources from the hapless Fleet than either the the tylium or water retrieval missions had. There was much to be done. As Laura had undertaken her own mission -- establishing an educational system for the paltry number of children that had survived the attacks on the Colonies -- he had no doubt her attentions had been taxed as well.
He just hadn’t anticipated her holding it against him.
“I hate this frakkin’ planet.” She growled and paced, ticking like the explosive timebomb she was, and he without any idea of what might prevent her detonation. Commiseration hadn’t worked (“I am so envious of you, up on your ship with your central heating and dry halls and quiet rooms.”), neither compliments (“My hair looks nice? Oh well, surely you must know, Admiral, that refugee chic is the look of the season”) or sympathy (“You obviously don’t know where you just put your hand”).
Somewhat put-off -- he had, after all, come to see her -- he trudged off through the darkening streets for the temporary quarters occupied by the Fleet soldiers doing on-site work. Perhaps he should have taken offense to the Pegasus engineer who joshingly asked if he had a girl planetside, but the idea charmed him too much once it took hold and he drifted off to sleep wondering a little sadly about the might-have-beens had he met Laura Roslin in another time and place.
At this point, it seemed very much that their chance had come and gone.
---
How I wish
my watching could end happily tonight,
with good news brought by fire blazing
through this darkness.
-Aeschylus
---
Sharon sat quietly in her cell, accepting the tea offered to her.
“I need your insight,” Bill said, not much interested in his own cup. He set it aside, folding his hands together. Across from him, the young woman who had once felt like one of his children stared back, silent. “I need to know -- what is their intention? Their plan for the people on the surface?”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t,” Bill replied, his words harsher than he intended. “Or won’t?”
Sharon looked away, her eyes scanning the room, seeking out her husband, who stood guard beyond the open door. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m not part of their network; I don’t just...pick up their signals or instantly know their plans. I’m cut off.”
It was a strange reality that even as he sat here in this room with Sharon, a thousand, maybe a million more of her twins walked the streets of New Caprica.
“Then tell me...what would you do?”
Sharon lifted her head. Her eyes were dark. Unfathomable. Behind them, some circuitry was at work that he could never understand. Silica pathways mimicking neuron transduction. Higher reasoning. Independent thought. Memories. Desires. Emotions. All of which could be overridden by a single, intrinsic program. Despite the loyalty Sharon had shown them, they could not be sure, ever, of what she was capable of, and so, in her cell, Sharon stayed.
He repeated himself. “If you were on those baseships before Helo, before Caprica, what would you do?”
Bill had heard some of the pilots had renamed her; even if she was Sharon, she’d never been Boomer. She’d needed a callsign to differentiate between the two, and so they’d dubbed her Athena. The grief in her eyes was so human, for a moment it made him think of the legends of Athena, who killed herself rather than suffer the terrible sorrow of losing her people after the War of Men and Gods.
“If it was me, before Helo,” she said, forcing her voice to even, “I’d have killed them all.”
---
It had been a long time since Bill had courted a woman.
Ever since they had mended fences in the rain on Kobol and found an accord based equally on respect for one another’s stubbornness, temerity, and fortitude, his esteem for Laura had only grown. Even when he knew she would likely die of her cancer, and soon, he could not deny the quality of his admiration, of his affection, and was aggrieved at the thought of leading the Fleet without her by his side.
But, of course, she hadn’t died. What was more, she no longer held her office, which had created its own symbolic impetus to making his intention clear. In bed with the military, indeed. He had thought this left him with certain opportunities (for, aloof though she was, he was not at all convinced his feelings were one-sided), but apparently Laura had not quite forgiven him for his role in the relinquishing of her crown, and it was with heavy heart that he rose and prepared for his return journey to Galactica. He stepped through the canvas doorway just in time to catch Laura as she hastily rounded a corner tent on the opposite side of the street.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and had the decency to look chagrined enough to mean it, “It’s just frustrating, being down here. I miss your ship.”
Bill felt one side of his mouth turn up. “I think, Madam Former President, you miss my books.”
Laura smiled, something like relief washing over her face in the thin morning sun. She slipped her arm through his, guiding him towards her tent with the promise of breakfast.“I forget how well you know me. You see all my faults, Admiral.”
“Nah,” he said, twining her cool, slender fingers through his larger ones. “Just admiring your details, Laura.”
Her snort of laughter, followed by a saucy grin, was enough to give him hope. Perhaps they stood a chance after all.
---
In the many years he had served the Colonial Fleet, he had, at times, been forced to question the decisions and the motivations of his superior officers. The Admiralty, after all, was comprised of men and women who, although fiercely patriotic, were still capable of making mistakes. That the weight of history rested upon their shoulders did not render their reasoning gold. Far from it in fact.
But in all his years of service -- well over half his life, at this point -- Bill Adama had never questioned his own motivations so strongly as he did now.
The observation deck was one of the few places on Galactica that people still filtered in an out of with any regularity. Some couples, certainly, but there were fewer of them now, and so just as many individuals and small groups collected in the off hours to watch the stars and ships passing around them. Those who had gathered here tonight, though, had quickly cleared out when he arrived, leaving him to the stars and his thoughts.
The problem was this: Numbers or not, he was faced with precisely the same predicament as had befallen them almost two years ago. And they had fled -- a choice that, in hindsight, he knew had been the wisest course of action. But now, with the Colonies once again fallen to the Cylons, he refused to abandon them a second time.
The problem, also, was this: He loved Laura Roslin, and the idea of her being gone from his life was simply unacceptable. Worse than undermanned CAPs and a struggling military force, which were also unacceptable, but for rather different reasons.
He had made his decision. The Fleet would, of course, return to New Caprica and attempt a rescue, a move demanded by his position as well as his heart. As Admiral of the Colonial Fleet he had sworn an oath to defend and protect the citizens of the Colonies - a promise that was not rendered moot even if the twelve worlds themselves were no more. A vow was still a vow even if those things it bound together were damaged beyond repair. The promise might be altered, but could not be unmade. No turning back, he thought, and idly twisted the ring that still sat upon his finger.
No, his duty remained, and it was paramount. Perhaps more important now than it had ever been previously, as there was no one else left to accept the burden of position if Bill did not. There was Lee, of course, but Lee’s perspective had always clashed with his own, and though he did not doubt his son’s ability to lead, idealism would not save humanity.
Then again, Bill thought, watching the unblinking stars, it was just as likely bravery would not be enough to save them either.
---
I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope.
-Aeschylus
---
Rapping at her tent’s entrance, Bill arrived to find her living space dark and Laura not at home, such that it was. He controlled his disappointment, rationalizing that he had not actually sent word about his latest visit. This was in large part due to the fact that he had only just arranged for it this morning. After weeks of quibbling with the President’s office over members of the Fleet high command spending too much time on the surface and he’d finally decided to frak it all, swapping the previous overnight shift with Helo so that he might have a weekend evening to spend planetside. If the Cylons attacked in the meantime, so be it.
And now it seemed that the whole reason for his carefully-orchestrated scheme was out and about. For a brief moment, his overly tired mind entertained some less-than-gentlemanly ideas concerning Laura’s potential whereabouts. Not, in his defense, fueled by any suspicions he had about her, but certainly there had been a number of ships captain’s who had noticed her in a decidedly un-Presidential fashion, along with that terrorist frakker Zarek who had never missed an opportunity to ogle her legs if he could help it (in his heart of hearts, Bill would never forgive Zarek for having come to Laura’s rescue -- and from him of all people -- those long months ago. Which worked out evenly, actually, as Bill was quite unable to forgive himself for it).
Tired, exhausted even, he had no intention of piloting back to Galactica at the moment. Perhaps she had only ducked out to the market, and hadn’t Laura made use of his quarters often enough during her tenure? Turnabout was fair play.
Justifications established, he made himself comfortable, closing his eyes for just a moment...
---
The low light of his lamps cast a warm glow throughout his cabin.
For many years following his divorce, Bill had made his home aboard his ships. Dry land held all the promise of his marriage bed, and it had only occurred to him well after the fact that in renouncing the first, he had so too renounced the other. When he was home on the rare shore leave that extended more than a few days time, a small, single-mast schooner docked with the harbormaster in Qualai was where he hung his hat. It made for lonely keeping.
Once they had taken to the stars, he hadn’t had many a friend besides Saul, lingering around his quarters, late into the night. Apart from Lee, hadn’t had family to invite for a meal.
Laura, as she so often and blithely did, turned that paradigm upon its head. She lingered in his doorways, her voice echoing from the speaker comm during her addresses to the Fleet, and joined him for meals when time and circumstance afforded the luxury. Though their conversation tended towards the sober reality of life in a Fleet on the lam, there were moments of levity, of laughter. Given the heartening news of the day, he kept those precious few days and nights in his thoughts. Racetrack had gotten a message to the ground promising their eventual return. A good sign.
Pausing before his bookcase, he pulled a tome from the upper shelf.
The cover of Dark Day appeared largely the same as when he had given it to her, though a few pages showed evidence of where a casual reader had thumbed down the corner edge. He solemnly placed the book pack on its shelf, directly beneath the photo of Laura with Billy Keikeya. A pang of guilt and sadness suffused with regret coursed through him, though duller now with time. At least the boy had not lived to see what fresh hell New Caprica had become.
We’ll be back, Laura.” It was a promise directed as much to himself as it was to her.
---
He had only meant to close his eyes for a minute. That was all. Thirty-six hours on no sleep and limited caffeine had been a challenge even in his younger days, and now the toll it took on him was considerably higher.
So he was disoriented twice over when a commanding but equally weary voice interrupted his rest with a firm: “Move over. Now,” at which point the commanding voice’s owner slid under the covers and swiftly stole his pillow. Which, his brain reasoned slowly, was not uncalled for, being Laura’s bed and all (at this, another part of his body began doing some thinking of its own when he realized that “Laura’s bed” was less an abstract notion now that he was actually in her bed, and with her at that). But her exhaustion had, apparently, matched his own, and she was already breathing slow and even.
Time enough for that later. Age had its concessions.
Snaking his arm around her waist as he rest his head on the unoccupied half of her pillow, Bill threaded his warm fingers through Laura’s frozen ones and let sleep reclaim him.
---
Glancing over the document before him quickly, Bill looked up, removing his glasses as he studied the young woman before his desk.
“Lee told me you requested this reassignment, off of the Pegagus. You’re sure?”
Dee remained stoic, certain. “Yes, sir. I think it would be best for us to be apart for a while.”
“You’re fighting?” He asked, removing his glasses.
“Combat’s taken a toll on everybody,” Dee replied sadly. “I’m just looking forward to the day we’re all back on the road to Earth.”
“You believe in the myths, in prophecy?” Bill asked, curious.
“I...,” She chose her words with care. “My parents were religious. Devout. They made me go to temple every day, say our prayers for hours every night. I loved them, but I never shared their devotion, and eventually, I wanted out. I joined the Fleet. Now I’m here, and they’re gone.” Dee paused and looked up at him. “Whatever the Scrolls say, I believe in you. I believed in Laura Roslin and the lengths she would go to for her people. You called the Fleet a family. That’s where my faith finds its home. In people. In us.”
Bill nodded, deeply touched. Whatever happened between her and Lee, he was glad to have Dee around. He stood and rounded the desk, handing her the folder and laying a hand upon her small shoulder.
“We’re almost there, Dee. Countdown’s begun. We’ll bring them home and be on our way.”
She smiled, looking worn in soul and body, but for the moment, very glad. “So away we all.”
---
At some point in the night, Laura apparently grew tired of sharing her pillow, and tipped him unceremoniously onto the floor.
“Oof!” Bill grumbled in a very un-Admiral type way, rubbing his neck.
Laura rolled over and looked down sleepily at him.
Having been shoved, he expected a firm reproach from the local schoolmarm on the impropriety of sneaking into the beds of single women in the settlement. Instead she simply blinked and asked, “What are you doing down there?” as if she took issue with the fact that she’d discovered him out of her bed rather than in it. Which heartened Bill some, even if his hip was sore and he’d knocked his head a bit.
“You pushed me out of it,” he complained.
Laura snickered into the blanket. “Are you accusing me of kicking in my sleep?”
“No. Shoving. You’re surprisingly violent, even for a woman who used to have people thrown out of airlocks.”
The look she gave him meant to intimidate, but with her hair mussed and eyes squinty from sleep, she only succeeded in looking adorable. Doubly so when he accused her of stealing the blankets and she turned over with a sleepy “Frak you, Bill,” which to his ears sounded far closer to endearment than to insult.
Bill chuckled against her hair, and resumed his post, snuggling her closer to him, arm around her once more.
---
The night before the jump, Lee came to his quarters. Seeing his son’s hard expression, he steeled himself for a final argument. But Lee only shook his head.
“Tell me, Dad. Really. Why are you doing this?” He asked.
Bill considered the many reasons. Because I can’t live without her, he wanted to say, as it was, of his many motivations, the one that rang clearest. But it wasn’t the only reason.
“We can’t run anymore, son. We ran from the attacks, and it was the right choice at the time, but we can’t anymore.” he said slowly. “We could run for safety, for protection, indefinitely. Chase our demons from one side of the universe to the other. But one day soon we’d wake up to find there’s nothing left to save.”
Lee’s shoulder slumped as his eyes fell upon the photo of he and his brother as small boys with their father, standing next to a Viper. “And...Gods, Dad. If they’re gone? If we get to that planet, and Roslin and Tigh and Kara -- if they’re already gone, buried in the mud, what’ll you do then?”
Bill met his son’s sad, searching gaze. “Then we’ll fight them till we can’t.”
---
Author: miabicicletta
Summary: The Cylons have invaded New Caprica, the Fleet has jumped away, and Bill Adama is not happy about a damn thing.
Pairing/Characters: Adama/Roslin, Kara/Lee
Rating: T+
Wordcount: 15,000
Warnings: None
Beta: Thanks to sunshine_queen for her efforts!
Original Story: If Not, Winter by olga_theodora
Author’s Note: Original story was written between Seasons 2 and 3, so this goes AU after Lay Down Your Burdens Pt II.
---
PART ONE
---
I will call him Zeus
I have no words to do him justice.
- Aeschylus
---
The day the Cylons invaded New Caprica, several important things happened in the Fleet: another dozen of Galactica’s crew submitted formal requests for settlement, the deck gang ran out of building materials on the Pegasus, and Bill Adama decided that the next time he saw Laura Roslin, he was going to ask her to marry him.
It was, all things considered, a day of poorly-timed endeavors.
---
“Order the emergency jump coordinates!” He barked. “We’re leaving.”
Sirens rang out through the CIC, sending out the alert down the lines of his ship like a riding sentry. Warning, warning, Condition One. Bill’s eyes locked on the DRADIS, where Raiders swarmed around the planet as moths to a flame. “But we’ll be back.”
Over the comm, he could almost hear Lee frown. “Sir, I think we need to consider our options.”
“Yes,” Bill answered, glowering at the mental picture his son’s slight lecturing tone conjured. “We do. I want full inventories of your deck and arms lockers within the hour. Get your officers. Full strategy meeting at 0800.”
Lee signed off. Bill handed the CIC over to Helo and made straight for his quarters, gears in his mind already at work on the rescue at hand.
---
He studied the sparse guest quarters Laura Roslin had taken up after the results of the election displaced her from Colonial One. The room was little different than the numerous cabins he’d seen, visited, lived in aboard a score of battlestars. It had been a long while since he’d had peace enough to diverge from his usual path between his quarters and the CIC, his quarters and the deck, his quarters and the Ward Room, and he had forgotten just how stark military accommodations could be. He was almost embarrassed it was all there was to offer a former president of the Colonies, (though her former title and office had little to do with the matter).
“What do you plan on doing down there?” Bill asked as she packed her few belongings into a small bag.
The corners of her mouth rose, a little insolently, if her read her expression right. He had been getting good at it before the election, but he saw her less often now and was out of practice.“Teaching.” Well that certainly it made sense.“I am a schoolteacher, after all. I think you might have pointed that out once or twice.”
Her tone was teasing, a wink to those days, not so long ago, when they’d been at such odds with each other that fighting off their Cylon enemies seemed, at times, secondary to the cold war between them, and their every encounter was one hostile engagement after another.
When he did not respond, she looked up from her packing.
“You should take up knitting,” he said, pushing away thoughts of that time. Seeing Laura’s quizzical expression, he explained, “It’s gonna be cold down there, come winter.”
She pressed a crease into the carefully folded sweater she must have bartered for. “I’m sure we’ll find ways to keep warm by then.”
---
Some hours later (many hours, in fact, but Bill had long since lost track of how much time had passed since the basestars jumped into the nebula), and he was still at work.
He consulted star charts and personnel figures, fuel reports and orbital geometry. He looked over the settlement map and FTL engine design for every ship in the Fleet, as well as what little information they had on the Cylon ship schematics. He pulled up the projected demands a growing metropolis would need as it grew both outward and population-wise (noting rather bitterly, as he did so, how ill-suited the word “metropolis” was for a shoddy collection of tents unwisely placed on the lip of a hundred-year flood plain).
He wracked his brain over every number he could find, used every best-case scenario model and backdoor strategy he had. All the while, Bill longed for Starbuck’s delightful anarchy, for the way her mind thought in loops and arcs and slingshot trajectories when all other angles plotted straight from A to B to C.
But Starbuck was down in the mud with her husband. Somewhere nearby were Saul and Ellen, Galen Tyrol and Cally and their baby. And...
He focused back on the task at hand. But every way he drew the scenario, he came up short. They were too few pilots, with too few birds.
We won’t be able to rescue them.
He shook his head in frustration, fighting the instincts that had compelled him during the early hours of the first Cylon attack; he wanted to stand and fight. The President had wisely convinced him otherwise, and it was her words he drew on now. Were they to jump back to the planet, Laura would never forgive him for attempting a fundamentally flawed rescue operation, for going into battle expecting to die. Which, he told himself, he could live with (or, more to the point, not live with), just as long as she survived. But any attempt to retrieve even a small number of refugees on the surface could only mean greater punishment and hardship for those who could not be saved. More likely that the Cylons would finish the job they had started two years ago.
And that Bill could not live with.
---
How can I just leave this fleet,
and let my fellow warriors down?
-Aeschylus
---
If the Admiral of the Fleet had allowed himself the luxury of imagining life beyond the endless trek of years in space (which, as the settlement on New Caprica began to grow and many of his men and women began requesting permission to muster out, he too -- tentatively -- began to contemplate) then he would be lying if his idle musings did not include Laura Roslin.
Since she had lost the election and moved to the surface some months before, Bill had found himself at a loss for what to do in the absence of the first real friend he had had in years. Saul, of course, was his brother in arms, but a very different sort of camaraderie had been formed between he and Laura, particularly since Kobol. It was a bond he had resisted at the outset, and now found himself thinking on with fond and wistful longing when he came across the scattered pieces of her that still cluttered his quarters. A book they had argued over one night; a report she had signed; a photo taken on Colonial Day; a wisp of red hair stuck to his couch. She was everywhere at once, and no where at all.
He missed her.
Consulting the CIC schedule for the upcoming week, Bill made a quick call to the pilot ready room and scheduled a trip to the surface.
---
Lee was pouting. Or, if one was feeling more considerably more charitable towards him than Bill was at the moment, one might instead characterize him as “showing extreme disappointment in his superior officer’s decision-making capabilities.”
Which was to say that Lee was pouting.
Bill rubbed deeply at the bridge of his nose, fingers edging under his glasses. “You want go over this again?”
“Once more, for the record,” Lee said, doing his best to bite back his ire. “I don’t see how a rescue is possible. We have, at maximum only a few dozen Vipers. What Raptors we have, even those with fully functional jump capabilities, don’t have the maneuverability to be of value in a dogfight. Our weapons cache is at eighty-percent but we don’t have the birds or men to use them.”
Lee ran on through the list of deficits, all of which Bill knew intimately and needed no reminding of. “You’ve made your point, Commander.”
“Sir...” His son’s voice lost some its petulant edge as he shuffled before Bill’s desk.
“Yes?”
Lee hesitated. “Dad, I want to go back. For Tigh and Galen and Kara, all our people, even for frakking Anders,” his voice softened. “And I know you do, too. For your own reasons. I just don’t see how we can hope to succeed.”
Bill sighed. That makes two of us, son, he did not say.
---
The halls of Galactica were lonelier now that so many of its crew members had gone, leaving her halls dark and empty without even the hope of returning shuttles from the surface at the end of weekend leave.
Bill did not see the emptiness, or, he chose not to see it as he felt haunted by the many ghosts who had once passed alongside the Old Girl’s metal bulkheads, had slept in her racks, used her gym, flown her birds. Ghosts, however, implied death, and that he could not allow himself to believe in.
They would be back. They’d all be back.
On this, the force of his will, he felt not even the gods could challenge him.
---
His first visit was almost his last. Laura was not pleased. She’d been on-planet just over six weeks, the longest either of them had gone without seeing or speaking to the other. It was probably just as well: laying the foundational infrastructure for the settlement and then populating it had demanded more resources from the hapless Fleet than either the the tylium or water retrieval missions had. There was much to be done. As Laura had undertaken her own mission -- establishing an educational system for the paltry number of children that had survived the attacks on the Colonies -- he had no doubt her attentions had been taxed as well.
He just hadn’t anticipated her holding it against him.
“I hate this frakkin’ planet.” She growled and paced, ticking like the explosive timebomb she was, and he without any idea of what might prevent her detonation. Commiseration hadn’t worked (“I am so envious of you, up on your ship with your central heating and dry halls and quiet rooms.”), neither compliments (“My hair looks nice? Oh well, surely you must know, Admiral, that refugee chic is the look of the season”) or sympathy (“You obviously don’t know where you just put your hand”).
Somewhat put-off -- he had, after all, come to see her -- he trudged off through the darkening streets for the temporary quarters occupied by the Fleet soldiers doing on-site work. Perhaps he should have taken offense to the Pegasus engineer who joshingly asked if he had a girl planetside, but the idea charmed him too much once it took hold and he drifted off to sleep wondering a little sadly about the might-have-beens had he met Laura Roslin in another time and place.
At this point, it seemed very much that their chance had come and gone.
---
How I wish
my watching could end happily tonight,
with good news brought by fire blazing
through this darkness.
-Aeschylus
---
Sharon sat quietly in her cell, accepting the tea offered to her.
“I need your insight,” Bill said, not much interested in his own cup. He set it aside, folding his hands together. Across from him, the young woman who had once felt like one of his children stared back, silent. “I need to know -- what is their intention? Their plan for the people on the surface?”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t,” Bill replied, his words harsher than he intended. “Or won’t?”
Sharon looked away, her eyes scanning the room, seeking out her husband, who stood guard beyond the open door. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m not part of their network; I don’t just...pick up their signals or instantly know their plans. I’m cut off.”
It was a strange reality that even as he sat here in this room with Sharon, a thousand, maybe a million more of her twins walked the streets of New Caprica.
“Then tell me...what would you do?”
Sharon lifted her head. Her eyes were dark. Unfathomable. Behind them, some circuitry was at work that he could never understand. Silica pathways mimicking neuron transduction. Higher reasoning. Independent thought. Memories. Desires. Emotions. All of which could be overridden by a single, intrinsic program. Despite the loyalty Sharon had shown them, they could not be sure, ever, of what she was capable of, and so, in her cell, Sharon stayed.
He repeated himself. “If you were on those baseships before Helo, before Caprica, what would you do?”
Bill had heard some of the pilots had renamed her; even if she was Sharon, she’d never been Boomer. She’d needed a callsign to differentiate between the two, and so they’d dubbed her Athena. The grief in her eyes was so human, for a moment it made him think of the legends of Athena, who killed herself rather than suffer the terrible sorrow of losing her people after the War of Men and Gods.
“If it was me, before Helo,” she said, forcing her voice to even, “I’d have killed them all.”
---
It had been a long time since Bill had courted a woman.
Ever since they had mended fences in the rain on Kobol and found an accord based equally on respect for one another’s stubbornness, temerity, and fortitude, his esteem for Laura had only grown. Even when he knew she would likely die of her cancer, and soon, he could not deny the quality of his admiration, of his affection, and was aggrieved at the thought of leading the Fleet without her by his side.
But, of course, she hadn’t died. What was more, she no longer held her office, which had created its own symbolic impetus to making his intention clear. In bed with the military, indeed. He had thought this left him with certain opportunities (for, aloof though she was, he was not at all convinced his feelings were one-sided), but apparently Laura had not quite forgiven him for his role in the relinquishing of her crown, and it was with heavy heart that he rose and prepared for his return journey to Galactica. He stepped through the canvas doorway just in time to catch Laura as she hastily rounded a corner tent on the opposite side of the street.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and had the decency to look chagrined enough to mean it, “It’s just frustrating, being down here. I miss your ship.”
Bill felt one side of his mouth turn up. “I think, Madam Former President, you miss my books.”
Laura smiled, something like relief washing over her face in the thin morning sun. She slipped her arm through his, guiding him towards her tent with the promise of breakfast.“I forget how well you know me. You see all my faults, Admiral.”
“Nah,” he said, twining her cool, slender fingers through his larger ones. “Just admiring your details, Laura.”
Her snort of laughter, followed by a saucy grin, was enough to give him hope. Perhaps they stood a chance after all.
---
In the many years he had served the Colonial Fleet, he had, at times, been forced to question the decisions and the motivations of his superior officers. The Admiralty, after all, was comprised of men and women who, although fiercely patriotic, were still capable of making mistakes. That the weight of history rested upon their shoulders did not render their reasoning gold. Far from it in fact.
But in all his years of service -- well over half his life, at this point -- Bill Adama had never questioned his own motivations so strongly as he did now.
The observation deck was one of the few places on Galactica that people still filtered in an out of with any regularity. Some couples, certainly, but there were fewer of them now, and so just as many individuals and small groups collected in the off hours to watch the stars and ships passing around them. Those who had gathered here tonight, though, had quickly cleared out when he arrived, leaving him to the stars and his thoughts.
The problem was this: Numbers or not, he was faced with precisely the same predicament as had befallen them almost two years ago. And they had fled -- a choice that, in hindsight, he knew had been the wisest course of action. But now, with the Colonies once again fallen to the Cylons, he refused to abandon them a second time.
The problem, also, was this: He loved Laura Roslin, and the idea of her being gone from his life was simply unacceptable. Worse than undermanned CAPs and a struggling military force, which were also unacceptable, but for rather different reasons.
He had made his decision. The Fleet would, of course, return to New Caprica and attempt a rescue, a move demanded by his position as well as his heart. As Admiral of the Colonial Fleet he had sworn an oath to defend and protect the citizens of the Colonies - a promise that was not rendered moot even if the twelve worlds themselves were no more. A vow was still a vow even if those things it bound together were damaged beyond repair. The promise might be altered, but could not be unmade. No turning back, he thought, and idly twisted the ring that still sat upon his finger.
No, his duty remained, and it was paramount. Perhaps more important now than it had ever been previously, as there was no one else left to accept the burden of position if Bill did not. There was Lee, of course, but Lee’s perspective had always clashed with his own, and though he did not doubt his son’s ability to lead, idealism would not save humanity.
Then again, Bill thought, watching the unblinking stars, it was just as likely bravery would not be enough to save them either.
---
I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope.
-Aeschylus
---
Rapping at her tent’s entrance, Bill arrived to find her living space dark and Laura not at home, such that it was. He controlled his disappointment, rationalizing that he had not actually sent word about his latest visit. This was in large part due to the fact that he had only just arranged for it this morning. After weeks of quibbling with the President’s office over members of the Fleet high command spending too much time on the surface and he’d finally decided to frak it all, swapping the previous overnight shift with Helo so that he might have a weekend evening to spend planetside. If the Cylons attacked in the meantime, so be it.
And now it seemed that the whole reason for his carefully-orchestrated scheme was out and about. For a brief moment, his overly tired mind entertained some less-than-gentlemanly ideas concerning Laura’s potential whereabouts. Not, in his defense, fueled by any suspicions he had about her, but certainly there had been a number of ships captain’s who had noticed her in a decidedly un-Presidential fashion, along with that terrorist frakker Zarek who had never missed an opportunity to ogle her legs if he could help it (in his heart of hearts, Bill would never forgive Zarek for having come to Laura’s rescue -- and from him of all people -- those long months ago. Which worked out evenly, actually, as Bill was quite unable to forgive himself for it).
Tired, exhausted even, he had no intention of piloting back to Galactica at the moment. Perhaps she had only ducked out to the market, and hadn’t Laura made use of his quarters often enough during her tenure? Turnabout was fair play.
Justifications established, he made himself comfortable, closing his eyes for just a moment...
---
The low light of his lamps cast a warm glow throughout his cabin.
For many years following his divorce, Bill had made his home aboard his ships. Dry land held all the promise of his marriage bed, and it had only occurred to him well after the fact that in renouncing the first, he had so too renounced the other. When he was home on the rare shore leave that extended more than a few days time, a small, single-mast schooner docked with the harbormaster in Qualai was where he hung his hat. It made for lonely keeping.
Once they had taken to the stars, he hadn’t had many a friend besides Saul, lingering around his quarters, late into the night. Apart from Lee, hadn’t had family to invite for a meal.
Laura, as she so often and blithely did, turned that paradigm upon its head. She lingered in his doorways, her voice echoing from the speaker comm during her addresses to the Fleet, and joined him for meals when time and circumstance afforded the luxury. Though their conversation tended towards the sober reality of life in a Fleet on the lam, there were moments of levity, of laughter. Given the heartening news of the day, he kept those precious few days and nights in his thoughts. Racetrack had gotten a message to the ground promising their eventual return. A good sign.
Pausing before his bookcase, he pulled a tome from the upper shelf.
The cover of Dark Day appeared largely the same as when he had given it to her, though a few pages showed evidence of where a casual reader had thumbed down the corner edge. He solemnly placed the book pack on its shelf, directly beneath the photo of Laura with Billy Keikeya. A pang of guilt and sadness suffused with regret coursed through him, though duller now with time. At least the boy had not lived to see what fresh hell New Caprica had become.
We’ll be back, Laura.” It was a promise directed as much to himself as it was to her.
---
He had only meant to close his eyes for a minute. That was all. Thirty-six hours on no sleep and limited caffeine had been a challenge even in his younger days, and now the toll it took on him was considerably higher.
So he was disoriented twice over when a commanding but equally weary voice interrupted his rest with a firm: “Move over. Now,” at which point the commanding voice’s owner slid under the covers and swiftly stole his pillow. Which, his brain reasoned slowly, was not uncalled for, being Laura’s bed and all (at this, another part of his body began doing some thinking of its own when he realized that “Laura’s bed” was less an abstract notion now that he was actually in her bed, and with her at that). But her exhaustion had, apparently, matched his own, and she was already breathing slow and even.
Time enough for that later. Age had its concessions.
Snaking his arm around her waist as he rest his head on the unoccupied half of her pillow, Bill threaded his warm fingers through Laura’s frozen ones and let sleep reclaim him.
---
Glancing over the document before him quickly, Bill looked up, removing his glasses as he studied the young woman before his desk.
“Lee told me you requested this reassignment, off of the Pegagus. You’re sure?”
Dee remained stoic, certain. “Yes, sir. I think it would be best for us to be apart for a while.”
“You’re fighting?” He asked, removing his glasses.
“Combat’s taken a toll on everybody,” Dee replied sadly. “I’m just looking forward to the day we’re all back on the road to Earth.”
“You believe in the myths, in prophecy?” Bill asked, curious.
“I...,” She chose her words with care. “My parents were religious. Devout. They made me go to temple every day, say our prayers for hours every night. I loved them, but I never shared their devotion, and eventually, I wanted out. I joined the Fleet. Now I’m here, and they’re gone.” Dee paused and looked up at him. “Whatever the Scrolls say, I believe in you. I believed in Laura Roslin and the lengths she would go to for her people. You called the Fleet a family. That’s where my faith finds its home. In people. In us.”
Bill nodded, deeply touched. Whatever happened between her and Lee, he was glad to have Dee around. He stood and rounded the desk, handing her the folder and laying a hand upon her small shoulder.
“We’re almost there, Dee. Countdown’s begun. We’ll bring them home and be on our way.”
She smiled, looking worn in soul and body, but for the moment, very glad. “So away we all.”
---
At some point in the night, Laura apparently grew tired of sharing her pillow, and tipped him unceremoniously onto the floor.
“Oof!” Bill grumbled in a very un-Admiral type way, rubbing his neck.
Laura rolled over and looked down sleepily at him.
Having been shoved, he expected a firm reproach from the local schoolmarm on the impropriety of sneaking into the beds of single women in the settlement. Instead she simply blinked and asked, “What are you doing down there?” as if she took issue with the fact that she’d discovered him out of her bed rather than in it. Which heartened Bill some, even if his hip was sore and he’d knocked his head a bit.
“You pushed me out of it,” he complained.
Laura snickered into the blanket. “Are you accusing me of kicking in my sleep?”
“No. Shoving. You’re surprisingly violent, even for a woman who used to have people thrown out of airlocks.”
The look she gave him meant to intimidate, but with her hair mussed and eyes squinty from sleep, she only succeeded in looking adorable. Doubly so when he accused her of stealing the blankets and she turned over with a sleepy “Frak you, Bill,” which to his ears sounded far closer to endearment than to insult.
Bill chuckled against her hair, and resumed his post, snuggling her closer to him, arm around her once more.
---
The night before the jump, Lee came to his quarters. Seeing his son’s hard expression, he steeled himself for a final argument. But Lee only shook his head.
“Tell me, Dad. Really. Why are you doing this?” He asked.
Bill considered the many reasons. Because I can’t live without her, he wanted to say, as it was, of his many motivations, the one that rang clearest. But it wasn’t the only reason.
“We can’t run anymore, son. We ran from the attacks, and it was the right choice at the time, but we can’t anymore.” he said slowly. “We could run for safety, for protection, indefinitely. Chase our demons from one side of the universe to the other. But one day soon we’d wake up to find there’s nothing left to save.”
Lee’s shoulder slumped as his eyes fell upon the photo of he and his brother as small boys with their father, standing next to a Viper. “And...Gods, Dad. If they’re gone? If we get to that planet, and Roslin and Tigh and Kara -- if they’re already gone, buried in the mud, what’ll you do then?”
Bill met his son’s sad, searching gaze. “Then we’ll fight them till we can’t.”
---