BSG fic: Scenes From a Liberation, part 1 (pg-13)

[sabaceanbabe]

Title: Scenes From a Liberation
Author: SabaceanBabe
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 21,305 (part 1: ~10,600)
Characters: Helo/Athena, with Starbuck, Anders, Adama, Boomer, Roslin, Maya, and more
Spoilers: through Exodus, pt. 2 and yet it's really quite AU, having been thoroughly jossed by season 3
Disclaimer: not mine, don't sue
Author's note: This was written for the first Sweet Charity Fandom Auction for repr0b8 and I started it in April of 2006. In fact, a good deal of it had been written well before s3 started in the hope that I'd get it posted before the premiere, but then I started getting spoilers and some of those just knocked me out of the water and I had to get myself jump-started again. Anyway... His request: It's the day of the liberation of New Caprica. The human population on the planet has just been rescued, and the fleet has successfully jumped away; a celebration of epic proportions is underway throughout the RTF. * Both Helo and Sharon played important but separate roles in the mission, with Sharon having been paroled by Adama to help with the rescue. But the two of them are still apart, and their relationship is in limbo. Sharon has asked Helo to stay away for all the obvious reasons: seeing him reminds her of Hera, not wanting to hurt him anymore, believing their relationship has no future, etc. And Helo has obeyed her wishes for the past year+, while secretly trying to make her life as bearable as possible, and still very much in love with her... loving her from a distance, just like he did before the war started. * So the celebration is in full swing, with plenty of drinking and toasting. Karl is of course dragged into the center of this, while Sharon watches from the periphery. And while everyone is partying, the two of them are still without the one thing they each want: Hera for Sharon and Sharon for Helo. I'd love for Adama to interact with Sharon on a very "human" level, and Kara to interact with Helo, sensing his detachment and trying to encourage him. * And now the tricky bit that I can't figure out. Individually, the two of them slip away from the party and somehow end up in the same place to be "alone" (maybe a Raptor?). They talk, talking leads to a kiss, kissing leads to more than a kiss. Yeah. It can be as explicit (or not) as you like, I'm okay with anything from PG-13 to NC-17. * The mood I'm hoping for is one that things are not okay, that these two are still hurting badly, but that they are going to get a 2nd chance, that they are going to try again. That they still love each other deeply. I tried to hit on as much of this as I could. Hopefully, I succeeded, for the most part. I couldn't have asked for better betas - lee_in_limbo, lizardbeth_j, and lyssie. They kept me on track, made me tighten up when I rambled (don't laugh - there were huge chunks of text cut out of this), and generally made this a much better story than it would have been otherwise. Oh! And before I forget, some of you on my flist may have read bits and pieces of this before as a WIP, but it's pretty much all different now, so don't be afraid that you've already read it, if something looks familiar.


----------------------------------------------

Amid the chaos of battle, the last ship still capable of flight, Colonial One, finally lifts off from the surface of New Caprica, but Sharon doesn't see it. She's too busy dodging Raiders and weapons fire, trying to get her load of injured refugees to the nearest "safe" haven - Galactica.

"Colonel Tigh!" she shouts over her shoulder, never taking her eyes from the viewport. The new carbon composite skin of the Raptors might prevent the swarming Raiders from getting a lock on them, but it won't prevent those Raptors from colliding with any of a hundred Cylon ships, if their pilots aren't extremely careful. It's worse than trying to navigate an asteroid field. At least asteroids don't fire missiles at you, hoping for a hit, Sharon thinks sourly before shouting again, "Colonel!"

A Raider cuts across her path and she slams her stick hard to the left to avoid one of those collisions as Tigh falls into the co-pilot seat, knocked from his feet by the evasive maneuver. More than one voice cries out in pain and fear behind her as the small ship responds more enthusiastically than she expects - it's the first time she's flown a Raptor in combat and she's not used to the controls. She spares Tigh a glance before returning her attention to keeping them all in one piece.

"She's dead." His voice is cracked and rusty as though he hasn't spoken in days. The desolation of it forces her to focus on his face. His visible eye is red, bloodshot, but she knows this time it's not from drink as his gaze darts back and forth between her and the rear of the ship. Sharon hadn't recognized the blonde he had carried aboard, had never met her, but the woman had been badly injured, and there had been blood everywhere. Even now, she sees it smeared on the Colonel's jaw and neck, soaked into his sweater.

"Colonel, I'm sorry." Sharon knows he won't believe her, but she truly does regret his loss. "I'm sorry, but I need you to go to the back, to the ECO station. I need to know what countermeasures we still have on board."

He hesitates for a moment, eye narrowing. "I'm half-blind and no ECO..." Unspoken but clear in his tone and demeanor is the thought that he won't take orders from a Cylon.

"No, you're not an ECO." Her tone is sharp when she continues. "But you know your way around a dradis and I assume the loss of half your vision doesn't equate to the loss of half your brain."

A missile flies beneath the Raptor and explodes just in front of them and Sharon can't spare any more words as she fights to dip around and below the shrapnel. A few seconds later, she brings her small ship back on course.

"Sharon, are you alright?" Even through the Raptor's tinny and inadequate speakers, Helo's voice is worried and she can't help a small smile. He has always worried about her, done things large and small to make her life easier, even when he believed she would neither acknowledge or appreciate it. Sharon knows that it's making him a little crazy, that there's nothing he can do for her now.

***

Sharon lay on her cot with her hands crossed over her stomach and stared at the ceiling, lost in memory. Every day was the same with only a few interruptions to vary the routine.

Sometimes the interruption was a visit from Helo, who still came to her every day, though most days he couldn't stay more than a few minutes at a time. His duties had increased as more people left the fleet for the planet below.

Sometimes it was Kara, come to talk about their mutual past as she tried to understand how Sharon could be the person she'd known for years while at the same time completely different. They both knew the Viper jock tried to trip her up in the details, but it never worked and gradually a new friendship had sprung to life.

Sometimes it was Corporal Mathias, who occasionally played cards with her during a guard rotation, joking that it was more difficult for Sharon to cheat with the glass wall between them than it was for her fellow marines when they were face to face.

And sometimes, there were no interruptions to the monotony at all.

More and more frequently, Sharon dreamed of Hera. Dreamed that she saw a world through Hera's eyes, that she was her little girl, alive and growing up on a gray planet surrounded by gray people, a world lacking in sunlight and devoid of warmth.

The worst dreams were those that came while she was awake and aware; after each waking dream it took her longer to recover and always left her shaken. The dreams were mercifully brief, but they were more intense, more real when Helo visited her. She wasn't sure how much more she could take.

Sharon thought that maybe she should speak to Doctor Cottle, that he might have something that could take the dreams away. A humorless smile crept across her face as she thought that maybe he could just give her something that would make it all go away, but no. No. She didn't want to die anymore, she simply wanted to be left alone.

A rap on the glass broke into her thoughts and she looked over at the window. Helo held the receiver in his hand, smiled as he waved it at her to pick up its counterpart on her side of the glass. Although she wouldn't let him see it, not now and not ever, her heart broke a little each time he came to her, and she didn't know how much more of that she could take, either.

Keeping her face impassive, she returned her attention to the ceiling - she knew every rivet and seam by heart. Helo rapped on the window once more, the sound louder, sharper. She swiveled her head on the pillow until she could see him in his blue uniform; his smile had disappeared. As she watched, he frowned a little and mouthed the words, "Talk to me."

For a long moment, she closed her eyes. Her fingers clenched into fists, but then she forced both her hands and her eyes to open and pushed herself up from the cot. She swung her bare feet to the deck, slowly stood, and walked over to Helo. She made no move to take the handset.

His voice muffled by the safety glass, she heard him without the aid of the handset when he demanded, "Pick up the phone." His eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and disappointment. Her heart felt like lead in her chest. She couldn't continue to do this, day after day, no end in sight. Steeling herself, she lifted the receiver.

Before he could say anything, she cut him off. "Helo, I don't want you to come here anymore." His mouth snapped shut. He looked a little stunned, confused, but she went on, afraid she would lose her resolve if she didn't do this now. "I want you to leave now and don't come back."

"Sharon, what the frak is this?" His knuckles were white, he gripped the handset so tightly. "You don't mean that."

Sharon understood his refusal to believe her. She had shut him out of her life before and he had pushed his way back in. This time was different; this time she wouldn't let him back in. She had loved him so long, and that love had brought them nothing but pain.

Nor could she bear to see him, day after day, and not touch him. It was killing her inside, just as the dreams were. She had been more than a year in this cage; Adama would never let her go.

"Helo, I do mean it. Go away. There's nothing here for either of us."

With a laugh that didn't reach his voice, and a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes, he took the handset away from his ear, but almost immediately brought it back up. "Well, that's just great." He couldn't hide the hurt.

She had to end this, end it now. Before the pain became unbearable. Before she broke and changed her mind, because he was her strongest link to life and sanity. She carefully replaced the receiver in its hook and turned her back on him.

A memory of another time, a similar situation nearly six months earlier, skittered through her mind and she was surprised when Helo didn't pound on the glass and shout at her, as he had then. When she lay back down on her cot, she risked a glance at the window, but Helo was gone. She curled up on her side and closed her eyes, but neither sleep nor tears would come. Thankfully, the dreams stayed away, too.

***

The first time Corporal Mathias returned to duty after Sharon asked Helo to stop coming around, she unlocked Sharon's cell and motioned for her to step away from the entrance. Sharon only backed up a step or two, but that was enough for Mathias; she set a portable music player on the floor near the cot and tossed a nylon bag to Sharon, who caught it.

"What's this?" She looked at Mathias, rather than the bag.

Mathias looked down at the player and smirked. "Looks like a pony to me."

Startled, Sharon laughed and opened the bag, pulling out several music chips that she knew had once belonged to Boomer. She looked a question at the Marine corporal, who shrugged.

"Captain Agathon asked me to give 'em to you."

"Captain Agathon?" Sharon's heart beat faster in her chest.

"He didn't tell you? He was promoted and made CAG a few days ago, when Captain Thrace retired. I guess he hasn't been back to see you because he's been busy." Mathias clearly didn't notice how sick Sharon looked. At least, she thought she must look sick, because she felt like she was going to vomit. The woman continued with a grin, "He told me the CAG has a little more pull around here than a mere pilot, so there's going to be a real bed delivered later today."

Sharon forced a smile, although she feared it might be more of a grimace. A bed. Something that would no doubt be more comfortable than the cot she'd slept in these past months. And the rations she'd been given these last couple of days had more variety and taste than what she'd become accustomed to, as well. She closed her eyes and turned away from Mathias.

"Sharon? You okay?"

***

"We're okay," Sharon reassures Helo. But then there is another missile. Another rough evasive move. A man - she thinks it might be Anders - groans, his pain-wracked voice drifting up from the deck behind her. She bites her lip, eyes glued to the Galactica, growing larger in the viewport as they draw nearer, but there are more and more missiles coming closer to finding them. The Raiders know that if enough missiles are fired, one will eventually find a target.

"Dammit, drop a swallow or something!"

Sharon hears the frustration in Helo's voice and turns toward Tigh. "Colonel, I wouldn't ask if I didn't need your help. Sergeant Mathias is the only other person on board with any combat experience, but she doesn't know electronics or countermeasures."

Tigh's voice is closer to normal when he replies. "All right, I'll do what I can." He rises as another near miss rocks the small ship. He grips the back of her seat hard to keep himself from falling and then he's gone, weaving his way to the ECO station, past the half dozen or so injured men and women laid out on the deck, past the body of his dead wife.

A flash of movement in front of the Raptor catches Sharon's eye as a Raider silently screams past, closely followed by a Viper sporting a Pegasus insignia. The stream of bullets let loose by the Colonial pilot slices the Raider in half in a spray of sparks and metal and blood.

"One down..." Mathias' voice offers from just above her head.

Sharon flashes her a quick grin, relieved by her steady presence. "Only three hundred fifty-seven to go." She doesn't know how much of that number is an exaggeration.

"That old bucket of bolts has never looked so frakkin' beautiful," she says as she drops into the seat Tigh so recently vacated.

"If you're staying up here, Gunny, you'd better strap yourself in."

***

Sergeant Mathias ushered Sharon into the Admiral's quarters, interrupting an ongoing discussion. Helo and Dee were on the couch, leaning toward the low table in front of them, which was layered in photographs and maps. His back toward Sharon, Apollo gestured with jerky movements toward those same maps; he looked over his shoulder when the hatch opened. Adama himself sat in an armchair that formed an "L" with the couch. A floor lamp between the two pieces of furniture illuminated the table.

Mathias began to back out, pulling the hatch shut behind her, but Adama stopped her. "Sergeant."

"Sir."

"Lieutenant Burrell has recommended you for this mission. Stay." The Marine stopped, surprised, but quickly regained her composure. She stepped further into the room, pulling the hatch closed behind her. Straightening, she stood at parade rest and Adama seemed satisfied.

The Admiral gestured for Sharon to take a seat on the couch. "Sharon, join us," he invited. She felt very much out of place with the battlestar commanders and their executive officers. At least I know Erin's as uncomfortable as I am. Rather than joining Dee and Helo, Sharon took the few steps necessary to reach Apollo's side and looked down, her gaze caught by what looked like an aerial photo of a tent city.

She frowned. "This is New Caprica."

"Yes," Adama confirmed.

She looked over at him, as did Dee. She felt Helo's eyes on her, but couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze and so she concentrated on the Admiral. "A rescue mission?" she asked.

"Why is she here?" Apollo, beside her, interrupted before his father could answer. There was no mistaking which "she" he referred to and his question mirrored her own misgivings. Lee Adama was never easy around her, but she supposed she couldn't blame him for that. At least he was civil to her, something that could not be said for everyone she had to work with.

"Sharon is here because I asked her to come." Adama looked at Sharon. "Sit, please." His tone brooked neither protest from her nor argument from his son. Apollo raised his hands in surrender. An unreadable expression on her face, Dee moved closer to Helo to make room for Sharon, acting as a buffer between her and Helo, and so Sharon sat, grateful to the other woman for her sensitivity. But then, that had always been one of Dee's strengths. Mathias remained, an impassive observer near the hatch.

"Why am I here, Admiral?" Sharon asked.

"I believe that you can provide a valuable perspective on this mission." He glanced at Lee, still standing, before returning his attention to Sharon. "You're not only an experienced Raptor pilot, but you have a rare expertise in evading the Cylons."

She glanced quickly at the Admiral's face. As always, his features gave no clue to his thoughts, but over the months she'd been on Galactica, she'd become accustomed to his subtle humor. Leaning forward to look at the reconnaissance photos of the tent city - these must have been taken before the Cylons found us - she laughed. "I suppose you could say that."

***

"Dammit, drop a swallow or something!" Helo's focus is torn between the enemy targets all around them and the blip that indicates Raptor Three, Sharon's Raptor, drawing nearer to her destination, but nearly obscured on his dradis by a swarm of swirling Raiders.

"Cut her some slack, Helo," Starbuck shoots over her shoulder. "Her ECO is here with me."

He hears the almost cocky confidence in her voice, the belief that Sharon can handle her bird and land her safely on Galactica, and feels oddly reassured even as their ship shudders when a missile explodes out of kill range just above.

A rapidly moving light on the dradis draws Helo's eyes. "Got one on our tail, Starbuck. Nine hundred meters and closing." Taking his own advice, he presses a button. "Releasing a swallow," he reports, and then looks up at the overhead readouts. "Six swallows remaining." Another quick check of the dradis. "Frak. Starbuck, drop to vector... two seven three!"

"Wilco." The Raptor drops like a stone and then flattens out again. The missile that had burst without warning from the cloud of dradis interference surrounding New Caprica shoots harmlessly past, to become in its turn a cloud of rapidly expanding, dissipating flame as it collides with a Cylon Raider.

Helo toggles the microphone on his console - there had been no time to don flight suits and helmets in the rush to escape the planet's surface. "Colonial One, Helo. Do you copy?"

Static briefly fills the interior of the Raptor. "I'm here, Captain."

"Do you have the jump coordinates?" Just as she had been the last ship to lift off from the planet's surface, Colonial One is the last non-military ship still in-system. Once she's away, the two remaining Raptors and half dozen Vipers can rendezvous with Galactica and get the hell out of this godsforsaken part of space. He glances at the blip of Sharon's Raptor, still surrounded on dradis by enemy blips, but he sees through the forward viewport the tracers of Galactica's great guns and breathes a sigh of relief - she's within the bubble of safety the old battlestar can provide. Another burst of static. "Say again, Goddard. I didn't catch that."

"Repeat, we have the coordinates. Two minutes to jump."

"Roger that, Colonial One, Helo out. Racetrack, Helo. Did you catch that?" Waiting for her response, he suddenly feels as though he's being watched. A quick glance over his shoulder and he meets former President Roslin's gaze. Her arm is around Maya's shoulders and the younger woman is clearly frightened, but Roslin is as steady as Helo has ever seen a civilian in combat and it comes to him that she is no more a civilian than he is.

"Yeah, Helo. I copy," Racetrack returns, pulling his attention back to the board.

"Unless you hear otherwise, give it another minute then follow Raptor Three in." At that moment, another explosion sends the Raptor into a tumble.

Helo and Starbuck simultaneously shout, "Frak!" Helo reaches above his head, the movement pulling uncomfortably at the half-healed gash on his arm, and flips a series of switches. Starbuck fights the suddenly sluggish stick to regain control of the Raptor. The passengers grab onto anything they can to keep from tumbling from their seats.

"Helo! Starbuck!" Racetrack's tinny voice exclaims.

"Starbuck! I'm on him!" Hotdog cuts in. "Can you... duck?"

"Hotdog, you're an ass," Starbuck fires back. "Just shut up and shoot the frakker already!"

Helo grins at her and silently thanks the gods that Hotdog made it off New Caprica.

***

"Helo!"

He turned to see who shouted his name and searched the faces of the people in the compound, most of whom talked in small groups save for four men playing a game of pyramid. There, dodging past a knot of people gathered around a rusted and well-ventilated barrel, heat-shimmer distorting the air above it, was Louanne Katraine. Moving at a less explosive pace, Brendan Costanza followed.

Helo waited for Kat to reach him, not wanting to risk moving too quickly and setting his head to pounding again. He reached up to touch the knot above his left eye, the scab crusted over the tear in the skin, as Kat skidded to a breathless halt and grabbed at his right arm to steady herself.

"Gods, am I glad to see you!" She laughed, the sound at odds with their gloomy surroundings, and threw her arms around him. He hugged her back - she and Hotdog had been on leave the day the Cylons had come back and Helo'd wondered if they were lost forever.

He didn't say anything right away and her smile faded as she took in the civilian clothes, the head wound, and the lack of weapons. He could see it in her eyes when she understood that he wasn't here to rescue them, but rather was a prisoner like all the rest.

"I'm glad you two are alive and well," he said as Hotdog joined them. Costanza lifted his hand for a salute, but changed it to an offer of a handshake in mid-motion, eyes darting around the compound. Helo grasped his hand tightly for a moment. "Lieutenant." He released the man's hand and looked again at Kat. He kept his voice low - there were no flashes of sunlight on chrome, but Hotdog's body language told him there must be spies within the camp. "Kat, sitrep."

She straightened. "Not good, Captain, but stable." A quick glance around and then she gestured for them to move toward the center of the yard, away from the gathered groups of people, closer to the makeshift pyramid court. "How did you get here?"

Helo laughed. "You first." She and Costanza had been on the planet for four months; who knew how much of that time had been in the hands of the Cylons? He wasn't about to tell either of them anything that could compromise the mission further than his own capture might have already done.

Her raised brow and the quirk to her lips told him that she knew it, too. "The toasters started rounding people up the day they landed. Those of us who weren't quick enough to make it to the hills were sorted into categories. Most were let go after being recorded in some kind of census. Others..." She shrugged and then made a broad gesture that encompassed the yard in which they stood, the surrounding barracks, and the double-row of barbed wire that surrounded it all. "The frakkers may call it a farm, may have us working out in the fields, but... That canyon out there? It's called Breeders' Canyon."

Frak. That explained why they hadn't been all that concerned that his name wasn't on their list - they'd simply assumed he was one of the ones who hadn't been caught in the first round, or even the second, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It also explained the extra scrutiny they'd given him, once they knew who he was, particularly the bitch who'd called herself D'Anna Biers on Galactica. A breeding camp...

He looked sharply at Kat. "You're not...?"

"Pregnant? Frak, no." She shot a quick look at Hotdog; Helo didn't miss it when she reached behind her back and Hotdog took her hand. "As far as I know, they haven't had any success yet." One brow quirked, she looked back at Helo. "Not here, anyway," she quipped. Hotdog shoved her from behind and she took a stumbling step toward Helo. "Sorry, sir."

"No offense taken, Kat." He laughed, humorless and a little bitter. "After all, I'm the original Cylon lab rat." Changing the subject, he asked, "Are there any more of us in here?"

"No. Brendan and I are the only Fleet."

Again looking around at the other people in the compound, Hotdog stepped up beside Kat, closer to Helo. "We may be the only military here, Captain, but we're not the only ones who might be willing to fight."

Helo nodded. "Good." He let his eyes wander over the compound, pausing here and there on the gates, the barbed wire, the Centurions standing just outside the fence, two women talking over a fire pit, the Pyramid players. If he and Kat and Hotdog could make it out of here and hook up with Sharon and the others, if Sharon had been able to make contact with Tigh's resistance then they still had a chance. And if they could manage to take a few of the others with them, create some chaos along the way, all the better...

"Is this as secure as it gets for a private conversation?" If they couldn't talk, they'd have to work out a plan some other way. He smiled at the thought of passing notes as though they were in high school, but the smile faded quickly at the sound of servos and the murmurs of "frakking toasters" that came to them from across the compound. All three turned to see the standard formation of Cylons walk through the gate: a biological, in this case a copy of D'Anna Biers, flanked by two Centurions. Helo raised a hand. "Hold that thought."

Biers scanned the crowd until her gaze rested on Helo. He felt cold when they started toward him, Biers' eyes never leaving his. A smile stretched across her lips and grew as she drew closer. He shivered.

"Helo," she said warmly, stopping in front of him. The Centurions moved to flank all three humans, but their focus was Helo.

***

"You people in back, hang on!" Starbuck shouts and sends the Raptor into a tight arc away from Hotdog's shot, leaving only the offending Raider in its path.

"Dammit, woman, this isn't a Viper!" Helo laughs.

He feels Roslin's eyes on him again. "Are we going to make it, Captain?" she calmly asks when he looks over at her.

"We're sure going to try."

He turns back to his instruments and watches as Sharon's Raptor disappears from his dradis. "Raptor Three is aboard Galactica," he reports, feeling the near-suffocating weight lift. Sharon is by no means safe, but she and her passengers are closer to it now than those in his Raptor. He gives Kara a thumbs up, and she gifts him in turn with a thousand-watt Starbuck grin - Anders is aboard Sharon's bird with the rest of the wounded from the final group of refugees.

"Racetrack, head in. Hotdog, keep two wingmen and stay with us; the other three are with Raptor Two." He pays no attention to the responses other than to note that they're affirmative. "Starbuck, basestar on dradis."

"I see it."

"Colonial One, Helo. How much longer?"

"Jump in twelve seconds... eleven... ten... nine..."

"Starbuck, six swallows out. Take us in." It'll take them about the same amount of time, with Starbuck driving, to make it to the Galactica as it will for Colonial One to jump to safety. He prays that their remaining swallows will be enough to confuse the dozens of Raiders and the two nearby baseships for the few seconds they'll need.

***

Sharon watches, tension coiling in her gut, as a scorched and scarred Raptor makes an elegant landing, quickly followed by three Vipers. The hangar bay doors remain open and she sees the flashes of multiple explosions in the distance. Nervous energy, nauseating in its intensity, screeches through her body until she begins to move, if only to keep from exploding.

She wants to pace, but has to settle for tapping her fingers against her thigh because there's too little room and she doesn't want to stray far from Sam's side, not until one of the (too few) medical personnel is with him. Trying to stay out of the way of the deck crew swarming over her Raptor, Sharon's attention strays again and again to the open bay doors and the vast stretch of black space beyond. But there is still no sign of Raptor One and she swallows her fear.

Light flashes again beyond the doors, this time accompanied by a ball of flame that rapidly disperses. There is no sound, only that brief flare, and she prays that it wasn't a Raptor, that it wasn't him. She squeezes her eyes shut.

Behind her Tyrol shouts at someone, "You, there! Whoever you are! Get that 3C cable up here!" If she weren't feeling so sick, she'd laugh; some things never change. She opens her eyes and again focuses outward, beyond the hangar. Please, God. Please. Bring him back.

Another nearby voice rises above the din of alarm klaxons and people. "Somebody give me a hand here!" Sharon turns and sees a familiar woman - one of the Chief's former deck crew, Seelix - attempting to get a shoulder under Colonel Tigh, who has fallen from the ramp to the deck, carrying the body of his dead wife from the Raptor. Tigh looks old, used up; he looks like a man living a nightmare.

A groan draws her back to Sam, lying on the deck beneath her Raptor's wing where he's less likely to be tripped over. Crouching down, she says, "I'm here, Sam."

"Kara?" His voice is weak but clear.

"Not yet. They're still out there."

Sam's eyes close and Sharon thinks he's unconscious again until he whispers, "They'll make it, Sharon." His face crumples with a wave of pain but then clears. "They'll make it."

"What the frak are you doing?" Tigh's voice overhead is hostile.

Straightening, Sharon turns to face him and Seelix, both watching her with animosity. The patch that covers Tigh's right eye and the skin around it is smeared with new blood and she wonders if it's his or his wife's. The cord holding the patch in place pulls so tight that the skin beneath it, thin and fragile-looking, puckers.

"I don't want a frakking Cylon touching any of my men," Tigh hisses.

The loathing in his voice stings more than the words. "Well that's just too damn bad, Colonel. There isn't anyone else to help Sam right now." Sharon meets Seelix's gaze and the other woman looks away, toward Tigh.

Moving with deliberation, Tigh straightens his sweater with a sharp tug. The pain in his remaining eye is palpable as he stares at her and Sharon realizes that some of the blood on that sweater is indeed his own.

"Why didn't you go back where you belong when you had the chance?" he snarls at her. Not waiting for a reply, he pushes past her and crowds her aside as he bends down to see to Anders.

"I am where I belong," she whispers to the back of his head.

***

Sharon relaxed into the relative comfort of the chair that had been delivered a few days ago; she no longer bothered to keep track of the passage of days since she had pushed Helo away. She knew the little comforts that appeared now and then were from him, but he never came himself. It had been weeks since she had last seen him, had last heard his voice.

Legs curled beneath her and a book on her lap, another gift from Helo, she stared at the pages but didn't see them. Instead, as her fingers absently caressed the paper, her attention flitted from splash to splash of bright color. She bounced along, held in the arms of a woman who made her feel safe and warm, who took away fear when it jumped at her from the shadows. Sharon knew it was an hallucination, but it took her out of her cell, so she allowed herself to sink into it. It wouldn't last long, the visions never lasted more than a minute or two, but for that brief time she was free.

A flash of blue and a whiff of something sweet and smoky drew her further into the vision, even as it abruptly faded and she dropped back into the reality of her cell. Realizing that she wasn't alone, she blinked rapidly and tried to regain her equilibrium. As her awareness of her own body returned, she shifted, felt the pins-and-needles sensation in her legs that sometimes came with being in one position for too long and wondered at the length of this newest hallucination. It had seemed only a handful of seconds, yet her body felt as though it had been hours.

Bare feet connected with the rug beneath the chair and Sharon squeezed her eyes shut for a second before reopening them; the action helped her to focus. The door to her cell stood open and a man filled that opening. Her heart skipped a beat as she surged from the chair. Before she took more than a step toward him, her brain finally processed the data her eyes had given it: he was too short to be Helo.

"Admiral Adama." Her pulse pounded in her temples from the adrenaline rush of surprise. Disappointment settled like a stone in the pit of her stomach.

"Sharon," he greeted and gestured for her to sit back down. Rather than return to her chair, she stepped away from it and sat on the edge of the bed, offering the more comfortable seat to him. When the very young guard, a man she didn't recognize, locked the door behind the admiral, she bit back her questions and waited for Adama to tell her why he was here.

He surveyed the cell, noted the rug, the chair, the table and lamp, the currently silent music player, the footlocker at the end of the bed. A real bed, not a simple cot. His eyes finally rested on Sharon, his face giving nothing away. Then he offered her the faintest of smiles and lowered himself into the chair she had vacated, seemingly as at home here in her cell as he would have been in his own quarters.

"You look well," he observed.

She responded with a shrug. She looked no different now than she had when he'd last visited her cell, when he'd asked her if she'd be willing to give up the other Cylons in the fleet. But then it occurred to her that when he had been here last, she had been pregnant. Maybe I do look a little different.

Adama seemed to have the same thought. "I'm sorry about your child."

The statement took her by surprise. Emotion warred with intellect as the part of her that had known him for years, served under his command, said that he was telling the truth while another part of her, the part that trusted no human save Helo, screamed that he had been a party to her baby's death.

Something of that internal struggle must have shown on her face. "I know you don't believe me, Sharon, but it's the truth."

"You and Roslin tried to have my baby aborted." Her fists were so tightly clenched that she felt the sting as her nails split her skin.

His expression didn't change, but a flush crept over his face. "That was a mistake."

The silence that followed was extended and awkward. After a time, Sharon began, "Admiral..."

But her voice trailed off when Adama lifted the book she had been reading. He looked at the leather spine and then turned to the marker of the pages at which she'd been staring when he'd entered the cell. "This was always one of my favorites." His voice was almost wistful. "How are you enjoying it?" The lenses of his glasses flashed as he lifted his gaze from the book to look at her.

Sharon opened her mouth to tell him that it was well written and thought provoking and all the other trite phrases that came to mind from countless book covers, but then she stopped. He waited patiently for her opinion, as if he truly cared what she, a Cylon, thought of his favorite book, and she was struck by an astonishing realization. "The book is yours."

"Yes."

"I thought it came from Helo."

Adama nodded once. "Most of this did come from him, yes, but a few of the books are my own."

"Why?" She didn't know what to think. There was such a history of distrust between them, and yet he had not only known of but condoned Helo's provision of the comforts in her cell, and had also loaned her several books, including his favorite. Sharon knew how important books had been to the Old Man before the war, just as she knew that now those precious books could never be replaced.

The admiral sighed and carefully returned the book to the table. "I've had no choice but to keep you locked in this cell, for your own protection as much as for our peace of mind." He gestured toward the book. "I suppose this is a form of apology."

Shifting in his seat, he leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. Sharon felt a subtle change in the atmosphere and she thought that he must have reached the purpose for this unexpected visit.

"Why did you say nothing about Brother Cavil?"

She licked her lips. She hadn't expected that question. "I told you I wouldn't betray the others."

"The other Cylons in the fleet, yes. And I understood your decision. But by protecting Brother Cavil, you put Helo in jeopardy."

The angle of his glasses and the lights overhead acted together to obscure Adama's eyes behind a wall of opaque reflection; she couldn't see his intent in his eyes, couldn't hear it in his voice. "I would never put Helo in danger."

Another shift and she could see the dark blue of his irises beneath the lenses. "And yet you did."

Sharon shook her head, not quite able to grasp what was going on. "Helo is a good man, a good officer. You would never have harmed him."

"Your decision to remain silent about Brother Cavil put Helo in a precarious position. He had already been under suspicion of treason, and it was he who recommended you for that mission."

Drawing her legs in toward her body, Sharon wrapped her arms around them and rested her cheek on her knees. She closed her eyes. "I didn't think about that." Remembering that time, so soon after losing Hera, she felt the prick of tears behind her closed lids. "I guess I... I guess I didn't really care about anything, then." The only memories she had of that time weren't truly memories at all, only impressions - strong impressions - of pain and loss, not just of her little girl, but of everything she had hoped for and dreamed of.

Adama shifted again but said nothing and Sharon wondered what went through his mind even as she tried to make her own a blank, not wanting to experience those emotions all over again. The silence stretched.

The Admiral broke that silence. "I'm offering you a limited parole."

Before, when she'd first seen him in the opening to her cell, Sharon's heart had skipped a beat. Now it felt as though it stopped for several seconds before pounding so hard in her chest she thought Adama must be able to hear it. She lifted her head slowly until she met his clear gaze.

Dozens of questions scrambled for precedence, but only one demanded an answer. "Why now?"

Adama leaned forward in his chair, elbows to knees, and clasped his hands together. "We've heard nothing from the Cylons for months. While I do not believe they're no longer a threat to us, I also don't believe that you'll tell them where we are."

A small laugh escaped her. "I couldn't even if I wanted to." She studied his familiar features, so harsh at times and yet capable of comfort as well. "What about keeping me locked in here for my own protection?"

"Most of those who might be inclined to dispute your right to exist have gone planetside. Those that remain can be managed."

Sharon wanted to ask him if Helo had anything to do with his decision, but she didn't. Instead she asked, "You said a limited parole?"

"Yes. You'll continue to sleep in this cell and spend most of your off-duty time here." He leaned back into the chair, seeming more relaxed, as if he had somehow been apprehensive of her reception of his decision.

"Off duty?" Sharon frowned.

"With an armed escort, you'll be permitted to travel to and from CIC as well as the rec room and the gym." He paused, watched for her reaction to what he'd said so far. "I want you to optimize our scanners. And I want you to create a cryptographic program that will break Cylon codes."

Her eyes narrowed and she studied him in turn. It didn't escape her that he was asking, not demanding. "You want me to help you set up some sort of perimeter alarm."

"If the Cylons find New Caprica, I want to know about it."

"I'm a Cylon."

"Yes." Still watching the Old Man's face, she saw his expression soften slightly, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepen a fraction, although the smile never reached his lips.

***

A shout rises above the cacophony in the hangar. "Clear the deck! Raptor One's coming in hot!" Eyes wide, Sharon whirls around in time to see a Viper streak past the open bay doors. It fires, running interference as Helo's Raptor comes hurtling toward the Galactica, flames streaking behind, the ship wobbling wildly.

Although the wobble increases, the speed of the ship visibly slows as Starbuck kicks in what the pilots jokingly called the "emergency brakes" - engines in full reverse followed by a full shutdown. It generally caused the complete destruction of the engine involved, but it was better than crashing through the opposite side of the hangar, causing explosive decompression and loss of atmosphere.

Instinct pushes her to run to Raptor One, but Sharon forces herself to stay where she is. She knows she'll only be in the way if she tries to go to him and there is nothing she can do to help. Instead, she holds herself very still and she waits.

Across the hangar, the bay doors close and a man in a yellow jumpsuit manually pries open the hatch of Raptor One; from the amount of smoke that pours from the opening, Starbuck is lucky to have landed it in one piece. Sharon squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and then returns her attention to the task at hand - since her presence is no longer welcome near Sam, to keep her mind from her fear, she helps with the wounded.

Turning her back on the smoky drama, Sharon slips an arm gently under a woman's shoulders, eliciting a hiss of pain. "Shh..." she says, "I'm taking you to help." Her voice is pitched to slide below the chaos that eddies around them. Her ears are attuned to Tyrol's shouted directions as he takes charge of unloading everyone from Raptor One and getting the fire under control. Spotting two men pushing gurneys as they make their way through the melee, Sharon slips her other arm beneath the woman's knees.

"What are you doing? You can't lift me!" There is panic in the woman's voice.

"Yeah, I can," Sharon responds as she does just that, as gently as possible. The weight is negligible, but their positions could be better. Sharon lurches to her feet as the woman reflexively throws her arms around the Cylon's neck.

Even as Sharon regains her balance, a voice announces, "Secure decks. Five seconds to jump." Making sure she has a secure hold on the woman in her arms, she follows the men with the gurneys through a hatch and into another corridor, which is just as crowded as the hangar. Injured men and women line the bulkheads on both sides, leaving a clear path down the middle. The overhead lights flicker and Sharon heads for an open spot in which to lay her charge, before the brief disorientation of the jump overtakes them.

With barely any hesitation as the wave of the jump flows over them, she quickly reaches her destination and squats down, leaning forward to gently lay the injured woman in the open space. When Sharon starts to pull back, the woman doesn't let her go, her arm still wrapped around Sharon's neck and shoulder. Startled, Sharon looks at her.

The woman stares, wide eyed, and Sharon thinks she must have hurt her in spite of her care. "I'm sorry if I hur-" she begins.

"You're a Cylon," the woman states.

Caught off guard, Sharon bristles, but then she realizes that the woman's tone isn't hostile, as Tigh's had been during their recent confrontation. She licks her lips and affirms, "Yes, I'm a Cylon."

"But, why are you helping us?" Confusion and pain cloud her eyes.

Sharon needs to get back to the hangar, needs to make sure that Helo and Starbuck and the others are okay, but she wants to answer the woman. She feels that she has to answer her. "Because I choose to." She offers the woman a half smile and briefly touches her hand before straightening, leaving her there to await her turn in the queue.

More than a minute has gone by since the jump. Sharon reaches the hatchway as a man announces, jubilation evident in his voice even over the intercom, "We are free and clear. Repeat, we are clear. No sign of Cylon pursuit."

A wave of relief washes over her at the announcement; a wave of guilt quickly follows. Someone pushes roughly past her, also returning to the hangar from the impromptu infirmary in the corridor, and she grips the hatchway hard to keep from stumbling. A cheer goes up from the hangar, echoing behind her in the corridor.

The smoke from Raptor One has cleared, for the most part, with only a few lingering wisps still trailing from the ship. All around the hangar, people laugh and hug each other, the fear of mere moments ago seemingly forgotten.

Across the hangar, first Helo and then Starbuck emerge from the Raptor and pause at the top of the ramp, side by side, searching. Sharon is certain that Kara looks for Sam; when she spots him lying on a gurney, a slight improvement in his situation from when Sharon left him with Tigh and Seelix, Starbuck pushes past Helo and bounds down the ramp, dodging between and past the intervening revelers to reach his side.

***

Sharon paced back and forth like a caged cat, the floor gritty beneath her boots. To relieve boredom, she varied her pattern, just as she had in the old days when she had been stuck in her cell with nothing to do and no one to talk to. The difference was that these cell walls were made of rough rock instead of glass and steel, and there was neither door nor hatch to prevent her escape. No, the only things that prevented her from leaving were the dozen or so armed humans just outside the cave and, much more important, the knowledge that something had happened to Helo. He and the marine with him hadn't made the rendezvous, and Sharon suspected these people might know something about that.

A lantern, oil rather than electric, hung from a hook sunk into the rock next to the opening. Its placement kept her from seeing anything past its light, but would allow anyone watching through that opening to keep an eye on her. The amorphous shape of the chamber itself left her no place that a watcher couldn't see with minimal effort. She wondered if the others were in similar "cells" or if, being human, they were allowed to remain together, or perhaps even permitted to go free.

Time passed as she paced. She zoned at least once, imagining herself in a room full of children, their voices high and piping and somehow comforting. After a time, other voices, one male and one female, drifted through the opening. The woman's voice belonged to one of those who had brought them here, and the man's voice sounded familiar as well.

"Sam," she greeted as he entered the chamber. Momentary relief flooded through her; Sam Anders wouldn't kill her out of hand, even if he didn't look pleased to see her.

His eyes traveled over her, took in the dusty civilian clothes and the hair that had long since fallen out of the tail she usually wore. He frowned. "Sharon?"

"Yeah, Sam, it's me." She looked past him to the cave opening, but could see nothing in the gloom beyond.

"How?" His voice was cautious.

"Is Kara here, too?" This had to be one of the resistance camps they'd hoped to contact; Sharon couldn't imagine Kara Thrace - Kara Anders - just rolling over and submitting to Cylon rule, even if she had come to accept a Cylon as a friend. But Sam shook his head, his guard not slipping.

"No, she's not. Answer my question, Sharon. How did you get here? You're lucky my people didn't shoot you on sight." He crossed his arms over his chest, and her eyes were drawn to the winged tattoo; one half of a whole, the tattoo was the symbol of Nike, the humans' goddess of Victory. Starbuck had laughingly proclaimed that a wedding ring was too damn boring, and that they'd wanted something a little harder to ignore.

Sharon shook her head and looked down at the dirt floor. Glancing back up at Sam, not bothering to keep the irony from her voice, she said, "We're here to rescue you." He snorted at that and she grinned. "Really. The Admiral knew there'd be a resistance and we suspected that it would either be literally underground, or based in the caves riddling the hills. He sent a group of us ahead to scout things out and try to make contact."

Sam leaned back against the wall and watched her for a minute. She stared back at him, and raised one brow in challenge when he said nothing.

"I know why your group is here," he eventually said. "Edmondson already told me all that. I want to know why you're here. Last I heard, you were still under lock and key on Galactica."

Sharon frowned again. "Racetrack...?" Edmondson and her group were to have remained with the Raptors. If they were here, then no one was guarding the ships. And where the frak was Helo? Her eyes met Sam's again; his expression was as hard as the walls that surrounded them. She choked back the words she wanted to say, the questions she wanted to ask, and shifted mental gears. Rather than talking to a friend she hadn't seen in months, she had to remember that she was dealing with a combatant who wasn't certain she was a friendly.

"Sorry. I was sent on the mission because I'm a Cylon. I can go where the rest of you can't and at least have a chance of not being detected." She smiled ruefully. "It seems I blend."

He nodded. "Guess that makes some sense, yeah."

She took a step toward him; eyes on her, he made no move, and Sharon got the sense that although he was cautious, he was not at all afraid. "How have things been? Since..." She let her voice trail off. Since my people came here? Since the Cylons found you? No matter how she phrased it, the words would only point out that she wasn't like him, that she was like his enemy.

Cocking his head to one side, he gave her a half-smile. "People are getting a bit twitchy these days. The toasters seem to be gearing up for something big." He raised an eyebrow and pushed away from the rock wall, took a step toward her. "Know anything about that, Sharon?"

"How would I, Sam?"

His smile grew, not quite reaching his eyes. "Aren't you wired in?"

She blinked twice, for the first time unsure of herself. "You know better than that." He'd known who and what she was since long before Starbuck had returned to Caprica for him. He and Helo and Barolay had talked at length with her after Starbuck had been taken, coming up with a rescue plan. "I told you at the high school that it doesn't work that way." It bothered her more than she liked to think that he no longer trusted her, and through no fault of her own.

But then he grinned, once again the friend she'd hoped to find on New Caprica. "Good to see you again, Sharon."

And she wanted to hit him. Hard. "Bastard."

He laughed and took the long step necessary to pull her into a hug. She squeezed him tightly, but not enough to cause him any damage, though she still kind of wanted to. Finally, her voice muffled by his shoulder, she asked, "Have you seen Helo?"

Sam drew back a little so that he could look at her. "No. Racetrack mentioned that you guys had to run."

She pulled away from him, needing to move. She'd prayed that the resistance group might know something. "Centurions attacked us. Just a small party of them, but we split up to lead them away from our landing point."

"My people heard the noise and went to investigate," he nodded. "Not long after the firing stopped, they came across a couple of slagged chrome jobs, and then Racetrack and her group."

"But not Helo."

"But not Helo," he confirmed.

"And Kara's not here?"

He lifted his arms and then let them fall to his sides. "No. Kara's been missing for months. I don't know where she is, or even if she's still alive."

"Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry."

He didn't respond to that, save to clench his jaw. Then he turned abruptly and headed toward the cave opening. Leaning out past the light, he shouted, "Tyrol! Get in here!"

***

Standing in the hatchway, Sharon feels frozen in place as she watches Helo, who remains at the top of the ramp, watching Kara, but then he returns to scanning the crowd and his eyes don't stop until he spots Sharon. After a brief hesitation, he jogs down the ramp and a moment later Sharon releases her grip on the hatchway and heads toward him, feeling lighter than she has in months, feeling almost happy.

The feeling is short-lived. Before she crosses half the distance toward Helo, Racetrack runs at him from the side and tackles him in an enthusiastic hug. Helo's arm circles her waist and he whirls her around, both of them laughing. Sharon stops where she is, in the shadow of a scarred and pitted Viper, suddenly unable to make her legs obey her brain. Racetrack throws her arms around Helo's neck and kisses him on the cheek. He leans into the kiss, but then she lets him go and turns to a man in a flight suit, hugs him as well, and Sharon can breathe again.

Her eyes meet Helo's and she starts toward him, but the woman he'd been with in the Cylon camp approaches him and touches his sleeve. Helo looks apologetically toward Sharon and turns his attention to the woman - Maya? - who says something to him. Helo smiles and then Maya throws herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. He rests his cheek against her hair, returning the embrace. His lips move and Sharon can't tell if he's saying something to her or kissing her hair. A wave of jealousy hits Sharon like a slap in the face and she fades back into the crowd.

Angry with herself because of the jealousy, she turns away. She reminds herself that she let Helo go months ago, pushed him away for his own good as well as for her peace of mind. She has no right to be jealous if he's formed an attachment to another woman since then.

Sharon doesn't know where she's going when she leaves the hangar through the makeshift infirmary. All she knows is that she can't stay.

***

"Maya, you can't. Do you even know how to fire a gun?"

Sharon stopped dead, just inside the gates of the compound, as chaos swirled around her, never close enough to touch. That voice, she'd know it anywhere.

"It's such close quarters, I don't have to, Karl." Sharon didn't recognize the woman's voice. "I want to help you."

Sharon tried to find Helo in the turmoil that was, up until a few moments ago, a Cylon internment camp, but there was an explosion outside the double row of fencing, followed by another just inside and just that quickly, she lost the sound of Helo and the woman in the cacophony.

A hail of bullets ripped into the dirt less than a meter in front of her, coming toward her, but then they stopped short. Sharon whirled around, raised her gun and fired an explosive round into the head of the Centurion that had stopped firing on her because its programming had told it to. Her shot took it in its red sensor eye and it dropped like a stone.

People were everywhere, running, screaming. Bullets rained down with ash and shrapnel from the explosions. Sharon fired on another Centurion, guns literally blazing as it bore down on one of Sam's resistance fighters; her first shot missed, her second tore it in half at the midsection. She didn't have a chance to move from her exposed position, no chance to take cover, but somehow neither bullets nor shrapnel found her. Through the haze of smoke, she kept firing. She didn't keep track of how many Centurions she took down, none of them capable of defending against her; she'd worry about the guilt of that later.

Finally it was over. Although the shouts and screams remained, the firing stopped. One of the canvas-covered transports in which Anders' people had arrived, Sharon among them, came to a stop in front of her and a red-haired woman leaned out the driver-side window - Barolay.

"Sharon!" Jean shouted, her voice urgent. "Get in!"

Sharon ran across the front of the truck, grabbed hold of the handle, but it stuck. A glance told her the door was never going to open, not easily or quickly, anyway, and so she holstered her gun, grabbed the inside of the frame and pulled herself head-first into the cab. She scraped her knees on the frame as she slid in and twisted.

Jean cocked her head and raised a brow, but said nothing. As soon as Sharon was in, she slammed the truck into gear and took off across the compound.

"What's the rush?" Sharon asked, bracing an arm against the dash.

"Sam got word Kara's alive and somewhere in New Cap City. Said he needs you to find her. Something to do with a tracking device and you having the receiver?"

"What?" Yes, Sharon had a transponder programmed to pick up the signals of the chips the recon team had been implanted with, but so did the rest of the team. "What the frak does that mean?"

Jean shrugged and turned an impassive face back to the path before them, concentrating on avoiding obstacles. Sharon wasn't going to get any information out of Jean Barolay, whether there was information to be had or not. I'd hate to face her at a Triad table, she thought as she focused on the building they fast approached.

There, beside another transport, stood Anders and with him was Helo; no jacket, just a black t-shirt and jeans, and he had never looked so good to her as he did now. As fast as Jean was driving, it wasn't fast enough. Sharon's fingers tightened on the dash and she willed the woman to go faster.

Moments later, the truck jerked to a stop and Barolay jumped out. The driver side door hung open and, rather than fighting with the bent passenger door, Sharon scrambled across the seat. She jumped to the dirt and ran toward Helo and Sam, reaching them at the same time as a pretty, dark-haired woman she didn't recognize.

The woman touched Helo's wrist and said, "Karl, they're ready." It was the same woman she'd heard him with earlier and she wondered if they'd known each other before, back on Galactica.

His hand covered hers briefly. "Be there in a minute, Maya," he said and then turned to Sharon as the other woman moved away. It seemed to Sharon that she was reluctant to go.

"Gods, Sharon, am I glad to see you." Although he smiled, there was a shadow in his eyes when he looked at her, a wariness as to how she would receive him. Sharon gave him a reassuring smile and took a step toward him. But he turned away, moved to follow Maya. "Come on. There's not much time. I'll fill you in on the way."

She looked at Sam who gestured for her to go after Helo, then turned to shout over his shoulder, "Jean! You're in charge. I'm with Helo and Sharon." Barolay lifted her rifle in acknowledgement and Sam ran after Helo. When Sam realized that Sharon hadn't yet moved, he turned, jogging backwards, and shouted, "Sharon! Come on!"

***

Standing at the top of the ramp, Helo watches Kara run to Anders, lying still and pale near Raptor Three. He hadn't been doing well when they'd lifted off New Caprica and he looks worse now, but as Helo watches, Anders turns his head at Kara's approach. Reassured that he isn't dead yet, Helo returns his attention to the celebrating crowd.

Across the hangar, a movement catches his eye - a flash of bright yellow as a man pushes past a woman in brown, standing in a hatchway. Sharon. He grins and starts down the ramp at a jog, wanting nothing more than to hold her and reassure himself that she too is alive. The urge is irrational, as he can see quite clearly that she's alive, but something in him won't be satisfied until he feels her in his arms, solid and warm.

After only a short distance, he's nearly knocked from his feet. The impact and Racetrack's shouted, "Helo!" coincide with the nearby pop of a cork from a bottle. Reflexively, his arm circles Racetrack's waist and he twirls her around laughing, until he comes to a stop. She follows through on her own momentum, wrapping her arms around his neck, the rough-soft corduroy of her jacket catching for a moment at the stubble along his jaw. "We made it!" she laughs and kisses him on the cheek.

"We did," he answers with a squeeze to her waist, but then she pulls away from him to greet Hammerhead as enthusiastically as she had him.

Still grinning like a fool, Helo spots Sharon standing beside the nose of a Viper, one of the old Mark IIs. She isn't much closer than she was before Racetrack grabbed him and it crosses his mind to shout to her - it's just possible that he can make himself heard over the commotion - when he feels a light touch on his arm. His shoulders sag a bit at this new delay and disappointment dampens his greeting. "Maya."

"Karl, I just wanted to thank you. For everything. We would have died without you."

"Well, I couldn't exactly leave you behind," he says with a lop-sided smile.

She takes her hand from his arm only to reach up and pull him into a hug. "I didn't have the chance to say anything before, on the Raptor, but I'm so happy you're alive," she whispers. "When they took you away, I thought I'd never see you again."

"I had my doubts..."

Her arms tighten. "Gods... Karl, what are we going to do? We have to find her."

click here to read the conclusion