Title: The Purcell Dialectic
Author:
zeplumFandom: BSG/Stealth
Rating: T
Pairings: Kara Wade/Ben Gannon, Kara Thrace/Lee Adama (implied), Henry Purcell/Prime numbers
Summary: He's seen it before, seen it happen with another Kara for fraks sake, and Henry knows better than most how it can all turn out. It tends to involve words like crash, burn, and rubble.
Notes:
bantha_fodder babbled on enough. I watched the movie. Most fabulous, and halfway resolved and, er, kinda mature, UST ever.
Oh, yeah.
Hegelian dialectic (as I learned it, though now it's the
Fichtean, a principal that makes me entirely too happy).
Henry's met a Kara before. Years back, basic training. Tough, mouthy, talented -- nothing like Kara Wade.
Kara Thrace was one to throw a punch first, a knee to the groin second. She'd never even have given Gannon a second glance. Hell, she'd drunk Ben under the table and left him for dead; ordered two more rounds for herself and Henry, and continued on her merry, destructive way.
Henry wasn't usually down with the self-destructive chicks, but there was something about Kara Thrace that drew people to her, bound them in for better, for worse.
Happened to Helo, Lee, the Old Man, and Henry. Zak.
After. After the accident, Henry was the only one that Kara'd let get anywhere near her -- and if she did take a swing at him, he was the only one quick enough to duck. His had lipped curled at that, a true smirk peeking out from the edges. She'd laugh a little, then cry into his arms, letting him see only what little she allowed.
He knew when to pull back, and what she was holding back. He let it be.
Later, Kara wiped the tears from her face with strong fingers -- pilot's fingers -- and told Henry that he should've been a priest. She might've even gone to services.
He'd laughed, taken her into a headlock and kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled like the Caprican blood pears she liked so much.
"Take care," he whispered. But he yelled back, jogging down the strip with his duffle on one shoulder, "Don't shoot anyone,"
"Unless they deserve it!" she shouted back.
He flipped a little salute before turning around.
*
At first everything is chill between Ben and Kara and himself. Three is a prime number and as far as Henry is concerned, they are all prime and ready for action.
Test flights every day, digging sand from places the sun didn’t shine at night. Grape popsicles and fifth-grade flirting, study manuals and charts and logging countless hours in sims. It's all just part of the game; one Henry's learning how to balance as easily as that football on the tip of his finger.
And then he starts to see. And to set the record straight, he doesn't want to see.
One little glance from Ben over Kara's way during the Captain's briefing, and as he watches, Kara's eyes drop just that little bit, a shadow forming on her cheek from her eyelashes.
Oh. Fraking. Shit.
Hell no!
He's seen it before, seen it happen with another Kara for fraks sake, and Henry knows better than most how it can all turn out.
It tends to involve words like crash, burn, and rubble.
Oh. Fraking. Hell.
*
Henry keeps an eye on them, becomes more of their protective uncle than their wingman. If they notice, no one says anything. But when they go out, especially when they go out, Henry watches Ben watch Kara, and Kara watch Ben, and them watch each other, and if this was Delphi United High, it might all be cute, but this isn't, and it's not.
But they keep it under control, like a bottle of ambrosia about to pop. When the pressure really gets to Kara she mopes around like a hang dog, and Ben, Ben just closes up real tight.
It's better than the alternative. Maybe. The last time he saw this kinda thing happen, Starbuck and Apollo didn't end up speaking to each other for two years. Hell, as far as Henry knows they're still shut up as tight as the Tholos vault.
He needs to put a call into Helo, find out how ol' Notch and Starbuck are doing.
*
It takes a while before he can get a call into Helo on the Big G, but when it finally comes through, Helo's laugh takes Henry straight back to the old days.
"So, Kara still not speaking to him?
Helo hesitates. "It's complicated."
"Think they'll ever work it out?"
Helo laughs again, loud, the sound coming down loud and clear over the line. "Nah. But they'll fight or frak until they're too tired to do anything else. We'll find out pretty soon, one way or another."
"What do you mean?"
"Word is that Lee's flying in for the decommissioning ceremony. It'll be hard to avoid him then."
Now it's Henry's turn to laugh. "Don't sound so happy about it, Notch. You know how they tend to take out bystanders --"
"You know I know how to keep my head down! Hey, see you at the Pyramid championships on Tauron?"
The call cuts out before Henry can say anything.
*
But they'll be no more championships.
The Liberty is doomed from the start.
They have been trained for something like this. They are the new breed. Beyond the Viper, their Talons are the smartest thing the fleet has in store for those Cylon bastards.
Just three of them.
No FTL, hell, they're not even integrated yet. Out on a training mission and left for dead.
Henry's babbling -- their oxygen on red line -- about the same thing as always. The three of them -- a holy trinity. The thesis, the antithesis, and the synthesis.
Kara, fading faster than the rest of them, insists that she must be the synthesis. Over the radio, Ben agrees. "Kara should be the synthesis. Perfection."
Henry makes an effort to shrug, flight suit tight, and cockpit even tighter. Might as well allow them this, seeing as how they're dying and all.
Kara giggles, punch drunk. "That means Ben has to be the antithesis. Contrary bastard."
To anyone else, it might sound like an insult, but Henry's known them for years now. He can hear the love written all over Kara's voice.
"Three stooges!" he shouts, trying to break the mood.
"Three times a lady!" Kara, singing.
"Ménage --" That's Ben, glee intact.
Henry can't help it and joins in, "-- a tois", voice blending with Ben's.
Then Henry hears the voice in the background, under Kara's vicious giggles. A voice he recognizes. "Henry Purcell? Henry, is that you?"
"Lee fraking Adama, what the frak are you doing out here?"
"Guess I'm saving your ass. Want a ride?"
Henry smiles, "Sure. Got room for a couple of tagalongs?"
*
So he ends up on the Galactica after all. Helo's not there, left on Caprica. That was hard to hear, especially from Helo's rookie pilot, but they're not here to dawdle, they're here to kick some ass.
And that they do. Without impunity.
Times are tough, but they're not dead yet. And Ben and Kara have settled down to something nice and simmering. It's a lot less distracting, for all of them. Henry figures that they're just glad to be alive, to be safe, and to be together.
And when Ben's arm goes around Kara's shoulders, everyone in the ready room visibly relaxes. Score one for the beautiful and the lucky.
Starbuck and Apollo on the other hand --
Helo had it pretty much right, and one day Henry's gonna pass on the information to the terrible two-some before they drag the whole squad and flight deck down with them.
*
There's a base star with his name on it before he gets to say anything. His Talon flies straight in, punching a hole right where they need it.
There's nothing left to bring home.
One Lee, two Kara's and a Ben stand at his coffin. Take his flag and his girls cry, trying to hide it from everyone else, but Ben and Lee notice anyway and take their hands.
*
There's a note for Helo when he gets back to Galactica. It's in a handwriting he doesn't immediately recognize, until he sees the '3' at the bottom, like a signature.
keep your head down and take care of them for me.
Helo crumples the paper in his fist, and leans his head against the bulkhead.
The way he sees it, they're back down to two sets of three.
Primary.
-end-
- The whole (three) prime number sequence before Lee picks them up owes directly to the movie itself, written by W.D. Richter (who I can forgive for Stealth because of Buckaroo Banzai). Don't own it. Saying who wrote it.