Flying is exhilarating, a mix of instinct and the unknown. Lee's always wondered at why exactly he loves it so much. In the brief moments between fear and fast maneuvers, between concentration and focus, there are always flashes of excitement and joy, almost a yearning to never stop. He's dodged and fired, and listened to the bombers' radio confirmations of bombs dropped and targets achieved. Sometimes, in a moment of quiet before the Luftwaffe fighters meet them in the air, he looks down sees the bombs land, blossoming among enemy targets. The splashes of fire mix with his flashes of relief at another mission successful for the bombers. He's tried to put those feelings down in letters to Kara. He wants to explain why he's so glad she'll never experience it, even if he wishes she could share something of what he feels. Flight after flight, he's gone up and come back alive, though too many don't. Take offs, shooting down enemy fighters, landings, and between it all, he's flying, the drone of the engine in his ears. He never has quite been able to put the experience down on paper, never made it sound right in letters. He's ended up tearing the letters to shreds, promising himself he'll tell it properly when he sees Kara on leave. When the war ends, he realizes he never did quite tell her. * This, Lee thinks, is not what he expected. Certainly, women had been needed to support the war effort. They'd kept the factories and farms running while they men were out fighting. And the WAAF girls had brightened up bases, as they drove and typed and smiled in their tidy skirts and sensible heels. But he hadn't expected some women to enjoy the work so much. "You're joking, of course," Kara says in the morning, pulling on her skirt and frowning at her stockings. American-made, those stockings. He'd searched for them, traded decent Scotch for a pair, even if the package was already open. "No," he replies, confused. "I can find work enough to support both of us." She sighs. "You're missing the point." Tossing the stockings aside, she sits on the ends of her – their – bed, bending forward at the waist. Her pose, both legs splayed as she digs under the bed, isn't lady-like at all. Lee frowns with dismay. He'd been fighting for her right to be a lady, sheltered and tidy. "Anyhow," she says, sitting up again, having found a cigar under the bed, "this isn't right. Between us." Lee watches with something like horror as she lights it with a practiced hand and a smooth inwards breath, and good Christ, what had she been up to while he'd been stationed away, while he'd been flying missions and shooting down planes? He's so distracted by the image or her – hair a mess and too short, shirt untucked and sloppy, her legs now stretched out and crossed at the ankle, and one hand holding the cigar negligently – that it takes a minute for her words to make sense. When they do, he repeats them slowly. "Isn't right?" The smoke fills the room as she exhales in a long sigh. "No, Lee. I can't be your girl. Or your wife." "But –" He remembers the disorientation of his first real flight, the way the cities had looked from the air, the sickening drop of his gut when he veered to avoid an enemy plane. The controls had felt clunky, slow, messy, nothing like training flights. He'd felt disconnected, unreal. This is worse. He can't even think of anything to say. Fluidly, she stands, absently tucking her shirt in with her free hand. "You're a good man, Lee. You'll make someone happy. But we'd end up killing each other." And he's left standing there, surrounded by smoke, his cheek tingling from the regretful kiss she'd pressed there. This is not how he'd imagined the end of the war. * Most of the pilots love the Spitfire models, love the way they turn under their guidance, and the ease with which they fly. Lee has to admit, they're good planes. But if he's asked, he says he's most fond of the Hurricane models. They feel more solid under his hands, sturdy and dependable. The Spitfires, he always says, are more tetchy. He's one of only a handful who would say so. Truthfully, when Lee thinks of Spitfires, he thinks of early flights, sitting in the two-seater training plane with Tigh alternatively guiding and goading him through the paces, teaching him what he needs to know. It was during training that Tigh gave him the nickname Apollo, something that Lee still resents. He wonders if Tigh took bets on how long before Lee would fall to the ground. Spitfires are decent planes, but Lee prefers the solitude of the Hurricanes and the freedom of flying alone. * It's not done, it's completely inappropriate and he knows it, but Lee watches Kara anyway. He has too much free time on this extended leave, and so he follows her in the street, notes her long strides and the ease with which she dodges rubble. He watches the way she tugs at her skirt, and how she waves at people she knows. Day after day, whenever he's free, he tries to find her, or waits for her to leave home, or return. Sometimes she turns a corner, slips away, and he loses her. She does it with such ease that after a while, it starts to bother him. It makes him wonder what exactly she'd been doing during the war. He'd asked her, once or twice, what her WAAF duties were, but she'd always managed to distract him. But he remembers her laughing, loud and bright, when he'd once suggested she spent her days at a typewriter, transcribing orders and letters. He knows it's bordering on unhealthy, but he has no girl to go home to, nothing to occupy his free time. He's not like Karl, with a girl in every neighbourhood and town waiting to swoon over him, or meet his cocky grin with a laugh and a fresh drink. He tries, he really does. He brings Kara flowers, and she accepts them, places them carelessly in glasses and leans them up against the window. They're bright splashes of colour from the street. But she doesn't change her mind. He tries chocolate once, a bar with a ripped wrapper and slightly bent, but still chocolate. She insists on sharing it with him, and they eat together, silent. Lee pretends the rich flavour stops him from speaking, and he doesn't try to tell her what it was like up there, flying. Still, when the chocolate is finished, she smiles and says, "It's over, Lee. I'm sorry," he ushers him out of her drafty room. "Tried whiskey?" Karl asks, one night over a drink. "Because some of my girls –" Lee cuts him off with a glare, and Karl holds up his hands, giving over. * Alconbury Airfield is hell in the winter. Long, grey winter days and longer nights; mud and damp and nothing on the horizon except more mud. Lee feels like he's spent half his life here. "Whiskey?" Karl asks, holding out the bottle. He seems to have an endless supply, but Lee knows better than to ask where he gets it. Instead, he just takes the bottle and drinks, the alcohol burning down his throat. Briefly, he feels warm, and he takes another mouthful before handing the bottle back. Too many drinks later, he's feeling melancholy. "What will you do, when the war ends?" Lee asks the question that they eventually all ask each other. What happens to us when the war ends? They all have fantasies and hopes. Karl knows Lee's hopes – he knows that Lee hopes that Kara Thrace, childhood neighbour, will marry him. Lee hopes for kids and a home somewhere that's not too bombed out. Something to build on, that's what Lee wants. Karl laughs. "What makes you think the war will end? No use planning ahead." Lee grins back, because he knows that Karl's just avoiding deciding which of his many – too many – girls he'll finally settle down with. * Lee finally knows it's really over when he opens her door – the lock is broken – and finds Kara pushed up against the wall, kissing someone else. "Lee," she says, when she sees him, her head turned. Her lips are slick, and her cheeks are flushed. Her hands don't quite let go of her partner – her fingers are tangled in dark hair, one hand clenched at a waist. Lee stands there, shocked, unable to believe what he's seeing. He even recognizes who Kara is with, and it makes no sense. Sharon Valerii, also in the WAAF. He's heard about her, seen her at Alconbury from time to time. She sometimes flew the bulky, clumsy supply planes to unimportant outposts, missions that no one else had time for. She's on leave too. "Lee," Kara says again, her tone odd. "Don't be hurt." He shakes his head, tries to clear his vision, see something else. Nothing changes. They're still standing there, Kara's expression vulnerable, Valerii's mouth a thin, unhappy line. Lee knows how she's feeling. They stand in front of him, and he can't quite move away or leave the doorway. This, he thinks, is what happens when men go to war. * It was during his second real leave that Kara Thrace agreed to step out with him. Lee's known Kara since they were kids. They were hellions, according to his mother. Lee remembers their adventures well – stealing apples in distant fields, climbing walls to sit above everyone and joke and tease, borrowing dogs to take for rambles. When Lee sees Kara, almost two years since he's last seen her, she looks surprised to see him walk through the garden of her parent's home. Then she quickly runs her hands through her hair and straightens the blouse of her WAAF uniform. Her grin is almost blinding, brighter still than the burst of flames around a Luftwaffe fighter. "There's a dance," he says carefully, after she brings him tea. It's weak, but milky, and he drinks it with something close to joy. "For anyone on leave." Of course, she knows that. The WAAF is organizing it. Her smile wavers for a minute, before getting bigger, and she says, "Lee Adama, you can't dance to save your life." But she comes with him anyway, and she doesn't laugh too much at the way he stumbles during the slower songs. From then on, her house is his first stop on leave. When she moves away from her childhood home – closer to work, she says - Lee comes to her flat. If she's not there, he settles down outside and waits. He waits for the way she always smiles when she sees him. * He says as much to Karl, over one too many drinks. "This is what happens when men go to war. This. This thing. Kara and Valerii." Karl stares for a minute, his eyes not quite focused, before he snorts and says, "Needs must and all that, I suppose." Lee shrugs, but what he saw wasn't about making do. This isn't the trenches and desperate men; it's not men locked up on base for weeks, months, on end, flying and shooting planes down and wondering if they'll come back alive. Karl snorts at that too, gesturing for another drink. He's entirely too cavalier about it, and Lee is tempted to make snide remarks that Karl's spending too much time with Lt. Gaeta; or maybe with the Hanger Chief, there are stories about him too. But before he can say anything, Karl says thoughtfully, "Tyrol took Valerii out a few times, you know that? Met when she was complaining about the plane she was flying. Helluva fight, he said, and so of course he had to cozy up to her. He likes a challenge, that one. He said it didn't work out, that something was a little off about her." He quaffs his drink, pats Lee on the shoulder. "Ah well. Plenty more fish, as they say. I know one or two, lovely girls, just say the word –" Lee stops listening. * The war is over, but Lee's only on leave. There are still things to do, still patrols to fly. Alconbury beckons, even if it is overrun with American soldiers these days, weaving their stories and impressing the WAAFs with their accents. Lee has to go back. During the war, he'd always promised himself that next leave he would talk to Kara about flying. Now, as he packs up his extra uniform, he realizes he'll never get to tell her. He always thought Kara would love to hear about the freedom and weightlessness and joy of flying. But it's too late. He'll never see the look on her face as he tries to describe the few minutes of soaring that he'd treasured on each mission. Instead, he has to imagine. He wonders if she might have looked anything like the way she'd looked at Valerii, briefly, before Lee and finally managed to turn around and walk away. |
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PG Characters: Lee, Kara, Karl, Sharon (Kara/Lee; Kara/Sharon) Summary: This is not what Lee expected. WWII AU thingy where they are British. Lee POV (the hell?). Words: About 2200 Notes: Yep, I really have no idea where this came from. I enjoy the mental image of Kara in the WAAF, and Karl as a kind of womanizing but slightly stuffy pilot. |