We've got to go back for them. Every day, those seven words repeat over and over in her head, a steady beat of urgency and want. Kara wants something she can't have. She isn't the only one. Helo and the Chief make a sad little rotation of men who want something they aren't going to get. She sees, day after day, as Helo quietly leaves a room, or turns away from the crowd and heads down another hall. She knows where he goes. She's followed him; she's seen it all. Helo and Sharon can't see her, as she stands in the darkened observation room. They don't know that she watches as their fingers curl against opposite sides of the glass, wanting to touch, wanting contact. They talk through the phones, and Kara can't hear the words, but she can imagine them. Words of safety and reassurance, of fear and anger. It makes Kara wonder how often Helo and Sharon get to talk without the glass between them. After all of those months, running, holding on, running some more, their bodies must crave the familiarity of each other, the comfort of someone else who understands the way the world is falling apart. Some nights, too late to still be standing, she watches as Helo's head falls forward, hitting the glass heavily. His fingers trace patterns on the glass, and he looks broken. If Sharon's awake, she mimics his pose, and it's almost heartbreaking. But Kara thinks it's worse when Sharon's sleeping, restlessly tossing on the bed. Helo just watches, back hunched and miserable. "Something to live for," he'd said to her. But Kara remembers the two of them, back on Kobol, curled up together, and she wonders now, on Galactica, if Helo's really living at all. * These days, she's pretty frakking sure the Chief isn't living. Not really. He still does his job, just as well as he ever did. He's the Chief, and people listen to him, they do what he says, and pretend not to notice how he looks through almost every one of them. The Chief only goes to the brig when Sharon's most likely to be asleep. He checks around him first, always making sure that Helo is visible, busy. Kara guesses the Chief has walked in on Helo and Boomer not-touching one too many times, and maybe now he can't stand to see it any more. Kara follows him silently, the first few times she notices him slipping away. Unlike Helo, the Chief never gets too close to the glass. He doesn't try to touch anything, instead just stands there, his fists clenching and unclenching. Once, as she'd been following him, he'd turned, catching her. She'd smiled and kept walking towards him. "Chief." "Starbuck," he'd responded. "Everything OK?" He'd nodded, once, short, and she'd known that no, nothing was OK. It was the last time she'd followed him. Now, when she sees him slipping away, she does something to focus his people on her. They don't notice him go. * Kara remembers the first time she saw Sharon, the newest trainee, shy, but so calm; Sharon had stayed calm even after her first botched landing. And the second and third. So many bad landings. Some days, Kara had despaired that Sharon would never get it right. "You'll learn, nugget." she'd said, too many times to count, until it was true. She remembers how Sharon had scowled at her call sign for the first few weeks. Kara had always smirked a little, and made certain to use the name again and again, until Sharon stopped frowning. Sharon can't hold her liquor, although Kara had promised not to make too much noise about it. Whenever the pilots would get together, raucous and wild, Sharon would laugh and pretend to drink, and watch them all with careful, guarded eyes. They spent time together, laughing and telling stories. Kara would tease Sharon about how feisty she could get under that tidy, reserved exterior. Once, before Sharon and the Chief started looking at each other with calf eyes, Kara had kissed her. They'd been drinking – at least, Kara had – too many drinks in too short a time. She still remembers the feel of Sharon's lips against hers, soft and sure. She'll never forget Sharon pulling away, her expression confused and – wanting. "Starbuck?" And Kara had already been locking it up, because she couldn't be doing this, couldn't be getting close like this. "Sorry," she'd said, carefully wiping at her mouth. "Just kidding around." She'd turned and slid into her rack before Sharon could say anything else. * Helo and the Chief think they're being subtle, they probably believe that no one notices them and their little pilgrimages to the brig. But Kara's always picked up on more than she should. It's one of the reasons she'd never have made Captain or higher, if the Cylons hadn't frakked with all of the worlds. She probably still won't, but these days, nothing's certain. If she can't see the Chief where the Chief is supposed to be, if Helo isn't on time for a workout or a meal, she knows what it means. They're too regular. They've got routines. Kara keeps her visits staggered, messy, hard to pin down. She covers her tracks. She comes at night, when things are quiet; mornings can be good too. Sometimes Sharon is awake, and they stare at each other through the glass. Kara looks for changes – the increasing swell of Sharon's belly, or the cuts and bruises on her forehead from when they'd threatened to abort the baby. Helo had told Kara all about it, afterwards, his voice flat, his face set in his almost perpetual frown. One night, Kara absently traces the outline of the bloodied cracks in the glass. No one has bothered to clean the blood away, even days later. She thinks about picking up the phone, but she doesn't know what she'd say. * "—Cylon-frakker," one of the Pegasus nuggets mutters, as Helo walks by. Kara grits her teeth. "Should've thrown him out the airlock. Both of 'em. Or maybe Cain had the right idea," his buddy replies, eyes narrowing. Carefully, Kara sets her drink down on the table. They don't even notice as she reaches out. Their reactions are slow, too slow, and she's got her hand wrapped in the hair of the closest one, smashing his face down on the table, before his buddy even moves. "Frak!" The nugget – the one without the bleeding, broken nose – starts to stand. "Don't even think about it," she says, quietly. "We've got the right to say –" She decks him before he finishes speaking, then picks up her drink and walks away. Her hand barely even aches. Stupid nuggets. They don't ever learn. * Kara misses Sharon's smile; she misses her skill with the Raptor. These days, they could use that skill; Kara could use Sharon's support, especially when Kat starts pulling her latest round of shit. Kara's always been the one for the craziest stunts, the ones no one else wants to try – or to even plan. But Sharon was the one for the meticulous work. The things that needed patience. She remembers the relief she'd felt, the almost overwhelming sense of comradeship, when Sharon had used the Heavy Raider to shoot down the Centurions at the hospital. Running towards the ship, listening to Sharon shout, "Come on! Move, move!," her first thought had been yes, Boomer had come through again. But, of course, followed right up on that happy thought had been the frakking reality of the whole frakked up situation. The realization had settled in her gut, meeting up with the dull throbbing already there. Now that they're back on Galactica, Helo hasn't settled in with new Raptor pilots, not as well. He's awkward, and formal, and mechanical. He does the ECO job, but not the way he used to. It'll take time, she knows that. But they need him now. "Do you wish we'd stayed on Caprica?" She asks, once. Just the once. Helo frowns, his mouth turning down, twisting. He doesn't answer, but she's pretty certain he asks himself the same question every day. She doesn't have those kinds of wishes. Wishes make her think of Anders, and sunshine, and waking up to something. Someone. * She avoids the hall with the pictures of loved ones; the pictures of the dead. It's not what she sees that Kara can't stand, it's the pictures that aren't there. All of those people who didn't leave survivors mourning their loss – that's the worst part of it. It's also the pictures Kara will never be able to add to the wall. No one would understand her putting up an image of Sharon. And she doesn't have a photo of Anders. She never will. * Kara knows what everyone thinks of her, what they say. Too cocky, but cocky enough to get it done. Got a crazy stunt that needs pulling? Get Starbuck to do it. Except these days, some of them are saying that Kat might be the better bet. She's heard the rumours about her and Lee, and about her and Adama. Only thing most people have to do in their spare time is drink, play cards, spread rumours. It could be worse. Two things, she'd heard someone mutter once. There are two things that Starbuck lives for. Flying and fighting. Frakking, some people add, under their breath. Nobody talks about Starbuck's reaction to Sharon. They all just assume. Most of them know now that she doesn't tolerate any hassling of Helo, but never ask what she thinks about Sharon. Nobody notices her slipping away for not-so-secret visits or pining. They don't know the details about what happened on Caprica – what she lost, who she left behind. The only person who ever talks to her about Anders is Helo, and even he knows better than to try too much. "Starbuck?" Racetrack grins at her. "Going for a drink?" Kara smiles in the way they all expect – sure, smug. She smiles, but it feels like she's frowning. "Not yet. Later." She's the CAG, she's expected to be there, drinking, socializing, for at least part of the night. But first, she's got a visit to make. * She's Starbuck. The new CAG. She's got pull. The guards let her in to Sharon's cell without putting up much of a fuss. "Hi," Kara says, as she settles into the chair. Sharon lies on the bed, expressionless, staring at the ceiling. Her hair is a mess, so different from the way it should be. "I'm. Ah. I'm sorry. About the baby." And she is. Helo's even more blank, now, almost empty. "I can't imagine what –" "No. You can't." Sharon's tone is flat. "What do you want? More intel? Or maybe you want to gloat?" Kara closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. "You helped us. On Caprica. On Kobol. Here." "So?" "It makes a difference." It makes you different, she almost says. Sharon laughs, a harsh, broken sound. "I'm sure. Look at the difference it made." She gestures at her stomach, around the blank harshness of the cell. "God has rewarded me for my <i>good deeds</i>. Or maybe it's for my sins." Kara lets her head fall forward, into her hands. She takes her eyes off Sharon, even though she knows all about her temper, her strength. "Look. I really am sorry, OK? I didn't come here to gloat or be a jackass." "Then what? Just tell me why you're here. I want to be alone." "Sharon." And this is the first time she's the name aloud for this – thing. This duplicate. "I need your help." "Again." "Yes. But this time, it's personal. It's not for Adama or the Fleet." She pauses, because she hasn't rehearsed this. She doesn't have the clear argument, the pretty words the President might use. "It's for me. And you – she – was my friend. We were friends." Sharon's mouth twitches. "Yeah. She loved you. You were <i>Starbuck</i>." Kara almost grins. "I was cocky. She was meticulous." "Yeah." "I want to go back. To Caprica, to the resistance fighters. I want to get them off, bring them home. To us." She says it quickly, all in a rush. Sharon turns her head slightly, staring at Kara for a long time. Eventually, she says, "You want Anders." She lets her eyes fall shut, a stupid, stupid thing to do, but she lets it happen. Pictures his face, dirty and tired, but grinning at her. "Yeah." "You need me to do it." Kara opens her eyes, and Sharon is sitting now, hands lightly on her knees. "Yeah. I can make the crazy plan, but I need you there with me to help pull it off. I need your attention to detail. Your knowledge. Your abilities." She leans forward. "I need you to make this work. And not just because you're a Cylon." "Why should I? What does it get me?" There are no answers to that question. "I don't know." Sharon shakes her head, staring at the floor. "It'll always be about what I can do for you. Or Adama. Or the President. Anyone. It'll never stop. I'll spend the rest of my life here," she gestures around the room again, "waiting for the next thing, the next order. The next threat." There's nothing Kara can say. No reassurance, no promises. They both know it's true. "And do you know what the worst thing is? I could've done it, if she'd lived. I would have done it for her. And now. Nothing. Even worse, I can't get her out of my mind. I can't stop thinking about her." Her voice cracks. Kara sighs, looking away from the tears. "I know what you mean." They sit like that for a long time – Sharon's breathing ragged, Kara's jaw growing sore from clenching. She's been gone too long. People will be wondering where she is, what's she doing. Finally, Kara pushes herself off the chair. "I've got to go." Sharon nods, once. "Is there anything you need?" "No." She wipes at her face. "Yes. I want to talk to Helo." "I can do that." "Here. In here. Not through the glass." Their bodies must crave each other, yearn to touch and give comfort. Kara knows. She knows too well. "I'll do what I can." "Thanks." She smiles, watery and hurt. "I mean it. Thanks." "Don't thank me," Kara says, as she steps away from the door. "Help me." |
| Title:
Planning, Not Living Characters: Starbuck, Sharon, Helo, the Chief Rating: PG-13 Words: About 2400 Summary: Kara smiles, but it feels like she's frowning. Notes: Beta by the lovely jayneaintagirl. Thank you so much! Spoilers for up to 2.19. |