FIC: Youth's Final Luxury (Part 7)

[lls_mutant]

Title: Youth's Final Luxury, Part 7
Author lls_mutant
Rating: PG-13ish
Characters: Tom Zarek and Felix Gaeta
Pairings: current Gaeta/Hoshi, Zarek/Racetrack; previous parts have Gaeta/Skulls, Gaeta/Baltar, and unrequited Zarek/Roslin.
Summary: And then they hit the breaking point.
Spoilers: Through Blood on the Scales
Author's Note: I had originally ended this series while the landing party was on Earth, not knowing if I would continue it or not. (I also wrote it pre-webisodes.) I never expected RDM to give me so much between these two, or for him to actually let it look like they might care about each other at all in canon. Needless to say, he gave me tons to work with for a Part 7, and either an 8 or an 8 and 9, depending on my pacing.

If you haven't read the first six parts, you can probably jump right on in since I always meant to stick as close to canon as possible. All you really need to know is that I write Zarek and Gaeta having something of a father-son relationship.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6



Despite the excitement, his leg still hurt intensely. Felix reached down and rubbed the stump, still staring blindly at the Dradis console. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and his heart was pounding erratically. His hand still lingered on the phone. Chief of Staff. He never thought he'd be going back to those words. And he'd never wanted to- not after New Caprica. And he had to admit he probably never would.

What was the thirteenth tribe like? Felix leaned his chin on his hand, picturing cities. Cities like there had been on Picon, but different. Lights, lots of lights. White marble and gray stone, and tall spires soaring to the sky. People in the streets, walking and talking, shopping and laughing, wearing clothing that wasn't ragged. And restaurants. His stomach cramped suddenly as he imagined the smell of food. He remembered, a lifetime ago, chicken and peppers and spices, noodles and mushrooms and cheese.

The Dradis beeped, part of the routine. He entered the code mechanically, and went back to his thoughts.

Earth.

Tom wouldn't be President of course, but he could see Tom in the government, helping people settle in and adjust. Or in an office, constantly on the phone, directing and negotiating. It was the sort of role Tom was made for, although Dee would argue that he'd find it too boring with no buildings to blow up. Felix made a face. Tom had just offered him a job with him, and Felix was sure he still would, but the truth was he couldn't see himself in any of those scenarios. Not really.

What did he want? He glanced across the CIC, where Louis was fiddling with the comm unit. Yes, he could see that someday. A small house together, a bed that was big enough for them both to stretch out, a soft comforter and feather pillows. Sunlight streaming in on late mornings, reading the paper naked in bed, laughter and sex and companionship and closeness. Yes, he wanted that.

But when he left that haven, what then? Nothing military, if there even was one, which was an interesting thought right there. He didn't really see himself teaching, or becoming a doctor like Cottle had suggested. But a lab, maybe. There was a twinge of something like home in that, and he smiled.

He didn't want to plan too much, get his hopes up too high. But even as he told himself that, he felt them soaring.

***

Even with his door closed, Tom could hear excited voices and laughter. He glanced out the tiny window again, fastening his gaze on the blue planet spinning beneath them. It looked beautiful from up here.

But then, so did New Caprica.

He remembered the feeling of ground under his feet and wind on his face, rain on his hair and sun on his shoulders. But at the same time he remembered mud and cold and hunger and bitterness and broken promises… and Cylons.

Cylons. The word even tasted bad on his lips. And yet, they were here at Earth with the Fleet, like they hadn't annihilated almost all of the human race. Like everything was okay. Like Laura Roslin had forgotten everything she'd stood for, everything the people needed.

Tom had seen too much to believe in the dream of Earth. He hoped that Laura and her Admiral had a plan B for when it all came crashing down.

***

And Tom was right. It all came crashing down and the dream shattered into a million glittering pieces that went skidding across the floor.

***

"Lieutenant Gaeta?"

Felix drifted to the surface and sighed heavily as he pulled himself back into focus. He ground his fists against his eyes and the blur resolved into a private, someone Felix was certain he should know and for the life of him couldn't remember his name. "Yeah?" he slurred, sitting up slowly in his rack. "What time is it?"

"1845, sir," Private Whatever said. Felix shook his head.

"I'm not on duty."

"No, sir, but the Vice President is on board. He wants to see you."

Felix rubbed his eyes again and nodded, and then reached for his jacket. "Tell him I'll be right there," he said. The private saluted and left.

It took a few minutes for him to get dressed. His fingers felt thick and clumsy doing his buttons, and he still had to consult his notes about the procedure for putting on the prosthetic, especially since he'd taken morpha only a half hour ago. It wasn't until he was fully dressed that he noticed Dee staring at him. "What?" he sighed, bracing for a diatribe on the evils of Tom Zarek.

"Nothing," Dee said. She pulled on her fatigue jacket. Despite the day's revelations, she was completely calm, unruffled, and he admired her for that through his own personal haze. "We're Louis get off to?"

"He was going to eat, I think," Felix said. "He needed a break." He sighed guiltily. "He does too much for me."

"He loves you," Dee said simply. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I like him. He's good for you." She smiled, and then drifted towards the door. "I've got a playdate with a curly-haired moppet. Have fun with your terrorist."

"Have fun with yours," he said sourly. He pulled himself up and followed her out the door, into the chaos that was the halls of Galactica.

It took a long time to get down to the conference room, but when he arrived, Tom was waiting patiently. He stood up, extending his hand and grasping Felix by the shoulder. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you, too." Felix forced a smile. "I can only imagine the Admiral is saying the same thing to you."

Tom chuckled bitterly. "I'm sure he'll have some choice words for me. How are you doing?"

Felix shrugged. "About the same as everyone else in the Fleet, I guess," he said sourly. The nice thing about morpha was that it helped dull all the pain. He was thinking that when he noticed Tom staring at him. "What?"

"Are you all right?" Tom asked. He guided Felix to a chair gently. "Physically, I mean. You don't look so good."

"Oh." Felix blinked hard. "Yeah. It's just the pain meds. I just took some right before you arrived and…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

"I see." Tom poured him a glass of water. "What are you taking?"

"Whatever it was that Cottle gave me," Felix said vaguely. "I forget."

"You," Tom said flatly. "You forget a simple thing like what medication you're on?"

"Mr. Vice President, I'm sure you didn't come over here to discuss my medical regime."

"Felix, what did you take?" Tom growled, and something in Felix quailed, just a little. The expression on Tom's face was one he hadn't seen since New Caprica and arguments about Baltar. He sighed.

"(5α,6α)-7,8-didehydro-4,5-epoxy-17-methylmorphinan-3,6-diol," he said, just to shut him up.

Tom blinked in non-comprehension, and then his eyes narrowed. Only for a second, but Felix caught sight of it before Tom sighed. "Fine, Felix," he said. "Don't tell me."

"I just did!" Felix protested innocently.

"Never mind." Tom sat back, pulled out a pen, and twirled it between his fingers. "Like you said, I didn't come here to discuss your medical regime. I need to know what's going on."

"What's going on? Earth's a cinder," Felix said bitterly, and now even the morpha couldn't completely mask the agony of that thought. "A nuclear wasteland."

"I got that part," Tom said. "But that's about all I've gotten. Where's Laura Roslin?"

Against his will, Felix's head began to clear. He rubbed his forehead idly. "As far as I know, she's still on the Galactica," he admitted with a scowl. "I didn't see her scheduled to leave for Colonial One at all. And I'm guessing she's in the Admiral's quarters."

"The Admiral's quarters," Tom said sourly.

"There or the sickbay," Felix said. "But I went down right after my shift and I didn't notice her there."

"What's Adama said?"

"Nothing."

"Felix-"

"Tom, I'm serious. He's said nothing. Literally. He was in the CIC for maybe ten minutes." His face twisted. "Tigh was in the CIC the whole shift, though."

"Saul Tigh?"

"Cylon extraordonairre."

"I'm not comfortable with that."

"You're not?" Felix asked incredulously. He fumbled for a cigarette, and offered one to Tom, who refused. He lit it and took a deep drag, coughing before he said, "Granted, I don't think Tigh will destroy the Fleet. I've worked with him for seven years. He's a drunk, he's an ass, and he has no concept of leadership, but he's been loyal to humanity… and to the Admiral."

"You have more faith in the Cylons than I would have thought."

"No, I don’t. I'd trust Colonel Tigh, albeit cautiously. But frak, I was on the bridge when Boomer shot the Admiral. I saw the whole thing. She really had no idea she was going to do it. Whose to say the same thing won't happen with Tigh or Tyrol or Tory?"

"Or Anders," Tom said, looking at Felix's leg pointedly.

Felix waved a hand through the smoke. "Anders didn't shoot me because he's a Cylon," he allowed, although the words hurt his teeth. "Anders shot me because he's led around by the balls by Kara Thrace. But the really big thing about Tigh isn't so much that he's a threat in terms of sabotage. It's that Adama loves him. Mark my words, Adama will convince himself that all the Cylons are like Tigh. He trusts Tigh, so he must be able to trust any random Two, Six, or Eight on that frakking basestar. I can believe the Five had nothing to do with the attacks on the Colonies. But those Twos, Sixes, and Eights that Adama is already trusting? Every last one of them voted to annihilate the human race, and damn near did."

"And Tory Foster went over to the Cylons," Tom pointed out.

"They're wild cards," Felix agreed. "All four of them."

"That's another point. Four, not five?"

"If they or the Admiral knows who the fifth is, they're not telling."

"Is it possible that the fifth is dead?" Tom asked.

"I would suppose so," Felix mused. "The odds would certainly point that way. Although I find it extremely… coincidental that four of the five are in the Fleet."

"Yeah. Coincidental."

"Exactly."

"What about copies? How many Saul Tighs or Galen Tyrols are walking around?"

Felix shook his head, stubbing out his cigarette irritably. "No one seems to know. But I'm assuming that given the state of Earth and the fact we haven't run into any other Cylons, any resurrection technology they might have had was destroyed. My gut tells me the Final Five or whatever aren't our problem- it's that basestar that is."

"Makes sense," Tom agreed. "So, what's the Admiral's plan from here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Felix said with no small amount of bitterness. "I've been given no orders."

"None?" Tom asked incredulously.

"None. I've gone ahead and started looking for systems with inhabitable planets, but habitability has never been the problem."

"It's not?"

"No. It's the Cylons." Felix sighed, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. "If we settle anywhere, what's to stop the Cylons from finding us and blowing us up again? What's to stop it from becoming New Caprica again?"

"So, what would you do?" Tom asked, shifting forward. Suddenly, Felix realized this was a test of some sort; Tom had his own thoughts, and he wanted to see what answers Felix had come up with. How compatible they were. He had no idea why Tom was thinking this way, but the knowledge cut through the last of the morpha cloud like a knife and completely sharpened his mind.

"Well," he began, "now that the Cylons can't resurrect, we actually have a chance at fighting them. Not a great chance, but more than we ever had before. And we can keep them from surprising us.

"Our resources are extremely limited at this point in time, and the ships aren't going to last forever. Earth didn't do anything to change either of those situations. We need to find ourselves a home- a defensible home- and we need to do it soon." He pulled a piece of paper and a pen over and began to sketch. "Our options are probably limited, but a geologically active world, something that had a lot of volcanic activity… something with a lot of crags and large canyons. Something we could build into quickly. With the right infrastructure, a single settlement is much more defensibly than a full planet. And built into rock, it would be harder to find, easier to keep our people out of sight, and if it came down to it, easier to defend. That was one mistake we made on New Caprica- the settlement had no cover."

"So you're saying we should essentially build a settlement as a giant fall-out shelter?"

Felix nodded. "Or settlements, if we wanted to take the chance that the Cylons might find one settlement, but not another. Although I suspect that would spread our resources too thin. Regardless, it's far from a perfect plan," he admitted. "But it's the best I've got. Now, see, if we set it up like this…"

They continued to talk for a long time, falling unconsciously into old roles. Tom asked questions and offered suggestions, and under his hand Felix felt a plan for the future roughly taking shape. It was too bad it would never come to fruition. He stared at the sketches they'd made for a long moment, wistfully wondering what such a life would be like.

"You look done in," Tom said suddenly. "Let me walk you back to your quarters."

"All right." Now that Tom said it, Felix remembered how tired he was. They walked together through the halls of Galactica, his own steps awkward and painful, and Tom's short and leisurely, his hands in his pockets.

"Are you going to be able to get some sleep?" Tom asked, guiding Felix around a pair of brawling soldiers and the crowd viciously cheering them on.

Felix shrugged. "I don't have duty, if that's what you're asking."

"Will your rackmates keep you up?" They approached Felix's quarters, and to Felix's delight, another officer was just about to enter.

"Not so much. I- hey Louis," Felix said, a smile spreading over his face.

Louis grinned back at him. "You are supposed to be sleeping," he admonished, but his voice was teasing and affectionate. He started to lean in, then glanced in Tom's direction and did a double take. "Oh. Mr. Vice President."

Felix glanced out of the corner of his eye at Tom, willing him to like Louis immediately. Tom extended a hand. "I don't believe we've met, Lieutenant…"

"Hoshi," Louis supplied before Felix could. "We've never met face to face, but we've spoken enough on the wireless."

"Right. I remember." It was Tom's easy, casually affectionate manner and Felix's heart sank. He didn't like him.

The coldness wasn't just coming from Tom. Louis turned his attention to Felix, his smile a little more forced than it had been. "Have you eaten?" he asked. "I could go get you something."

"You don't have to-" Felix began, but Tom interrupted.

"He hasn't eaten."

Louis nodded stiffly. "Well then," he said. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes." He shot a glance that could have been seeking permission or could have been warning at Tom, and then left.

"It was nice to meet you in person, Lieutenant," Tom called after him.

Felix turned to Tom. "You don't like him."

"I never said that." Tom cocked his head. "You do," he said, raising his eyebrows.

Felix lifted his chin defiantly. "We've been together for six months."

"This is the first I've heard about it." Tom opened the bulkhead and gripped Felix's elbow gently, steadying him as he awkwardly clambered inside. "I'm surprised you've never mentioned him."

Felix raised his eyebrows. "And you've been celibate this entire time?"

"There's a difference between a sexual encounter and a partner," Tom pointed out. He sighed. "He's not Gaius Baltar. I'll say that much for him."

Felix made a face. "He's worth a lot more than that." He wearily sat down on his rack and began to remove the prosthetic. "You have no idea what he's been through; how strong he really is. I'm damned lucky that for once-"

Tom wearily held up a hand. "Felix, lay off. I never said I didn't like him. But he's one of the communications officers aboard the Galactica. Part of his job description seems to be coming up with reasons not to connect me to the Admiral."

"Sorry," Felix said grumpily. He shrugged off his jacket. "It's just been a long day."

"That's an understatement," Tom agreed.

Felix laid his jacket aside. "In fact, he-" He was cut off as Tom darted forward and grabbed his wrists, twisting hard so that his inner arms were exposed. "What the frak?!"

"I should be asking you the same thing," Tom snarled, staring down at the bruises. "What the hell have you been doing?"

Felix tried to snatch his arms away, but Tom had a vice-like grip on his wrists. "I told you I'm still on painkillers," he said as indignantly as possible. "They have to be injected."

"Bullshit. I don't know much about medicine, but I know that they aren't letting you out of sickbay if you're still injecting painkillers."

"You were the one who said I wasn't ready to be released," Felix shot back.

"There's a difference between that and frakking shooting up morpha!" Tom shouted.

"Yeah, well, you have your leg amputated and see how much pain you're still in seven days later! And it's not like they have a lot of midlevel painkillers around! What am I supposed to do, Tom?"

To his surprise, the words brought silence. And then, "Seven days?" Tom said quietly.

"Seven days," Felix repeated bitterly. "That's all it's been."

Tom rubbed his eyes and sat down at the table. "You're not doing well, are you, Felix? I didn't think you were putting up a front because you look like shit, but you are acting, aren't you?"

"Everyone is," Felix said dully. "But yeah. It never stops hurting." He looked away. Tom was one of two people he would admit that to, but that didn't mean he was comfortable saying it.

Tom leaned forward and picked up Felix's jacket, straightening the seams and folding it over neatly in his lap. "This discussion isn't over," he told Felix, "but your boyfriend is coming back soon."

"You don't have to be so-"

"I'm not. But you have a week, Felix. If I see tracks on your arms after a week, I'm going straight to Cottle."

"Fine," Felix huffed.

Tom put a hand on his arm. "I'm serious, Felix. And I'm saying this for your own good. No more morpha." He stood. "I'll see you in a day or two."

"Yes, sir."

Tom smiled sardonically, and then left the officers' quarters. He moved much quicker than when he'd entered, Felix noticed sourly. He leaned over and began to unlace his boot.

The bulkhead opened again, and Louis came in with a completely unappetizing bowl of green mush and a bottle of some sort of liquid. "Zarek?" he asked, arching his eyebrows.

"Don't you start, too," Felix warned. "I'm not in the mood."

"I'm not starting," Louis said primly, setting the bowl and the bottle on the table and pulling two glasses from his pockets. "I'm merely expressing surprise and interest."

"And disapproval."

"No. I really don't feel like wearing algae, and the look on your face tells me I will be if I say anything more."

"I wouldn't do that," Felix muttered. "It would make the bed smell like swamp rot."

Louis chuckled and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, but Felix turned his head and caught his lips. He deepened the kiss, pulling Louis down to sit beside him. Louis's body was firm and warm against his, driving away the chill that had settled over him.

"You don't need to use sex to get out of discussing Zarek," Louis murmured against his lips. His hands were tentative and gentle on Felix's shoulders. "You just have to ask."

"I'm not using sex to avoid discussing Zarek," Felix said. "I'm using sex to get out of eating algae." He kissed Louis again. "And because I appreciate everything you do for me." Louis sputtered with laughter, his forehead against Felix's shoulder. "What?" Felix asked. "I'm serious." But he was grinning, too.

Louis was still smiling. "Yes. Because you're romantic and thoughtful and sincere. And because you are trying to get me to shut up about Zarek."

"Maybe a little," Felix admitted.

Louis shrugged. "I don't have to say anything. I'll just mention it to Dee."

Felix pulled away. "You'd sic Dee on me? That's it. No sex for you."

Louis wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into his lap, his hands now much bolder. "Which means no sex for you, either. Let's see how long you can make that one stick."

Felix closed his eyes. It wasn't that what Louis was doing felt good, or that the morpha dulled the pain in his leg enough for him to feel pleasure. It was close, it was intimate, and for a moment, when they were skin to skin and only breathing each other, Felix could forget everything else. It was a drug unto itself, and he yielded completely to Louis's touch, shifting so they were both lying on his rack.

"Ten seconds," Felix said with a forced smile. "A new record for me."

Louis laughed, and Felix closed his eyes and let him shut out the world.

***

Tom was sitting on the hangar deck, reading a report and making notes on it while he waited for his transport.

"Excuse me, Mr. Vice President."

Tom glanced up to see a deckhand with a long, thin face standing in front of him. "Can I help you?"

"I need the crate you're sitting on."

"Oh." Tom stood up. "Sorry."

"It's no problem." The deckhand pulled the crate out and began sifting through the contents. "Bunch of garbage anyway."

Tom peered in. "Looks like it. You're actually using this stuff?"

"If I can. There isn't much else I can do." He pulled out a rusty part and fiddled with it, and then tossed it back in irritably. "We're really working with garbage. Chief Laird keeps trying to get Adama to do something about it, but-"

Someone snorted. Tom turned to see the Raptor pilot, a younger, extremely attractive brunette who winked at him.

"The Admiral doesn't busy himself with little issues like parts," she said. "Or the machinery to make some of them." Brooks opened his mouth to argue, but she ignored him. "Ready to go, Mr. Vice President?"

"I am." He extended his hand to Brooks. "Take care," he said smoothly, and then followed the Raptor pilot, noting that her name was Margaret 'Racetrack' Edmondson, according to her ship. "You've flown me before," he observed.

"Three times," she said, shooting a smile back over her shoulder. The smile slipped a notch. "And getting off New Caprica."

"I remember that," he said, because how could he not? "But I only remember two other times."

"Yeah, well, you were pretty upset the last time," she said, a shudder clouding her face for a moment. "You told me you were coming to see Gaeta in sickbay."

"That's right." He stepped on up into the Raptor. "You good friends with Gaeta?"

She followed him. "He's a good guy. Doesn't deserve what he's getting, that's for sure, although I really only know him because he and my ECO had a thing."

Tom smirked. "Before Hoshi?"

Racetrack laughed. "Long before Hoshi. Before New Caprica, even. Just as well. He's better off with Hoshi."

"Yeah?" Tom asked. "It surprised me that he'd go for the wimpy older guy with the comb-over who's in the Admrial's pocket."

Racetrack laughed. "Aw. Someone doesn't put your calls through, Mr. Vice President?" She fiddled with the throttle. "Hoshi comes across as a nice, sweet guy with really bad hair," she agreed, "but he's a lot harder than people give him credit for. And when he wants to, he can be a real bitch. Frankly, he and Gaeta are perfect together."

"Well then. Not going to begrudge anyone sex."

Racetrack raised an eyebrow, an expression that made her even more attractive. "Jealous?" she asked archly.

"Hardly. Call it… fatherly concern."

"That's actually really sweet," she said with a smile. Then she leaned out the door. "Skulls! Get your ass over here so we can go!"

"Eager to see me off?" he teased.

"You coming back any time soon?"

"I would like to think so. It's attractive."

The ECO swung up into the Raptor. Tom instantly recognized him as the man who had insisted that they get Gaeta off New Caprica. "Sorry," Skulls said. "Laird-"

"Oh, Gods," Racetrack rolled her eyes. "Say no more!"

"Can't I?" Skulls complained.

"I wouldn't mind hearing it," Tom volunteered.

Racetrack and Skulls grinned at each other. "Close the door, Skulls," Racetrack said. "He asked for it."

***

The alarm they'd set went off too early. Felix groaned, his head still clogged and trying to ignore that the morpha had worn off enough for him to feel the pain in his leg. Next to him, Louis sat up, looking far too awake and alive. Felix rubbed at his eyes, and suddenly the revelation of Earth in all ruination came crashing back down.

"Do we really have to get up?" Felix asked, because as long as Louis was against him he had a chance of shutting out the thoughts.

"We do. I switched shifts with Swanson when he agreed to take Dee's shift, so I need to get to the CIC. And you're back on duty, too."

"I can't move," Felix complained. The last thing he wanted to do was go down to the CIC and deal with reality.

Louis smiled and leaned over to kiss him. "I'll cover for you for the first half hour. But after that, you're on your own." He slid out of the bed and began pulling on his clothing. Felix watched him, envious as Louis stood easily and hitched his pants up. "It's going to be okay," Louis said, smiling at him. "We'll get through this."

So he kept saying. Felix forced a smile, because he didn't believe it right now at all. He reached out and closed his fingers around Louis's wrist. "We could stay just a little longer," he said.

Louis gently disengaged himself from Felix's grip. "For one, we probably shouldn't have been doing that anyway. You're still hurting. And for two, we really do have duty."

"Frak duty," Felix muttered, but Louis just smiled.

"I'll see you in the CIC."

Felix watched him go, desperately wishing that they could just pull the curtain, stay with each other and hide. He glanced at the clock. There were still another ten hours to go before he dared to give himself another shot of morpha. He sighed heavily and laid back down in the bed, but the warmth of their bodies was already fading from the covers. And no matter how much he didn't want to admit it, the habit of a lifetime was too strong, and he knew he couldn't just skip out on work.

He was almost entirely dressed and just putting the prosthetic back on when Dee came in, wearing a black dress and looking like she'd just stepped off the cover of a magazine. His eyes widened at the sight of her, and then narrowed. "You're glowing," he accused her. For Gods' sake, he'd just had sex for the first time since the amputation, and he wasn't frakking glowing.

Dee just smiled and shrugged, humming to herself. "Am I?" she asked.

Felix sighed heavily and dragged himself to his feet. "All I can think about is that waste of a planet-"

Dee cut him off with an impatient huff. "Felix, please. I just want to hang on to this for as long as I can."

He glanced back at his bed, all too aware of the feeling. Dee was still standing at her locker, brushing her hair. She looked luminous. Unconsciously, he took a few steps towards her, looking at her pictures.

In his locker, there was a picture of his parents that he couldn't bear to put on the Wall, and a picture of himself and Louis, laughing. Dee had no obvious pictures of her parents, which he understood, and no lover, which he understood even better. Instead, there were two pictures of a little girl. It took a moment, but suddenly he realized that the little girl with the ponytails and the gap-toothed grin was the beautiful woman standing in front of them.

"Look at that," he said wonderingly, wishing she'd smile like the girl did more often. "Little Ana's got her smile back."

Dee looked at the pictures. "Sometimes I don't even remember that was me. It's so long ago. She has no frakking idea what's ahead of her."

He thought of the child he had been once- a curly headed, stick thin runt with skinned knees, all elbows and awkwardness and books and questions and plans. He thought of the first time he'd stepped on the soil of New Caprica. He glanced back at the bed and thought of just a few months ago, when he and Louis had laid there together for the first time, wrapped around each other and laughing in heady excitement of finally allowing this to come to fruition. He thought of the destruction of the Colonies, New Caprica, his leg, and Earth. "Yeah," he said bitterly. "None of us do."

He picked up his crutches, and headed towards the hatch. Dee's humming followed him out the door, and for one brief moment the music soothed him, just a little bit.

Then the gunshot rang out and shattered any peace he might ever find in that room again.

***

"What happened?" Tom demanded.

"Adama's wife," Jacob Cantrell repeated, cradling the phone. "Lee, I mean. Not the Admiral."

"I assumed that's who you meant." Tom conjured up a picture of the girl, coming up with dark skin, large eyes, and a haughty demeanor that screamed how much she disapproved of him. But from what he knew of her, suicide was not something he would have suspected.

That right there alone said just how much the Fleet was in trouble.

"She won't be the last," Tom said slowly, realizing it as he spoke the words. "People were so determined that we would find Earth. Having that dream- that hope- ripped away from them is going to break them."

"If the President-" Cantrell began hopelessly.

"The President," Tom said heavily, stressing the title, "is not here. The President is still hiding on Galactica, unable to face her people. The President is failing in her duty, in her responsibilities to the Fleet."

"It's not her fault that Earth was what it was, I suppose."

"No, it's not," Tom was forced to agree. "But the possibility that Earth would prove to be something other than a haven should have been considered. Where do we go from here? What do we do? These are the questions Laura Roslin should have been ready to answer a long time ago."

"And do you have the answers?" Cantrell asked, interested.

"I have ideas," Tom said. "And I'm open to others."

"I'd like to hear about them. Unfortunately, I have a meeting with the captain of the Outlander in two minutes," he said. "We'll continue this later."

"All right." Tom rubbed his face. "I'll see you later."

Cantrell left, and Tom stood up, pacing the small office restlessly. He stared at the pile of papers. Requests for help, reports of deaths and fighting and sabotage, petty injustices and desperate pleas. He stared at them for a long moment, and then suddenly knocked them to the ground. "Frak!" He kicked the pile, which only made a mess and didn't help his agitation at all. He took a deep breath and knelt down to pick up the papers, hands trembling.

He glanced at the clock again. He wasn't getting anything done the rest of the day, and damn it, if Laura Roslin could blow off duty for this long, he could leave an hour earlier than he'd planned. If he hurried, he even might catch the shuttle that had brought the Outlander's captain over.

The Raptor was still docked, and he hurried towards it. "Wait!" he called, as the pilot climbed in.

Racetrack stopped and popped her head out of the Raptor. When she saw him, she smiled. "Mr. Vice President. I suppose we can wait for you."

"Thank Gods," he said, his breath coming a little too heavy as he slowed down. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

She smiled at him. "I'm sure that has nothing to do with. You just look like you've had a very bad day."

"I have," Tom agreed, and he swung himself aboard the Raptor. "But somehow, I have a feeling my luck's about to change."

***

"That," Tom said, running a hand along Racetrack's bare shoulder, "was exactly what I needed."

Racetrack grinned, a long, slow expression that was more a leer than a smile. "You and me both, Mr. Vice President."

He laughed. "I'm not sure that titles are quite appropriate between us now. You could call me Tom."

"Mmm. I like Mr. Vice President. It makes you sound powerful."

He tickled her ribs to ignore the quiver of dissent those words made him feel. "Funny. What about you? What's your real name?"

"Margaret," she said, making a face.

"Maggie?"

"Marge."

"Racetrack, then. You don't need to sound older than me."

She laughed and climbed out of bed, searching around for her clothing. "No, I don’t," she cheerfully agreed, "although there's definitely something to be said for experience." She winked, pulled her tanks on, leaned over and kissed him playfully. He refrained from pointing out that twenty years on a prison ship didn't leave one with a lot of experience. Besides, he decided, Ellen Tigh had filled in a lot of those gaps. He glanced around, and Racetrack tossed him his own shirt. "Thanks."

"No problem. Sorry to run on you like this, but I've got to get back to duty."

"I wouldn't expect less," he said. And now that he was calmer, he could face what needed to be done. "I'll see you… later."

Racetrack winked at him again. "Count on it, Mr. Vice President." And with that she slipped out of his quarters.

Tom watched the door close with a smile, and then located his pants. He ignored the quiet voice of self-doubt that pointed out she was making an extremely quick getaway, and went over to his desk. There was a lot to be done.

***

"Felix, you need to sleep," Louis informed him.

"I am sleeping," Felix snapped. He ran his hand through his hair and struggled to his… foot, he supposed. "Lay off, Louis."

"No," Louis said, stepping closer. "This is getting ridiculous. Look, I know it's only been a few days and that losing Dee was hard on you, but-"

"But what?" Felix demanded. "Life has to go on? I have to get over it? I'll see her again someday, in another place? She's with the Gods now? Don't give me any of those bullshit platitudes."

"I wasn't going to." Louis crossed his arms, staring Felix down. "What I was going to say is that if you don't get some sleep, I'm going to tell Adama you're not sleeping. I checked your calculations for the new emergency jump coordinates. Want to know where you put us?"

"In a star?" Felix asked wearily.

"In a frakking star," Louis said. "I am not telling you to get over it," he said mockingly. "Or any of those other words you seem to want to put in my mouth. But I am telling you to get your ass back in that bed and sleep, because otherwise you're going to kill thirty nine thousand people because you forgot the constant when you integrated!"

"Most people would say I forgot to carry the one," Felix groused.

It was a sign of just how angry Louis was that not a flicker of a smile passed over his face. "Ass. Bed. Now." Felix cocked an eyebrow, and Louis leaned over into his face. "Now."

"Fine. I'm going, I'm going." Felix sat back down, pulled off his jacket and eased out of the prosthetic.

"Pants, too."

"Going to tuck me in?" Felix sneered.

"No. But going to make sure you sleep." Once Felix was in bed, Louis reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of morpha. "Look," he said, sitting down on the bed beside Felix, "I'm not crazy about giving this to you. But I talked to Ishay, and she said that most amputation patients are still pretty doped up at this point. The idea that you're out of the sickbay, much less walking around on a prosthetic, has her pretty furious. And you need your sleep, or you're just going to end up right back in there, okay?" He ran a gentle hand through Felix's curls. "Here." He gave him the syringe. Felix took it gratefully and injected it, ignored how Louis winced at the easy way he managed to get the needle into his arm. Then the world started to blur. He lay back and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he managed to murmur as he faded off into oblivion.

Louis leaned over and kissed him. "Nothing to be sorry for," he whispered against Felix's lips. "Just get some rest."

***

Felix blinked back to consciousness, his heart still pounding and his hands still clutching the sheets. With great effort he managed to focus and look at the clock. Only five hours had passed since he'd taken the morpha and fallen asleep. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself back down, but nothing was coming. The dream was too real.

Of course, the dream had been real, and one glance over at Dee's empty bunk sent it all crashing down again.

He gave up on sleep as something that wasn't going to happen and eased out of bed. Louis was off on duty, he'd never know. He made his way out of the officer's quarters and down the hall.

People didn't look at him. He'd noticed that before now, but it was even more pronounced since Dee's death. They ignored him partly out of pity, and partly because Louis was with him less, and people found it easier to acknowledge him when Louis was around.

He hated that.

Someone had scrawled "Frak Earth" on the walls. It had been scrubbed off, but you could see where the letters once were. Felix stood staring at it for a long moment, and then moved on.

He entered the Memorial Hall, leaning heavily on his crutch. As always, the first place his eyes went was New Caprica. He couldn't help but think that some of those people were smiling to see what had become of him now.

He stopped in front of Dee's picture. He and Louis had come down here to hang it. They'd debated- for half a second- if they should wait for Lee Adama to do it, and then decided that he didn't deserve the honor. It had just been a few days ago that they stood here side by side, Louis's hand on his elbow as he'd hung the picture up. Now he stared at it with dead eyes.

It wasn't that Earth was a cinder that had killed Dee. It was that Earth had been built up into this amazing dream, and there had been no contingency plan. No backup. And when Dee had had the rug pulled from under her, she fell with nothing to grab onto. Nothing to hold on to.

No one should have to feel like that.

Not ever.

With a sigh, he turned and limped out of the Hall to continue on, the sound of his crutch loud in his ears.

***

Tom picked up the phone and irritably punched in the number, musing that he could do it in his sleep. Screw going through Communications, or calling the Admiral personally. The people of the Zephyr needed an answer about their broken scrubber now, not when the Admiral could move his ass long enough to acknowledge it. Hoshi might act as a cockblocker for Adama, but Felix would listen.

"Galactica." The voice that came down the line wasn't Felix's, but was all too familiar. Tom furrowed his brow.

"Sorry. I was trying to get the tactical station."

"This is the tactical station," Hoshi snapped back.

"Well, where's Gaeta?"

He expected a sarcastic reply. What he got was complete silence.

"Lieutenant Hoshi?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Lieutenant Gaeta departed for the Zephyr yesterday, but his Raptor never arrived."

"What?" Tom ran a hand through his hair. "What happened?"

"They were in transit when we jumped, sir. They never made it to the new coordinates."

"Well, what's being done?"

"Nothing, sir." The professional veneer couldn't cover the distress in Hoshi's voice.

"Was Gaeta the only one on that Raptor?"

"No, sir. There were the two pilots, a deckhand on a duty mission, and two Eight models."

Well, that explained the Zephyr problem, anyway. "And nothing has been done. I assume that Adama's searched the coordinates we jumped to?"

"No. I've been asking anyone who will listen to let me go, but so far…."

"Listen," Zarek said, "I'll make a deal with you. Connect me with Adama, and I'll put the pressure on him to let you go."

There was a pause, but it was short. "I will do that, sir. Thank you."

"Thank you." Tom cleared his throat. "Let me know if Gaeta's found, will you?"

"Yes, sir. Hold on, I'll put you through to the Admiral."

It took a minute, but the line clicked back into activity. "What do you want, Zarek?" Adama said with no preamble.

"I want a mechanic over on the Zephyr to take care of that scrubber, and I want you to at least move your ass to look for the missing Raptor with four humans aboard."

"You don't get to dictate military policy," Adama growled.

"Why not, if you're going to dictate how the civilian government is to be run? Where's Laura Roslin, Bill?"

"I don't have to listen to this," Adama began.

"Where's Felix Gaeta?" Tom put in before the Admiral could hang up. There was silence on the other end, but it was live silence, not the silence of a dead line. "Your lieutenant tells me he's gone missing, and no one's gone looking for him. Why not?"

"It's not your concern."

"Yes it is, Admiral. It's very much my concern. Felix Gaeta is one of my people, and as acting President, I have a duty to him."

"You're not the President."

"And you're very good at avoiding the issue. Where is Gaeta?"

"You don't give a rat's ass," Adama snarled. "It's just a convenient game for you to play. Pretending you give a shit about the people of the Fleet, when all you're really after is some scandal to report, some new chaos to sow."

"And if you knew the first thing about your crew, you'd know just how far off you are."

"Who else is on that Raptor, Zarek?"

Shit! "That's beside the point," Tom growled.

"It's exactly the point," Adama snapped, and hung up.

Tom slammed the phone down. "Frak!" He took a deep breath, and then another, and then picked up the phone again. The Zephyr needed a mechanic, and at least he could do something about that.

***

Late the next night, Racetrack burst into his quarters in tears.

He was sitting in a chair, reading a report by a small lamp, rubbing his temples as he tried to process the words. The door slammed open, and for one wild moment he thought Racetrack was going to tell him she was pregnant. Then he remembered they'd only been sleeping together for four days, and even if she was, it wasn't his. His heart rate returned to normal.

"What's wrong?" he asked, setting aside the report. He didn't know her well, but already he knew that Racetrack was not someone who unsettled like this easily.

"It's… it's…" Racetrack paced his room angrily, her hair slipping out of her ponytail as she ran her hands over her head. "It's Adama."

"What happened?" He stood up, found a bottle of bad whiskey, and poured them each a drink. He handed her hers, waited as she bolted it back, and then poured her another. "Tell me," he urged, guiding her to a chair.

She sat down, tugging at the zipper of her flight suit. "This morning," she began, "Lieutenant Hoshi comes to me and tells me that we're going on a search and rescue mission for a Raptor that's been missing. And I'm thinking finally, because I knew it was gone."

"You did?"

She shook her head like he was a child. "Of course. Shark and Easy are Raptor pilots. They're… well, they were… and of course, Hoshi's all upset about Gaeta." She wiped at her eyes angrily. "So we start looking, not that we have any clue of where to look. And finally, after we finally have to admit that we're not going to find the Raptor, Hoshi says 'let's check the coordinates we jumped to, one more time.' And there it is. There's the frakking Raptor, if you can believe it."

"Somehow, I'm guessing this isn't a good thing."

"It's not. We get the Raptor back and open it up, and there's more blood than you'd see in a Tauron slasher flick. Brooks- that deckhand you met?- he's dead, killed with an overdose of morpha. And Shark and Easy have their throats slit. And not just slit- blood is splattered everywhere. And then there's an Eight lying on the floor, stabbed in the… oh, Gods. I don't know where he stabbed her, but it was messy."

"He?"

"Gaeta. He was the only one left alive in the Raptor. He was covered in blood, and half-mad from morpha and oxygen depravation. And he's babbling about how she killed them all, and he had to kill her, until they got him off the Raptor and down to the sickbay."

"Oh my Gods." Tom set the whiskey down, reconsidered, and bolted the entire glass. "What-"

"That's not the worst part," Racetrack said, overriding him. "The worst part happened a few hours later. Adama brings me and Hoshi into his study. And to give you an idea of how rarely that happens, I've been in the Admiral's office twice, and once was when Skulls and I found New Caprica. Anyway, it's just the two of us and Adama and Tigh. And that's when they tell us to keep our mouths shut. The toaster obviously did it and they believe Gaeta and he's going to be back on duty tomorrow, but we're not to say a word. That frakking skinjob killed three humans, and we're not to say one frakking word about it, because it might risk the frakking alliance that no one wants anyway! They're toasters, Tom! They frakking nuked humanity! We don't need their frakking help- we shouldn't be crawling on our stomachs to the very people who’ve been hunting us the past four years anyway! And one of those bitches kills two of my friends, and I'm supposed to just keep quiet, smile, and play nice? NO FRAKKING WAY!"

Tom grabbed her by the upper arms. "It's okay," he said soothingly, even though he knew it wasn't. "Calm down, Margaret."

She wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. "What went wrong? Why is Adama doing this? I can't even look at those frakkers without thinking of everything they did to us. I lost my parents, my brothers, my friends… and I'm far from special. Everyone in this Fleet can pretty much say the same thing."

"I can't," Tom told her honestly. She looked up at him quizzically. "Everyone I loved died before I was incarcerated. I spent twenty years in a forced labor camp. The friends I made there…" he grinned sardonically, "well, I wouldn't call it love. I am one of the few people who can say that my station in life improved after the Cylon attack. And yet, I can see that Adama is wrong. Perhaps this alliance is necessary to the survival of the Fleet. I don't know, because the Admiral has not been forthcoming with his reasoning. But even if it is, he does not have the power to force people to accept it. You can't legislate what people feel, and you can't order them to accept."

He pushed her down into a chair gently, and then took her cup and refilled it. "Stay for a little while," he told her, all the while his mind whirling. "At least until you're calm enough. When do you have to be back at Galactica?"

"I have duty in two hours," she admitted.

"Well then." He sat down and sipped his drink, sifting through what she'd told him. "I'll go back with you when you go. I'll have a few words for Adama; you can be sure of that."

She smiled at him gratefully.

"How's Hoshi taking it?" Tom asked, swirling his drink. "The order to keep silent, I mean?"

"He doesn't seem to care," Racetrack admitted. "Not that he doesn't care, but he's so focused on Felix that he isn't seeing anything else. Then again," she said, her face twisting, "Gaeta's actually alive. Not like Shark or Easy."

"Don't think about it right now," he recommended. "Just calm down, and then we'll go back and talk to Adama. He's not going to listen to you if you're crying and angry. He'll just write it off as weakness."

She cocked her head and looked at him. "You're right." She tossed back the rest of her drink and stood up, her whiskey-scented breath hot on her face. "I shouldn't be thinking at all." She kissed him, and despite himself, he smiled against her lips.

There was no better way to prepare for a battle and blow off some steam than this.

***

Something was beeping. Low and steady and annoying. Felix groaned, blinking and struggling against a headache. When he opened his eyes, the light was too bright it sent shafts of pain searing against his eye sockets. He moaned.

"Hey," a familiar voice said softly.

He became aware of a hand in his, and he squeezed gently, making sure it was really there. "Hey," he said back, smiling as Louis's brown eyes became clear, smiling down at him. "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it now," Louis said, touching his cheek tenderly, and then leaning over to kiss his forehead. "You're safe. That's all that matters."

A nagging voice told him insistently that that wasn't all that mattered, but he tried to ignore it. "I'm in sickbay."

"For a bit. We'll get you out of here as soon as we can."

Their fingers were entwined so tightly. Louis's hand was warm and solid, and Felix clung to it desperately. But it felt strange. Slippery. Insubstantial. Not enough.

And then the Eight came crashing down around him, and he remembered.

This time, he couldn't forget. He wouldn't forget. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow it, but found himself gagging.

Louis helped him sit, holding the basin for him as he vomited. He helped him ease back against the pillow, looked on in concern, his hands gentle. And yet, Felix couldn't shake the feeling that something was massively wrong between them. What would Louis say if he knew? If Felix just told him about the New Caprica lists?

The intellectual part of him knew exactly what Louis would say. He would be appalled, and he would point out that the Eight had played him exactly right. He would say that it wasn't Felix's fault. But even though some logical part of him knew that, all he could imagine was Louis standing up and walking away without another word. All he could imagine was the airlock opening up, and his body hurtling out into space.

"Felix?"

He shook his head, not quite wanting to answer.

There were footsteps, and Felix turned his head long enough to see two people coming to the bedside. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised to see Tom or Narcho, but he was.

"How are you doing?" Tom asked, stepping close to the bed.

There was no frakking way he could ever tell Tom what had really happened. Absolutely no way. "Could be worse," he said. "I could be dead."

"So I hear."

"At least this time you aren't losing any limbs," Narcho pointed out.

"Noel, come here," Felix ordered. Narcho stepped closer, and he whacked him upside the head. Louis laughed.

"You deserved that," he told Narcho affectionately.

"Lieutenant Hoshi," Tom said. "May I have a word with you?"

Louis glanced back at him, but Narcho waved him away. "Go ahead, Louis. I'll stay." Louis nodded and stepped away.

Alone with Narcho, Felix felt that familiar pang of jealousy come back. He knew, he knew Noel and Louis were ancient history- pre-attack on the Colonies, for crying out loud. But every time the man stepped near him, he was overcome with an uncharacteristic bout of insecurity, not helped by the fact that Narcho had two legs.

"Racetrack told me what happened," Narcho said, settling down beside him.

Felix closed his eyes. "Racetrack has a big mouth."

"Not really," Narcho said. "I'll give her credit, she can keep it shut when she needs to."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You don't look so good."

"I'm not," Felix admitted. He sighed and leaned his head back. "Look, Noel, I'm not trying to be rude, but do you mind if we don't talk right now? I've got one hell of a headache."

Noel nodded. "No problem. We'll talk later." He smiled, and ran a finger down the arm of his chair. "I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about."

Felix managed a smile and then closed his eyes, and they sat together in companionable silence.

***

Tom waited until they were tucked away into a privacy cubicle before he spoke.

"Will he be okay?" he asked Hoshi.

"I think so, sir," Hoshi said, glancing back at the direction of Felix's bed. "There's no physical damage, except oxygen depravation, and…" he trailed off.

"And morpha overdose," Tom said. "Not lethal, but an overdose just the same."

Hoshi fixedly kept looking away, confirming all of Tom's suspicions.

"Funny about that, isn't it?" Tom asked. "My sources tell me that there were five morpha shots found on board, all but one of them empty. Brooks was murdered with two."

"You're not going to say that Felix murdered Brooks, are you?" Hoshi bristled.

"Absolutely not. A morpha junkie isn't going to waste two doses on someone else."

"He's not a junkie!" Hoshi flared, whipping back to face Tom. "He's a frakking amputee who should still be in bed!"

"And taking enough morpha to keep a horse high!" Tom grabbed the officer by his uniform and slammed him against the wall. "What the hell were you thinking, giving him five doses of morpha?"

Hoshi pushed him away a lot harder than Tom would have expected, sending him staggering. "What I was I thinking?" he demanded. "I was thinking that both Cottle and Ishay say he should still be in bed, and he's hobbling around on a prosthetic. I was thinking of watching him struggle every single day, and lying next to him and night and knowing he's not sleeping because he's in too much pain. And I'm not talking the emotional stuff. I'd get him drunk for that, which you'd obviously know about. I'm talking about knowing that the only reason he's not crying is because he's got to have something left, but waking up and finding out that he was doing it anyway, and then ignoring it because that's what he needs me to do. Or the fact that Adama can't be bothered to even put a piece of metal over the steps so he can get down to his station easier, but is still expecting him to work. I'm talking about night sweats and listening to him groan every time he puts weight on that damn stump and for GODS SAKE WHY DO I NEED TO BE JUSTFIYING THIS TO YOU? Until you have to go through this, leave me the frak alone, asshole!"

"Oh yeah?" Tom shot back, and pushed Hoshi against the wall again. "Well let me tell you a few truths, Lieutenant. Your boyfriend almost died because of your consideration. My guess is he didn't wait the full eighteen hours before injecting himself with another shot. By now he's probably good and addicted, which is going to mean a nasty withdrawal. Not to mention what it will do to him if your precious Admiral Adama finds out. How fast do you think his ass will be busted down to nothing? Everything he's worked for, gone because the best solution you can come up with his keeping him doped up with narcotics."

"It's more than anyone else does for him!"

"That doesn't change the fact it's the stupidest idea I've ever heard!" Tom released Hoshi with a shove that sent him nowhere, since his back was already against the wall. "But that's how you get off, isn't it, Lieutenant? You like having someone to take care of, someone dependent on you. It makes you feel big and strong, because you are nothing but a weak little man in the pocket of the Admiral!"

Hoshi swung. Tom's head snapped around with the impact, and a part of him had to admit he was shocked. But Hoshi was blazing, fists clenched and furious. And not attacking any further. Tom rubbed his jaw, noting that.

"Get out," Hoshi said between clenched teeth. "Get out and go away, and we'll never mention this conversation happened."

Tom smiled blandly, and then gave a mock salute. "Of course, Lieutenant." He couldn't resist throwing over his shoulder, "I won't tell anyone what you did."

He stopped by Felix's bedside, but Felix was asleep. The pilot sitting next to him looked up at Tom worriedly. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"Lieutenant Hoshi seems a bit upset," Tom mused sarcastically.

The pilot- Narcho, Tom finally remembered- either missed or ignored the sarcasm. "Yeah, well, can you blame him? How can you not be upset when the Admiral sides with the Cylons?"

It was a good question, right there in a nutshell. Tom nodded. "I completely agree." He nodded and turned to leave, murmuring, "It's the first day of the dawn of a new era."

On to Part 8