A/N: There's a notable hiatus (almost a month) in between Lee's discharge from Galactica in 'Six of One' and his inauguration as a Caprican Quorum Delegate in 'The Ties That Bind', season 4. It figured, he was either stuck catching up on his predecessor's paperwork and background reading, or out on the fleet, meeting his voters. And possibly, arriving at certain epiphanies about himself, his past, his prospects, his choices concerning political career and relationship with Dee.
Throw an abandoned baby into the mix to make matters more exciting and a tad more mushy.
Set in between 'Six of One' and 'The Ties That Bind', season 4.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot points, inherent to the show, belong to me.
No future but itself*
It was Tom Zarek's idea. Tour the fleet first, meeting up with Caprican voters before actually getting instated full-time on the Quorum. Not that he didn't agree with the rationale behind the suggestion. Assessing the civilian needs, demands and expectations from where he stood in the military was one thing, representing the said needs and expectations as a government Delegate was quite a different matter altogether. To make sure his people were heard and regarded adequately, if by him alone to begin with, he had to introduce and, preferably, endear himself to literally every single one of them, seeing as there weren't that many suffrage endowed Capricans left in the universe.
Given there weren't any Capricas left either, old or new, he was faced with a rather trying task of working his way assiduously from ship to ship, giving speeches tending more on the side of lame pep-talks, through the early days, at least, than he cared to consider for the time being, hoping with all his might practice was about to make perfect sooner or later; filing pages of complaints, pleas, threats and downright blackmails for further reference; bargaining with ship captains as to ways of meeting his voters' alleged claims and interests on a good day, arguing on all others.
A welcome respite as all of it still was from plowing through heaps of paperwork his late predecessor left unattended due to her illness or spending every remaining wakeful hour head over heels into whatever background reading on civil society and democratic legislation the Quorum's rag-tag political library could offer (his grandfather's books could take care of only so many things he didn't know), he found himself increasingly drained with every successive visit. It would appear at times, the former Capricans indeed were under the misguided spell all their troubles and tribulations were taken care of now that Admiral Adama's son, the famed Apollo, was their appointed Delegate. He, of all people, knew better. His father had offered him as close to the olive branch on the matter of Baltar's trial as it could probably get, so much was true, but there was still a long way to earning the Admiral's appraisal (and, might be, whole-hearted support) in that new political endeavor of his, as well as the President's trust, back. And he harbored no illusions he was still quite a long way from embracing uninhibited certainty he'd made the right choice, let alone acting on it.
He spotted her almost immediately, stepping off his shuttle on Perseus. That was to be his final destination for the day. A mandatory counsel with the captain, then the meeting with whatever Cparicans there were onboard. His next flight, or a hitch-ride, more like, was not scheduled until the upcoming morning. She was hopping off the Raptor wing – focused and business-like, as ever, alongside some other Galactica crew members. Maintenance personnel, was his educated guess.
He allowed himself a moment longer of an indulgent look before calling her name out softly. Hesitantly, if he were completely honest. The exhausting logistics of transition from the career in the military-cum-legal service into that in politics consuming him whole lately, they hadn't very well spoken ever since the impromptu departure honors he received on Galactica hangar deck. And though the glimmering affection he was bestowed with, upon their parting, issued a ghost of hope he might not still be the subject of her darkest condemnations, he was excruciatingly unsure what was in store for him were they to face each other again. Less sure still was he as to what to say. 'Glad to see you' would have appeared, by far, the most obvious and most honest of relatively easy ways to ever work it through to the trickier 'I'm sorry' and 'I miss you' parts, but easy had never quite been the priority option in the Adamas book.
What he definitely couldn't fathom to anticipate, was the similar hesitancy in the gaze, directed to encounter his, as she turned around. At least he was certain the glowing warmth, seeping cautiously to replace trepidation within her eyes, matched his own as well.
- Hey, Dee. Fancy meeting you here. – It felt oddly comforting to still remember how to earn her smiles.
- I was just on my way, sir. – the clipped laugh he failed to stifle was a bit too high pitched than he intended. His questioning look proved eloquent enough.
- There seem to be bugs in the comms systems fleet-wide. I have the Admiral's orders to supervise and coordinate the repairs. Civilian ships lack dramatically on communications specialists. You?
- There're bugs in the Caprican сonstituents' minds, fleet-wide. It would appear I'm appointed to work them out. – Joining in on her hushed giggle was an easy and, incidentally, appreciated distraction on the itinerary to the trickier parts.
A young Petty Officer, he remembered from the usual CIC crew, approached to report to 'Lt. Dualla, sir' they were all set to proceed with initial assessment of busted comms. He wished immediately his 'I'll see you around' sounded more affirmatively on his part, realizing full well there was still a long way to go from her acknowledging smile, that ensued.
***
He wasn't looking for her, per se, later that night, as all his meetings were over, although figuring out in passing the Galactica's comms team was staying overnight, made persistently eliminating the plausible places to bump into her all the more deliberate. After all, he didn't happen to know anyone else on board Perseus, and human beings thrive on company, don't they? She turned out in the galley, seated alone over a bowl of nondescript algae brew that passed for each and every meal their civilization could conjure for the time being. He wondered if any reference to the homeworld of algae raw material would ever quit giving him shudders.
- Mind if I join? – her smile was quick and as welcoming as her silence. So much so he eventually opted to take advantage of the latter and cut through small-talk.
- How are you, Dee? – he wasn't sure for a moment if he should be concerned or grateful that she didn't resort to an all too easy lie, just lowering her gaze, in response.
Surprisingly enough, relief was jumbled into the mix too, for he was more than certain learning she was 'just fine' on her own wasn't likely to agree well with his innermost expectations.
- How's Mr. Zarek faring? – there was only a faint tinge of dismissive scorn tangled with mischief in her tone of voice, as she finally spoke, but enough nonetheless to make him heave an audible sigh.
That particular argument was actually getting old as far as he was concerned, though he knew, deep down, it was the one he should've talked through with her, to begin with, way back before leaving Galactica.
- I'm not going to dance to his fiddle, if that what you mean. Zarek may take his sweet time believing otherwise, for all I care. I just want to make a difference, Dee. The real one. The one that would count.
- I know. – His eyes flashed up to meet hers, instantly, to be swathed in calm, encompassing confidence, brimming there.
She did know, so much was sure. If no one else, she would always read his aspirations to a tee. But above all it was apparent she believed he could do it. Whatever it was he was capable of on the path he chose, she had faith. He was nearly about to plunge into the repeat performance of their goodbye on hangar deck, via embarrassing himself by choking on reverent awe in front of her, right in the middle of a strange ship. Still there was also a long and, more likely than not, bumpy way left to live up to the credit of trust in his brand of virtue and ideals, she was willing to issue yet again, from the general look of it.
***
He couldn't figure out what to make of the sound, as they walked to the bunk-room, Galactica's crew were assigned to, in comfortable silence. If anything, he could bet it was the tranquil silences he missed even more, than he could ever do talking to her. The sound was distant first, drawing closer as they entered a sideways hallway. A quaint, mewing pitch, he wasn't accustomed to hear on board a spacecraft. The only cat he'd ever encountered since the worlds' end was Lance – Romo Lampkin's pet. He was aware, however, cats were at times kept on older freighters, just like Perseus. For the tradition's sake more than to keep, nonexistent in space, rat menace at bay. From the questioning look she directed his way he could tell she'd picked up on the fussing noise too. The urge to speed up a bit was unanimous, as they moved towards the laundry locker, homing in on the source.
Plopped on a sack of unprocessed linen was a small bundle of what for all intents and purposes appeared a coiled blanket. A shifting and dolefully sniveling one, at that. Dee was the first one to reach the animated parcel, unwrapping a corner of the well-worn out blanket carefully to reveal a tiny face, contorted in anguish, cheeks crimson with exertion. A baby.
While he was virtually frozen in place, shell-shocked to even begin pondering how a baby would end up all alone in a farther nook of a rusty freighter, she was setting to a more immediate task at hand, remarkably unperturbed. The child was relocated to the ironing board nearby, the blanket removed in an algorithm of motions too precise to be unpracticed. He was borderline confused by that before remembering a couple of girl-cousins, hell-bent on playing 'mommy' with an array of baby-dolls for hours on end. Would give him and Zack loads of disdainful smirks, back in the day.
A baby-boy it was, complete with a bottle of long cooled algae mash. He finally found his voice as the kid seemed to calm down a bit under Dee's deft, soothing touches. He, of all people, knew precisely how those worked.
- Maybe his mom would turn up soon? – he could register something quite akin to desperate hope in his words, somehow the idea of a baby being willingly abandoned at times like those making his fists clench on their own accord.
Not that he'd ever been overtly gooey or sentimental around children – if the stunt with Gianne was to be any indication – but there were so damn precious little of humanity left to ever exercise the luxury of indulging one's parenting inhibitions. He could see Dee furrow slightly, as she reached for a dry folded pillow-case on the closest shelf, to pass for the make-shift diaper.
- I doubt it. He's been here for several hours, at least. If she were so inclined, she'd make it back by now. We do need to inform the captain anyway, though. But change and feed him first.
There was a measure of efficient determination in her demeanor, driving him to feel somewhat redundant. Unable to fathom how to be of help, once she turned to lifting the baby carefully into the crook of one arm and introducing the bottle to the tiny quivering mouth, yet surprisingly unwilling to leave to alert the captain, he settled for just watching her. Them. He was not the one to refute it might never very well cease astonishing him how lovely she was, still the unfamiliar radiance she exuded at the moment, eyes trained on the hungrily slurping child, rocking the small form in sync to a simple lullaby she commenced humming along the way, nearly brought him to double-take.
- What are you staring at? – she lifted the profoundly mellowed gaze, conscious of his scrutiny, all of a sudden.
- You. I don't think I've ever really pictured you as a mother before.
- Looks that bad? – His jury was still out as to what he enjoyed best – her blush or the faintest of playful grins.
- No! – he could tell right away his reply was a tad too hasty to keep up the pretense of matter-of-factness. – No, not at all. It's quite good… Um… I mean… you're doing a great job.
She flushed a slightest shade deeper and scored him another smile, a rueful one that time, before turning attention back to the residually fussing baby.
- I've always wondered how anyone could summon courage enough to bring a child into the world so full of spite and suffering. Even before the Fall.
He could all but to nod at that, in silent compliance. Ideas along those lines crossed his mind more than once, too, both before and after Gianne. Making amazingly little to help him harbor delusions that was why he ran. Making less still to help ease the lingering gnawing pain and self-inflicted contempt, even now.
- You wanna hold him? – her voice startled him back into awareness of the surroundings of a cramped laundry locker and the now peacefully sleeping baby in her arms.
His stunned non- response was, most likely, not quite tantamount to consent, but she was stepping closer, nonetheless and his arms were prepped to receive the fragile burden before he could register the movement. Holding the baby felt… queer, for lack of an adequate reference in his otherwise wide range of experience. The child was still in his hold, yet he could tell he was alive, breathing softly and vibrating with subdued energy, almost palpable even through the wrappings. He caught himself utterly perplexed how come someone that small and insignificant could be such an undeniable presence to be reckoned with. The intent feel of a glowing, if teasing look, made him shift his gaze away from the kid again.
- What's so funny?
- You. You should see your face. Like you're witnessing a Gods' ultimate miracle.
- That easy to read, huh? – he could feel himself blush that time, averting his eyes back to the tiny bundle, but was aware, embarrassment was only partially factored in there.
The rest of emotions and sensations, instrumental to the burning color seeping up his cheeks and all the way to his ears, were too convoluted to be pinned down. Truth be told, he wasn't sure he even wanted them isolated and rationalized, much preferring to just bask in the unusual warm fulfillment, the moment offered.
- Just to me. – That one sensation he was immediately willing to identify. Tranquil, assuring promise, that particular smile of hers never failed, to issue was infallibly a welcome guest onto the premises of his existence.
Could as well be just that allure of trusting security, driving him compelled to speak, before he could indeed think better of it.
- Uh... I've never come around to telling you. I could have had a child of my own. Before… everything. There was a girl. We were engaged. She got pregnant and I just… freaked out. We never spoke again. And then the worlds ended… I won't ever know if it was to be a boy or a girl...
He ventured a look her way, equally apprehensive to be regarded with either pity or disgust. The fluid empathy and understanding of sorts, meeting his gaze halfway, urged him to go on, however. He could feel his grasp tense a fracture around the tiny frame, still resting, unruffled, in his arms.
- I was so scared. That I won't be able to be there enough, to be a father enough, and my child would eventually end up despising me, or blaming me for the anger and hurt, got from the mom. Just like… - his voice quivered, giving way to choking on a poorly veiled sob.
- Just like you did? – she finished the utterance for him, quietly, moving a hand up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw-line with tentative care. – But it didn't have to be that way. Not at all.
Sure. None of it had to. Her confidence was contagious, as ever. If only he could forget the clank of his wings pin in his father's drawer as sniping words darted back and forth, aimed to hit. Damn fine shots the two of them were, as well. Sure, he'd come a long way with his father both before and after that already, but a longer way he could anticipate it to be ahead of them, to really move on.
If only he could at will dispose of the memory of losing or nearly losing the woman, next to him, time and again to his repeatedly surfacing insecurities, inadequacies or other issues du jour. Fair enough, he'd come a long way to appreciate the gift of her, only to push it away by opting to channel grief into misguided righteous zeal and spite. If nothing else, there was a long way, not quite completely charted for him yet, to reclaim the right of cherishing her absolution.
The baby stirred, producing a huffing noise, potentially charged with the power to blow into a full-tilt wail.
- We'd better go inform the captain and find him a proper place to stay. – She motioned to relieve him of the sweet armful, concern taking over placid compassion of the moment before. His mind was gearing up rapidly into its common shrewd mode.
- There's an orphanage set up on the Rising Star. If his parents are indeed nowhere on Perseus, we could shuttle him there right away, if you authorize the use of Galactica's Raptor on this one. They'd take care of him.
***
- Do you perchance know his name? – the orphanage patroness regarded them both inquisitively, detached professional interest swiftly substituted for suspicious wonder, as the two of them spoke at once:
- Z… Zack.
- Zackary. – He specified, aware of slender, strong fingers moving ever so slightly to squeeze his elbow in mute encouragement.
The joint instinct to bend down and plant a light kiss on the sleeping baby's brow in the patroness arms transpired unspoken either. He guessed, rather than heard, Dee whisper a quiet blessing along the way. The mutual agreement to stay on the hangar deck for as long as it took the retreating patroness and baby Zack to vanish from view, as well as the fine sheen of stinging moisture to evaporate from their respective gazes was too carried out in silence.
- You know, President Roslin has a whole fleet-wide program in the works to encourage adoption. – He utterly hoped his voice sounded nothing but casual.
- And still there are all those kids here. – There was a far-away musing quality to her words, bringing him to acknowledge the type of unexpected fuzzy mirth, nestled somewhere within the cavities of his chest he'd deemed hollow for years. – Could be, people are just unsure if it's possible to promise a child the family and the world, when we're not even promised a sure bet of tomorrow yet again.
- Fair enough. – He ventured to pick up on her ruminative slant. – Maybe, once we reach Earth, it'll feel safer.
- Yeah. When we reach Earth, things will be different.
But Earth was still a long way from there, that much he could be certain. His arm never quite let go of the soft grip on her shoulder, as they turned around to walk back to the awaiting Raptor.
*Pain - has an Element of Blank-
It cannot recollect
When it begun-or if there were
A time when it was not-
It has no Future-but itself-
Its Infinite Contain
Its Past-enlightened to perceive
New Periods-of Pain.
(Emily Dickinson)
Throw an abandoned baby into the mix to make matters more exciting and a tad more mushy.
Set in between 'Six of One' and 'The Ties That Bind', season 4.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot points, inherent to the show, belong to me.
No future but itself*
It was Tom Zarek's idea. Tour the fleet first, meeting up with Caprican voters before actually getting instated full-time on the Quorum. Not that he didn't agree with the rationale behind the suggestion. Assessing the civilian needs, demands and expectations from where he stood in the military was one thing, representing the said needs and expectations as a government Delegate was quite a different matter altogether. To make sure his people were heard and regarded adequately, if by him alone to begin with, he had to introduce and, preferably, endear himself to literally every single one of them, seeing as there weren't that many suffrage endowed Capricans left in the universe.
Given there weren't any Capricas left either, old or new, he was faced with a rather trying task of working his way assiduously from ship to ship, giving speeches tending more on the side of lame pep-talks, through the early days, at least, than he cared to consider for the time being, hoping with all his might practice was about to make perfect sooner or later; filing pages of complaints, pleas, threats and downright blackmails for further reference; bargaining with ship captains as to ways of meeting his voters' alleged claims and interests on a good day, arguing on all others.
A welcome respite as all of it still was from plowing through heaps of paperwork his late predecessor left unattended due to her illness or spending every remaining wakeful hour head over heels into whatever background reading on civil society and democratic legislation the Quorum's rag-tag political library could offer (his grandfather's books could take care of only so many things he didn't know), he found himself increasingly drained with every successive visit. It would appear at times, the former Capricans indeed were under the misguided spell all their troubles and tribulations were taken care of now that Admiral Adama's son, the famed Apollo, was their appointed Delegate. He, of all people, knew better. His father had offered him as close to the olive branch on the matter of Baltar's trial as it could probably get, so much was true, but there was still a long way to earning the Admiral's appraisal (and, might be, whole-hearted support) in that new political endeavor of his, as well as the President's trust, back. And he harbored no illusions he was still quite a long way from embracing uninhibited certainty he'd made the right choice, let alone acting on it.
He spotted her almost immediately, stepping off his shuttle on Perseus. That was to be his final destination for the day. A mandatory counsel with the captain, then the meeting with whatever Cparicans there were onboard. His next flight, or a hitch-ride, more like, was not scheduled until the upcoming morning. She was hopping off the Raptor wing – focused and business-like, as ever, alongside some other Galactica crew members. Maintenance personnel, was his educated guess.
He allowed himself a moment longer of an indulgent look before calling her name out softly. Hesitantly, if he were completely honest. The exhausting logistics of transition from the career in the military-cum-legal service into that in politics consuming him whole lately, they hadn't very well spoken ever since the impromptu departure honors he received on Galactica hangar deck. And though the glimmering affection he was bestowed with, upon their parting, issued a ghost of hope he might not still be the subject of her darkest condemnations, he was excruciatingly unsure what was in store for him were they to face each other again. Less sure still was he as to what to say. 'Glad to see you' would have appeared, by far, the most obvious and most honest of relatively easy ways to ever work it through to the trickier 'I'm sorry' and 'I miss you' parts, but easy had never quite been the priority option in the Adamas book.
What he definitely couldn't fathom to anticipate, was the similar hesitancy in the gaze, directed to encounter his, as she turned around. At least he was certain the glowing warmth, seeping cautiously to replace trepidation within her eyes, matched his own as well.
- Hey, Dee. Fancy meeting you here. – It felt oddly comforting to still remember how to earn her smiles.
- I was just on my way, sir. – the clipped laugh he failed to stifle was a bit too high pitched than he intended. His questioning look proved eloquent enough.
- There seem to be bugs in the comms systems fleet-wide. I have the Admiral's orders to supervise and coordinate the repairs. Civilian ships lack dramatically on communications specialists. You?
- There're bugs in the Caprican сonstituents' minds, fleet-wide. It would appear I'm appointed to work them out. – Joining in on her hushed giggle was an easy and, incidentally, appreciated distraction on the itinerary to the trickier parts.
A young Petty Officer, he remembered from the usual CIC crew, approached to report to 'Lt. Dualla, sir' they were all set to proceed with initial assessment of busted comms. He wished immediately his 'I'll see you around' sounded more affirmatively on his part, realizing full well there was still a long way to go from her acknowledging smile, that ensued.
***
He wasn't looking for her, per se, later that night, as all his meetings were over, although figuring out in passing the Galactica's comms team was staying overnight, made persistently eliminating the plausible places to bump into her all the more deliberate. After all, he didn't happen to know anyone else on board Perseus, and human beings thrive on company, don't they? She turned out in the galley, seated alone over a bowl of nondescript algae brew that passed for each and every meal their civilization could conjure for the time being. He wondered if any reference to the homeworld of algae raw material would ever quit giving him shudders.
- Mind if I join? – her smile was quick and as welcoming as her silence. So much so he eventually opted to take advantage of the latter and cut through small-talk.
- How are you, Dee? – he wasn't sure for a moment if he should be concerned or grateful that she didn't resort to an all too easy lie, just lowering her gaze, in response.
Surprisingly enough, relief was jumbled into the mix too, for he was more than certain learning she was 'just fine' on her own wasn't likely to agree well with his innermost expectations.
- How's Mr. Zarek faring? – there was only a faint tinge of dismissive scorn tangled with mischief in her tone of voice, as she finally spoke, but enough nonetheless to make him heave an audible sigh.
That particular argument was actually getting old as far as he was concerned, though he knew, deep down, it was the one he should've talked through with her, to begin with, way back before leaving Galactica.
- I'm not going to dance to his fiddle, if that what you mean. Zarek may take his sweet time believing otherwise, for all I care. I just want to make a difference, Dee. The real one. The one that would count.
- I know. – His eyes flashed up to meet hers, instantly, to be swathed in calm, encompassing confidence, brimming there.
She did know, so much was sure. If no one else, she would always read his aspirations to a tee. But above all it was apparent she believed he could do it. Whatever it was he was capable of on the path he chose, she had faith. He was nearly about to plunge into the repeat performance of their goodbye on hangar deck, via embarrassing himself by choking on reverent awe in front of her, right in the middle of a strange ship. Still there was also a long and, more likely than not, bumpy way left to live up to the credit of trust in his brand of virtue and ideals, she was willing to issue yet again, from the general look of it.
***
He couldn't figure out what to make of the sound, as they walked to the bunk-room, Galactica's crew were assigned to, in comfortable silence. If anything, he could bet it was the tranquil silences he missed even more, than he could ever do talking to her. The sound was distant first, drawing closer as they entered a sideways hallway. A quaint, mewing pitch, he wasn't accustomed to hear on board a spacecraft. The only cat he'd ever encountered since the worlds' end was Lance – Romo Lampkin's pet. He was aware, however, cats were at times kept on older freighters, just like Perseus. For the tradition's sake more than to keep, nonexistent in space, rat menace at bay. From the questioning look she directed his way he could tell she'd picked up on the fussing noise too. The urge to speed up a bit was unanimous, as they moved towards the laundry locker, homing in on the source.
Plopped on a sack of unprocessed linen was a small bundle of what for all intents and purposes appeared a coiled blanket. A shifting and dolefully sniveling one, at that. Dee was the first one to reach the animated parcel, unwrapping a corner of the well-worn out blanket carefully to reveal a tiny face, contorted in anguish, cheeks crimson with exertion. A baby.
While he was virtually frozen in place, shell-shocked to even begin pondering how a baby would end up all alone in a farther nook of a rusty freighter, she was setting to a more immediate task at hand, remarkably unperturbed. The child was relocated to the ironing board nearby, the blanket removed in an algorithm of motions too precise to be unpracticed. He was borderline confused by that before remembering a couple of girl-cousins, hell-bent on playing 'mommy' with an array of baby-dolls for hours on end. Would give him and Zack loads of disdainful smirks, back in the day.
A baby-boy it was, complete with a bottle of long cooled algae mash. He finally found his voice as the kid seemed to calm down a bit under Dee's deft, soothing touches. He, of all people, knew precisely how those worked.
- Maybe his mom would turn up soon? – he could register something quite akin to desperate hope in his words, somehow the idea of a baby being willingly abandoned at times like those making his fists clench on their own accord.
Not that he'd ever been overtly gooey or sentimental around children – if the stunt with Gianne was to be any indication – but there were so damn precious little of humanity left to ever exercise the luxury of indulging one's parenting inhibitions. He could see Dee furrow slightly, as she reached for a dry folded pillow-case on the closest shelf, to pass for the make-shift diaper.
- I doubt it. He's been here for several hours, at least. If she were so inclined, she'd make it back by now. We do need to inform the captain anyway, though. But change and feed him first.
There was a measure of efficient determination in her demeanor, driving him to feel somewhat redundant. Unable to fathom how to be of help, once she turned to lifting the baby carefully into the crook of one arm and introducing the bottle to the tiny quivering mouth, yet surprisingly unwilling to leave to alert the captain, he settled for just watching her. Them. He was not the one to refute it might never very well cease astonishing him how lovely she was, still the unfamiliar radiance she exuded at the moment, eyes trained on the hungrily slurping child, rocking the small form in sync to a simple lullaby she commenced humming along the way, nearly brought him to double-take.
- What are you staring at? – she lifted the profoundly mellowed gaze, conscious of his scrutiny, all of a sudden.
- You. I don't think I've ever really pictured you as a mother before.
- Looks that bad? – His jury was still out as to what he enjoyed best – her blush or the faintest of playful grins.
- No! – he could tell right away his reply was a tad too hasty to keep up the pretense of matter-of-factness. – No, not at all. It's quite good… Um… I mean… you're doing a great job.
She flushed a slightest shade deeper and scored him another smile, a rueful one that time, before turning attention back to the residually fussing baby.
- I've always wondered how anyone could summon courage enough to bring a child into the world so full of spite and suffering. Even before the Fall.
He could all but to nod at that, in silent compliance. Ideas along those lines crossed his mind more than once, too, both before and after Gianne. Making amazingly little to help him harbor delusions that was why he ran. Making less still to help ease the lingering gnawing pain and self-inflicted contempt, even now.
- You wanna hold him? – her voice startled him back into awareness of the surroundings of a cramped laundry locker and the now peacefully sleeping baby in her arms.
His stunned non- response was, most likely, not quite tantamount to consent, but she was stepping closer, nonetheless and his arms were prepped to receive the fragile burden before he could register the movement. Holding the baby felt… queer, for lack of an adequate reference in his otherwise wide range of experience. The child was still in his hold, yet he could tell he was alive, breathing softly and vibrating with subdued energy, almost palpable even through the wrappings. He caught himself utterly perplexed how come someone that small and insignificant could be such an undeniable presence to be reckoned with. The intent feel of a glowing, if teasing look, made him shift his gaze away from the kid again.
- What's so funny?
- You. You should see your face. Like you're witnessing a Gods' ultimate miracle.
- That easy to read, huh? – he could feel himself blush that time, averting his eyes back to the tiny bundle, but was aware, embarrassment was only partially factored in there.
The rest of emotions and sensations, instrumental to the burning color seeping up his cheeks and all the way to his ears, were too convoluted to be pinned down. Truth be told, he wasn't sure he even wanted them isolated and rationalized, much preferring to just bask in the unusual warm fulfillment, the moment offered.
- Just to me. – That one sensation he was immediately willing to identify. Tranquil, assuring promise, that particular smile of hers never failed, to issue was infallibly a welcome guest onto the premises of his existence.
Could as well be just that allure of trusting security, driving him compelled to speak, before he could indeed think better of it.
- Uh... I've never come around to telling you. I could have had a child of my own. Before… everything. There was a girl. We were engaged. She got pregnant and I just… freaked out. We never spoke again. And then the worlds ended… I won't ever know if it was to be a boy or a girl...
He ventured a look her way, equally apprehensive to be regarded with either pity or disgust. The fluid empathy and understanding of sorts, meeting his gaze halfway, urged him to go on, however. He could feel his grasp tense a fracture around the tiny frame, still resting, unruffled, in his arms.
- I was so scared. That I won't be able to be there enough, to be a father enough, and my child would eventually end up despising me, or blaming me for the anger and hurt, got from the mom. Just like… - his voice quivered, giving way to choking on a poorly veiled sob.
- Just like you did? – she finished the utterance for him, quietly, moving a hand up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw-line with tentative care. – But it didn't have to be that way. Not at all.
Sure. None of it had to. Her confidence was contagious, as ever. If only he could forget the clank of his wings pin in his father's drawer as sniping words darted back and forth, aimed to hit. Damn fine shots the two of them were, as well. Sure, he'd come a long way with his father both before and after that already, but a longer way he could anticipate it to be ahead of them, to really move on.
If only he could at will dispose of the memory of losing or nearly losing the woman, next to him, time and again to his repeatedly surfacing insecurities, inadequacies or other issues du jour. Fair enough, he'd come a long way to appreciate the gift of her, only to push it away by opting to channel grief into misguided righteous zeal and spite. If nothing else, there was a long way, not quite completely charted for him yet, to reclaim the right of cherishing her absolution.
The baby stirred, producing a huffing noise, potentially charged with the power to blow into a full-tilt wail.
- We'd better go inform the captain and find him a proper place to stay. – She motioned to relieve him of the sweet armful, concern taking over placid compassion of the moment before. His mind was gearing up rapidly into its common shrewd mode.
- There's an orphanage set up on the Rising Star. If his parents are indeed nowhere on Perseus, we could shuttle him there right away, if you authorize the use of Galactica's Raptor on this one. They'd take care of him.
***
- Do you perchance know his name? – the orphanage patroness regarded them both inquisitively, detached professional interest swiftly substituted for suspicious wonder, as the two of them spoke at once:
- Z… Zack.
- Zackary. – He specified, aware of slender, strong fingers moving ever so slightly to squeeze his elbow in mute encouragement.
The joint instinct to bend down and plant a light kiss on the sleeping baby's brow in the patroness arms transpired unspoken either. He guessed, rather than heard, Dee whisper a quiet blessing along the way. The mutual agreement to stay on the hangar deck for as long as it took the retreating patroness and baby Zack to vanish from view, as well as the fine sheen of stinging moisture to evaporate from their respective gazes was too carried out in silence.
- You know, President Roslin has a whole fleet-wide program in the works to encourage adoption. – He utterly hoped his voice sounded nothing but casual.
- And still there are all those kids here. – There was a far-away musing quality to her words, bringing him to acknowledge the type of unexpected fuzzy mirth, nestled somewhere within the cavities of his chest he'd deemed hollow for years. – Could be, people are just unsure if it's possible to promise a child the family and the world, when we're not even promised a sure bet of tomorrow yet again.
- Fair enough. – He ventured to pick up on her ruminative slant. – Maybe, once we reach Earth, it'll feel safer.
- Yeah. When we reach Earth, things will be different.
But Earth was still a long way from there, that much he could be certain. His arm never quite let go of the soft grip on her shoulder, as they turned around to walk back to the awaiting Raptor.
*Pain - has an Element of Blank-
It cannot recollect
When it begun-or if there were
A time when it was not-
It has no Future-but itself-
Its Infinite Contain
Its Past-enlightened to perceive
New Periods-of Pain.
(Emily Dickinson)
