Current mood:	creative
Current music:	Ingrid Michaelson - Girls and Boys

Posting my first fic... (cue ominous music)
This is my first fic (or ficlet, whichever) that I've actually posted. And it's the first thing I've ever written for BSG (stupid addictive television show). Anyways, thanks to rose_griffes, who was kind enough to beta-read for me, and did a fabulous job of it. Any mistakes are all mine. 



Detritus


It fell to Helo to clean out her locker. No one else wanted the job, their eyes skirting the abandoned piece of metal containing the last remnants of the pilot known as Starbuck. Only Helo was left; the Adamas were too wrapped up amongst themselves, squabbling over the missing members of their family as Kara and Zak became interchangeable amidst accusations and guilt. Meanwhile, Sam wore his grief thickly, draped over him with the aid of a bottle of the Chief's finest, as he wandered around the ship, a ghostly testament to the love of Kara Thrace. No one looked at Sam either. 

Only Helo remained. Starbuck the invincible was gone, lost in a storm to an enemy of her mind. The CAG and Admiral were adrift, and even Colonel Tigh seemed at a loss. Helo was all they had left but everyone seemed to forget that he had lost his best friend, too, and that the Adamas didn't have ownership of grief over the loss of Kara Thrace.

Or maybe he was bitter, he admitted to himself. It was easy to be angry at the Adamas, at the people who pulled at Kara all her life, offering love and support only to give her the cold shoulder whenever she really needed help. He wondered at their inconsistent, fickle love; it must be something taught from father to son, passed down from generation to generation. Loving Kara Thrace meant loving all of her, even the dark, frakked-up recesses of her mind that had started to take over for good once she got back from New Caprica. There were spaces marked Warning! Highly Flammable! Do not Touch! accompanying pictures of Leoben, Kacey, her mother, the Farm.... Zak. 

Helo had met Zak during a visit to Kara at Picon Academy where she was teaching. Back then he was Karl, and Kara was God to all her nuggets, especially Zak, who adored her. But what struck Karl was seeing his hard ass friend, the pilot he had come to respect (and fear, a little) throughout their time together at school as a shy, vulnerable woman entirely in love with Zak Adama. She didn't show it, of course, not the way anyone one else would. But it was there in her mocking and her light taps to Zak's shoulder, the way her hair fell over her eyes and she leaned into him towards the end of a Triad game. Karl knew without a doubt that Zak Adama loved Kara Thrace and Kara Thrace loved Zak Adama.

That's why, on opening the locker, he was not surprised to see her picture of the happy couple -- accompanied by that eternal outsider, Lee -- still plastered to the corner of her locker door. He took it down carefully, hoping not to damage the precious photograph any more, and wondered who it should go to -- the Commander or his son. Instead, Karl smoothed it out and set it aside.

It's not as messy as one might think; Starbuck might've been known for thinking outside the box, but she was a military officer, and as such, she kept her personal effects in order. Out came the cigar box filled with precious photos that she'd managed to acquire and save along the way; Helo saw himself smiling alongside Starbuck, Boomer and Flattop at one of their shore leaves. Staring at the picture, he realized that all the people in it excepting himself were dead. 

Further back, a small pyramid ball rested on top of a folded-up Caprica Buccaneers sweatshirt, and these Karl put in a box for Sam. 

Her idols -- Aphrodite and Artemis -- he set aside for Lee, knowing that the CAG needed all the faith he could get now. Helo's fingers traced along the contoured and worn metal edges, and questioned why the Gods had forsaken their daughter, leaving her to a frakked-up notion of destiny and a mystery raider. 

He didn't know what to do for the Commander and reconsidered the picture of Kara, Zak and Lee. The worn line down the middle seperated the dead from the living, and he wondered how Adama will handle seeing a reminder that two of his children are dead. An acidic laugh bubbled up as Helo thought about Kara's confessions regarding her and Lee's tumultous relationship, how Lee had told her she did better with the dead guys than with the living. It's ironic that Adama is the same way -- he does better with his dead children than his living son. She truly was her father's daughter.

Her blues, BDUs and the rest of her standard issue clothing went into a bag, ready to be recycled back into the Fleet. The rest of her things were supposed to be auctioned off, but no one had mentioned a word of the usual tradition, as if taking Starbuck's things meant admitting defeat, believing that the famed Viper pilot was actually dead. They avoided her when she was alive, a walking testament to the torturous existence of New Caprica, and they avoided her now that she was dead, a warning of what could happen to them if they got too frakked in the head.

The cigar box he kept, turning it around in his hands, remembering how she brought it back from Caprica... from her apartment. That stupid, cluttered, uniquely Kara apartment that he wished he'd never seen, with those bright, obnoxious colors mocking him, taking away his best friend to somewhere he couldn't watch over her. 

Helo tucked the cigar box away carefully, cushioning it amongst her civilian clothes, the ones she'd managed to store on Galactica during her stint on New Caprica. She'd never believed that the planet would be a safe haven, but she was willing to try and make it a home for Sam, not that she'd ever told her husband that. A hint of silver glinted from the worn-down corner of the cigar box, and Helo recognized Zak's ring, the one she always wore... except to her death, apparently. He pushed it down more securely and hoisted the box of clothes and memories up, ready to take back to his quarters. 

After all, Kara will need something to wear when she comes back.