number_eight | 168

We have a tradition on Galactica. On your 1,000th shipboard landing, we celebrate. Everyone yells and screams, throws you on their shoulders, dumps you into this crate and pushes it around the hangar deck. There's even a song, if you're a Raptor pilot and let's face it, I'm not going to pay attention to any other song myself.

I've never landed that many times. I botch up my landings all the time, but Flat Top? Now Flat Top had done it, and everyone was cheering for our fellow Raptor jock. Apollo wasn't anywhere around, I heard, because he'd forgotten that it was his duty as CAG to congratulate Flat Top by putting a helmet on him with red paint that reads "1000".

Of course, I was on Caprica at the time. I only know about all of this because I have Boomer's memories of her friends, her fellow pilots, the sabotage and the deaths. I know, I know. You download from one body into a new one and then you get the memories, right? Well, not with me. The memories of "Sharon Valerii" were something programmed into me too, but I knew they were fake. It didn't make Flat Top's death any easier, though. Right in the middle of the frakking party, this communication drone fell onto the hangar deck and just... flew. It flew across to the celebrating pilots and killed Flat Top right in the middle of one of his happiest moments, along with twelve others.

It was a frakking accident, and I'm stuck with Boomer's memories of it all. I wish she could get stuck with how I feel about Starbuck right now.

She was Boomer's big sister, but she was my friend. Somehow, I know she'd want me to be partying right now, but frak her. Right now, all I feel is anger at her for pulling some stupid frakking stunt. Helo even told me that he'd known, somehow, that something was wrong and had tried to get her to talk to the same psychologist Hera is seeing, but as we say while we're flying, "no joy".

And I guess that's how I'm feeling right now, literally. No joy.

We have so few parties here that I can recall, and typically they all are tainted. Flat Top's celebration. Kat's latest promotion to CAG. The groundbreaking on New Caprica. And don't get me started on all the parties that happened when Baltar got voted in as President. Sometimes, you wonder if it's all worth it, all this fighting and trying to find Earth when your best friend ends up dead randomly one day.

There are five stages of grief. Logically, I can sit back and realize this. Denial -- my first thoughts whenever I hear someone else is dead and a number is removed from President Roslin's count. Kara can't be dead. She's the best there is. She can't be dead. Anger -- this intense need I have to fight with Helo for no reason, or go to the gym and kick the ass out of someone there. Frak you, Kara, for leaving me. Who the hell is going to be my friend? Racetrack? I've got no one except Hera and Helo now because you left me you stupid frakking bitch! Bargaining -- I try to figure out what I did wrong with a mission, or how it could have been different. Helo told you, Kara, to go to the psychologist. Why didn't you? If only you'd gone, then maybe...? Depression -- a feeling I'm only too familiar with, unfortunately. Just... leave me alone. Everyone. Take me off CAP, drop Hera off at daycare, just... I need to be alone. Acceptance -- that part of me that eventually works through everything, including Boomer's memories of Flat Top or the sadness of losing Kat. I miss you, Kara.

So, for you, Kara, I make this promise. I'm going to do what Boomer never could, what Flat Top only tasted the joy of... I'm going to make that 1000th landing. And when I do, then I'll party. For you. Starbuck, Captain, God, friend, sister... Kara.

That landing, that celebration, will be for you.

Muse : Sharon "Athena" Agathon
Fandom : Misc. TV/"Battlestar Galactica"
Word Count : 694