Fic: Seven Days (PG-13) [Icon/fic exchange entry]

Title: Seven Days
For: wolfram9999
Prompts: Stranded and on the run. Raining. A brief respite.
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 2500
Summary: On Kobol, everything goes to hell.
Notes: AU from 'Home' Lovely and super-fast beta by reve_lucide.


- 1 -

On Kobol, everything goes to hell. The world explodes around them, bullets and earth flung into the air, mixing with abrupt, broken yells.

He shoots, but his aim is shit in the chaos. After the first few minutes – when he sees things he never wanted to see – he can barely see anything at all. So when someone grabs his arm, pulls him away, yelling, "Run! Now! Move it!" Galen does as he's told. He runs, shooting behind him, maybe bringing down a Centurion, maybe bringing down a blonde woman who looks vaguely familiar.

And then he concentrates on just running.

"Knew this would happen," Galen gasps, as he runs. "Frakking Kobol. Everything goes to shit here."

"You've been here before?" Helo isn't even breathing hard, but Galen figures that's from months of running on Caprica. Running on Caprica, frakking with cylons.

"Yep," he manages, "long story. Tell you later." If there is a later.

Frakking Kobol and its rain and tree roots getting in the way. And the hills. Galen hates hills, especially when they're slick with mud.

"Stop," Helo says, after a little while. "I think we're good. Nothing's following us."

Galen nods, leans up against a tree trunk, and slides to the ground. He has the sense to sit on his pack, but other than that, he doesn't think. He just breathes, deep and steady, and tries not to replay the images of Commander Adama, Zarek, and one of Zarek's goons getting shot to bits.

Shit. "We need to go back."

"No." Helo's head is tilted back against another tree trunk. He doesn't look up.

"The others –"

"If they're alive, they'll keep heading for the tomb. We should do that too."

It makes sense, but Galen can't shake the feeling – what if someone's hurt and waiting for help?

"Cylons don't leave people alive, OK? We'll only find bodies."

- 2 -

On the second day, they nearly run into three Centurions who are obviously sweeping the area for survivors.

"Three." Helo murmurs, as they crouch behind a screen of thick bushes. "Think maybe that means that there are more than three of us left?"

"Maybe. Maybe they just don't have anything else to do."

"Huh." Loading two rounds into his gun, Helo shrugs. "Guess maybe these ones don't have off-duty hobbies."

When they fire – taking careful aim so they don't waste ammo – the Centurions turn, start towards them, and then explode in flashes of red, silver, yellow. As soon as they're down, Helo grabs Galen's arm and pulls him up. "Come on. We need to move."

They move, trying to hide their tracks. They end up going in circles, intentionally. "Trust me," Helo says, "a direct line would be a mistake."

They walk all day, but they don't make it any closer to the tomb.

- 3 -

On the third evening, Helo smacks his fist against the ground, and mutters, "Frak. I can't believe I'm doing this all over again."

Galen looks up from his gun, his repetitive count of the rounds he has left. "What?"

Gesturing around their tiny shelter – tree boughs and grass, barely lit by the remains of the daylight – Helo grimaces, "This. Running around another frakking planet. Trying to find something that's impossible to get to. Getting soaked in the endless frakking rain."

Right. At least the weather seems to clear in the evenings. "Bright side? No radiation to worry about."

Helo snorts. "Yeah. Not yet."

"Also, I'm not a cylon." But even as he says it, he wonders if it's true.

The way Helo looks at him, he figures he's not the only one.

- 4 -

Day four, and they're actually making progress. They haven't run into any other cylon patrols, although Galen's not stupid enough to think that means they're safe. Still, it's enough that he starts thinking about other things – Adama, down. Starbuck and Apollo and the president, maybe still out there.

Or maybe not.

They'd be making better time if they had a guide, but he can't quite bring himself to say that. Instead, he asks, "You worried about her? About –" it almost hurts to think about saying her name, but he pushes past it, " – Sharon?"

He doesn't know what he expects Helo to say. He doesn't expect the shrug, Helo saying, "She's tough. She can handle herself."

She's one of them, Galen thinks, and maybe this was part of their plan. But he doesn't say it. "You really think that?"

"Yeah." Helo stops for a moment, looking back at him. He's grinning, and it's so out of place that Galen blinks, hard. "She's resourceful, you know? Never would've guessed it. Frak, she pulled my ass out of the fire so many times on Caprica. She found food in places I wouldn't even have looked. She could run for hours without stopping, always talking about getting back to Galactica, getting of the planet. She never stopped. She was like a –"

Machine, Galen finishes silently, when Helo suddenly cuts himself off, his smile fading. Frak. "She was that good, huh?"

"Yeah."

He forces a grin, and nods up at the slope. They still have two-thirds to climb. "Not like me, then."

Helo snorts, once, almost a laugh, and gets back to the climb.

- 5 -

They make good time on day five, until Helo stumbles, slips, and is sliding down, over rocks and roots and frak knows what else.

Galen moves without thinking, running, wishing he could dare drop his pack, just for a minute. Helo tumbles, rolls, grunts, and they're making enough noise to draw any patrols that might be around.

We're getting clumsy, he thinks, when Helo finally manages to slow his descent. Galen reaches his side, crouches down, starts feeling ankles and wrists, and ribs. "Anything broken?" It all feels fine to him, but he's not a medic.

Helo lies there, catching his breath for a few minutes, before he says, "Don't think so."

"Good." Standing, he reaches down, and Helo grasps his arm.

The climb back up is slow, frustrating, and they agree to stop early. Helo's limping, though he's trying to disguise it, and when they sit, Galen insists on checking out his ankle again.

It's swollen.

"I'll live," Helo says. "Got shot on Caprica. Didn't stop me from moving." He takes a deep breath, grimacing.

His frakking ribs better not be broken. Galen pushes aside Helo's jacket, presses down.

"What're you doing?"

"Breathing hurt?"

"A little."

"Might have broken your ribs." He presses again, moving his fingers, trying to find soft spots. "This hurting?"

"Not really. Probably just bruised."

He's warm under Galen's hands, a solid, unfamiliar bulk. Kobol is cool, damp, and maybe it's not freezing at night – enough that they've been able to get away without fires – but Galen momentarily wants to lean into that warmth, curl up around it. He leans forward, balancing himself on Helo's shoulder, ribs, and closes his eyes, breathing deeply. He half expects Helo to smell a little like Sharon – lingering scents of fuel and soap and the shampoo she'd used – even though that makes no sense.

Instead, Helo smells of damp and dirt and green things.

"Chief?" Helo's breath is warm on his cheek.

"Yeah?" He squeezes Helo's shoulder, once, lightly, takes a deep breath, and leans back.

"You, ah, OK?"

Galen shrugs, pulling his hands away. "Just sick of this planet."

Helo nods.

Later, Helo says, "I can't believe I fell like that."

"We're getting clumsy," Galen replies. It's partially because they're hungry, starting to run on reserves. Helo's decent at finding shoots they can eat, but it doesn't amount to much, and their mission rations barely lasted the first three days.

Galen's surprised they're still alive, surprised they haven't run into any other cylon patrols, but he's growing increasingly unsurprised that they haven't found anyone else. "Think they got there before us?"

He shrugs, and Galen watches the rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his body settles back into position. "You never know."

Right. "Seems unlikely."

Helo shrugs again, leaning back against a tree. Galen's never seen trees as large as the ones on Kobol, and he's grateful for the shelter they give.

"Unlikelier things have happened." Helo glances over, expression wry. "Didn't exactly think it likely that I'd come across Starbuck on Caprica."

Yeah, well Starbuck was always about doing the unlikely.

Later, Helo asks, "So, why did you join the Fleet?"

"Why do you ask?"

Helo's grin isn't quite forced. "Guess I like to bond when I'm on the run."

- 6 -

It's day six, and Galen is beginning to wonder if he's going to have a permanent mark around his wrist from where Helo constantly grabs him and pulls him along, pulls him up, pulls him out of the way. He rubs over the area, again and again, as they climb, until Helo finally asks, "You hurt?"

Shaking his head, he forces himself to stop. "Nope." But he can't stop thinking about the area, the slight burn he's sure is there. "How's your ankle?"

"Had worse."

He's hardly limping any more. Only piece of frakking luck they've had so far. "What do you think we'll find when we get there?" They can't be too far now, although he's sure they won't just find the tomb waiting for them when they get to the top of the hill.

Like everything else on this frakking planet, they'll have to work for it.

"If we're lucky? Starbuck and the others, the way to Earth, and maybe a chance to sit down and rest for a couple of hours."

Rest. Galen can't remember the last time he truly had a chance to rest. He can't remember the last time he had dreamless sleep, or did something that felt like an indulgence. Too much to do, all the time.

Later, they find an outcrop, surrounded by bushes, and after checking around, Helo says, "We should hole up here."

There are still hours of daylight left, but shelter is shelter, and this is driest place they've seen in days. Galen almost smiles when they set down their packs. He does smile when Helo hands over some of the berries from the bushes.

"Might kill us, might not," Helo says, popping one into his mouth.

"Story of our frakking lives, these days."

Helo half-grins. "Soon as we get back to Galactica, I'm looking for a new one."

- 7 -

Day seven starts with gunfire, the world exploding around them.

"Down, down!" Helo yells, as shots tear up the bushes, embed themselves into the rock.

Galen was half-awake, but the gunfire wakes him right the frak up, adrenaline surging. "What?"

"What else?" Helo yells, shooting.

Galen can see flashes of metal, he can hear the too-familiar sound of Centurions, and in the background, he's sure he hears more yelling. "You think –" he starts, but Helo is dragging him up again, pushing him through the bushes, and yelling, "Don't think, just move!"

He moves. "How many?"

"Two, at least. Come on!"

Two. One each, and Galen's still got a few explosive rounds. He turns, crouches down, aims as best he can with the leaves in his way, and fires.

Misses.

Frak. He fires again.

This one connects, cutting the Centurion in half. The frakking thing keeps firing though, so Galen curses, hunkers down, and crawls until he gets behind a rock.

No Helo. Frak, frak. When he ducks his head out, he can see the Centurion pulling itself along the ground. No sign of the other one.

Pulling back, he takes a few deep breaths, steadies his hand, and rolls out again. "Come on," he mutters, as the thing moves closer. "Come on, come on, come on." Closer, closer, and then he fires, hits it almost dead centre in the head. "Luck," he mutters to himself, looking around. It's tempting, so tempting to stay there, close his eyes.

But there's at least one more out there. He pushes himself up, scanning the area. Nothing. No Helo, no Centurions, nothing but trees. Sunlight is streaming through the leaves, the first he's seen in days, and he looks for the glint of sun on metal.

Nothing.

He finds a trail, branches flattened by something bigger than a human. "Stupid, stupid," he says to himself, as he follows it. "Let's just follow it home, yeah, great idea." But he follows anyway, as quietly as possible, fighting the urge to call out.

He can't stop himself from yelping a little when something grabs his ankle, though. "Frak!"

"Shut up!" Helo, hidden beneath a huge rotting tree trunk, motions him down.

Galen doesn't need to be told twice. "Where is it?"

Helo motions to the left. "Following something. Don't know what. It'll come back."

They wait. The ground is damp – of course – and seeps slowly into Galen's clothes. The birds are singing, and small creatures are running through the underbrush. Wind stirs the trees, and there's nothing, no tread of mechanical feet, no gunfire. "Maybe –"

"Shhh!"

He listens, and maybe there is something. Something slow, methodical. "Do you –"

"Yeah." Helo cocks his head. "I think. Oh frak!" He's turning, rolling to his back, and Galen turns to, already trying to back out of their shelter, scrambling backwards, away from the Centurion that moves more quietly than they'd thought possible.

"Backtracked!" Helo yells, bringing up his gun, but Galen knows it's too late, the Centurion is too close, and maybe it's backing them into another one, just waiting.

He fumbles for his gun, too late, too slow. He hears Helo's shot, knows it misses, and the Centurion is nearly on top of them, and all he can do is shrink back, back, and think no. Not yet.

It raises its arm.

Galen grips his gun, watching that flash of red, its eye. "Shoot!" Helo yells, and yeah, Galen can do that, even if his angle is so bad he'll hit a leg, at best.

He fires.

The Centurion's head explodes, unexpected, a frakking glorious flash. He rolls out of the way of shrapnel, moving until he comes up against Helo. They grin at each other, and Galen doesn't know about Helo, but he can't believe he made that shot. "I'm a better shot than I thought."

Helo shakes his head. "No way did you make that shot."

"You got another explanation?"

And then he lets himself sink back, lying against the ground, ignoring the twigs and stones underneath him. He breathes deeply, smelling the soil, the lingering acrid firefight residues. The ground is cool, solid. The air is full of life.

"Maybe this place isn't so bad after all," he mutters.

"You've got to be frakking kidding me," Helo replies.

There are bugs crawling into his hair, and a small bird suddenly dives down at him, chattering madly. Galen can't help it – he starts laughing. "Yeah, I am. Get me off this frakking rock and back to recycled air." No bugs. No Centurions. No angry little birds. No mud, or rain. He closes his eyes, thinks about home.

"Am I disturbing something here, boys?"

Galen startles at the voice, so unexpected, so familiar. "Starbuck?"

She's looking down at them, cocky grin on her face. Her hair's a mess, her face is dirty, and Galen's pretty sure that's dried blood on her shirt. But she's smiling, and she's there, and if he could get up, he'd touch her, just to make sure.

"Been tracking you since the shooting started. Lucky for you I was here." She gestures at the Centurion.

Aw, frak.

"Knew you didn't make that shot," Helo says, nudging Galen's shoulder.

"So? You two been taking the easy route? Stopping to take in the scenery? Guess this is what took you two so long. She said you were coming, but we were starting to wonder. I should've known you were slacking off, lazing around." She shakes her head. "Come on. They others are waiting."

She reaches down, holding out her hand.

Galen takes it.

End.