Lee goes down, gets back up again.
Apollo ran to Dualla, kissing her on the wing of the Raptor in the sunlight. It was very romantic and lovely, that morning, but not as romantic as you might have thought.
The hits come slower and slower. Dualla watches. Kat screams, "Watch that pretty face!" But I honestly don't know which one she means. On Colonial Day, she wore a beautiful dress and smiled at him, clear and easy. The night before the settlement began, they took shots and ended up in bed together. She's bleeding, dukes up. They're both unsteady. She came back into his life, springing up at him from the floor, two years after Zak's funeral. She came back into Lee's life again and again and again; kicked him in the nads, shot him, disappeared again, waited until he was happy and content before she attacked again. She kissed Anders in front of him, a look of triumph on her face. The hits they're landing, when they connect at all, aren't anything. Token punches that say nothing. They fall into each other's arms, in the middle of the ring, covered in blood. When they rescued her off Caprica, Helo and Sharon in tow, she kissed him exuberantly and dared him, with her eyes and a funny grin. She teased him and said, again and again, "You love me! You love me! Lee Adama loves me!" And she knew what it meant, and he just thought it was obscene. It's not her that has problems delineating kinds of love: it's him. She doesn't have time for the categories. And after she shot him, when the Pegasus was nearly lost, he held her in his arms, just like this, and said, "Forever." Lee Adama loves Kara Thrace.
The crowd disperses until it's just Dualla and Anders watching. Lee and Kara stop moving altogether, locked up tight in their little box. "I'm outta here," says Anders, taking off, leaving Dualla to watch. She just shakes her head: there's all kinds of love, and all kinds of dancing. Kara Thrace loves Lee Adama: her dog tags never leave the box. Whatever forms it takes, whether it's hateful sex or lovely sex or marriage or sibling rivalry or simple friendship, you're either in or you're out. Her kind of commitment never had a thing to do with sex; after Leoben, I don't know if it ever will. That's what Dualla gets about Kara, and what Lee never will, because he's Little Miss Rules and Regs. He needs to draw lines around it, say this kind of dancing but not that kind, these kinds of loyalties but not those. This behavior and not that behavior. But Dualla gets that too, and she knows she's another line around it; the line of salt that accomplishes his separation from it. Lee and Kara embrace. "I missed you," she says, and he speaks, thickly at first, choking on the hits he's taken. The blood she's already spilled. "I missed you too," he says, and wonders what happens next. "I missed you too."