He's lost everything now, but he won't lose himself again.

There's a throb in his right side and he breathes past the pain, the puckered skin rubbing against the fabric of his tanks. He stops for a breathless moment and takes them off, tossing them aside before finding his stride again. The air is cold on his skin, a sharper chill against the bullet wound, so he focuses on it until he can find the burn that heats even the numb flesh.

He closes his eyes, the rhythm of the rope against the metal floor like a mantra. He ignores the words it whispers, listening instead to the blood pounding in his head, past his ears.

The air in the room changes and Lee opens his eyes, not faltering as he sees Sam Anders walk into the room and head straight for the punching bag. Lee's avoided Kara and her husband to the best of his ability. There have been enough old wounds rubbed with salt that he hasn't wanted to make a hard situation worse. He's heard the rumors and stories, and he knows that, no matter what his place in Kara's life had been, there's not a place in it anymore.

He keeps jumping, matching his rhythm now to Anders's fists as they fall hard on the bag, white chalk dust flying through the hair around the room. They ignore each other easily. They're not friends. They're not comrades. They're nothing to each other. So Lee keeps jumping and Anders keeps punching until Lee finally stops and wipes sweat from his eyes. Because, even if they're nothing to each other, they have something in common. "Kara?"

Anders doesn't break his rhythm, doesn't look at him. Lee watches for a moment then shrugs, wiping his face with the towel before grasping the rope again and starting another set, counting silently in his head. The punches grow louder, faster until they finally stop, the sound of them still ringing in the air.

Anders's voice is thick and gravelly, rough from emotion or disuse. "How did you do it?"

Word travels fast around a ship, faster still when Kara's involved, rumors flying as fast as her viper and with accuracy just as deadly. "Love her? Or walk away?"

Anders flexes his hands, the tape around his knuckles crackling. "Either. Frak." He sighs. "Both."

"Booze?" Lee laughs softly. "No." He clears his throat and rubs a calloused hand over his mouth. "You know the first part. Got it down to a science, I would guess."

Anders shoots him a look and then turns his attention back to the bag. Les shrugs, watching Anders as he pounds the bag again. "You love Kara because she's Kara. She's a bitch and a brat and insubordinate and frustrating and annoying and antagonizing and a pain in the ass, but she's Kara."

The blows hit the bag harder and harder with every one of Lee's words, continuing into the silence after he's done. Lee watches him for a long moment then sighs, his hand instinctively going to the scar on his side. He looks up as Anders goes silent again, only his pilot reflexes keeping him from getting hit as Anders swings the punching bag directly at Lee. "You still love her."

Lee huffs a soft laugh. "I'll always love her."

"Yeah, well, she's my frakkin' wife."

Lee shakes his head and starts to jump again. "Then why don't you start frakking acting like it." Anders reaches out, his hand closing around the rope, barely flinching as it cut into his palm. He jerks on it, but Lee holds it tight, stumbling toward Anders. Lee laughs. "You want her to be this nice little wife, love you for your daring rescue, and that's not Starbuck. Frak. That's not even Kara. You've got some image of her in your head, tattooed on your skin, but you don't even know the woman you're married to."

"And you do?"

"Know her better than you. I know she pushed you away because she doesn't want to hurt you, doesn't want to drag you down with her. I know she's drowning and she's afraid she's going to pull you under, so she let you go. I know that you walked away because otherwise you'd have a black eye and a broken rib, but you'd be with her. And, instead, you're here with me. Stuck on the frakking lifeboat she put you on to save yourself."

Anders scoffed. "You don't know her and you sure as frak don't know me."

"I know enough." Lee stepped closer, his face flushed with heat and anger and built up words that he's been holding down, holding in. "I know you walked away and so you're no better than anyone else whose ever left her behind, whose ever not pressed closer and held her tight and told her to shut the frak up and let them in instead of shutting them out."

"Well, I guess I left the door wide open for you then, Commander."

Lee shook his head. "I'm married. Kara's married. And, you want to know something, Anders? I know Starbuck like the back of my hand. I know who Kara used to be. But I don't know your wife any more than you do."

"Then what do you frakkin' know?"

"I know I want you to let go of my jump rope."

Anders looks down at the rope in question and then curls another loop of it around his fist and then another, pulling it tighter and tighter. "And what if I don't want to do that?"

"If you want a fight, go see your wife." Lee drops the rope and grabs his tanks, pulling them over his head. He can feel his dog tags burn against his skin, can't help but notice, in that instant, that the one Anders wore around his neck was gone.

Anders notes Lee's gaze and touches his chest where the tag fell. "Happy, Commander? You've got your Starbuck back."

Lee shakes his head and grabs his towel, heading for the door. "If you think that, Anders, you really don't know your wife. At all."