mr_gaeta | A Disquiet Follows My Soul

A Disquiet Follows My Soul

The talk with Boyd hadn't been an easy one. Once he makes it back to Galactica, Gaeta needs a few minutes to sit in his rack, turning the words over in his head as he ponders his options.

Plan it better. That's the big one. Hard as it'd been to hear the bluntness to Boyd's advice, he knows he needed to hear it. And he can make a lot of assumptions right now, but if there's one thing Gaeta can do -- even now -- it's collect data and extrapolate concrete numbers.

Like how many people could be on board, conceivably, if he started the mutiny today.

He picks a time when he knows the mess will be reasonably crowded: the larger the sample size, the better. Food's one of the great common denominators, so everybody -- from ensigns to captains, Marines to deck hands -- will have at least one representative in the tables.

And...oh. Look at that. Seated among today's representatives is Captain Thrace, a hand shielding her face as she picks at her food.

Perfect.

The click-tick of his crutches and prosthesis sounds loud and clear as he makes his way over to her table.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

These days it's not often she's disturbed during a meal. There are a handful of people who'll choose to sit with her if they're around: Helo, Athena, even the XO. Lee would if he hadn't left Galactica.

Sam would if she ever gave him a reason to think she'd appreciate it, but what do you say to the guy you married when he turns out to be a Cylon? If she ever figures it out maybe she'll tell him, but she has even bigger problems on her hands and none of them are how much this algae-based food still frakking sucks after all these months. If the people around her had seen what she found on Earth they wouldn't just keep their distance and whisper behind her back, and she's so sick of it all that not even nightly dates with a punching bag help.

The tap tap tap that says I've lost a leg is unmistakable. Felix is one more reminder of how frakked up everything is and just how wrong she was about Earth.

Her hand rests against her forehead, fingers curved like a shield for her eyes, and she pointedly doesn't look up. With any luck he just wants to take that chair to another table.

Yeah, no such luck, Kara.

With a tiny grunt, Gaeta lowers himself into the seat opposite hers, head tilted in an effort to catch her eye. He does a pretty good show of looking curious, looking mildly concerned.

"Captain Thrace," he says.

She doesn't move her hand, but her eyes wander over long enough to spot mild interest on his face. In fact, under the circumstances he's looking unusually... friendly, but she hasn't doubted where she stands with him personally since the night he broke down in front of the Circle.

(I don't know what else I could've done.)

If all he wants is the chair he's not spitting that out in a frakking hurry. Shoulders hunching, she screams not right now with every angle of her body.

"Whatever it is, I'm not in the mood, Felix."

He keeps up the look for another beat -- and then, Gaeta straightens in his chair.

Breezy, and with nothing approaching kindness any longer: "Oh, so you think I should give a frak about your mood."

It's pitched to carry just the right amount. Around them, forks pause, silverware stops clinking, and a few more gazes turn their way. Gaeta's eyes don't budge from Starbuck.

So that's what this is.

She gets it: the tables have turned. She's more surprised that this is happening now than she is by the fact that it's happening.

Putting down her fork, she quickly scrubs her hand over her face and pulls herself together, lifting her chin. "Okay." Her eyes meet his. "Let's have it."

People are watching, but she doesn't care. She'll take the hit.

"You tried to throw me out an airlock once."

There are so many other incidents between them he could bring up, but this is the one that really got to circulating through the scuttlebutt. This is the one with the broadest appeal.

Her eyebrows lift momentarily.

She can't even take all the blame for almost airlocking him, but his face tells her he's nowhere near finished and even this greatest hits list has to start somewhere.

"Still crying about that?"

Gaeta doesn't react, as if he never heard her interjection. He does, however, make a great show of thinking something over.

"The charges at the time," he muses, "were collaborating with the enemy in a time of war."

Turns out even Felix Gaeta has a flair for the dramatic. She doesn't need his reminder.

"Waiting for the punch line."

"Turns out the jury that convicted me was made of two Cylons." He smiles like he's savoring the irony. "Oh, and -- "

A quick gesture to Starbuck.

"A woman married to a Cylon."

So long as they're talking about collaboration.

"Rim shot," she announces loudly. "Big laugh, applause, applause" -- her hand claps against the table -- "applause."

His pacing sucked, but he's reached his point. She married a Cylon. She was kept by another Cylon for four months on New Caprica. She helped forge an alliance with rebel Cylons. If she's not the ultimate frakking bad guy, she's obviously close enough.

Her lips curve in a humorless smile. "Are we done? Oh, no, wait, I'm sorry. I forgot." Her head tips to one side. "We haven't gotten to the leg yet."

She isn't blind to the watchful eyes behind him.

"Fifty billion people are dead, and I'm supposed to give a frak about your leg?"

Gaeta leans back in his chair; the tiny, smug smile doesn't fade.

Why should it? This is all going exactly to script. It's refreshing, actually. It's so predictable for once.

"Yeah, who killed those fifty billion people, Kara?" he says, lifting his chin. By now, the whole room's dead silent except for the two of them.

Of all the things he could possibly try to guilt her over, this one isn't gonna work.

"It wasn't me."

"No, it was your husband," he lashes back.

Her mouth twists.

She's barely given Sam the time of day since Earth, but part of her wants to argue that he couldn't have had a hell of a lot to do with the attack on the colonies. He was a godsdamn athlete, playing Caprica's favorite sport and sometimes getting put on magazine covers. He played for the C-Bucs for years, and then he spent time terrorizing Cylons until she got permission to rescue him.

And he did it again on New Caprica.

And after they got off that frakking rock he quit the Circle because he didn't want to watch more people get killed. He makes the worst Cylon ever.

(Yeah, and then you wake up one day and discover you're another. Still doesn't change who you really are.)

The back of her throat tastes like ash. She swallows it down, her voice hollow. "Are you enjoying yourself? Is this how you get your kicks these days?" She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down, but as anger rises in her chest her voice lowers like she's ready to deliver threats. "Oh, wait. I'm sorry. I meant half kicks."

Lose a leg and you gain a grudge.

The honest truth is, Gaeta doesn't give too much of a frak about Sam Anders anymore. Not the Sam Anders who shot off his leg, anyway; no. Sam the Cylon, on the other hand --

It doesn't matter how crappy a Cylon he may have been. Gaeta would say the same thing about Tigh, or Chief, or Tory. But none of them shacked up with the woman sitting across the table.

He exhales a short breath through his nose, drawing the air of false contemplation around himself again. "What was Sam doing on Caprica?" he asks. "Before he so conveniently met you. You ever wonder? You think maybe he nuked a few cities, executed a few thousand prisoners?" An idle shrug. "I'm just wondering."

Gaeta pauses, fixes her with a closer look.

"But then again, maybe you're a Cylon, too."

Not too many things could come back from the dead the way their precious Starbuck did.

Locking eyes with him again, she bares her teeth. It's a smile with no humor, no happiness, no hint that she's wondered exactly the same frakking thing herself.

He's already gotten enough satisfaction out of this.

"At least I'm not a gimp."

He almost -- almost -- laughs at that. Gaeta's glance dips to his prosthetic leg before returning to Starbuck.

"One day. One day soon, there's going to be a reckoning, Kara," he says, quiet and level. "And once again, people are going to have to answer for what they've done."

A shadow of her earlier amusement creeps back onto her face.

"Is that a threat?"

A threat from Felix Gaeta.

She's heard worse.

He leans in, one arm pressed flat against the table.

"You're godsdamn right that's a threat," he hisses.

She weighs him with her eyes, then pushes herself away from the table. "Well, you know where to find me, Felix."

He's welcome to. Stopping beside him, she bends until her mouth is near his ear. "And in case you were wondering" -- her voice is low, almost sweet -- "I will definitely hit a cripple."

As she straightens up, she glances around the room at their audience. "Or anyone else."

Without another word to any of them, she turns to leave.

Gaeta waits, silently ticking off the seconds: one. Two. Three.

And then he turns his head to call to Starbuck's retreating back, "So I guess a pity frak's out of the question, then?"

Ripples of laughter cross the room; Kara herself doesn't deign to respond as she exits the mess. He counts the smiles, counts the number of people who throw him looks of disgust before rising to leave with her. The former definitely outweigh the latter.

Good.

He breathes out, shoulders sagging infinitesimally as he scrubs a hand over his face. When he looks up, nearly everyone still in the room has their eyes turned to him, as if waiting to see what he'll do next.

"Somebody close that hatch," he says, a bit too loudly. Wrestling the nerves under control, he turns in his chair to meet the gazes, one by one. "Let's talk."

The hatch thumps closed, and if he says anything more, nobody outside the room hears it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A Disquiet Follows My Soul

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject