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The Face of the Enemy, Part V
Gaeta doesn't speak the whole time he's in sickbay.
He has an excuse, for some of it: hypoxia means a mask with pure oxygen for a good six hours. They clean the blood from his face and hands with a gentleness he despises, speaking quietly as they explain what tests they'll need to run to confirm he hasn't suffered brain damage. Gaeta stares straight ahead, only nodding when prompted.
When the tests come back clean -- no permanent damage, he overhears Cottle say -- Gaeta thinks he might burst out laughing.
At some point, he becomes aware that somebody's asking him for details. He sees rank pins and duty blues, but can't make the face conform to anybody he knows. So, in silence, he shakes his head.
Whoever it is doesn't press.
When Cottle discharges him for return to active duty, he finally manages a hoarse, "Thank you, sir," as he's gathering himself to leave.
Turns out he has a lot more to say once he's face-to-face with the Cylon standing across from him in the CIC -- especially when Tigh begins to talk about how, in that kind of environment, it can be difficult to trust your own memory. He means it as a prelude to why the admiral won't be opening an investigation, but all Gaeta can hear is, none of it was real.
He's spent too long pretending not to see the truth. Gods be damned if he'll do it again.
"Since a human is the sole survivor," says Tigh, "the Old Man's not inclined to make an issue out of it and risk the alliance."
The alliance. Gaeta's throat bobs. "Sir," he says, eyes fixed on the CIC table, "there shouldn't be an alliance."
"Cylon technology is going to keep this fleet moving, Mr. Gaeta," Tigh points out, and something deep inside Gaeta's gut turns over. Of course the XO would say as much. He has everything to gain from an alliance: security, his position in the Fleet, not being stuffed out a frakking airlock the instant he revealed himself as one of the Final Five.
"I need to speak to the admiral directly," he bites out, not bothering with a sir this time.
"Why would that be?"
He finally lifts his eyes from the table and fixes Tigh with a long look. "Because you're a Cylon," he says levelly. "Sir."
Gaeta didn't raise his voice, but the CIC goes as quiet as if he'd shouted the words at top volume. For a second, Tigh stares at him in disbelief. Gaeta's gaze doesn't waver.
Finally, eye narrowed: "There's a meeting later today to discuss some new idea of Mr. Tyrol's," says Tigh. "You can let the admiral in on your views there."
He lifts his chin as if he's about to nod, but doesn't lower it again. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir."
It sounds quite a lot more like frak off. Without waiting for Tigh's reaction, he limps out of the CIC.
He has an excuse, for some of it: hypoxia means a mask with pure oxygen for a good six hours. They clean the blood from his face and hands with a gentleness he despises, speaking quietly as they explain what tests they'll need to run to confirm he hasn't suffered brain damage. Gaeta stares straight ahead, only nodding when prompted.
When the tests come back clean -- no permanent damage, he overhears Cottle say -- Gaeta thinks he might burst out laughing.
At some point, he becomes aware that somebody's asking him for details. He sees rank pins and duty blues, but can't make the face conform to anybody he knows. So, in silence, he shakes his head.
Whoever it is doesn't press.
When Cottle discharges him for return to active duty, he finally manages a hoarse, "Thank you, sir," as he's gathering himself to leave.
Turns out he has a lot more to say once he's face-to-face with the Cylon standing across from him in the CIC -- especially when Tigh begins to talk about how, in that kind of environment, it can be difficult to trust your own memory. He means it as a prelude to why the admiral won't be opening an investigation, but all Gaeta can hear is, none of it was real.
He's spent too long pretending not to see the truth. Gods be damned if he'll do it again.
"Since a human is the sole survivor," says Tigh, "the Old Man's not inclined to make an issue out of it and risk the alliance."
The alliance. Gaeta's throat bobs. "Sir," he says, eyes fixed on the CIC table, "there shouldn't be an alliance."
"Cylon technology is going to keep this fleet moving, Mr. Gaeta," Tigh points out, and something deep inside Gaeta's gut turns over. Of course the XO would say as much. He has everything to gain from an alliance: security, his position in the Fleet, not being stuffed out a frakking airlock the instant he revealed himself as one of the Final Five.
"I need to speak to the admiral directly," he bites out, not bothering with a sir this time.
"Why would that be?"
He finally lifts his eyes from the table and fixes Tigh with a long look. "Because you're a Cylon," he says levelly. "Sir."
Gaeta didn't raise his voice, but the CIC goes as quiet as if he'd shouted the words at top volume. For a second, Tigh stares at him in disbelief. Gaeta's gaze doesn't waver.
Finally, eye narrowed: "There's a meeting later today to discuss some new idea of Mr. Tyrol's," says Tigh. "You can let the admiral in on your views there."
He lifts his chin as if he's about to nod, but doesn't lower it again. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir."
It sounds quite a lot more like frak off. Without waiting for Tigh's reaction, he limps out of the CIC.
no subject
He doesn't know how long he stands there, stunned silent and numb with shock as he watches Felix walk away, then continuing to stare at the bend in the corridor where he had vanished from sight, waiting for him to come back, to say it was just a joke, that he'd changed his mind; waiting to wake up from this horrible nightmare, somehow.
"Lieutenant? Lieutenant Hoshi? Sir?"
Hoshi jerks and fumbles a hand out to steady himself against the wall as he turns to face the concerned Marine who's stopped to address him.
"Sir, are you all right?"
He starts to nod, but can't quite make himself.
"I'm -- I was just lost in thought," he manages, his voice sounding distant in his own ears. "Thanks for asking."
Once the Marine leaves, Hoshi finds the will to make his feet move; first one, then the other. He stumbles back up the corridor, slowly at first, then faster, until finally he's almost running as he heads for the observation deck.
He'll wait for Felix at Milliways. Once he talks to the Admiral, he'll calm down, and then when he shows up, Hoshi can talk to him there. Whatever's wrong, they can figure it out together. They've been through worse. This can't be over.
It can't.