mr_gaeta | (no subject)

(no subject)

Just over a year ago, Gaeta made an implicit promise to Laura Roslin: keep an eye on Milliways.

There's been idle talk among some of the Ones -- always bitter, always the least likely to behave as if this is cohabitation and not occupation -- about shutting down the school; he can hope that it stays idle, but Gaeta knows that he ought to prepare for the possibility that it may not be. That could mean collecting data in an attempt to convince them otherwise.

That could mean visiting the school.

He keeps his head down for the entire walk to the tent, and it has less to do with the cold than one might assume.

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"If you come back, I can put together something that's a little more thorough."

She hesitates, then reaches out slowly and takes the sheets.

"But just in case you need to have any of the details before then..."

Roslin moves to the table, and seats herself in one of the chairs there. She adjusts her glasses, takes the pen, and begins to write in quick, precise strokes.

As she does, she adds,

"I've not found a route to Milliways aside from the door that I used to use on Colonial One, Felix."

A pause. She finishes the first few lines and glances up at him.

"That's why I haven't returned."

"...Ah."

Given how many times he's heard, from other patrons, about doors shifting and popping up in unexpected places, Gaeta had almost forgotten: he used to believe that the only way to Milliways was through Colonial One, too.

Maybe in their world, right now, it is.

(And that would certainly explain why Roslin doesn't expect to go back any time soon.)

"Yes. And as I doubt that I'm likely to be invited to visit the ship any time soon..."

Dryly said, and she leaves the obvious conclusion unspoken. Roslin turns her attention back to the pages, writing quickly.

It doesn't take long. She folds them in half, re-clips Gaeta's pen to them, stands up, and offers them back.

"I hope it's of use."

"I'm sure that it will be," he says, accepting the papers; he unclips the pen, tucks the sheets into the notebook, and slips both into the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Thank you, Laura."

"Thank you, Felix."

A beat.

"For everything."

The small smile that emerges then comes hesitantly, as if uncertain it belongs there at all, or expecting the thanks to be recanted suddenly.

"You're welcome," he says.

I'm just doing what I can, he thinks; but it would be repeating himself to say it aloud again.

As he turns to go: "Have a good day."

"You, too."

If he can, considering what he's going back to.

"If you need anything else... you know where to find me."

He glances over his shoulder. Gaeta's smile may be rather more crooked this time, but it's somewhat steadier as well.

"I'll keep that in mind." And because this, at least, never hurts to repeat: "Thank you."

He buttons up his jacket, and steps out into the cold.

Her slight smile lasts only until the flap falls shut behind him, then vanishes utterly.

If the school ends up being shut down, it's going to be a problem for more reasons than the children's education alone.

Roslin scrawls a carefully-worded note in code phrases that would mean nothing to an untutored eye, tucks it under the flap of the second box in the pile stacked on the chair, and then returns to the classroom.

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