Written for the BSG big bang challenge on livejournal.
Thank you to Ray for having been the cheerleader. A big thank you to lanalucy for having been my you to plaid_slytherin for having been the artist. Art can be found here: plaid-slytherin.
This fic can also be found on AO3 where my penname is pamymex3girl.
Quote in the beginning is from the tv show 'revenge.' Title and last sentence are from the song 'Hallelujah.'
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It all belongs to someone else
'My understanding of Revenge was as simple as the Sunday school proverbs it hid behind. Neat little morality slogans like do unto others and two wrongs don't make a right. But two wrongs can never make a right because two wrongs can never equal each other. For the truly wronged, real satisfaction can only be found in one of two places, absolute forgiveness or moral vindication.'
In the end he did not cry.
Nor did he beg for his life, Gaeta that is, and truthfully Galen had expected him to do at least that even if in the end it would do nothing to change what was to come.
Jammer had begged – like the others before him – he'd begged and he'd cried, and he told truth and lies but in the end he too had died. Died because they refused to listen to him, died because Galen hadn't wanted to believe he was telling the truth, hadn't wanted to believe that everything wasn't as black and white as he wanted it to be, hadn't believed him until it was far too late to help the young man that had once been his friend.
But Gaeta, Gaeta didn't beg.
Nor did he cry.
He didn't try to run either, not that he would have gotten far, in fact in the end he didn't even move. He stayed on his knees, there where they'd dropped him and he just stared straight ahead, staring at nothing or perhaps at something they were incapable of seeing. There was blood too, though that didn't really register in his mind, blood from the punch Kara had given him not too long ago and still, despite all that, he did nothing.
And really that is the image that haunts him the most.
Because he could have fought, like the others before him, he could have begged, could have said anything – anything really because Galen had been on the fence the entire time, not sure if they should be doing this and anything would have convinced him not to do it. He could have pointed out that while admiral Adama might not miss Jammer he would definitely miss Gaeta but really none of them thought of that. And he had the answers, that was the worst, he had the key to saving his own life but he never used it, never spoke of it – neither did Kara for that matter but Kara had not known, she had not understood – because he didn't think they would believe him, didn't know that Galen had been the one receiving the messages.
That is the downside, he supposes, of doing everything in secret.
No in the end, right before he died, Gaeta just sat there, on his knees, unmoving, staring straight ahead.
Staring at nothing or perhaps at everything.
It wasn't until later, much, much later – long after they'd discovered the truth – that Galen realized that Gaeta was crying. But there were no sounds, no sobs or screams that would haunt him till his dying day – the silence was, as it would turn out to be, far worse than any sounds – but silent tears that ran down his cheeks.
He'd closed his eyes, right before the end, just seconds before they'd opened the airlock.
Right before that, less than a second really, their eyes had locked and Galen had seen so many emotions, like fear and resignation and acceptance. Like he had known, somehow, that this is how it all would end and he'd come to terms with that.
There had been no hatred in his eyes, or anger, just the fear and resignation.
And regret.
For what Galen doesn't know, for the life he couldn't live perhaps, or the friends he would never see again or perhaps for the truth that would never be known.
Or the things he couldn't change the people he couldn't help, no matter how much he tried.
And then he was gone, flown away into outer space in less than a second, and they'd stood there, the five of them, staring at the place Felix Gaeta had once been. They'd said nothing, like somehow – deep inside – they'd know that they'd done something wrong, like they'd known, despite their protests, that something wasn't right about this one.
Or maybe that was just how he looked at it in retrospect.
And then, then they'd just left, like it was all normal.
He'd known then, in that moment, that that was the end, that Gaeta would be the last one, that there would be no other executions, at least not with him there. That no matter who they found next – even if it was Baltar himself or one of the cylons – that he would never be able to stand there again and send someone out the airlock again. He was done.
But of course, as it would turn out, it was far too late.
At first Lee hadn't really realized something was actually going on.
In the days following their escape from New Caprica there had been a lot of missing person reports and some of them didn't make sense but really he'd thought nothing of it. He thought it was nothing more than part of the confusion, part of the chaos that was left after their escape from New Caprica. Everything was still a bit chaotic and if even he, who had most of the answers, couldn't make sense of it at times, he could imagine what everyone else was feeling. He'd just thought that people were misfiling paperwork, or filing the same missing person reports twice or missing people that were just on another part of the ship.
He'd thought nothing of it.
That is, of course, until Jammer quite suddenly disappeared.
Because the thing is Lee had seen him, after they'd escaped, he'd seen him walking around the ship – though always alone – and he'd even, briefly, talked to him. In retrospect something had been going on with him because he'd been alone, withdrawn and silent – and Lee hadn't known him well enough to figure out whether that was just the way he'd always been or whether something was really wrong. Jammer had been unable to look him in the eye, he remembers, though Lee hadn't been able to tell whether it was fear or shame that caused this.
And there were rumors, though not many, whispers that he'd done something wrong and stupid on New Caprica.
Now Lee has no idea what happened down there, mostly because nobody is talking about it – not that he really blames them – so he has to work with what people have written down which isn't much. But he does know this: those few months, whether they were spent down on New Caprica or on one of the ships, were filled with extremely stupid choices. (Like for instance his choice to stop working out and start eating a lot which was arguably the worst and stupidest thing he'd ever done.)
But still Lee had seen him so when his missing person report came across his desk Lee had known something was wrong.
At first he'd thought it was a mistake, that Jammer had perhaps not shown up for work and someone had been too hasty, and he'd gone out to look for him but he was nowhere. He'd asked around but nobody had seen him for some time and if they knew something then they weren't talking. He'd gone to Cottle, thinking he might have gotten hurt or sick and he'd searched everywhere – even in the darkest corners thinking the boy might have gone off to do something stupid or that perhaps he was just hiding somewhere until most of the anger died down – but he hadn't found him.
Eventually he'd gone to his father, with that and the other reports, but the older man had dismissed it as part of the chaos.
And Lee had wanted to believe it.
But he'd seen Jammer and now the boy was missing and it was strange and wrong and something was definitely going on because how does one go missing on a ship? But still he'd wanted to believe it, he'd wanted to believe his father was right, that it was nothing but what he thought it was at first: just part of the confusion. That those missing person reports were nothing and Jammer was just hiding somewhere on this ship, somewhere Lee hadn't looked, and he'd show up eventually.
Still he couldn't really shake the feeling that something was going on.
He refused to think of it however, refused to even consider the possibility that someone might be doing this, someone he knows. He won't entertain the possibility that Jammer isn't missing or hiding, that he hasn't gone off to kill himself but that somebody has killed him, because above all he didn't have time to deal with that – and yes he realizes that sounds kind of cold.
So he didn't think about it, ignored the possibility, until the moment Felix Gaeta doesn't show up for his shift.
And you see the thing is he really doesn't know Gaeta that well, not at all really, he's talked to him – obviously – and he knows about him but he doesn't really know him. Before the attacks, before everything, he and Gaeta hadn't even interacted not really – but then a lot of things wouldn't have happened if the cylons hadn't attacked, both good and bad – and even after that they didn't really interact. Gaeta was friendly, perhaps a bit too, and always listening, always doing what he was supposed to, even if that would turn out to be wrong.
He doesn't know him that well but here is what he does know: you could practically set your clock by him, he's that reliable.
That's the way he is, it's the one constant, the one thing you can always count on. Felix Gaeta will always answer any question you ask even if it is a stupid one, he will always follow the commands of his superiors – even if those come from people he doesn't respect – and he is never, ever, late. Not even a second. Seriously Lee is half convinced that the guy would show up on time if he was bleeding to death from a cylon attack. (Okay probably not but still.) So when he doesn't show up for his shift well that's definitely weird and now even his dad agrees because, like he said, Felix Gaeta is reliable.
So there he goes, off on another search of a missing person that really shouldn't be missing – and really he's pretty sure this isn't actually a part of his job – and he decides to send the marines of to look everywhere he can't.
Dee doesn't know where he is, hasn't seen him since lunch, she says, where she saw him talking to Kara, which is kind of strange when he thinks about it. But Kara doesn't know where he is either – but she is acting strange, shifty, and unable to look him in the eye but she's been acting strange since New Caprica so it might be nothing. He talks to Helo, because he's the XO now – and a lot easier to talk to than Tigh for that matter – and he knows that Felix and Helo are friends, have been friends for a very long time, but he doesn't know anything either (he considers talking to Sharon for a moment but he decides not to, far too complicated.)Tigh just ignores him and takes another drink, Tyrol looks angry and worried and nobody, nobody has seen Gaeta since he talked to Kara at lunch, except she didn't do anything to him there because everybody saw him leave.
Leave and then disappear, which is definitely not normal.
Here's a fact: people don't go missing aboard the Galactica.
They can't – they are onboard a ship that's afloat in space and can't be left after all. They might get lost, especially if they're new, they might get hurt somewhere in the many hallways where it would take a while to find them or they might hide. But they don't go missing. And that is the reason, really, that he dismisses his son when he comes in to talk about missing persons because it's impossible. It's nothing to worry about, he assures him, just part of the chaos; it will be sorted in a little while. But then, well, Mr. Gaeta goes missing and well that is weird because the man is always on time for everything. It's probably nothing though, really, the guy had been on New Caprica, close to the cylons and Baltar, so perhaps he just needs some time to work through it all.
So he's not that worried, not really, the man is probably just hiding, he'll show up in no time.
Except this is Felix Gaeta and he is never, ever late.
He might be having a breakdown somewhere on his ship, might be losing his frakking mind, might be hurt, but he'd call in to say he can't come to work. That is simply the way the guy is built and so that probably means something isn't right. And well there might be a bit of guilt involved because a few days after Bill had come to the conclusion that he didn't need to worry about Gaeta – he really had enough with Kara and Saul – it turns out he might have been wrong about that. So he does the only thing he can, he sends Lee of to find him because well if anyone can it's his son and besides he's married to Dee and he's pretty sure that Dee and Gaeta are friends and thus she'll know where he is and all this worrying will have been for nothing.
So really he thinks nothing of it until there's a hesitant knock on his door about an hour later.
It's Anders looking somehow smaller than he normally is, staring at the floor with a sad look on his face. He looks sad and lost and angry and embarrassed and pretty much everything but what he has come to associate with the happy man that married Kara. And when he speaks his voice is low as if he's straining himself to talk, shaking and so small. He wants to reassure him, really he does, he wants to tell him that whatever it is it's probably not that bad, but there's something about the younger man that makes him stop.
"Admiral Adama, Sir, I need to tell you something."
Then the younger man starts to talk and every "it's okay" and "we'll fix it" fly out the door because this, this is definitely not what he was expecting.
He doesn't want to hear anymore because he finally understands, he finally knows what has been happening on his ship and he finally knows what exactly happened to Mr. Gaeta and he wishes he didn't.
Like he said people don't actually go missing aboard the Galactica.
But they are, apparently, thrown out of airlocks.
It was something that needed to be done.
It should be noted that it was not something he particularly wanted to do, nor is it something he wanted to think about; but it was something that definitely needed to be done, no matter how terrible it really was. That's how simple it was really because there had been people on New Caprica who had committed terrible crimes and those people should be punished for what they had done, that was simple justice. Trials, should they choose to go down that road, would take months – perhaps even years – and those might not end the way everyone wanted them to. It would mean dragging out the horrors of the occupation and they could not do that, for they needed to let go and move on, but they could not if justice was not served. And it needed to be done fast and so it might not have been a good thing but it was definitely a necessary one.
And Zarek had known, always, that Roslin would not, probably could not, do it.
He does not blame her for that nor does he consider her weak – in many ways she is truly stronger than him – it is simply not in her nature to do this. But he was still president – even if it was only for a few more days – and he felt it was something he needed to do. So he did, signed the papers and gave them permission to perform fast and speedy trials and then punish those that were found guilty. Let them – Adama and Roslin and probably Apollo too – paint him as a horrible person, let them blame him for what was to come, he really does not mind. Like so many times before and probably many times still to come, he was the only one who had the stomach to do the horrible things, the things no other wanted to face and for once he could actually do what he believed needed to be done. Roslin might regard him with disgust, Adama might lose his temper, but he could leave with the knowledge he had done something.
It wasn't, in the end, as if he'd given them a license to kill just one to punish the guilty.
The difference was clear, it was not about revenge – though it seemed that was what they believed – it was about justice, and as such there were rules that needed to be followed. Rules they would not break – he had been very careful in choosing who he gave the power to – for to break them would make them no better. It's a trial in the end, just a speedy one. So no matter what they say, no matter what they do to him – and they'll do nothing because they don't want to draw attention to it, they want it to stay behind closed doors shrouded in darkness where nobody can ever find out and really that had been his intention as well – he knows he did the right thing, he knows that he did what had to be done.
So let them be angry, let them be disgusted, he knows he's right.
He always is after all.
Tomorrow he will no longer be president and that's okay because he'd known it was coming – and he thinks it's only fair really; he'll take his part of the blame for what had happened. He had been the one to back up Baltar, he had been the one to focus their attentions on creating New Caprica, and he would suffer for that. They don't understand – most likely they don't want to understand – he knows that, they hate him again, he knows that too, and they would have never done it themselves even if a part of them will acknowledge that it was something that needed to be done.
It's okay really, he can live with that.
At least this time he's not going back to prison.
Now Lee is really convinced that something has happened.
Earlier he saw Anders going into his father's study and later when he'd walked past his study again – still going through the ship searching for the missing people – he had seen his father come out angrier than he had ever seen him and – he thinks – disgusted. He'd just walked past him, perhaps he hadn't seen him, perhaps he was ignoring him but he'd been so angry Lee had not dared to stop him. Anders had followed, defeated and lost – so far away from the happy man Lee had seen last on New Caprica – and he'd looked so bad that Lee had not been able to bring up the courage to ask him what had happened, he had been too afraid to hear the answer.
Instead he'd returned to his paperwork attempting to feel as if he'd at least accomplished something.
That's when he found it.
Felix's report about the events on New Caprica, buried between all the other reports he had gathered over the past few days – and he's sorry he didn't find it before this happened, whatever this is. Complete with the story off a yellow dog bowl and information given to the resistance and Lee knows, he knows he's read it somewhere before, he thinks it was in the report the chief filed. He's not sure why the man filed a report, or more precisely he's not sure why his report landed on his desk but he suspects it had something to do with the mystery source and the Chief's hope that Lee would find out who it was. It takes him a moment to find it but there it is black on white.
There was no way, no way at all, that Felix could know all those details and not be the source.
Which means Felix Gaeta was a hero.
A missing hero.
He's not sure how much time passes, not sure how long it takes for his father to show up, all he knows is that the older man is suddenly just there. He looks worn out, tired, about ten years older than he is which kind of signifies that something bad has happened, and Lee doesn't want him to talk, he no longer wants to know. He doesn't want to know because he knows the truth now, knows what Felix did for them and he also knows, with a sinking feeling, that something bad has happened to the other man. And that's not fair, it's not right, because the man is a hero and Dee's best friend and if something has happened to him Lee will have to tell her… But he can't stop his father from talking nor can he walk away from the truth.
It's a tale of executions and something called the circle and "those missing persons aren't missing son, they're dead."
Lee thinks of Jammer, so shifty and unable to look him in the eye and Felix Gaeta so reliable you could set your clock by him.
They sit in silence, for how long he does not know, after the tale is done.
Then Lee slides the papers to him no longer able to say it out loud, no longer able to tell his father what he'd discovered.
That Felix Gaeta is a hero.
A dead hero.
A murdered hero as it turns out.
And Lee really doesn't know what he's supposed to do with that.
Briskly Adama makes his way across his ship ignoring everyone.
He figures, and correctly so, that if somebody truly needs him, if somebody has something extremely important to tell him they can do so later. Later when he's no longer dealing with this – this he cannot even name – though he suspects he will be dealing with this and the fall out for a very long time. Even if he knows, even now, that nothing will be truly done about it for there is too much at stake, too much already lost, and those involved too important to simply turn away. His first thought, his first instinct, had been to go to Saul and beat some sense in him, to talk it over until he understands, until he sees what his friend was thinking. And he understands that his friends –and the others – went through some traumatic experiences, but that does not excuse this.
He wants to scream at Kara, demand an explanation; he wants to ask the Chief what the hell he was thinking.
He doesn't because it's much better if this is buried.
Instead he goes to Laura.
It is his only option really, she will be president again in a few days and she should know this. Though he doesn't want to tell her, doesn't want to burden her with this knowledge, he knows it needs to be dealt with. Not for the first time he wonders what the hell Zarek had been thinking. And Adama understands, really he does, that New Caprica had been traumatic and that crimes had been committed on that planet, and he knew that those people should be punished. But this, this was nothing more than murder, sanctioned by a president who was punishing instead of helping.
When he tells her Laura doesn't really react, shocked as she is.
Not that he blames her, not that he reacted differently, not that he really knows how to react to this or what to do with it. It doesn't help, not at all, that when they confront Zarek – with the paperwork that Anders had provided - the man truly believes he did nothing wrong. Calm and collected, with no shred of embarrassment, the other man simply tells him what he did and why he did it. Not unlike before, the other man truly believed in his cause, in what he had done, and Adama would be lying if he said he didn't understand at least partly why he had done it.
But Adama lived with these people, he worked with these people, they were part of his crew.
And he was the one who had to deal with the consequences.
But Zarek cares not, sure as he is of his own right, and Adama doesn't think he'll ever be able to truly work with the other man again, even if a part of him understands why he did it.
The problem with speedy trials such as these - though these could be barely called trials - it was easier to make mistakes, easier to execute somebody who had not truly done something wrong. He doesn't want to know, doesn't want to find the answer to the question that has plagued him since Anders told him the truth: how many did they execute before Anders deemed it was too much? And how many did they execute after he left? Laura advocates silence, she advocates that they should keep this to themselves and not acknowledge what has happened and he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she is right.
But he is the one who has to work with them; he is the one who has to deal with it.
On his way back to Galactica he decides that he will keep the silence, just like they decided, but he will let them know that he knows what they have done. And he will tell Lee because his son had been so worried about the missing people and he doesn't want him to keep looking for them.
This is what he learns during that conversation: there are some things you wish you'd learned before everything went to hell. Like the knowledge that Mr. Gaeta was the source the chief had talked about, the one who had done so much to save them all.
Here's another thing he learns: if it's too late to do anything about it you should never find out.
And it is too late for Mr. Gaeta, far too late, and too late for all those involved as well.
Here's something Galen didn't know before: silence could be downright painful.
Filled with disappointment.
He really wishes the admiral would just scream, vent all his anger, and say all the things Galen knows he wants to say. Say the things Galen has been telling himself, say the things Galen knows are the truth. But he knows it will never come, never be said, not by the other man, because he knows that what has happened will be buried. Never to be mentioned again, only known by a few people, and they would spend the rest of their lives pretending they didn't know. But he would know, and so would the others, that the Admiral knew – the Admiral and his son and probably Helo since the other man was acting XO, and Gods Helo had been Gaeta's friend and would probably never forgive him.
They were wrong.
But really Galen has known that for some time, ever since Jammer had cried and begged and told him that he saved Cally and Galen hadn't believed him. Hadn't believed him and it had turned out to be true and it had been too late to thank the younger man or save him.
The Admiral had chosen to speak to them apart, Galen is not sure why, perhaps it was a way to see how they would react to the news he was about to give, perhaps he feared he would not be able to hold his tongue if they were all together standing before him. Either way, a few hours after Felix died Galen found himself standing in the older man's study, avoiding the other man's eyes, keeping his silence just as was expected of him. All he does is listen, listen as Adama tells him about Gaeta the hero, Gaeta the source he had been searching for, and the yellow dog bowl and it is – was – him Mr. Tyrol, because only two people had known about that.
Felix Gaeta was not a traitor.
Felix Gaeta was the source.
Felix Gaeta was the reason they got off New Caprica, he was a hero, he was the reason Cally was alive.
And he had killed him.
They had killed him.
They had murdered him, and others, and they had hidden behind paperwork, behind a permission that had come from higher, telling themselves that it would not be given if it wasn't just. They had decided, just in a few moments, who was to be punished and who was to live as if they were Gods. Gaeta hadn't deserved it, not at all, and how many others, Galen wonders, hadn't deserved it either? How many of them, perhaps even all of them, had deserved a second chance?
Adama doesn't yell, doesn't admonish him, and doesn't tell him how wrong he was.
He just stares at him in silence.
Until Galen can no longer bear it, can't stand there for a second longer – can't be anywhere for a second longer – and asks permission to leave. He rushes outside, passing the colonel – and for a second he considers warning him but there's no point since the other man will find out soon enough. And really he can't stop, needs to get away, far away, until he reaches the bathrooms and then he's just throwing up all his breakfast – and what seems like everything else he has ever eaten.
He's tired and guilty and wrong and filthy.
He should go to work, just like the Admiral told him to, should get out there and do his job; he can't change the past anyway. All he can do is do his job as best he can and hope it is enough to atone for his sins, at least a little. He should do what Adama has decided should happen: pretend nothing has happened at all. But he can't move, can't even breathe, all he can do is remember. And he can't bear it, the image of Felix on his knees, crying in silence, just waiting for his end to come. He wishes he could burn it away but he probably can't.
He can't work even if he should.
He can't go home and be around Cally and Nicky because he doesn't deserve them.
Instead he makes it to the bar and takes a swig of the strongest drink he can get his hands on. And then another, and another, hoping it will burn the image away.
Charlie had never considered they might be innocent.
He'd assumed, he'd truly believed, that they were all guilty, every last one of them. All those that had signed up to help the cylons, regardless of their motives, all those that worked by Baltar's side, all the cylons. He'd believed, he found them all responsible for the death of his son, his little boy, whether or not they actually knew about it. They were all guilty, they'd all done something, and they all deserved to be punished, every last one.
He'd never considered he could be wrong.
To be fair he didn't think of many things besides his dead little boy didn't think of anything but his pain and anger. He'd have just executed them all without talking about it, without thinking about it, and there's a part of him that's grateful that the colonel insisted on talking about everything because otherwise Gods only knows how many innocent people he would have thrown out of that airlock. Like Gaeta, who turned out to be a savior.
And yet, and still, if he could have, if it would have worked, if throwing Gaeta out of that airlock, innocent or not, would have given him his son back he wouldn't have thought twice about it.
If he could have gotten him back by throwing the admiral and everyone inside this ship out of that airlock he would have done that too.
Except it doesn't work that way (of course it doesn't.)
The boy can't come back (of course he can't.)
Neither can Gaeta.
He'd feel guiltier; he'd feel like dying, except he already felt that way.
There are many things in his live that Lee wished he'd never had to do.
At this particular moment in time telling his wife about her best friend's demise was definitely at the top of that list.
Right now he would give anything, anything at all, not to have to do this, not to have to shatter the world of the kindest woman he knows, but there's no going around it. And his father was right, Dee was his wife and she needed to be told about Felix's death by someone she trusted, by someone she loved. Lee knew this but he would still do anything – including talking to members of the so-called circle or do the paperwork of everyone on this ship for the rest of his life – anything but tell her this story.
But she needs to be told and it cannot be postponed because this won't stay a secret forever.
Someone will figure out Felix Gaeta is missing and his father will have to make an announcement.
Even before that, rumors would be circling and she had to know before those rumors would reach her. He wishes, desperately, that this frakking ship was bigger so it would take longer for him to make it to his quarters but of course it's not and he finds himself at his hatch before he's ready to face her.
As if he'll ever be ready to do that.
He has to go in, has to make it past his hatch because Dee was Felix's best friend and she deserved to be told.
Even if he hadn't yet figured out what it was he was going to tell her.
For a moment, a fleeting one, he wishes she wasn't home, that he could still somehow put this off, but of course she is home. Because right now, right before he shatters her world, she is so happy, so filled with life and he, her husband, is about to destroy her entire world.
Again.
But he can't put it off anymore so he closes the hatch, takes a deep breath and sits down on the bed beside her.
Taking her hands in his he starts: "Dee there is something I need to tell you."
She'd known something was wrong the second Lee walked through that hatch.
It was something in his eyes, some emotion she couldn't comprehend or name and it had chilled her to the bone. Something had happened, something bad, and whatever it was it had something to do with her. And for the life of her, Dee couldn't figure out what it was. She had no family besides Lee and if it was about him someone else would have come.
And then it clicked in her mind, if it wasn't about Lee then it was about Felix.
She didn't want to hear what he had to say.
She didn't.
Because she knew in that moment, before he started talking but when she figured out who this was about, that whatever had happened it would break her heart. But there was no stopping him, no telling him not to tell her because she had to hear it, she had to accept, she had to know. But that didn't mean, not even close, that she wanted to hear it, or that she would ever be ready. His voice was steady as he told her that her best friend in the whole world was dead, that he would never, ever return.
She wanted his voice to shake; she wanted him to be as broken about this as she was.
She was his wife and Felix was her best friend and even if he didn't like him Lee should be as hurt about this as she was because he loved her.
She thinks, she's not sure, but she thinks she might have yelled that at him.
That and so much more.
He never blames her for anything she says then and she never remembers what it is exactly that happened in those moments right after she was told what had happened.
She's not sure she wants to.
She does remember what comes right after that - once she's done yelling she begins to cry, scream in pain and he holds her, holds her until she's done.
She shuts down after that and remembers nothing.
Nothing but darkness and silence.
She had the answer all along.
That was the worst thing about the situation, not the fact that Sam wouldn't talk to her or the way the admiral looked at her when he told her or the fact that Lee – who had been her friend for so long – wouldn't even look at her. No it was the fact that she'd had the answer all along, that she'd known the truth without realizing, that she'd had the key to Gaeta's survival all along and she'd dismissed it. Because she hadn't considered, not even for a second, that he might be telling her the truth, that he might be a hero and not a villain.
So she'd said nothing, she'd kept her silence.
Kara had been wrong.
She takes another swig from the bottle and sets it down on the table, hard. She's alone, which is a rare feat, and she knows that in a few moments other pilots will fill this room and crowd her. She wasn't ready to be around people yet even if she knew, beyond a doubt, that none of them would know what had happened. It wasn't the only thing haunting her, there was a little girl that could have been hers and a husband that wouldn't talk to her or even be around her – and she wishes that she'd listened to him, but she hadn't wanted to listen, she'd wanted to lash out. There was the Admiral, to whom she'd always looked up and whom she'd loved like a father from the moment she'd met him who'd looked at her with ice-cold eyes and told her to get out of his office.
And then there was Lee and all that had happened between them.
They'd always been close, too close even when Zak was still alive, but they hadn't been on talking terms since New Caprica and her wedding. Even so Kara had sort of thought, she'd almost expected, that once they got back on the ship and back to their normal – well as normal as they could be of course – lives they'd fall back into their normal patterns. And maybe they would have, maybe with a little time they would have made it back to who they were but then Gaeta had died and it had all been destroyed.
He wouldn't even look at her anymore.
He probably never would again.
It's not that hard to imagine why, if his father knew then he knew too and Lee wasn't the kind of man that would forgive this. Besides he was married to Dee and she knows, everyone knows that Gaeta and Dee were best friends.
This probably killed her.
She hadn't even considered the consequences to their actions and she knows the others didn't either.
If they had they wouldn't have done it.
She should have listened to her husband.
She downs the rest of the bottle and leans back, trying to forget everything that had happened.
She hadn't wanted to kill anyone, especially not an innocent; she'd just wanted someone to pay for what had happened to her. She'd believed Gaeta was guilty, she'd never considered he might be telling the truth.
Days, she's not sure how many though, after it all goes down she sees Helo and she realizes she hasn't talked to him in months. She moves towards him, starts saying something when he turns away from her and says nothing more and that's when she remembers something she had forgotten until now: Helo and Gaeta were also friends and Gaeta had been nice to Sharon – Athena she reminds herself – and that would always make him like somebody even if he himself didn't really.
He didn't say anything but the look of disappointment in his eyes was enough for her to walk away.
He knew.
Of course he knew, he was acting XO after all.
She should have listened to Gaeta when he told her about the yellow bowl, she should have told the others even if she thought it was a lie.
She didn't and it cost her everything.
Sam knows he should have stayed and stood his ground.
If he had, if he'd just stuck around instead of leaving when it became too much, then nothing would have happened. Because he'd been done, done with everything, done with the trials and the voting and the executions, just done. And he'd known that no matter how guilty the next person he would never be able to vote yes again and he'd known that – although the others were still ready to go – the Chief too doubted and he too was thinking that it was enough.
But he hadn't stayed, he'd walked away and he'd been gone by the time Felix died.
Instead it was his wife who voted yes.
But he's not walking away from this blameless, guiltless, he too is at fault. He'd voted yes before, of course, and others had died because of it. Maybe they were guilty, in all fairness they probably were, but the question remains, the option that they could have been like Gaeta remains. They could have been innocent and he'd voted yes.
He'd been done by the time Felix's file came.
But he wants it noted, in case someone is going to call him right later, it had nothing to do with Felix Gaeta.
He barely knew the other man after all, he's not even sure he'd actually really talked to him. It wasn't until they were on New Caprica that the other man became a part of his life but it wasn't in a good way.
So his change of heart had nothing to do with Felix Gaeta.
And that is not why he went to tell the Admiral.
He went because Kara was with them, because she was going to vote yes, because she was so angry and she wanted someone to hurt the same way she was.
It wouldn't matter what he thought.
And he'd known when he watched her walk back into that room that they had gone too far.
So he went to tell the Admiral.
He'd been too late to save Gaeta.
And then later, not even an hour later, he'd stood in front of the Admiral and he'd heard the truth about Gaeta.
They'd gone too far.
It was too late to change anything.
And now, after everything, he couldn't even be near his wife anymore.
Because she was guilty, because he was.
Helo had known Felix for years.
They'd been friends for so long Helo couldn't even remember when they'd first met, or actually he could but it felt like they'd known each other their entire lives. He wasn't his best friend, that was Kara, but there was something so unbelievably likable about the other man and so they'd been great friends.
Felix was the first to smile at him when he arrived after his months spent on Caprica.
He was also the only one, for a while at least; who was still happy he was alive even after the truth about Sharon's condition came out. Most people on the ship had shunned him after that, looking at him with expressions of loathing and pity, but not Felix. Felix had been just as happy as before, just as friendly, he'd been the only one brave enough to still sit with him at lunch, the only one who would actually talk to him, at least those first few weeks. He hadn't cared about what happened with Sharon, hadn't cared he'd gotten her pregnant – and really when he slept with her he hadn't known she was a cylon – and if he had he'd never let it show.
He'd just been his friend.
Over the years Helo had gotten used to him, to the fact that Felix was always there, always reliable. So when he wasn't there that morning Helo had known something had happened, but considering how everyone else was acting around him he'd just thought the other man was hiding. He'd made the decision that as soon as his shift was done he was going to find Felix, no matter how long it took, and be the friend that Felix had once been to him.
And then right before his shift was over the Admiral had called him to his office and told him what happened. He'd said he'd debated whether or not to tell him everything but since he was acting XO – and considering how the Colonel was acting and what had happened it didn't seem very likely that the Colonel would be taking his job back, at least not anytime soon – he'd felt that Helo needed to be told.
He'd been in shock from the moment the Admiral had told him.
About the circle and the voting and the executions and Felix was dead. He just couldn't wrap his head around it, couldn't comprehend it. Not about the Chief voting to kill him and Kara, his best friend, killing Felix. He couldn't understand, didn't want to, and he never wanted to see Kara again. He can't remember much about what came after, he'd been too shocked, but somehow he'd made it back to his bunk and Sharon had been there and so he'd told her. He'd made her promise not to say anything, not to do anything, but he'd told her, he couldn't not tell her.
Felix Gaeta had been his friend for years.
Felix Gaeta had always been there.
But now he never would again.
And Helo just couldn't get used to that.
Felix had been the first to call her Sharon.
Without any malice in his voice, without any taunting, without any hatred; he'd just called her Sharon. He hadn't meant to, she knows, he'd been so used to the other Sharon – her sister, Boomer – that when he saw her and she asked for something he'd just called her by the name he knew, nothing more. But still he had done it and he'd been the first – besides Helo – to call her by any name, to individualize her. Helo had asked him later – she knows because he'd told her –and Felix had told him that he'd called her Sharon because he was used to calling her – or at least someone that looked like her – that. But, he'd said, he'd also called her Sharon because he assumed it was her name and it seemed so wrong for him not to call her by her name.
It's still one of the best moments in her cell that year, that moment she realized that there was someone else on this ship that saw her as something more than a thing, something more than just a cylon. He'd individualized her, given her a name, it truly did not matter why he'd done it but just that he'd done it. He hadn't been her friend back then but he'd been Helo's, she knows, and that had been enough at that moment.
That and the fact that he'd called her Sharon.
Later – after her beautiful little girl died and following their rescue mission on Caprica – the Admiral had sent him down to ask specific questions about cylons and their technology. And Felix had seemed genuinely interested in cylon technology and he'd been nice to her – he'd brought her a table and a chair and a light to see at night even though she really didn't need one – and Sharon had counted him as one of her friends, the few she had at that time. And she'd been so glad, so relieved, when she'd discovered he'd survived.
And now, now he was dead.
Dead at the hands of those he had called friends, dead at the hands of those he worked with.
And she thinks, wonders, realizes, that if they could turn on own of their own – a human – than what was to stop them from suddenly turning on her? From suddenly deciding that they really did not trust her and that they did not care what the Admiral thought? From turning on Helo?
Nothing, that's what.
So she'd said nothing – not to them, not to anyone else – because she was definitely not going to draw any more attention to herself and Helo than she already drew.
But she was never, ever, going to forget about this.
And she was never taking her eyes off them.
Because she might have chosen the humans and she might be glad to be a Colonial officer but she had chosen Helo first and he was the important one.
And she was never, ever going to forget Felix Gaeta.
Her friend and the first person, besides Helo, that had called her Sharon and meant it.
The bottle in front of him was empty.
And Saul knew, he knew, that he'd finished it, that he'd drunk all the liquor, but he couldn't remember doing it. He's not sure if that means he's so drunk he can't see straight anymore – and he probably is – or that he was so out of it, so lost in his thought, that he literally didn't notice. A little of both, he guesses. He stared at the empty bottle, as if by staring at it he was somehow going to make more appear even though he knew it didn't work that way. To get more he'd have to get up and buy some more, because he'd already finished everything in his bunk, but he couldn't. The thought of getting up, the thought of moving, was making him sick and he couldn't face anyone right now, even if he knew that nobody would really know.
They'd just see a drunken Colonel Tigh and most, most would ignore it and consider it normal.
It wouldn't be the first time.
But some wouldn't, some would look at him and they'd know – like his best friend – and he couldn't face that. When he left here, when he went back among the living, he'd do it with his head held high, so nobody could figure it out. He'd help these people, he'd fight cylons, and he'd get everyone on these ships to a livable planet far away from all the cylons.
It would be his redemption.
For the death of his wife, even though she'd sold them out.
For the death of Felix Gaeta, even though he'd truly believed the other man was guilty.
It was too late to change anything now, it was too late to help them, but it was not too late to help everyone else.
But he couldn't yet, for now he would sit here, until he had his strength back – the strength to face everyone around him – and he would stare at an empty bottle and wish he had more to drink.
So this is what people meant when they said you should think everything through.
So you could figure out all the possible consequences.
Zarek hadn't considered this could happen, hadn't thought this could happen. He'd just assumed that only the guilty would die, that only those that had truly done something wrong would pay. This, he thinks, must be the downside of doing everything fast: there was not time to consider all the possibilities. With a trial, if he'd given them months, they could have gone over everything and the truth would have come out.
But that didn't happen.
He still thinks he was right.
He's sad Felix had gotten caught in it all, he's sad the poor man died innocent, but he still thinks he was right. Giving everyone trials would have taken too long and it wouldn't have been good for anyone. Pain would have been dragged on for months or years, and nobody would have gotten a chance to heal. It had to be done, and it had to be done this way – because he still believes there were people that needed to be punished. Perhaps, he thinks now, he shouldn't have given them permission to execute, just to find guilty. He could have had the guilty sent to a prison.
But maybe he's only thinking that because Felix Gaeta had been innocent and had gotten caught in the middle.
He'd liked the other man, he had.
He's sorry he's dead.
But he's not sorry he gave the Circle permission.
Because despite all that had happened, he still thinks he was right.
It was freezing.
Felix couldn't tell if it was really that cold or if it was the shock that had caused him to feel as if it was. Considering this is how and when his life ends it's bound to matter very little. He's been in shock since he's been dragged in here, since he's realized that this would be where he would die. He'd thought of moving, for a second, of fighting or talking or anything, but he doesn't think they will listen, so he says nothing. Besides he's not sure if he wants to get out, not sure if he wants to live, because he failed, because he could have done more, because he's so tired.
He died when he went out the airlock but he checked out before that.
He'd ignored all they said, ignored all they did, he'd heard their words but they simply didn't seem to register in his mind. He just sat there, there where they'd dropped him, on his knees, staring straight ahead. And he could almost see it before him, memories playing out – he could see his parents and his friends, and those moments when he still had his whole life in front of him and he thinks of Dee so far away who he'd never see again and of Helo and of so many other things. There were a lot of things he still needed to do, so many things he still wanted to do but there was nothing left to do, his life was completely over.
They're leaving now, he's not even sure when they stopped talking, but they are leaving him behind.
This is the end.
The doors close before him but he no longer sees it.
He will never be able to walk the halls of the ship he'd called home again, he'd never make up with the people he'd once called friends. He would never talk or laugh with Dee again, he'd never share anything with Helo or talk to Sharon. He'd never work or sit down to have lunch again.
His time was up but he was not ready.
It's not, however, like he has a choice.
He's crying silently, he knows he is, there's no way he could keep the tears in and besides it's not worth the effort and he's not going to scream, he's not giving them the satisfaction of seeing him fall apart. He's just waiting for his end to come.
He's ready.
He looks up before it's over and for a second he locks eyes with Galen Tyrol and for a second he considers saying something – about the yellow dog bowl or forgiveness or anything really. But he still thinks as he did before: nobody will believe him – why would they after all – nobody will accept he's telling the truth.
There's no time anymore, there's nothing left to say.
The airlock opens, he flies out.
He's finally at peace.
It's over.
He's losing it and he knows it.
Frak, everyone knows it.
He's been drinking far too much, drowning in guilt, and he shouldn't be, he knows that because he's still working. At some point the drinks, the guilt, the anger, will make him make a mistake but he can't stop. Everyone's talking about him, he knows they are, backing away from him or desperately trying to help him. But they don't understand, they can't understand, they don't know. They think he's losing it because of New Caprica and all that had happened, they think he's just losing it because it's one thing on top of another and he's just cracked.
They don't know.
They still think, all of them that Jammer and Felix cracked under the pressure and took their own lives. Nobody knows what he did and so nobody could possibly understand or help him. The only ones who know, the only ones who understand, the only ones who feel the same guilt he did were the ones who'd stood in that airlock with him and then sent Felix out. But they can't help him either because Galen can't even look at them anymore, can't even stand to be near them. And the others that know, the others that have the knowledge of what happened can't stand to look at him.
Even Cally is starting to get nervous around him.
Not that he blames her, considering how he's acting, but it hurts when she will barely leave him alone with their son. He watches silently as Kara pulls herself together first, determined to make up for what happened by protecting the fleet, but she's also never the same as before. The Colonel eventually goes back to his job but he too is never the same and Galen thinks that none of them will ever be the same again. But then he's not sure he wants to go back to the way it was before, to the way it was when it still seemed like their lives would somehow turn out okay.
Back to the time when Boomer was here and Caprica was still there and cylons were nothing but an almost forgotten story.
They can't go back to that and he's not sure he wants that.
But he wants anything but this.
By some miracle, and it truly is one, he never makes a mistake – at least no crucial mistakes that could take someone's life – and he tries to pull himself together, he does but it doesn't work. Because he can't forget, can't erase the image, he sees it every time he closes his eyes. Felix Gaeta on his knees in that airlock, staring straight ahead, crying silently, and the Admiral looking at him with stone cold eyes filled with resentment. He can't forget it, he shouldn't, and he doesn't deserve that peace.
His life is deteriorating, his job, his marriage, everything is slipping away.
Especially Cally and Nicky.
Their fights become louder, their arguments more intense, and their son stuck in the middle of a terrible marriage that is falling apart at the seams. And the thing is, despite his anger and his guilt, Galen is not sure if it would have worked if he hadn't killed Felix, if he hadn't been so angry. Maybe in a New Caprica where cylons don't attack and life is simple and happy, maybe there, but not here on this ship, not after all that happened.
It's too late for that.
The airlock needs to be repaired.
(It's not the same one he and the others sent Felix out of but they all look the same to Galen now.)
He should have come alone, should have made sure that he and Cally were separated just in case, but he hadn't thought.
In the end, he wonders if this is his punishment.
It's almost the same: he's sitting in an airlock, like Felix, on his knees, but Cally is beside him and this is not an execution. He's struggling to breathe and, at the other side of the glass, he can see the colonel and the Admiral and he knows this is how it ends.
He's done fighting.
The airlock opens behind them, Galen closes his eyes and lets go of Cally's hand – just pushes her to make sure she ends up in the raptor – he's done.
They've come full circle.
The Darkness is dense.
He wakes suddenly, later, in a bathtub with cylons around him and he screams.
For Galen the executioner, the murderer, the cylon there will be no peace.
He suspects there won't be any for the others either.
'And it's not a cry that you hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.