Just One Thing
Author: repr0b8
Characters: Sharon, Adama, (Boomer in absence)
Word Count: 1,500
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through 3.12, Rapture
Summary: Sharon knows they see someone else.
A/N: Unbeta'd, just a quick something that was bouncing around in my head last night.

Just One Thing

Sitting on the couch in the admiral's quarters, she stared blankly down into her cup of tea. Lifting the drink to her lips, the familiar ache in her left shoulder was disconcertingly absent. A body was just a body, but she had come to think of her last one as the only one she would ever have.

"This Cylon that you brought back-"

"Caprica," Sharon interjected quietly, cupping the drink in her hands and looking over at him. "Her name is Caprica."

She doubted the admiral would use the name, but she knew how powerful a thing it could be for humans; there was no denying the impact her own had had on her life.

"She helped you escape," he continued, ignoring her correction.

"Yes," she replied. Looking back down into the cup of tea, she stared through the liquid to the bits of leaf that sat at the bottom. "Boomer, too."

This name stopped him, just as she knew it would. In her mind, she could still see the broken body of a broken woman lying beside Hera's crib, the body of a woman that had threatened her child.

"Boomer?" the admiral repeated. "She helped you escape?"

"Yes."

The lie slid easily between her teeth. She had almost forgotten how effortless it could be.

She watched his eyes drift across the room, failing to focus on anything within sight while still remaining expressionless. For nearly two years she had sat in a cell made for another Sharon, and in that time she had learned to read the nothing this man so often presented. Sitting beside one another, he could no more hide from her than she could from him.

"You didn't speak to her, when she came aboard Galactica," she said.

She watched her words bring his focus back to the present. "No," he replied, setting down on the table.

"Why not?" she asked.

His eyes finally came up to hers, and now they studied each other intently, just as they had done so many times before. "There was nothing to say," he answered.

She shook her head.

"You wouldn't be speaking to me if you had nothing to say to her."

A muscle above his right eye twitched nearly imperceptibly, but she knew to watch for it; her words had upset him, made him think in a way he didn't want to. His eyes stayed on her, and she knew he couldn't help but see someone else.

"I wanted to speak about the Cylon prisoner-"

"Caprica," she corrected him once more, though her mind was fixed on another member of her race. "There were things to say, admiral. Because if I were any other Cylon, would you be sitting here talking to me? If everything else were the same, if every act of loyalty remained, but I wore a different face, would we be here right now?"

It was more than she had wanted to say, and had exposed a flaw in her armor.

"Something happened aboard the baseship," Adama stated, relaxing slightly as he found a foothold in the conversation. She let him search her eyes, not bothering to try to hide whatever he might find there.

"Do you remember what I told you outside the tomb of Athena?" she asked quietly.

"You told me you were Sharon," he answered. "That you were Sharon, but that you were a different Sharon."

She stared at the man whom her predecessor had nearly snuffed out of existence. "How different am I?"

The admiral's eyebrows lowered slightly in an expression she knew well. "I'm not going to do this, Lieutenant," he said flatly, the use of her rank indicating he had grown weary of the fencing they so often engaged in. "Say what you have to say."

She paused, thinking of the words to match what had only been a feeling.

"She thinks I stole her life," she said. "She thinks I'm living the life she should have had."

The admiral shook his head. "You didn't steal anything," he replied. "You've made your own life here. You've earned what you have. She left nothing here for you."

She laughed without joy, remembering the life she had inherited when she came to Galactica. "Nothing?" she asked, the smile from her laugh fading as she stared across the room. "No. She left her sins. She left her crimes for me to pay for."

Her words were without anger or bitterness, unable as always to muster those emotions when thinking of the woman who had come before her.

"You don't blame her," he said.

"How could I?" she asked, looking back at him. "She never had a choice. You know that."

He didn't reply, though she was sure he knew, sure he understood. Maybe like everything else he felt or thought about the first Sharon, he simply couldn't say it.

She waited till it was clear he wouldn't respond, and then continued without him.

"When I was back on Caprica, I had to be her in every way. And I was grateful to be her. Because if I hadn't been, I would never have met Helo. I would never have fallen in love. I would never have known what it means to be alive the way I know now."

Though his expression remained passive, she knew he listened carefully. The subject was one he couldn't turn away from, even if he wanted to.

"But when I got back to Galactica, I didn't want to be Sharon Valerii any more. I didn't want to be the person who tried to murder you. I didn't want to pay for her crimes. And so everyday I tried to prove to you that I wasn't her, that I was different."

"You are different," he said, breaking his silence and looking into her eyes. But she knew the strength of his words only came from his need to believe them.

"How different am I?" she asked again, meeting his gaze. "I have her face, her memories, her movements. I even had her name until a few months ago."

The admiral thought about it for a moment before answering. "None of those things define a person," he said.

She shook her head softly, wishing what he said was true.

"And if I didn't have all those things," she said, "Would I be sitting here, drinking tea with you, admiral?"

He knew the answer, just as she did. It didn't need to vocalized or expressed or acknowledged in any way. It simply was what it was.

"She left more than her crimes and sins," she continued. "She left something much more important."

The admiral's eyes had lost all focus as she spoke. He blinked once, then set his cup on the table and stood up. Walking towards his desk, he left her alone on the couch.

"Boomer and..." he began, hesitating for a moment and looking back to her. "Caprica?"

Sharon nodded in silent reply.

"They helped you get off the baseship?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she answered. "They both helped Hera and I escape."

"I see." Removing his glassed, he folded them carefully before setting them on the desk behind him. "How is Caprica doing?"

"She's afraid," she replied. "She's afraid that she's just another Cylon to you."

It was a well placed fear, she thought. That's all Caprica was to her captors; another Cylon. It was something Sharon couldn't relate to.

"I need you to serve as my liaison," the admiral said. "At least until we've decided what we're going to do with her."

"Yes, sir," she replied, standing up from the couch and straightening out her uniform. "If that's all, sir, I'd like to get back to my family."

He gave an understanding nod. "Dismissed."

Walking towards the door, her mind returned immediately to her daughter. It had been less than thirty minutes since she left Hera and Helo in the infirmary, and she hoped Cottle would have a better idea of what ailed their little girl. But before she could reach the exit, Adama spoke again.

"Why didn't Boomer come back with you?"

She stopped at the door. Resting her hand on the cool metal, she remembered the hate that had burned behind the other woman's eyes. She didn't deserve it, but Boomer didn't deserve her own hate either.

"She didn't make it," she said. "She had to stay behind. She didn't have a choice."

Adama stared at the floor for a long moment, and then turned away in silent dismissal. Pushing the door open, she stepped out into the hallway and left him to his thoughts, while her own thoughts lingered on the lie.

It was an easy lie; most of them were. No one would know, no one would ask, no one would doubt that Boomer had tried to help Athena and her child escape. The only record of the lie would be kept in the admiral's mind and heart, a reminder of the young woman he used to know and care for, even if that woman had ceased to exist.

It was a seed she planted to replace the one she had taken for herself, nourished and used to build the life she wanted. It was the least she could do for the broken woman from whom she had stolen only one thing; the only thing Boomer had left.

--- End ---