Set sometime after Collaborators (what is that? 3.04?). Obviously AU. Done for a challenge, "Felix the Kid." Ok, technically he's not a kid here (even in the flashback), but it's what I ended up with anyway.
This can be read as a stand alone but can also be read with Shameful Secrets as a prequel (explaining his reasons for stabbing Baltar with a pen).
A Past to Forget
Gaeta walked briskly through the corridors toward the landing bay, checking his watch for the third time in as many minutes. He hated being late for anything, more so when both the Admiral and President were likely already waiting.
This current job was one of several annoying and borderline insulting assignments the Admiral had recently seen fit to give him. Gaeta wasn't sure if this was residual irritation with him over the election incident leading up to New Caprica, his direct participation in Baltar's administration, or the following mental break he'd had when he tried to kill Baltar. While he was grateful for the discretion Admiral Adama had apparently used concerning these situations, it was equally as disappointing and frustrating. No, he really didn't want anyone to know what he'd been through on New Caprica but some recognition of what he'd accomplished to help the fleet escape would go a long way toward easing the shame he still felt and help smooth the strained relations that shadowed him around the ship even now. Dropped whispers, quickly stuttered excuses of other responsibilities, and quite a few sidelong glances seemed to follow him around like a black cloud. While Tyrol's obvious acceptance of him had helped ease much of the distrust and animosity initially directed at him when he returned to duty, he also knew that very little had been said by any of the Circle regarding his part in the Resistance (for obvious, if somewhat selfish, reasons). And Colonel Tigh, Starbuck, and Seelix continued to be quite distant with him, which suited Gaeta just fine, all things considered.
Dodging a couple of rowdy nuggets, Gaeta ducked into the landing bay and stepped up next to the President just as a roar of shuttle engines announced the arrival of the Apollon contingent. Admiral Adama shot him a stern look before directing his attention to the opening shuttle doors. President Roslin tugged gently on the hem of her jacket, straightened her shoulders and put on her welcome-but-tread-carefully-with-me look. The sudden realization of exactly who was visiting struck Gaeta sharply and his stomach promptly resolved itself into knots.
"Contingent" was a misleading word. Apparently, the High Priest of Apollo traveled with a full entourage. Gaeta barely refrained from making a face, remembering the endless ceremonies associated with the Apollon sect.
Two priestesses, who appeared to be twins, stepped out of the shuttle, followed by two priests. They walked down and separated at the bottom to flank the ramp. Gaeta knew that at least as many priests would exit behind the High Priest. An older man with greying hair stepped out, wearing the purple-trimmed robes of a high-caste priest. Gaeta absently noticed how worn the hem looked, with light stains and a few tattered edges. Before the end of the colonies, a robe in this state would have been long discarded. Fidgeting with the hem of his own jacket, he looked up in time to see Admiral Adama step forward to greet the man, obviously assuming this was the High Priest. Gaeta suddenly felt a pang of guilt for not explaining more fully Apollon protocol to Adama or the President. He regretted his earlier justification that his past wasn't relevant, knowing the he'd really just done it because he was irked with the assignment. Babysitting guests, especially these guests, was not his idea of fun, particularly with the multitude of responsibilities he had in the CIC and the current code project he was working on with Tyrol.
Fortunately, the priest was more than gracious, stopping in front of the Admiral and acknowledging him with a slight bow but ignoring the proffered hand. The Priests of Apollo were sticklers for purification. Gaeta released a breath he didn't realize he was holding and idly wondered if they had found an Oracle in the fleet. The Priest turned to President Roslin, again offering a slight bow and began the formal introductions as all eyes turned to the shuttle doors again.
"Madame President, Admiral Adama, I'm honored to present to you..." the priest paused as his High Priest stepped out of the shuttle.
"Oh frak!" Gaeta exclaimed softly, watching a man with curly blond hair and electric blue eyes step through the door. He apparently didn't say it quietly enough because President Roslin threw him a shocked look before returning her attention to the Apollons.
"...the High Priest of Apollo, Augustus Gaeta."
The room was dimly lit and chilly, of course. Felix always thought it was too cold in the temple buildings for some reason. He knew that the air handlers kept the rooms at an even 72 degrees, always filtering, processing, and maintaining a regulated atmosphere but he still usually felt chilled when he was there. Seeing his once-strong mother lying frailly on the bed did nothing to warm him. He leaned over and straightened the blanket near her left shoulder, smoothing out the wrinkles while thinking how closely her pale skin matched the color of the white, sterile cloth covering her.
His gaze wandered to the lone window, seeking the light and warmth of the sun outside and wishing it would somehow penetrate the stone walls. Sanctuary. That's what Father always called the Heiron and the rest of the temple buildings. Father and Augustus relished their time spent in the dimly lit corridors and the grey-stoned prayer rooms. Felix always felt trapped here. And now Mother...oh gods...
He turned his head away from the bed, a single tear slipping down his cheek.
"Don't cry for me, my strong-willed son." His mother's once-beautiful voice was dry and raspy sounding and the hand he held was too weak to do more than apply the lightest pressure on his. He leaned in and, bringing her hand up, gently kissed the back of it. Her raven hair was streaked with white now. Once full and shiny, it fell lankly on the pillow, surrounding her sunken features.
Felix had known for a long time that this was coming–dreaded it, actually, since finding out about it (in a history book, of all places) when he was 12. The religious explanation was that a human body could only handle so much divine "use" by the gods before succumbing and failing. He believed it was the vapors associated with the prophesying–an Oracle would sometimes spend hours in the inner temple where the "divine" vapors would rise from a chasm in the floor, supposedly providing communication between Apollo and the Oracle.
And his mind still rebelled at the thought that his mother would never see him turn 18; that some new Oracle, some other Oracle, would be overseeing his induction into the Phoeban Order. His mother had been strong and healthy but part of the sacrifice of being the Oracle of Apollo was the inescapable sickness and early death that was said to bring the sufferer directly to Elysian Fields.
"I chose this path willingly, Felix, knowing where it would lead. I have no regrets." Felix dropped his eyes to her hand, watching his thumb make small, gentle circles on the back of it and ignoring the sharp pang her words brought. He'd always known that his views on life were at odds with his family's extremely religious lifestyle. He was certainly at odds with what they expected of him which is why his mother called him her strong-willed son. He half smiled thinking of how she could always put a positive spin on things, no matter how negative they may seem. His Father's descriptions of preference went along the lines of "rebellious," "disobedient," and "argumentative," although Felix had learned when he was quite young to just keep his mouth shut and not ask questions, no matter how ridiculous a concept seemed to him.
"Oh, Felix," she sighed. "We never really saw you, did we?"
"What do you mean?" he whispered, a frown creasing his brow. He was used to his mother's cryptic manner of speaking, but, frankly, he found it rather annoying most of the time. It was, apparently, a standard aspect of training that the Oracle candidates all received and it definitely became more pronounced when they took the position officially, he thought. He much preferred those who were blunt and honest about what they were thinking and didn't speak in riddles. Except for Father, who's brand of honesty was usually as painful as any physical punishment he administered.
She paused a moment, as if considering what she were saying, before explaining, "You're father's family has held power in the Heiron for centuries. The Gaetas have been High Priests in Delos since the beginning, essentially making them the most powerful family in the city and, even with the decline of religion as a whole, a very powerful family here on Libris."
Felix absently brushed a white curl from her forehead as she spoke. He was well aware of the family history. The pride of their family was something Father had drummed into them since they were old enough to walk. The family history and his favorite Apollon creed, "Nothing to Excess." Felix sometimes found the combination amusing; Father's continuous reminders of their genealogy bordered on excessive, in Felix's opinion.
"'Know thyself.'" his mother said, her fever-bright eyes staring at him intensely. And she was doing so well, Felix thought, a little disappointed she had reverted to obfuscation, only to be surprised by her clarity as she continued speaking.
"The other creed. The one your father doesn't like to bring up with you much. He always thought that we could force you to believe as we did. I did, too, I suppose." She said with a little sigh. She fell silent for a moment, her eyes distant. "You were three years old the first time you asked me why the gods required a person to speak for them. You reasoned that if they were so powerful, they should be able to talk to whomever they wanted whenever they wanted." She gave a light chuckle. "Then you went back to organizing your blocks by color and size."
Felix gave a brief smile, remembering how his methodical way of thinking was a source of amusement and frustration to his mother. She had forever tried to teach him "how" to be more instinctive about things, was always shoving paper and crayons at him and telling him to just draw whatever he "felt." He'd immediately go pull out one of the encyclopedias and start copying engine designs, detailed pictures of starships, and human anatomy. His smile widened thinking about the ruckus he had caused when his father found some of those last drawings. Father had found it rather disturbing to see surprisingly accurate drawings of internal organs and various body parts in his eight-year-old's pile of pictures.
Felix glanced up at his mother and sobered quickly. "I know I've been a big disappointment to you and Father because I've never embraced my religious responsibilities the way Augustus does, but I would never turn my back on them..."
"Felix," his mother started firmly, her voice sounding stronger than it had in awhile, "that is exactly what I'm telling you to do." His eyes widened in surprise. "You don't belong here, wasting away in this prison of religious ceremony and traditions. I know what you've always thought of doing with your life; what possibilities you dream of, if you weren't part of this family."
She looked at him fondly, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. "I know you still have those technical manuals and old science magazines tucked away in your room." Felix colored slightly.
"I just enjoy reading them," he said, feeling ashamed of having lied about them. "Father was never very pleased with my reading habits, but..." he fell silent as his mother's hand tightened on his abruptly and a spasm of pain crossed her face. After a moment, her breathing began to slow again.
She continued quietly, "Your primary school education was the one major disagreement your father and I had on a regular basis. I can't tell you how many times he threatened to pull you from your school and enroll you in the temple program. It was the one thing I wouldn't allow him to do...There were quite a few other things I shouldn't have allowed," she said, sadly, lost for a moment in unpleasant memories.
Shaking her head slightly, as if to clear the thoughts away, she said, "I just knew that your mind needed more to occupy it than Temple doctrines and religious traditions. I guess I thought you'd be less tempted by science and math if it weren't forbidden. I knew you would've left much sooner if we'd kept you completely immersed in the Temple and priest training. As much as I've believed in being the Oracle, believed in what your father does as High Priest, I've also known that this isn't the right life for you. I just fooled myself into thinking you'd get over all your dreams of being in space and happily stay here, following the family traditions.
Did you know there wasn't a year that went by in school that didn't bring one of your teachers to our door, hoping we were planning to send you to college; explaining to us why we should encourage you to pursue a scientific or mathematic career. Of course, your father tossed them out the door as soon as they started talking like that."
Felix swallowed down the feeling of bitterness suddenly rising in him. All the years he'd spent feeling inadequate, or wrong somehow, for not wanting to be another pillar in the Gaeta family history. All the time he'd felt guilty for dreaming of flying off into space, joining the fleet and being an officer on a starship. He'd known since he was quite young that he would never satisfy his father's expectations; that he couldn't live up to his brother. But he'd done everything he could to not disappoint his mother. And now here she is telling him that it wasn't wrong for him to think that way. He stared down at the covers on the bed, his jaw clenched.
His mother must have recognized something in the look on his face because she made a small noise in her throat, her hand weakly tugging his a little. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said sadly.
He couldn't look at her; didn't know what to say. She'd been the most important person in his life and most of what he'd done growing up had been based on wanting to please her. He suddenly wondered at the pointlessness of it all. What had he accomplished with all those ceremonies and rituals he'd never believed in?
"Felix," his mother said intently, her voice growing weaker. His anger and bitterness melted as he leaned in, fearing that she was slipping away too quickly and not wanting her to leave him just yet. Not wanting to lose her and be alone. The thought briefly crossed his mind that he should get someone...let his Father and brother know...but was gone as soon as she started speaking again.
"Felix, I have some money hidden in my temple chambers. The bottom left drawer has a false bottom..." she gasped, her body tensing a moment before the pain subsided again.
"Mother," he whispered, clutching her hand as if by holding on tighter, he could keep her with him. "Mother...Father wouldn't...the family..."
"No, Felix. You don't understand–you have no obligations to this family, to the Gaetas. I know you've thought about it before, wondered how you and your brother could look so completely different..."
"I just thought..." he faltered, thinking he couldn't handle this today–not right now. Gods this is so unfair, he thought bitterly, his mouth twisting. And so like his mother–save everything up and dump it on him in one catastrophic bombshell. The resentment that he'd hidden for years was perilously close to overwhelming him. He dropped her hand abruptly and stood. Walking to the window, he leaned his head against the glass, staring out but not seeing the lush grounds of the Temple courtyard or even the bustling city of Delos beyond.
"How?" he whispered, dreading the answer. "I'm younger than August."
"The responsibilities of an Oracle involve certain rituals."
"Mother!" Felix was shocked, turning from the window to look at her. He'd thought maybe an affair, but not this. He'd read, of course, about the various rituals associated with being an Oracle. Some of the rites that had been in place from the beginning of the Apollon sect were beyond promiscuous, bordering on lascivious, and he'd skimmed through those parts, assuming they were long removed from the modern traditions practiced.
"Yes, even those." His mother smiled, amused at his prudishness. She shrugged. "It's part of the Oracle's duties when she's younger. Those particular responsibilities pass to a younger priestess from the Order of the Pythoness when the Oracle turns 30." She frowned briefly and said, "The birth control failed for some reason that time."
"Ah, a mistake and a disappointment," Felix said, bitterly, turning back towards the window in time to see a ship landing in the distance. He missed the look of distress that passed over his mother's face.
"Oh, Felix, you were never that. Not to me," his mother said gently. She reached out her hand toward him but was too weak to hold it up for long. It had fallen back on the bed before he half-turned to look at her again.
Everything about my life has been a lie, he thought, sadly. Looking at his mother lying on the bed, her beauty wasting away and her life slipping from her by the minute, he felt betrayed. Until he looked into her eyes, bright with unshed tears. There he saw his mother again, his comforter, his strength over the years, and knew that she had done what she believed was best for him. He'd known of other Temple "indiscretions" and the children were usually relegated to the Temple orphanage and raised to be low-caste priests. His father would have done everything in his power to avoid a scandal, even taking Felix as his own. It explained a lot about why Father treated him the way he did.
Felix walked back to the chair by the bed, resuming his position by his mother's side, gently taking her hand in his. He watched the tension drain from her face and body.
"Thank you," she whispered, crying quietly.
He leaned over and kissed her damp cheek, closing his eyes and sighing. "I'll go to the recruiter," he said. "Don't have much to pack, so I can slip out while Father and August are here during the day."
He straightened in time to see her smile weakly. She was fading faster now. It almost seemed like he could actually feel the life slipping from her body as she stared up at him. He felt his stomach and chest tightening and a lump form in his throat. He tried to swallow it down when she breathed a final sigh and her hand went limp in his. He felt a wave of pain crash over him as he closed eyes. He gave a little sob as he reached up and gently closed her eyes, then caressed her cheek briefly. Laying her right hand back on the blanket, he stood and turned toward the door, leaving behind him everything that tied him to a past he'd mostly rather forget.
Augustus looked different, somehow, Gaeta thought. Harder, maybe. Of course, everyone did, he supposed. He couldn't believe he hadn't heard sooner that August had survived. Not that he'd even checked. August had definitely developed the proud stance of the High Priest, surveying the people in the room as if he were some sort of benevolent but firm ruler. Until their eyes met and, with a jolt, Gaeta saw his Father in those eyes.
For the first time since the destruction of the colonies, Gaeta fervently wished for a surprise attack by the Cylons.
I have recently become aware that I will sell my soul for reviews. So, if anyone is interested in a slightly worn soul, I'll accept no less than 30 reviews in exchange for it. Offers from satan, beelzebub, and mephistopheles will be summarily deleted.