Boomer dreams of the Academy.
The others say they can smell it on her – the other Eights, anyway – because they're the only ones who still talk to her. They understand her. They are her, after all. In a way. Boomer still has trouble trying to piece everything together.
The humanity, an Eight says drolly, running a comb through another Eight's hair.
Boomer would laugh if she could remember how to; everything feels claustrophobic and artificial and she can't breathe, but she doesn't need to. An actress suddenly aware of the spotlight, but she's forgotten all the lines.
There's a movie she liked once – something old they showed in the mess once before the Galactica was given a forced retirement – oh, the humanity!
She'd laugh.
She remembers laughing.
Helo bought her a little statue of Helen when she got her assignment.
They'd been sitting in the mess, and he'd just pushed it towards her with two fingers, the worst wrapped gift she'd ever seen. Her nails were cut, the cuticles a little bloody from that morning's training session with Starbuck. (The taste of blood still in the back of her throat – everything always seemed so real.)
"What's this?"
And he just bit down on his toothpick, grinning at her. "I got it for you."
She covered her face then with her hand, smiling at him, and she remembers the way she felt doubt – or maybe a prickle of something else – in that moment. It was his face, she thinks – the way that he looked at her out of the corner of his eye when she was tracing the edges of the tape that he used. It was always the way that he looked at her.
It's stupid to think that there'd been so many signs she missed, that she could have done anything differently.
(The other Eights talk about Athena and Boomer's always surprised by the way her name can just make her dig her nails deep into the butt of her hand;
they should be the closest, she thinks, sisters in humanity or some bullshit like that, but some part of Sharon – Boomer – thinks that Athena's taken a part of her life that she had no claim to take. Not Helo, not the Academy, but all of it, every part of hers, Sharon's.
It's hard to remember that she isn't really Sharon, that Sharon Valerii is more an idea than an actual person. It's hard to remember that she isn't the only one, that Athena has the right.
But the right to what, she still isn't sure.)
And she'd opened it – a little statue of Helen of Troy. The paint on its face was chipping, the hair darker than it ought to have been. It was heavier than she thought it'd be, a cheap paperweight he probably picked up from one of the vendors around the Academy. A cheap souvenir shop for tourists, maybe.
Her name was written on the base – Helen's, not Sharon's.
"Troy," he had said, leaning his elbows on the table with that ridiculous grin on her face.
She'd done her best Starbuck impression then, thumbing her nose and leaning back on two legs of the chair, hands gripping the cold edge of the table.
"Helo," she'd said, sniffing. "That's, uh, sweet."
And he'd kicked the legs of her chair, muttering something about her being a frakking asshole, and she'd laughed so hard she'd cried.
She kept it too – the statue – although it doesn't seem like it matters now.
(And if she was really honest with herself, she can't even remember where. Had she left it someplace personal, like her bedroom? Her locker? Part of her thinks it's still hiding in the raptor, hidden beneath the flight controls, to keep them safe.
She doesn't think about Caprica.)
She traces the names of her parents, of the planets, of the instructors she had at the Academy on every inch of the Basestar she can reach with her fingers.
It doesn't matter that they can't see it, that they don't care, that it doesn't mean anything. It feels like she's doing something. Small acts of resistance.
The Threes look at her with such pity, and the Fours just shake their heads.
(One of the Eights just looks at her and says, "You really ought to try and get it out of your head."
She bites down hard on her tongue until there's blood and the sharp tang of pain; "You ought to think about changing the programming."
Some days, Boomer thinks she's going crazy.
The Eight looks down, still. She's noticed that – how still they are, how they don't move unless they have to. She says, "God says we ought to bring it into our hearts to forgive."
She shakes her head. Lords of Kobol, she thinks, hear my prayer. Instead, she laughs; the shocked look on the Eight's face as she turns and heads back towards the others stays with her.)
I don't think she believes in God, an Eight says to another.
Why wouldn't she? Of course she does.
She isn't like us. She doesn't want to be.
She'll come around. Don't worry.
She has dreams.
Torrential rain, pouring down on Caprica, everything gray. Helo's mouth tastes like salt and earth, his hands warmer than she ever thought possible, the pads of his fingers rough. He whispers her name and she thinks it took them until the end of the world.
She always wakes in a cold sweat, legs clenched, shaking.
They aren't hers, the memories. She has to remember that.
Seven years old, Boomer wears white to her cousin's wedding.
In retrospect, there are enough bad omens to become a pattern.
Her first day of flight, almost getting kicked out of the Academy – she likes to think that she fought her programming from the beginning.
The other Eights look at her with that vaguely patronizing air, as if they know what she's thinking. As if everything happened according to plan.
She dreams about Athena.
It's easy enough to explain – Athena stepped into her life, like cutting in a dance, and all Boomer can do is watch from the sidelines.
In her dreams, Athena's lips are full, taste sweeter than she expects, heavy on the tongue. Dream Athena tells her that she's lost and Boomer wants to punch the smug smile off her face.
An armistice? Dream Athena says, smiling, and Boomer can sense the cruelty simmering underneath her soft tone.
I didn't even know we were fighting, she says, digging her nails into the sharp jut of Athena's elbow, cutting her teeth across Athena's shoulder.
Athena laughs, and Boomer wonders when she had the lines between right and wrong redrawn, to be the kind of person to be doing this;
Maybe they're all wrong, she thinks. The entire batch. All of the Eights.
When she's given Hera to safeguard, she stills at the sight of the girl, her small fingers and toes, the roundness of her face.
It isn't fair, Sharon thinks, and she can't even remember if she had ever wanted children, a family – but she must have, hadn't she? – but at least the option was there and now, she's fallen on the other side of everyone she ever knew, stranded with a group of strangers who seem to know more about her than she knows about herself.
But Hera –
There's something about Hera that makes her think that a fresh start is possible.
Hera won't look at her, won't eat, fidgets and cries and fusses any time Boomer approaches.
When Athena steps in to see her, Hera smiles.
In one of the narrow passageways, Boomer waits for her.
Athena's got Hera in her arms, her feet kicking at Athena's hip, when she steps out. Boomer knows she had no intention of changing sides. Hera sets her hand against her mouth. "I, um," Athena says, running a free hand through her hair.
"You don't have to say anything," Boomer says.
"Look, you – you took care of her, and I – "
Boomer crosses her arms over her chest, and thinks of the thousands of questions she wants to ask. "She's Helo's daughter," Boomer says. Athena gives a terse nod. Boomer licks her lips and shifts her weight, trying to think of a diplomatic way to ask.
As if she should be concerned with diplomacy. "Did you ever..." she begins.
Athena narrows her eyes. "What?"
And Boomer can't help but think that this should be easier. They're the same person, but she can't figure out what Athena is thinking, can't read her expression even – her own expression – and she clears her throat, her fingertips suddenly numb. "Adama," she says, and part of her hates the way her voice seems to have lost any sense of authority it ever had, "And the others."
Athena hitches Hera up higher on her hip. "I thought you were – you're working for the Cylons."
Boomer nods. "Doesn't mean I can't ask about them."
"Surviving," Athena says. And Boomer chuckles. "Is that all?"
She doesn't wait for a response, simply turning towards the passageway. Athena doesn't look back once, but Hera stares resolutely at her face, her hand against her cheek.
"And Helo?" she calls. Her hands shake.
Athena stops. It was a stupid decision, Boomer thinks, another one to add to her long list, but she had to ask. The longer she stays with the Cylons, the more her memories feel like they don't belong to her, have never belonged to her. But he's the one thing she can remember crisply, clearly – leaving him behind on Caprica stands out resolutely in her memory, the thing to remind her that the war was real, that losing her parents (false), losing her family (false) was nothing compared to the thought of losing him. Helo was real, a real loss, was the last person she could imagine leaving behind.
"How – " Boomer starts, although she doesn't even know how to finish the sentence.
Athena turns her head, her hair falling against her shoulder.
Boomer takes a step forward, and Hera shrinks back with a cry.
"He's ... fine," Athena says.
Boomer thinks of all the things she could say to wound Athena – or try to wound Athena – right now, wonders whether she thinks of herself as part-human or entirely human at this point, if she even considers the memories that weren't hers. She can't bring herself to say any of them, but they sit in her head and she goes over them, relishes the way saying them would feel. She isn't a good person, she knows that.
It would be so easy.
They're both silent then, Athena still, as if she's hesitant to move. Boomer says, "Go," and Athena starts moving down the hall again. Everything echoes in the space, and she can't decipher her own emotions. Hera – she's Helo's daughter, and she knows that, just as she knows that Athena and Helo are, and have been for a while now.
She doesn't know what she expects her reaction to be, or why she feels it should be any different.
"Caprica," she says, leaning against the wall. What happened on Caprica, she wants to know, even though she knows exactly what happened. All of it – Helo, the Academy, her friends – belongs to Athena now, and part of her wants to be sure, wants to catalogue every moment along the way. Caprica, where they kissed, maybe, or where she pretended to be Sharon, or maybe they frakked right there, at the end of the world in the forest.
One of the Sixes asks her later if she really wants to know the details.
"In the Garden of Eden," the Six says, rubbing circles on her back, "the fruit from the tree of knowledge was what poisoned us from God. We weren't meant to eat the apple."
Boomer shrugs out of her grasp.
It starts again at the end of the war –
Athena points a gun at her face, point-blank, and Boomer doesn't feel remorse, doesn't feel guilty, and there's nothing but the taste of blood in her mouth.
It feels familiar.
She smiles.
Athena's jaw sets, and she doesn't say anything. "Was this really about Hera?" Athena asks.
Boomer gives a soft laugh. "See you on the other side."
Athena fires.
They build a cabin in the woods and plan on the rest of their lives.
Athena doesn't tell Helo about the kinds of dreams that begin to plague her at night, the multitude of voices that seem to come in through the walls that sound like her but aren't her. She wonders about the rest of her line – the Eights, the Eights – and she keeps it to herself because she knows Helo wouldn't know where to begin other than kind words and assurances that the worst is over, that the war has ended, that the Cylons are gone.
She's Cylon, she wants to remind him. As if he could ever forget.
He calls Boomer's name in his sleep once.
She never tells him. (She doesn't even know what's worse – that she isn't surprised, or that it's a secret she feels she has to keep from him.)
Athena knows there's no one left to come and take this away from her – her daughter, Helo, her home – but part of her still feels the compulsion for caution.
She carves her name into one of the planks in the floor, and hopes that's enough to claim it.