Deckhand Wallace was part of Galactica's engineering crew. He and his team spent their days running tests, tweaking systems, and repairing any faults or damage when they occurred. And when Condition One was set, he would scramble madly to his assigned station, fire fighting and hull breach gear at the ready. Although after the events of New Caprica, most of his day had consisted of nothing else but seemingly endless repairs to the ship.
The exhilaration of outsmarting the Cylons and rescuing their people had been positively viral, but the subsequent days spent welding metal sheets, sealing hull breaches, soldering wires or one of a dozen other mundane repairs had dulled his initial elation. Things were back the way they were before humanity had settled on New Caprica, excepting the repair work, the crowded conditions and ...
"There's that toaster again," Harold, a recently reinstated member of Wallace's team, muttered. "Just can't get away from them. Spent four months suffering under their heel, finally got away, and now one of em's a frakking officer, walking around like she actually belongs here."
Wallace looked up from the wrecked circuit board that had been his sole viewing pleasure for the past ten minutes, and tracked the object of Harold's derision. The olive-skinned Cylon was walking along the corridor with an easy grace, with a group of her fellow pilots, her hair tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail. She was in the rear talking with a male pilot, although she seemed a little reserved. She shook her head in response to something her companion said, and as the group of pilots walked past the repair team, she swept aside a lock of hair that had fallen across her face, an action that Wallace found fascinating.
"Hey, she saved your ass. She got the launch keys that let everyone evac off that rock," Wallace found himself saying, once the group of pilots was safely out of earshot.
Harold glared at the smaller man. "It's probably some fancy trick. I spent four, FOUR months down on that mudball being trodden on while you were safe up here, and I tell you, them toasters like to play around with your mind before blowing it into orbit. Mark my words, she'll show her true colours one day and sell us out."
"Well, you and a lot of others are still alive. The Admiral seems to trust her," Wallace retorted.
"Hah, you believe that load of crap? Admiral Cain was real buddy buddy with our Cylon too before it blew her brains out," Norwal, a former crewman of the now defunct Pegasus said.
"And Adama took two in the chest from ours as well," Harold added. "You seemed perfectly fine with tossing trash at her before that cutie from the deck gang shot her like she deserved."
And it was all true, just as it was true that the Cylons had taken everything, and everyone, Wallace had held dear, from him. Yet, the rumours surrounding this particular Cylon struck a chord with him, and he found himself continuing to defend her. "All I'm saying is that she must have done something right."
"Someone here likes metal," Norwal said with a smirk.
"You like that toaster, don't you?" Harold taunted.
"Hey, HEY! Break it up you guys," Specialist Doug, the team chief, snapped before the argument could come to a boil. "Let's get back to work and fix this damn relay before it blows, and we have to pull more overtime."
Norwal shrugged, snapped his faceplate back down and continued cutting a damaged bulkhead.
Harold glanced at Doug, then Wallace, and said, "Sorry man. It just was hell down there, you know? I still get nightmares." He extended a hand in apology.
Wallace accepted it. It was a quick, firm shake, without any attempt at a gripping contest.
"No offence taken," Wallace said, meaning it. Harold had been through hell, and that was bound to mess with a man's head. The confrontation over, Wallace returned his attention to the lovely task of trying to salvage the silicon composite in front of him.
Later in the day, as the team was packing away the last of the gear in preparation for the evening meal and a few hours of blessed rest, Harold brought up the topic again.
"You really think that Cylon's on the level here?" he asked Wallace.
"Yea, I do," Wallace replied, grunting with the exertion of trying to shove a too big bag of tools into a too small space on the storage shelf.
"How do you swing that? Pretty machines yeah, but still machines. Programmed to kill us all. Copy, paste, duplicates. Copies," Norwal said, arms folded over his chest as he waited for the rest of the team to finish up.
"But she didn't kill us. Heck, she's even married to that replacement XO before terrorist Tigh took back his position," Wallace said, wiping his oil-stained hands on his coveralls.
"Hold on for a frakking minute! You mean some frakker married that toaster? And some other frakkers let it happen?" Harold gasped in astonishment.
Doug sighed, exasperated. "You guys are gonna drive me nuts at this rate."
He faced the rest of his crew, fists on his hips. "It's only been three days since New Cap and every frakking time that Cylon walks by, we have this conversation over, and over, again." He paused for a moment. "Why don't you try talking to her and settle this."
The other three men looked at him as if he were insane.
"What? Face it. We don't know her. You guys are piecing together some doppelganger based on the rumours and facts we know. " Doug growled in annoyance.
Harold spoke up, his voice cracking. "I spoke to one of them once, exactly like her, trying to get some extra food for Elain's folks," His face paled. "She said some crap about patience and learning. I got closer to ask again." He gripped his right wrist, and only now did Wallace notice the discoloration on it. "Took a week before I could use my hand."
"You saw her just now, she seemed perfectly friendly with those pilots," Doug pointed out.
"I know it looks like a sweet little lass, but take it from me. We thought that Cylon we had on The Beast had been broken, but it still had enough strength to break out of its cell and take down a couple of marines and Cain," Norwal said, fear in his eyes.
Wallace's stomach churned. Norwal was a big man, well muscled. He was boisterously loud and had the physique to match, and yet his fear of that lithe woman was tangible.
Doug rolled his eyes and stared at the last member of his crew. "How 'bout you, Wally?"
The stories of the other two bounced about in Wallace's mind. "She seems a little busy," he said weakly.
Doug threw up his hands in frustration. "By the gods. I swear." Doug composed himself and spoke again. "Ok, here's the deal. We draw lots. Whoever gets the short straw talks to her." Silence greeted his proclamation. "I'll sweeten the deal. If whoever the Lords pick to go comes back with a really special answer, I'll see about getting a three day pass to the Rising Star for you."
"That's tempting..."
"Sounds good..."
"What's the really special answer you want to know," Wallace asked.
Doug thought about it for a moment. "Whoever gets chosen gets to pick. As long as it's a weird question you have to ask."
"And what's that supposed to accomplish?" Harold asked, perplexed.
"You guys seem convinced she's going to kill you on a whim. Well this certainly qualifies as a whim," Doug smirked.
"You crazy?" Norwal asked in disbelief.
"Hey, no guts, no pass," Doug said. "Besides, I'm picking a straw too, just like the rest of you."
"I'll get the lots," Norwal said, and scrambled towards a toolbox.
He came back with ten unequal strips of wire, and dropped them into the tin can he held in his hand. Norwal shook the can, and everyone reached in to grab a length of wire.
Wallace clutched his wire tightly, and despite his earlier defence of the Cylon, found himself praying not to draw the short wire.
"Ok, let's see who gets to do it," Doug said.
Four hands clutching four wires met in between them.
Doug peered at the wires, and slapped Wallace on the back.
"Congrats Wally," Doug said.
Wallace wanted to shout out in disbelief, as he grabbed all four wires and compared them for himself. It was undeniable – his was the shortest by far. He gnashed his teeth in silence, not wanting to show any signs of weakness to the others after the stand he had taken earlier.
"So, you got a weird question you wanna ask?" Doug continued.
Wallace thought about it for a moment. "How about, what's her favourite colour."
Harold snorted. "Kinda tame don't you think? I can think of a dozen more... provocative questions."
"Hey, it's my neck that's on the line," Wallace growled.
"Sounds good enough to me," Doug said.
"Yea, make us proud. And besides, you like it, don't you?" Norwal smirked.
Wallace found his fists clenched, and forced them to relax.
Harold frowned. "It's a big ship. Between where we're assigned to next and her duties, it might be ages before we see her."
"She's a pilot, right? Team leader has its privileges. I'll try to get us assigned to repairs near the usual places pilots hang out," Doug offered.
Harold frowned. "That's no good; our timings may not match up." He snapped his fingers. "I know a pilot back from New Cap, I think he's back on the flight roster, I'll see if I can get the flight schedules from him."
Wallace looked on helplessly as the others planned his encounter.
"What cha gonna say? Oh hi we just happen to be interested in when the Cylon gets off duty, care to tell us? They'd think we'd want to stick a knife in it or something and we'll end up in the brig with a cheerful marine for company," Norwal noted.
"Good point. That toaster's a raptor pilot right? Raptors have an ECO too. I'll ask about the ECO instead. Say one of us is interested in a date or something," Harold said.
Norwal laughed. "Hey if that ECO's a looker I wouldn't mind going through with that part of the plan."
Doug smiled. "Good. Now that everything's settled, let's get some chow and some rack time."
---
Wallace followed the others out the door, still in disbelief at the speed in which things had transpired.
"Almost time, you ready, Wally?" Doug asked, his eyes on his watch.
"Yeah," Wallace managed to sputter out.
He closed his eyes, and took a couple of deep breaths to calm his nerves. How hard could it be? Just stop her politely, say a few words to her and that was that. And if she did not get too annoyed at him, he could try asking that question – but Lords, what a retarded question – and see if he could score that pass.
"Hey Norwal, who's the ECO anyways?" Harold asked.
They were colleagues. She was an officer. She had helped them. He could do this.
"Oh, you'll love the ECO. Beautiful eyes, a body to kill for. I told my pilot buddy it was love at first sight for you," Norwal said, a feral grin creeping onto his face. "Some bloke called Ars Kelder."
Just like making requisitions to the quartermaster, or like making a move on a woman whom he found really attractive.
"Bastard," Harold hissed.
Just a few words, thank her for what she had done. Ask her what colour she likes. Wonder what it could be. Red, maybe?
"Here she comes! Alone, too. Perfect! Go Wally!" Harold whispered excitedly as he gave Wallace a shove in the back, pushing him away from the faux security of their repair gurney and into the constant stream of the corridor.
Wallace could feel the eyes of his fellows burning into his back as he made his way to his objective. He looked straight ahead, trying to avoid staring. He kept his eyes focused on a communications box directly in front of him, while sneaking glances when he could.
She was dressed in her flight suit, helmet tucked under one arm, heading directly towards him. She had a neutral expression on her face, but he could tell from her facial features that she was tired, although the fluid way she moved was at odds with his observation.
Fifteen steps. He found himself admiring her figure, even through that unflattering flight suit.
I know she looks like a sweet little lass...
Ten steps. He could see the eyebags that rested beneath her eyes now, but rather than detracting from her beauty, they enhanced it.
Pretty machines yea, but still machines. Programmed to kill us all.
Seven steps. Despite her fatigue and apparent disinterest in her surroundings, he could see her eyes constantly moving, briefly evaluating each person and object in her path.
Took a week before I could use my hand.
Four steps. Her dark eyes fixated on him, the way a Virgon hunting owl did when it detected a scampering rodent. Wallace realised he was staring at her. An incoherent rumble left his throat, his legs continued to move his body forward, and he hastily snapped his eyes forward, nervously aware that she had turned her head to look at him as they walked past each other. He willed himself to move quickly to the safety of the turning ahead.
---
"Any time now," Harold said after a cursory glance at his timepiece.
"I don't think we can do this again. Chief's getting suspicious on why we have to keep redoing the repairs here," Doug said.
"Don't frak up this time, Wally. It's been what, four times now?" Norwal grumbled.
Wallace saw red, but bit back his retort despite his anger. He wanted to prove these boneheads wrong, wanted an end to their constant grousing. They had messed with his head enough, and this time he would do this with just himself in the picture.
Wallace settled with silently glaring at Norwal, who suddenly lost his bluster. Wallace allowed himself a smirk, just as he caught sight of the back of a standard issue Colonial flight suit, and a familiar brown ponytail, moving past them.
The silent gesturing and body movements of the other three men urging Wallace to make his move would have been almost comical had Wallace not been the one who had to heed them.
Wallace opened up his stride to catch up, before he got too nervous to carry out the dare. He had to do this. He wanted to do this.
Her back disappeared around the corner and Wallace sped up his pace, determined not to lose her.
He rounded the corner and slammed into her motionless back.
"Something wrong, deckhand?" a deep voice from somewhere above his head and the ceiling boomed out in concern, while he was still stumbling backwards.
Wallace looked up, directly into the face of Captain Agathon, his arms wrapped protectively around his wife, who was now off to the side, facing him. The startled look on her face gave way to something much less pleasant when she recognised him. Wallace eyed the sidearm strapped to her thigh.
"Urm, sorry sir, went the wrong way," Wallace managed to sputter out before spinning around and taking off in another direction, his rubbery legs propelling him along before any further questions could be directed at him.
---
The sensation of cold water on his grimed face made him feel human again. Wallace lowered his head into the sink, and splashed more of the icy water, letting it flow along his skin and drip off his chin, taking with it the frustrations of the day.
The ribbing and taunts from the others after his screw-up had finally caused something in him to snap, and he had lashed out. Wallace winced as he touched the scab above his eyebrow, which kind of matched the bruises on his face.
Doug had stepped in and broken them up, and followed it with a pissed off tirade on their lack of discipline and unruly behaviour. What had really stung, because it was so true, was when he called them all on their irrational fear of this woman. Doug admitted to it himself. Then, in a rare move, he ordered them to stop pursuing the matter. They were still in the military, and even if they could not respect the person, they had to respect the uniform.
As if. They would be bitching about it within days.
Wallace burrowed his face into the towel, letting it soak up the last lingering traces of water, before gathering his belongings and heading out of the head towards his rack.
He allowed himself to be distracted by thoughts of home, of the rolling hills of Virgon, the beautiful skies. How as the sun rose above the horizon and chased away the dark and the chill, it had warmed him, reminded him of how good it was to be alive. And the thrill of knowing that the woman of his dreams was alive next to him, with him, despite the vehement protests of her family. He shut his eyes at the memory, trying to shut out the pain but knowing it would overwhelm him anyway.
Wallace felt someone grip his shoulder tightly enough to cause discomfort, and effectively stopped his forward movement. Forced out of his reverie, he opened his eyes to reality. A colonial uniform swam into focus.
"You enjoy walking into me, don't you," a woman's clipped voice said.
Wallace fought the rising panic in his gut as he willed himself to look up and see who had stopped him. And there she was. Her arms were now by her sides, her posture erect, forbidding expression on her face. Half his mind blanked out at the unexpected encounter he had been seeking, while the other half was awed that she was actually a little taller than he was. It was strange how the things he did could end up coming back to haunt him.
"If you have something to say to me, just say it," she said evenly, if a bit coldly.
Paralysed by a mixture of surprise, awe and fear, all Wallace could do was stare with his mouth open. An unguarded emotion flitted across her face, but was quickly swallowed by her original stony expression. Wallace was normally bad at reading subtle emotion, save that he had recently encountered it in Doug, in response to their incessant grousing.
That revelation gave rise to even more unanswered questions, but one in particular shouted for attention.
But why?
She exhaled a breath Wallace did not realise she had been holding, and started to walk away, apparently tiring of the annoying and mute deckhand. Wallace said the first thing that came to his mind before realising he had said it.
"Wha...what's your favourite colour?" he managed to sputter out.
She turned to face him again, a look of disbelief on her face. "Excuse me?"
"What's your favourite colour?" Wallace repeated, a little louder, her display of emotion giving him the confidence to speak up.
"You've been following me for three days, skulking about, just to ask me what my favourite colour is," she stated flatly, but there was no denying her surprise.
Her words sounded ridiculous, even to him, and that made him feel ridiculous, even if it was the truth. "Er...Yes Sir. Sorry Sir. I mean yes, that's what I've been wanting to ask you," Wallace said lamely.
"You do know what I am?" she asked, suspicion flickering across her face.
Wallace averted her penetrating gaze. "Yes, Sir, I think the whole fleet knows by now, especially after New Cap." And then he remembered why he respected who she was, and why he had accepted the challenge so willingly.
He met her gaze head on. "And Sir, I just want to say thank you. For all you've done. There's a lot about you that I, and most people don't know about. But I do know what you are, that you've been through hell, and yet you're still here, with us. And so are a lot of my friends, because of the things you've done." He did not know who was more surprised, him or her, that he had managed to speak so forcefully. But for the first time in days, he was no longer drifting, hostage to the whims of others.
"Thank you, I appreciate it." And for the first time since seeing her, she smiled. And just like that, his many preconceptions of her simply melted away, as a more complete and true reality was revealed to him through her heartwarming smile. He stood entranced, simply captivated by her beauty and warmth. "I didn't know I had any admirers."
"Neither did I, till just now," he replied sheepishly.
"It's not often that I'm wrong. I figured that you either hated me, or wanted to date me," she said with a laugh.
"Captain Agathon is a lucky man to be married to you," Wallace said, and he meant every word, tinged though with jealousy they were.
Her merry expression faded, and she became very still. "I'm lucky he chose to," she said solemnly, those few words conveying emotions and meanings so richly complex that Wallace found himself inadequate.
She offered him her hand. "I'm Sharon."
He took it, and found himself surprised at how much it was like his own, except more delicate, and smoother. "Wallace."
Sharon.
He had known her as that Cylon, that toaster, that thing, that pilot, that officer, the wife of the XO. Now, knowing her name totally changed his perception of her once again. It shamed him that he had never considered her name before, and another impulse seized him. "Sharon, I'm sorry. For what I did to you that day you were shot."
Her brow furrowed, occupied by thought, and Wallace was worried that he had offended her. She graced him with another smile, but one tinged with sadness. "That wasn't me. We may look the same, but we're different. I was never there, but it's nice of you to admit it."
She paused. "She might come back one day, and you can tell her that. She could use a friend."
"Oh," Wallace said, not quite understanding, and wondered which she was being referred to.
He remembered one last matter. "Sorry for taking up your time, but what is your favourite colour?" Wallace asked. He felt a need to elaborate. "Urm, I know it's a silly question, but it's because of a bet."
Sharon gave him an amused look, but it was replaced by a frown. She was thinking about it, and he suspected why, and felt sad for her. "Blue," she finally said after a while.
She had given her answer serious thought, and Wallace was curious to know. "Why?" he asked. She paused again, and he sensed that the answer was important enough to her that she was considering whether he was worthy of it.
He was.
"Blue, because it's the colour of a ship's engine flame when it's free to fly." She gripped a handful of her uniform. "Blue, because it's the colour of this uniform, because of what it means to me, because it means I'm part of a family."
Wallace felt a tingle run through his body. He had never met her before today, and yet she had shared a part of her with him, exposed a glimpse of her soul, and because of that, he understood her, as a person, even if some layers were too deep for him to fully comprehend.
She flashed him another smile, and Wallace knew that he would never forget it. "I have to go, but no, I don't consider our time here a waste."
She started to walk off, but Wallace had one more thing to ask from her. "Hey, Sharon. Do you think you could help me settle my bet?"
---
Wallace grinned as the diagnostic board lit up in the green, indicating that his jury-rigged repairs had been successful. He secured the refurnished component and reached for a metal sheet to reseal the exposed circuitry.
Harold peered over his shoulder, and gave him a pat on the back. "Nice work there Wally. Though if you were half as good at talking as you are at repairs, you might have gotten that three day pass."
Wallace shrugged, letting the comment slide. "It's no big deal."
"Hey, that toaster's coming this way, Wally, you wanna try again?" Norwal hissed excitedly.
Wallace tried to refrain from grinning, but failed horribly.
"What's so fun..." Norwal began, but his sentence trailed off. He turned to face her, his body snapping to a loose attention, as did the rest of them.
"Sir, can we help you with anything?" Doug asked politely.
"I just wanted to say that I appreciate the work you've put into repairing the ship," she said.
"Thank you Sir," Doug replied, confused.
She directed her gaze to each of the crew. The others fidgeted uncomfortably under the unexpected scrutiny.
"Oh, and I have something to tell Deckhand Wallace here." Sharon leaned towards Wallace and flashed him a private smile and a wink. "My favourite colour is blue." She strode off, leaving a flabbergasted repair team in her wake.
"Well, Wally, I guess I'll have to see about that pass," Doug said, scratching his head.
"By the Gods, how did you manage that?" Harold asked incredulously.
"Yea, you hacked its circuits or something?" Norwal asked, surprised.
Wallace stepped up right into Norwal's face, no longer content to choke down his anger, but instead using it to fuel his conviction. "She is Lieutenant Sharon Agathon, an officer in the Colonial Fleet, and even if you don't like her, you still better remember that fact. She doesn't deserve your insults, especially since you don't even know anything about her at all!" Wallace spat out.
Norwal bristled at his outburst, but Wallace refused to be cowed this time. Norwal stared down at Wallace, his fists balled, his expression simultaneously dangerous and surprised. Something in Wallace's eyes told Norwal that Wallace was prepared to see this through, and he took a step back, hands coming up open as a sign of peace.
Doug looked relieved. "Alright, knock it off, back to work. I swear, the next time this crops up again, I'm gonna see red!"