A/N: Gunny Sims returns! This will probably end up being a multipart story. Starts with Resistance. Yeah...beware of spoilers. I don't own BSG, because if I did, I'd be rich and talented. Takes place after my 'A Very Bad Day' series. Check my profile, poke around.
Gunny Sims' ribs hurt. They hurt a lot. Since returning from Kobol, he had a lot of aches and pains, but the manpower shortage forced him back on duty with only one day to recover. So, now he watched the Cylon. The Cylon and Tyrol. He had seen the Chief arrested, protested, but he was dragged off. So, he made arrangements for guard duty after he recovered. I mean, looking out for him while he's in there is the least I can do for him, right? he thought to himself.
Oh, he hadn't seen it coming. And he knew Tyrol wasn't one of them. But still, he was stuck in that cell. The Old Man on the operating table, Valeri a Cylon...it was all too much for him. So, he sat back, watched, and thought of Callie. Tyrol sat as far away from Sharon as he could. Sims didn't know what to think of her- she looked wretched and pathetic. She wept, rocking back and forth, watching the chief. Galen looked shocked, angry. No one had dressed his wound. The Colonel had been hitting the bottle pretty hard, and when he did he got real mean. When he was sober Tigh was a great leader, had the respect of his men. When he was drunk...well, that's another story. He didn't want to think about one of the men he respected -hell, considered one of his own- being beaten while in shackles by his commander, who he also respected. It didn't sit right.
Callie. He thought of Callie. She had turned out fine, Cottle had given her the all clear, but she wasn't okay. Watching Tyrol being dragged away had been hard on her. He didn't like to see her like that, angry. He knew she felt powerless, watched her rage. She was on his mind a lot. The raptor ride had been quiet. She had fallen asleep in his arms, curled up tight against his bloody body armor. He felt her breathe, enjoyed knowing her arms were around him, holding him tight even if he couldn't feel it. The landing had woken up, and he had stared at beautiful brown eyes for a full second. She was happy, she felt secure...until she saw the boys from 2 Mountain waiting for the chief. She was confused, angry, pushed him away. He shook his head- it's not like he was in on it.
Valeri had been staring at the chief for hours, eyes pleading, sad. She stunk to the high heavens, curled up in a ball. It was hard not to have sympathy for her. He had danced with her at the Colonial Day celebration, heard her complain in the barracks, lived with and beside her for years. He ate near her, gone on exercise with her. Saw her in gym from time to time. The pilots' bunks were right next to the marines'. Even if he didn't consider her a friend, he knew her, and he had trusted her. What had happened? When had he slipped?
"I guess you really must hate me."
It was a statement on her part. The chief didn't even look at her, just stared straight ahead. Said nothing. Sims watched- he had protected her, lied for her, loved her, risked everything for her. And now, she had shot the Old Man. She was a toaster. She continued.
"I don't know whether it makes and difference right now, but I'm really sorry you got pulled into this."
Machines don't have feelings, Sims told himself. She can't feel sorry.
"What we had..." she started, pleading, reaching out to him, tear tracking down her face.
"...was nothing," Tyrol finished, staring at the floor. His voice was dead.
"Nothing. You're a machine, I'm not."
She sniffled, stroking her face with one hand, voice cracking a little.
"Well, whatever I am, I know what I felt."
"Software doesn't have feelings."
"I never meant to hurt you."
A click at the door. She turned to it, eyes wide with fear. The gunny saw her face clearly for the first time, hair sweeping aside with the suddenness of her motion. She had been badly beaten, she had every right to fear any change. Sims turned from them, opened the door. It was Baltar, black bag in hand. He smiled.
"Hey doctor. Glad you're here, can you take a look at the chief's face?" Sims asked quietly.
"Err, ah, yes, gunnery sergeant. Once this is taken care of. Please, don't interfere."
The shorter, bespectacled man took him for a quiet aside.
"Don't worry, everything will be fine. Just...trust me. I'm under orders for this. Stay, make sure...the assassin doesn't kill me. The Chief will never be in any danger. Understood?"
Sims remembered fighting beside Baltar, standing beside him in the last stand. He nodded. He could trust Baltar.
"Private, could you please wait outside?" he announced as the gunny played along.
The other marine gave a 'yessir' and left quickly. She probably wanted a coffee and a smoke, anyways. Baltar entered the cage, and Sims locked it as per procedure. Baltar nodded once, mouthing the words play along.
"And how are we this evening?" the doctor asked as he set down his medical bag, opening it and removing a syringe. Sims just watched.
"Whaddya want?" Tyrol asked mechanically, not moving. Valeri fidgeted uneasily in her corner. Baltar tapped the needle, staring at the clear contents.
"I'm here," the doctor replied, "to determine whether you're a Cylon or not. Your arm, please."
"This test doesn't work too well," piped up Valeri as the Chief stood, awkwardly rolling back his jumpsuit sleeve. "You gave ME the green light."
"The test works just fine now."
Baltar circled the man after injecting him, catching him as he fell.
"Chief? Chief?" Valeri called out in increasing distress.
"I just lied to you, Sharon. I covered up your true nature from the rest of the fleet for my own purposes. Scientific purposes."
Sims had to smother a giggle at Baltar's hammy acting. He looked at the chief, who was unconscious in Boomer's arms. He didn't look so hot. The gunny was suddenly a little worried. He trusted the doctor- it was probably some alchemical trickery, to go along with his poor display of archvillainy.
"What did you do to him? He's not breathing!"
"No, he's dying right now, Sharon. I CAN save him... if you tell me how many Cylons there are left in the fleet."
"I don't know! Gunny, help him, I'm not getting a pulse!"
She was panicking. Sims bit down on the fear, played the part of the callous marine.
"Hey, another dead toaster is no skin off my back."
"Yes, you DO know. Now, buried somewhere in that thing you call a subconscious, you know. How many?"
"I don't know!"
"He doesn't have TIME for this, Sharon! His organs are shutting down. In ten seconds' time, he'll experience COMPLETE BRAINSTEM DEATH! Now, how many?"
She was weeping openly now, trying to do CPR. Sims had uncomfortable memories of Socinus, lying there, the panic...he had to restrain himself. He gritted his teeth. Baltar knelt beside her, lowering his voice from an angry roar to quiet, compassionate whisper.
"Do you love him, Sharon? Only you can save him."
She was crying, trying to concentrate on giving breaths through her sobs.
"Ten, nine..."
She dived for his bag, but the shackled slowed her. He kicked it across the cell. Sims was rapt on the drama as it unfolded. What had he done?
"DO YOU LOVE HIM, SHARON?" Baltar screamed in her face. She ran her hands through her hairs, weeping.
"Eight! There are eight!"
He rushed to the chief's side, drawing another syringe from his labcoat. Baltar jammed it into the prone man's neck, and Tyrol sucked in a deep breath. Sims breathed a sigh of relief. An gasping sob as Sharon pulled Tyrol's head onto his lap. She stroked his cheek as Baltar stood, face cold again, and nodded at Sims. He unlocked the door, patted the marine on the shoulder, and left.
Gunnery Sergeant Craig Sims hadn't smoked since he was sixteen. But there stood, bumming a cigarette off Hernandez. He nodded his thanks to the man. The stress was getting to him.
"What's the word, gunny?"
"Nothing I want to talk about. What's new in the fleet?"
"Idiocy. Complete fraking idiocy."
The older man lit his smoke, handed the lighter to his squad leader, and inhaled before continuing.
"The Colonel sent us out into the fleet to get supplies. We were stretched so thin, we had flyboys leading us."
Sims took a drag, nodding. This was surprising, but he was getting used to it.
"They were fraking rioting. Apparently, some of the guys from Fox Company were on the Gideon. From what I hear, they were assaulting the poor bastards. Maybe twenty fraking civvies trying to mix it up with fully armed marines. Gods! We're not equipped for this BS."
Another drag each.
"So what happened?"
"I was talking to one of the guys on board, after they got back. Apparently, they all heard a shot, and the civvies started screaming and jumping them. So, they started shooting. Four dead, a whackload of wounded. From what the guy said, everyone in the squad heard a shot first, and the crowd flipped out. That's when they started shooting."
"Frack, eh?"
"Oh, and...uhh...got some news for you, off the grapevine."
"Huh?"
"Well, apparently, Callie jumped another crewman for badmouthing the chief."
"Ha!" Sims laughed, "Whoever it was, had it fraking coming. The chief's a good man, and Callie's a good kid. She's fraking nails."
"Heh...yeah. I know you got a soft spot for her, and me and the guys are sitting on it. Don't worry."
"Yeah. Thanks, man. I owe you one."
Sims playfully punched his friend in shoulder, headed back to duty. His mind was on Callie, though. She had taken a swing at someone? There was only one thought on his mind: That's my girl.
BSG BSG BSG BSG BSG BSG BSG BSG BSG BSG BSG
Sims watched Hernandez undo the Chief's shackles as he stood at the ready to transport Boomer.
"Thanks, Doc," he said quietly to the man. "I appreciate it."
"Don't thank me. Thank her."
"Why? What's she got to do with it?"
"Everything. Nothing."
Baltar ran his hand across his upper chest in a daze.
"Love is a strange and wonderful thing, Chief.You be happy you experienced it at all...even if it was with a machine."
Sims looked at the doctor a little cockeyed. He was showing signs of cracking, after all.
"What're they going to do to her, doc?"
"They're setting up a new holding facility...there'll be tests. Mental. Physical."
"Like she's... like she's some kind of lab rat?"
"That's the idea."
Sims shook his head in disgust as he lead his fireteam away, the subdued, shackled Boomer in their center. They were waiting, however. He had to push several enlisted men out of the way with his submachine gun right out of the gate. They screamed imprecations, tried to attack her. The entire situation was making him sick. The way everyone was behaving, the way Sharon was being treated -a toaster she was, but she could still feel pain, and torturing anyone who could feel pain was wrong to him- the whole damn situation. Tyrol was a step behind them, taking his fair share of abuse with some dignity. Sims pitied the man.
He shoved his way through the crowd, until they were almost there. Sims was in the process of shoving back a pilot when the shot rung out. He turned around, to see Callie holding a service pistol. His men were fanned out, holding back the crowd. He abbandoned the pilot with a hard shove into a bulkhead, stripped Callie of the gun. He grabbed her arm gently as the crowd went silent, the fallen Valeri falling back into the chief's arms. Everyone stared. Sims was in shock. Tyrol mumbled the word 'no' over and over again to himself, trying to find a way to help Boomer. The chief and Callie's eyes locked, and for a moment, they exchanged endless communication. Then, he saw only Sharon - not the toaster, not the enemy, just Sharon. The woman he had loved. He mumbled at her, staring her in the eyes as she flopped into his armed. She stared into his woman's eyes one last time.
"I...I love you, chief..." she managed.
And then, she was gone. A bit of blood splattered to the deck, breaking the silence. Tyrol stared directly at Callie as he cradled Valeri's body.
Sims pulled Callie a little closer, gently as he could, and his horrified whisper reached only her ears.
"What have you done...what have you done?"