As he sat staring at the cup where it had fallen, he could only feel emptiness surrounding him. It enveloped him like those fuzzy blankets she had always preferred before it all came crashing down. Even though she lay there still as stone, there was no presence in the room. No lingering soul, no feeling of righteousness. No feeling at all. In fact, the complete absence of everything stilled his mind. He had never shirked his duty, or backed down from the consequences before. But there was no rightness in what he had done, and no one would be demanding justice this time.
He listened for the sound of anything: a rock sliding down the cavern wall, a scraping on the trap door, the shifting of supplies. No. Nothing. He could sense his heart beating in his chest, but could not hear it pounding in his ears: the pulse of his own life mocking the loss of hers. He stood up and paced. Even then, there was nothing. No sound of his feet on the dirt floor, no scuttle as he kicked an errant pebble. He knew his breathing was rough, but he could not hear it. The perfect silence was disconcerting but, strangely, not unexpected.
He saw the room, but saw nothing. There was nothing to see. It was dark and rough and patently uninteresting. A cave, more or less, hewn out of the rock countless eons ago, used as a refuge and hiding place for secrets. He shook his head. It was a dark place for the darkest side of the people who used it.
Strangely there was no smell-- neither the clean, earthy scent of the rocks, nor the acrid smell of the still. It was odd. One could become immune to smells as their olfactory center became overwhelmed; he knew that. He also knew that one could condition oneself to remember them. But for him, it was like a switch had been turned off, and there was no scent left to be had in the universe.
He walked back over to the table and stared at the cup. He tentatively reached out and dipped in a finger before resolutely bringing it to his lips to taste the poison he had doled out. Nothing. He knew the poison was bitter. She would have known what was in that cup with the first sip, but had said nothing. Instead she looked at him with forgiveness in her eyes and drank deeply. He wanted to taste it, to let the bitterness well up in his mouth and his nose, but it was as though he was tasting pure water. There was nothing.
He sat heavily next to her cold body, staring straight ahead, letting the nothingness prevail. The stillness of the world in that moment brought quiescence to his heart. His mind stopped racing, and his pulse stopped pounding. The universe had ceased to exist for one perfect moment of peace. In that moment he reached out and grasped her lifeless hand. It was still warm. The skin on that hand was smooth as silk. Even on this harsh planet, she had managed to maintain the softest hands he'd ever known. He leaned down and kissed the lifeless fingers and it all came rushing back.
The breeze roared in his ears. Falling pebbles crashed through his peace. The soft candlelight blinded him and he squeezed his eye shut. His pulse pounded through his ears and his heart felt ready to rip through his chest. He tasted the bitter poison in his mouth and it burned though the back of his throat and up his nose.
He dropped her hand and let his senses overwhelm him. He stared at her lifeless body and couldn't fathom that it was really and truly done. How could one as full of life as she suddenly cease to be? Life with her was whirlwind, a true feast for the senses. He guessed it was understandable that his first moments without her would know no feeling.
His skin prickled and the little hairs all over his body stood on end, causing him to feel like it was about to shed. The roaring in his ears became a ringing and the excruciating candlelight flared and dimmed. The bitter acid on his tongue gentled and faded, while his face became wet with tears pouring out of both his good eye and the empty socket that was now good for nothing. He touched the gauze that she had so recently and lovingly placed over it and realized that it would soon fall away, the wetness weakening the tape that held it on.
He turned to her, silently begging for something he could not name. He wondered if her soul could hear his. Wondered if souls existed. The question of souls had never troubled him before, but neither had he ever murdered someone he loved. He gently closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer to the gods in which he had never truly believed. Not for his own forgiveness. He didn't want it, he had committed an unforgivable act, but rather that they care for her if they could. She had lived hard. Did he drive her to it, or was it in her nature? It didn't matter. Life had not been kind to her, and she deserved more than a little peace now. He hoped that her death was easier, knowing that the hand that doled out that death was one who loved her, rather than cold-blooded murder by a relative stranger.
His tears continued to fall, and he grabbed her hand once again before his body began to shake in wracking sobs. She had always been the reason he wanted to drink himself into oblivion when she wasn't there, and the reason why he wanted to be giddily drunk when she was. He curled his body around hers, embracing her as he cried. He had done his duty, by gods, and he would never forgive himself or the forces that drove him to it. Saul Tigh vowed that he would see Ellen in everything he did for the rest of his life. It was a matter of survival.