Name: The Infinity of Recurring Torment

Fandom: Battlestar Galactica

Characters: Sharon, the chief

Word Count: 687

Spoilers: 2x04

A/N: This is my first time writing for BSG. I've never written or read a BSG fanfic before. The title is from "Quietus" by Epica.

She watched as he was dragged in, wrists bound with handcuffs. She felt awful. The barred door was slammed behind him and he gave her a look that broke her heart. Metaphorically of course. Machines didn't have hearts. And she was a machine. At least, that's what everybody thought she was. But the problem was she just didn't know anymore. Was she a human or a cylon? Did it matter now? Everyone was against her, her friends. Him. And now he was locked up with her in this empty cell. Maybe she deserved what she got. She felt guilty.

Her handcuffs chafed against her already bruised skin, tears soaking her dampened cheeks, "Chief?" she spoke gently, her voice breaking with uncertainty and trepidation. She expected the worst. He avoided her gaze for a minute, refusing to talk to her. Whatever she was. Then he grabbed her fiercely. She felt fear. She shuddered as he tightened his grip around her arms, eyes widening in alarm.

Don't you talk to me, he said, Don't come near me. Don't touch me. If you do, I swear, I will kill you.

His voice was angry, his eyes alight with burning hate. She trembled, unable to control her emotions. She looked away not being able to swallow the look of disgust and hatred that now engaged his features. He had threatened to kill her, as if she were the enemy. She supposed she was now. She only wished things could be like they were before. When they were content and happy and would hug and kiss each other secretly. Their love had been so strong that they had ignored all the rules and demands being thrown at them. But now it was all for nothing. For him now, it had all been a mistake.

His glare finally left her tearful eyes and he pushed her to the floor. She was a machine. She did not deserve his love nor his respect. She deserved nothing from him. She didn't expect anything. She just lay, a crying mess on the floor wishing and wishing things could be different.

As she was taken away, she felt anxiety run through her. She knew he sensed this, even if she was supposed to be a machine. She wasn't sure what would become of her, perhaps she didn't care as much anymore, but she feared what would become of him. As she was pushed past him, she could've sworn he gave her the warmest look of concern and sincerity that she had seen from him in ages. Maybe he did still care. A love such as theirs didn't just burn out overnight. Maybe he did still feel something, even if it was obscure and faint.

The nastiest of names were launched at her as she began her walk down the ship. She could make out each one above the screaming crowd. She felt the coldest and loneliness that she had ever been. Her friends were yelling these names, these insults. She had to swallow hard to restrain from crying. The noise was too much, the pushing and shoving of the crowd was too much, everything was becoming too much to bear.

Then she heard a loud bang and she felt the most horrific feeling of all. She felt pain. A hot searing eruption of pain in the pit of her stomach. She immediately collapsed to the floor, holding her bleeding wound. The yelling seemed to come to a halt. She heard nothing. Her eyes blurred, lights and uniforms danced in front of her. She felt comforting arms grab her, holding her. The chief was there, calling her name softly. Boomer, Boomer. No. No. The hurt in his voice seemed real as he gently shook her, wanting a response. But she couldn't speak. Blood dripped from her lips.

She could only just hear him whispering comforting words to her, stumbling and stuttering as he rocked her reassuringly, heart beating fast. The light faded. She could only manage four simple words at that moment,

"I love you, chief."

And then she felt nothing, like a machine was supposed to.