Chapter 5 - Hurt
Saul Tigh found his way to his quarters and sealed the bulkhead door behind him. For a while he just paced his quarters with all the grace and poise of a wounded and drugged tiger who was being prodded with invisible sticks. His hands and feet were like wrecking balls to anything not bolted to the deck or too heavy to be knocked over. His first victim was the waste basket next to his desk. He gave it a good kick and it shot across the small distance to his bed like a bullet fired from a gun, bouncing off the storage compartments under his bed and rattling as it bounced off his cheap navy issue metal locker. The next victim was the small collection of trinkets on his dressed. He threw them off their resting place with one drunken swipe of his arm.
It didn't help. If anything it make everything worse. Noise and images and faces filled his senses and every action just made them more intense. He heard the rumble of a viper's autocannons roaring in the vacuum of space. Wireless traffic between warships and fighters over a miserable ball of grey and green. Screaming voices and faces to match them as raider tracers stitched them up.
Saul opened his locker and scrambled through its contents till he found a bottle of barley beer that was still about one third full. He almost ripped off the lid and lifted it to his lip, tilting the bottom up to force all the savory, brain numbing booze down his gullet. The beer touched his lips but didn't make it past them. In the clear bottom he caught his faint reflection. He saw a miserable old man with a coward's eyes in a uniform stained with drops of alcohol and crumbs of food. He saw past the skin shell of his body and looked into his own soul, and found nothing but the stink of cheap gas station whiskey and the acidic smell of vomit.
Saul threw the bottle away before he could see any more. It shattered in a spray of golden beer and sparkling shards of glass all over his bed as it hit the wall standing over it. At one point Saul would have been concerned about all the noise he was making, but Ellen was back at Caprica. Or Picon. Or Tauron. Some colony with a horde of horny officers looking to take a turn to ride on the Fleet Bicycle. There was no marine guard standing watch over his cabin like Adama's. He was all alone in his little corner of spaceship. Nobody to hear him except the bulkheads. So he just settled down at the foot of his bunk and waited for the emotional high and the booze and the nausea inducing headache he could feel coming on fast to knock him out.
He felt himself on the edge of the wonderful numbing bliss when the hatch creaked opened and someone stepped in.
"Frack off," he sputtered. In response the hatch closed but the footsteps of another person in his cabin persisted. "Get out of here before I have you court martialed and thrown out the airlock."
"Hello to you too, Snake Eyes," Ellen Tigh said. Saul's eyes shot up and for a moment thought he saw his wife standing over him. Except instead of a fancy and expensive looking skirt or dress she was wearing the brown pilot fatigues of a Colonial Fleet viper jock circa the Cylon War. She was also thirty years younger and looked off a little. Like Saul was looking at her twin sister or something.
He blinked and rubbed his bleary eyes, then squinted up. "Frack me," he murmured, "I am going insane."
The woman smiled and squatted down, tilting her head and looking him over with those brilliant baby blue eyes. "You sure, Snake?" she asked him. "Look pretty sane to me."
"Sane people don't see dead people," Saul stated in a blunt tone.
Lt. Sherry Murphy had a musical quality when she laughed. Her giggle was like that of a nymph's to Saul's ears as she traced a stray lock of golden blonde hair back behind her ear. She made her way to Saul's side and flopped down, leaning against him. Her small tail of hair covered the area where their shoulders touched as she rested her head on his shoulder. There was a moment of quiet silence, then she spoke.
"You don't look so good, Saul," Sherry said. She didn't sound reproaching or disappointed. Just sad and worried. It made the nascent pain in Saul's chest bloom into a full on ache.
"You're not real," he blubbered. "You're not real."
Sherry's small, delicate hand cupped his cheek with a soft touch and made him look at her. She looked exactly like she did in his memories. Utterly beautiful and striking to his eyes with the kind of fairy grace that few women ever truly pulled off. It had been a standard comment for folks who saw her to wonder why some teenage fashion model was walking around in a pilots uniform on a battlestar. If they ever saw her fly a viper like it was just a second skin on her, they'd wonder why she was hanging out with the Bad Penny of the Fleet.
Saul's eyes watered up and he blinked. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as he decided that if this was what insanity was like it was a hell of a lot better than whatever passes for sane these days.
"I fracked up, Sherry," he said so quietly that even if there was someone else in the room they couldn't have heard him. "I shouldn't have ever let Bill drag me back into the service."
Sherry just nodded. Not in agreement but acknowledgement. She and him sat there for a silent moment that stretched into minutes before she spoke.
"You feel like you're letting him down," Sherry stated in that tone of filling the blanks. "So why didn't you retire like you were supposed to?"
"Bill needed a strong right hand to keep Galactica running," Tigh said. "If I left he'd have to break in a new one."
Sherry nodded. "That is true, but I don't think that's what's got you trying to commit suicide via liver failure."
Saul's face twisted into a scowl of visibly contained rage that turned his face red. Sherry's hand left his face and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "It's because of what happened at Caprica."
And like the final crack in corroded concrete, the dam finally burst.
"I let you die," Saul whimpered as his voice and faced cracked. "I shouldn't have chased the nukes."
"Saul," Sherry whispered back. "There's no way you could have saved me. I was going to die anyway no matter what you did. You saw how many raiders were up there. How many Cylon ships there were penning us into a killzone. If anything the admiral got me killed."
"I could have helped you survive. I could have not run off like a nugget hopped up on his own ego and done my fracking job."
"Then we would have lost the Athena. I would have still died when the Cylons rushed the gap. You, me, and the whole Fifth Fleet. Everyone down on Caprica too once the Cylons started landing reinforcements."
"I don't care," Saul snarled, looking away and down at the deck. "I should have done my duty and stayed on your wing."
Sherry squeezed his hand and asked, "You think you made a mistake?"
Saul wanted to nod or say yes or do anything in the affirmative but his body locked up and a fresh wave of hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Sherry gave his hand another squeeze. They sat there until Saul had his self control again. Sherry kept skin on skin for as long as she could as she leaned forward and gathered the momentos he'd scattered over the floor. When she settled back at his side she had three items cradled in her arm.
"Well would you look at that," she said, brandishing what looked like a comically oversized bullet at him. "Look who broke the rules regarding munitions and theft of colonial property."
A weak smile came across Saul's face. "It's disarmed," he declared as he took the twenty millimeter armor-piercing/high explosive bullet from her. "Took it out of my viper the day I got my discharge papers. Had the Chief take out the propellant and the explosives. As useless as I am now."
Sherry didn't reply. Saul looked back at her and for a moment felt like he was back on the she was so beautiful when she was thinking. He followed her gaze down to the battlestar model in her hands. The reproduction was about the same length of his arm between his wrist and elbow. It was made of decent plastic and the glue wasn't exactly cheap stuff considering the little ship hadn't broken apart. It had been painted the dark gunmetal grey of gravity crushed battlesteel that all warships had used for the past two hundred years or so with red stripes across its nose and the corners of the flight pods. On the pods were the ship's name and registry: BSG-5 Athena.
"This is beautifully painted," Sherry told him. "When did you start making it?"
"When I got out of the service and got signed up on the Anesidora. It was the most boring stint I'd ever done till Bill showed up. Bought this at a port on a whim and spent a good five, six years painting it."
"It looks good, Saul," Sherry said as she admired the little details of battle damage and discolorations where battle plate had been recently replaced to create a chaotic collage of blackened spots of missile impacts, long streaking smears of stellar radiation, and clean rectangles. "You've got a painter's hands."
Sherry settled back against Saul and leaned her head on his shoulder. She focused on the wall over the dresser and at the insignia on the wall. It was a tall rectangle that slowly widened out from the top to the base with a big red three superimposed over the grey outline of a viper flanked by two columns of stars. At the base of the viper was framed in red thread the word Vigilantes.
"It's not just Caprica, is it?" Sherry asked. Saul said nothing, and Sherry was frowning in her voice as she said. "Tigh, talk to me. You're hurting on a level that you can't even see and it's going to kill you."
"Maybe I want to die," he snarled.
Sherry pretended she didn't hear that and did a grunted sigh of forced calm on a raging mind, thinking through her next words. To her surprise Tigh beat her to the bunch. He looked down at her with his surliest glare, demanding, "What the hell does it matter to you?"
"I care about you, Saul," she said simply. Even at his worst mood when Adama would be forced to look twice Sherry made it clear she didn't give a frak by her simple lack of reaction. "I can't just let you hurt yourself when I can do something about it."
"So are you gonna take away my pain or something?" he spat with disgust.
"No, I'm going to make you address the problem."
"And what's my problem, Sherry?!"
"Me."
Words came jumbling up to Saul's throat and jammed there as they all tried to escape at once, so look was all he could do. He saw Ellen, yes. He saw her face and her smile. Her beautiful locks of gold that seem unnaturally straight and almost glowing. He saw that slender little body that could make his mind steam into overdrive. Ellen's eyes were the same pale green as Sherry's, except they weren't the same. Ellen's eyes were like a snake's: always cold and panning over everything for it's value to her. Sherry's were like a wolf's. Like a warrior's. They were also looking and judging, but there was a hot passion and ferocity in them. There was the pride of the blooded and the tested who have never been found wanting and looking to push others to see if they keep pace or be left behind. The kind that truly trusted never and quick to dismiss.
The kind of eyes that Starbuck had.
A look of dawning comprehension fell over Saul and his brain felt like a thick trickle of melted ice poured over his brain, calming it. His scowl faded into a pronounced unhappy frown and he suddenly felt very tired.
"I don't want to forget you," he said.
"You don't have to," Sherry said, rubbing his other shoulder as she hugged him one armed. "You need to stop looking for me in other people. It's poisoning your soul and killing you in a profound way, and if you die because of it we'll never see eachother again."
"So, what? I got to give up my sinful ways and devote myself to the gods?"
Sherry snorted in utter disgust, and at that Saul allowed himself an immature snigger. He asked, "So how do I save my soul?"
Sherry didn't answer immediately, choosing her words again. She took a very long time to choose and even she eventually spoke she didn't sound very confident. "Do you remember that debate the CAG forced us to listen to on wireless that one time? When all those Gemenese priests came together to debate morality and what qualifies a soul to enter Elysium or Tartarus?"
"Vaguely," Saul replied honestly. "I just remember that I had a case of the runs something fierce and I was trying to fight it down by eating a whole loaf of bread or something."
Sherry smiled weakly, "Well the common thing that a lot of them agreed on is that when you pass into Hades' kingdom his Captain of the Watch, Lord Osiris, will test your heart to see if it's lighter than a feather. People hear that and think that if you give your local temple a few regular donations and go to mass every day, you're set. Anyone who doesn't is clearly a wicked sinful monster and everyone who does is a saint or something."
"What a load of crap."
Sherry nodded. "Exactly. Nobody is born perfectly good and nobody is irredeemably evil, Saul. One good deed can't fix a lifetime of lifetime of wickedness, but one bad call doesn't make you a monster. You're a good man, Solomon Augustus Tigh. I saw that all those years back on Athena. Bill saw it on the Anisadora. Hell even Starbuck can see it in you, even if it's just a glimmer. Maybe that's why she's so in your face all the time. She can see the you that you can be and wants to see you bloom."
"What a load of crap," Saul declared, and asked in derision, "Why would Starbuck want me to be happy?"
"Maybe because she's hurting inside just like you and lashing out."
Now Saul snorted. "So I got to help Starbuck unfrack herself and embrace her feelings?"
Sherry sighed with frustration. "You don't have to do anything, Saul. It's your choice what you do. It's always been, and nobody and nothing in the whole gods damn universe can force you or choose for you."
The intercom buzzed and Lt. Gaeta's voice said, "CIC to Executive Officer."
Saul rose and groaned softly as his old, arthritic knees complained. He grabbed the corded phone and said, "Tigh, go."
"Sir, Commander Adama has requested your presence in the War Room ASAP."
"Be right there," Tigh replied and hung up the phone. He turned and looked down at Sherry, who was hugging her knees to her chest. By long experience and intimate knowledge, he saw a flicker of anticipation and apprehension in her eyes that disappeared the moment it appeared. She beamed a smile and rose to her feet with the slender grace and speed of youth.
"Well, duty calls!" she sighed excitedly. "Let's get you cleaned up before you meet the Commander, eh? Go wash your face. I'll get a new shirt and coat out for you."
Saul was dubious but went into his small bathroom and washed his face clean to hide any evidence of him crying, though the bloodshot eyes would still be a give away. While he was in there he squirted a thick glob of toothpaste on a brush and gave his mouth a fast but intense cleaning, followed by three consecutive gurglings of mouthwash. When he stepped out again Sherry had placed out a new shirt and jacket, put his mementoes back where they belonged, and was sweeping the glass shards off his bed.
When she saw him she smiled and quickly finished giving the bed a go-over, then went to stand at a polite distance with her back to him after tossing the glass from her hand to the trash bin. As Saul shrugged out of his top and into his new ones he leaned over to look in the bin. It was a small metal mesh affair with a thin and cheap plastic bag to make containment and removal easier, but he could see the bottom. As far as he could tell all of the glass of the bottle had been taken care of and there were no signs of blood. That made sense considering that Sherry wasn't actually real, but if she was just a figment of his imagination brought on by a drunken and psychotic breakdown then it had been him who had actually tossed away the glass and the law of averages dictated there had to be some blood or an unexplained nick in his hand. Unless….
"Ah, don't you look prim and proper," Sherry beamed, forcing him to snap his attention back to her. She stepped up and made no attempt to hide her ogling of him as she helped him button up his jacket. She inspected it carefully and picked a bit of imaginary fluff off the shoulder and said in a small voice, "You look good, Saul. Damned good. The uniform suits you. Always had, I think."
Saul flushed as his brain fought itself to decide which question to ask first. His mouth chose and he asked, "Will I ever see you again, Sherry?"
She shook her head and blinked twice. "No, Saul. Not in this lifetime."
He half expected that and wasn't surprised. Honestly if she had been planning to stick around he'd have to start worrying about having a brain tumor or having actually snapped. So it made it easier when he said, "I loved you, Sherry."
Sherry nodded and blinked more than twice. She failed to stop the tears from flowing. Saul continued. He couldn't have stopped himself if he wanted too. He wasn't going to let this chance slip by.
He continued," I loved you so much. I didn't realize it till that night at the club on Cloud Nine over Scorpia. I wanted to tell you every day and every time we talked, but I couldn't. I was your subordinate and your wingman. That kind of emotional attachment isn't allowed for a reason, but by the gods I loved you so much. I hoped every day the war would end and we could stop fighting and finally be together. I actually went home that one time we were over Aerilon to get my mom's wedding ring. The one that's been in our family since the settlers came from Virgon. I wanted to give it to you and ask you to be my wife one day."
Sherry was openly crying and pressed herself against into his chest, and he hugged her. He held her tight and leaned down to kiss her head. He breathed in the wonderful scent of her and held her like none other.
Eventually Sherry regained her composure and reluctantly withdrew from his grasp. She was a mess with bleary eyes and snot dripping down in two thick tendrils, but Saul's uniform was completely immaculate. She swallowed her tears and wiped her nose on her sleeve, and said, "I loved you too, Saul. I knew you wanted to confess and I did too, but you were such a goddamn stickler for the rules and I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I think I loved that the most. You were such a wonderful man. You were so kind and caring and honest. I wish I could have taken you home and showed you off to my family and my town. You're the only man I ever loved, and… And…"
Sherry swallowed again and forced a smile on to her face, and declared, "Did I tell you that I've never had a man in bed before? Didn't really appeal for some reason. I thought there was something wrong with me. Now I know I was waiting for someone like you."
Saul's lips cracked into a smile and his hand caressed her neck. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. He started to draw away but Sherry grabbed his head and pulled him down and kissed him on the lips. They stayed like that for far too long and not long enough at the same time. Sherry was the one to pull away and she had Saul's lower lip caught in her mouth until simple physics took him away from her.
She released his head and stared at her boots, wiping a thumb over her nose and sniffing. She said quickly, "You should go. Can't keep the Old Man waiting."
Saul nodded and said to her, "Goodbye, Sherry. Thank you."
Sherry looked up at him and smiled. "Anytime, Snake Eyes."
Tigh's eyes abruptly burst open and he sucked in deep breaths of air. The CIC was pitch black. Not even the emergency lights were working. There was the erratically swaying beams of flashlights and the faint glow of console controls though. There was the sound of almost a hundred people talking at once as the CIC tried to regain control of the ship, Lt. Gaeta's own heard above them all.
That got a nod of approval if in mind only. He tried to get up and found his head and body aching like a mother fracker. A marine guard helped him to sitting upright and he barely tolerated the medic poking at him with a pen light and bandaging his head.
While he was patched up Tigh found Adama leaning over the tactical plot surrounded by a swarm of officers and specialists who came and went to carry out orders. As soon as he was able to Tigh rose and joined him.
"What's our status?" he managed to not-quite growl out.
"Respectfully, sir?" Lt. Gaeta said. "We shouldn't be alive right now."
"Details, Mr. Gaeta," Adama ordered as gently, forcefully politely and ever.
"Three hundred dead at last count, sir," Gaeta reported. "Seventy vipers recovered and still in working condition. We're bleeding air from multiple compartments. DC teams are sealing them off now. We've got fires in both flight pods that we're trying and failing to put out. If it keeps up like this we're going to have to vent the fuel pods."
"How long will it take to vent the pods?" Tigh and Adama asked at the same time and almost in unison.
"A few minutes," Gaeta replied. "No more than, five. It would leave us without any fuel to jump with but the ship should still have power for sub-light travel and ship systems for a few days."
"Can we vent the sections currently on fire?" Tigh asked.
"I wouldn't recommend it. Our air supply is dangerously low and we lost two of the six air recyclers during the fight. If we vented now we could lose a lot more."
"Damned if we do, damned if we don't," Adama muttered. "Okay, Mr. Gaeta. Get ready to vent the fuel pods if needed. Otherwise see about getting more people on the DC teams."
"Yes, sir!" Gaeta replied with a salute and ran off with the hurried dignified air of someone doing something important.
"Good kid," Saul commented, and once the last of the officers were gone asked, "So what do we do next, Bill?"
"Survive. Right now we're hiding in a gas giant. Luckiest damned jump I've ever taken. Once the fires are out I'm going to send a Viper recon team out. Until then we're going to hide here."
"You think the Cylons will come looking for us?"
"Damned right they will," Adama replied. "They've declared war on us now."
"So that's it then, Bill? We're at war again?"
Adama said nothing and clenched his jaw to keep his words from coming out.
"Do we jump back to the Colonies?"
"We were a damned far distance away before we jumped blind. Now? Now I don't know where we are or how long it'll take to get home. Odds are the Cylons will find our corpses before we even get close."
"We're not dead yet, Bill," Saul Tigh declared just loud enough to be heard by the rest of the CIC. "There's reckoning coming for those tin plated bastards."
He then added in a quieter voice, "I'm worried about home. What are the Cylons going to do to the Colonies when we don't make the deadline? Are they going to try to fight a war on, what two fronts?"
"Three fronts," Adama corrected him. "And I don't know. With the technology they have I worry about our chances. We need to get back there and soon, Saul. Or we might not have anything to get back to."
