||||||||||==Colonial One==||||||||||
Dress Grays would have been the uniform if these were normal times. Military protocol demanded it. But these were not normal times.
A sullied band of human refugees, with less than seventy thousand surviving humans and a military number less than a percent of that which was active only a thousand days ago, protocol was nowhere near as important as it had been.
Tugging at his tunic, Major Avion was grateful President Roslin was not the type of woman big on protocol. He'd heard of her first official visit to Galactica, filled with pomp and ceremony (as as much as a fleet on the run for its life could afford to give), but luckily for him that was no longer needed.
Helios did roll out the metaphorical red carpet for the President, as well as Admiral Cain and Commander Adama when they first came aboard to welcome the vessel back to the 'Colonial Fleet.' A silent, mental snicker sounded in Major Avion's mind when he'd first heard that. Two battlestars and a cruiser and two military transports converted to gunships didn't even make up a Battlestar Group, let alone a 'fleet.'
After tugging down on his tunic Major Greg Avion extended his back against the plush leather seats of Colonial One. He felt slightly awkward sitting with Laura Roslin, herself behind her large and authoritative oak desk, with her special aide, Billy Kreikeya standing steadily on her right. He didn't feel intimidated. He just felt awkward sitting there as she had asked him question after question about Helios and the ships he had brought with him.
Mentally, he shrugged. Her concerns and questions were understandable, he admitted. They'd been with the fleet roughly three months and change. But the experiences of the two fleets had been so radically different that if each fleet were its own entity or planet, one would be Caprica and the other Sagittaron.
He noted she had just taken off her glasses and had quickly folded them and clasped them between her heads. As she finished up she leaned forward on her elbows and her eyes narrowed with her brows coming down slightly. She nodded once to signify she was done.
"Now, are there any concerns from your ship captains, Major?" She asked, tilting her head and leaning back. Sensing his hesitation she leaned forward on her elbows again. "I understand your hesitation; Commander Adama and Cain are your superiors. But I talk with each of them separately…" she paused and looked out the windows of the behemoth ship of war floating besides her ships. "It nice to get points of view which are not filtered by the chain of command or the ever present diplomatic entente, wouldn't you say?"
She arched her eyebrows as she waited for his response.
He gave her a small lip smile as he kept his head straight but eyes focused towards the deck. Admiral Cain and Commander Adama were far more apt at playing the Great Game of politics and division than he was.
Major Avion did know, and know well, that if he held something back, this school teacher-turned-President of the Colonies would be able to tell. And that would give her the initiative. And the first rule of war and politics was to not surrender the initiative.
Politics was a beast, and even the best military strategy could not compete with the intricacies of the great political game played our wherever there was more than one human present.
He made his choice.
"Yes, Madam President, actually there are concerns the ship captains have raised with me," he began carefully. He watched her for any adverse reaction in her body language. But she was like a statue. "Some of my captains, on the luxury liners, are concerned that their services are being taken for granted and abused," he began, using the possessive when referencing the ship captains.
He assumed this current topic would be the less offensive of the issues which had been swirling in the twenty-ship clique of Helios's former fleet.
"Oh?" She raised her eye brows again with a genuine concern.
He nodded once slowly. "Ma'am, Everlasting Bliss has had a problem with people… overstaying their visits. It's one of the domed luxury liners, like Cloud 9, ma'am. We have also had issues with some of the former prisoners on Astral Queen being reassigned living quarters after Admiral Cain ordered the ship converted into an escort." The last sentence and criticism had been unintended, and after saying it, Avion had closed his mouth and sat back.
He knew Roslin would not repeat what he said to the Admiral.
"I know. Admiral Cain actually told me the same thing," she said. "But our former President Baltar decided to pardon and parole all the non-violent prisoners." She sighed, shaking her head and massaging her temple. "We'll be dealing with his fallout for some time… and the trial!" She exclaimed. "But let's get back on topic. Everlasting Bliss is having difficulty with people overstaying their welcome? From the primary fleet… uh… the fleet from New Caprica?"
He let out a soft chuckle at the confusion. They'd been reluctant to delineate, officially, between the two fleets for purpose of integration.
"Aye, ma'am. We had a system set up, and we're working to integrate our small… economy and work protocols intot he fleet, but it's been difficult. The Guardians insisted the civilians work, but they also provided many supplies as well. And it isn't just that ship, either. Gordon Heavy Haulers and Star by Star Express, two of our largest bulk transports are being repeatedly… harassed, in their words, by representatives of Delegate Porter for more water and rations. They have also been demanding more fabrics for ceremonial robes," he shook his head. "We keep telling them we need the fabric for military uniforms, but they keep insisting civilian, religious needs come first."
The Gemonese Quorum delegate had been a constant thorn in the side of Major Avion and his ship captains. She constantly phoned him over the wireless and had even attempted to force a shuttle landing on Helios's flight deck.
She claimed she wanted what was 'fair and equal'. She had been referring to what the Guardians had done for Major Avion and Helios before the two fleets were unified. The Guardians had provisioned the Colonial fleet with foodstuffs, food vats for growing meat, fabrics for clothing, paper, and many other supplies, the fleet under Helios had been far more generously provisioned. It had been there first, after all.
"Delegate Porter does like looking out for her constituents," Roslin said, a smirk indicating she was speaking tongue-in-cheek. "I'm sure you are aware, or becoming more aware of the political situation in the fleet?" She paused for a moment and looked up at Billy. "And I think the religious needs of our fleet should also be a priority," she added.
Major Avion tilted his head slightly at the change in tone and body language between the first comment on Delegate Porter and the last on the religious needs of the fleet. He considered that perhaps… but no one had brought it up. He might have to.
"Yes," was the best response his mind could come up with on the political situation. The religious would have to wait. Discreetly he clenched his jaw. It was a weak answer and he knew it. "With the political situation ma'am…" he trailed off and closed his eyes for a moment.
He looked around the room. Billy was still there standing over the president, himself like a statue. And the president had her attention focused on him waiting for him to finish.
There was no way around this. If he didn't bring it up then the ship captains would. And if his captains went around him and brought this issue up he would looks standing with Adama and Cain since he was still regarded, even by them, as a sort of unofficial 'fleet commander' concerning the ships rescued alongside Helios.
"With the political situation some of the ship captains and passengers would like to voice their opinions that they would like elections, since they were not involved in the previous round."
Roslin perched her lips and tapped her hand, glasses still enclosed within, on the desk for a moment. She looked up at Billy who whispered something in her ear, too quiet for Avion to hear. The ship commander could see her eyes slowly moved left and right as she thought.
"I understand their concerns, Major, I do. And there are twenty thousand people who should have a voice in the government," she leaned back and shrugged slightly. "But at this time it would be logistically very difficult to hold an election. I mean, we are preparing for Baltar's trial and its only been three months since New Caprica," she cupped her chin in her hand, "it would be too difficult at this time. With the Quorum, your ships should be speaking thought he already elected delegates, yes?"
He could feel the tension in the room rising from a question, a legitimate question, he felt needed to be asked. And it seemed like the temperature had dropped. Or it was just Roslin's icy stare, drilling into him. He wasn't sure which.
He could read between the lines in what President Roslin was saying about it being 'only' three months or needing to 'prepare' for Baltar's trial.
This was just one drama of the fleet Gregory Avion did not want to deal with. He respected Roslin for some of the tough calls she had made but the sheer fact she had not once won an election, and not once was elected to the presidency bothered the young major.
"I understand," he lied. He shifted in his seat at the still-present tension. Billy was looking right at him now… but it was difficult for the Major to be intimidated by a man with such bright rosy-red cheeks and curly hair.
If the fleet could organize enough to re-armor Galactica or convert ships to gunboats it could organize a vote. He'd gone through the fleet records from before settlement on New Caprica. They'd pulled off a vote while there were twenty Raptors hundreds of light years away rescuing fifty survivors from a planet deep in enemy territory and heavily irradiated. If they could do that while still running from the Cylons they could do it now.
"Thank you, major. I appreciate it," she smiled. It was somewhat dismissive, and her 'thank you' had been a little too quick. "But with passenger issues I think we can sort through that. Remember though, we took apart and left behind some ships on New Caprica, so we're still overcrowded a little bit. But after we found your fleet we are all appreciative of how much help you have been."
Avion raised his eyebrows at 'after we found your fleet.' He still kept his body and posture decidedly neutral, with his hands on his thighs and elbows propped up on the rests. He just told himself this was not a drama he needed to put himself in.
"So is there anything else?"
The way she asked alerted the Major. Three things had been mentioned in this conversation. One, the refugees on Everlasting Bliss and problems associated with them. Two, had been the political situations. And three, Delegate Porter and by extension the religious needs of the fleet.
He believed she knew. It wasn't really a secret, it just wasn't something many of them talked about. Though he guessed that could be a 'secret,' in a manner of speaking.
He itched his right hand and folded his legs at his ankles. He studied his blackened work boots for far too long to not be noticed he was hiding something.
When the major didn't answer right away the president spoke up, almost sensing his unease.
"Is there anything else, Major?" She was staring right at him.
Three years ago he never would have felt intimidated and on edge from a school teacher.
"…on an issue, religion perhaps?" She asked if it were an off-hand question. "What about the growing monotheistic cult in your fleet?"
He could hear the venom in her words. It was like she was separating the two fleets. 'His' fleet? He certainly didn't consider it 'his' fleet.
"Ma'am, I would say it's not an issue. There's maybe five, six thousand at the most," he held up his hand to emphasize the numbers, "and they haven't been making an issue of it. We were doing fine."
He didn't add in 'before the fleets merged.'
President Roslin looked down at her desk and over to her right hand drawer. She kept copies of the ancient scrolls there. While she had long ago admitted to herself to exploiting the religious faith of the Colonies for her benefit, the serpents and Leoben and Kobol had opened her to the possibilities of something being out there. And the Tomb of Athena and priestess Elosha's death had forced her to confront her demons.
"Yes, for now," she agreed, surprising him. "But we haven't seen the Cylons in months and the fleet is going to start talking. What do bored people do? They gossip, Major Avion, they gossip. And little divisions spread and crack… and things we thought didn't bother us started to," she leaned back, "and we already have enough division with the cultural differences between the planets. We've had threats of strikes on our tyllium refineries," she snorted and rolled her eyes. "We don't need religious cults forming on our ships causing us any more problems."
"Ma'am, with all due respect, it isn't our place to decide whether one worships the ancient gods or not-"
Roslin looked at Billy while holding up her hands. They both shot the other concerned stares.
"'Ancient gods', you say, Major?" Her question was accusatory, like he was hiding something. She knew, or at least suspected. "That's the term the monotheists use to describe the Lords of Kobol." She bent her lower lip and her eyes narrowed. "Are you a member of this cult, Major?"
He kept his voice low. "I am not a member of any cult," he answered immediately.
The dodge was obvious.
"Major Avion, I do not have to express how disastrous it would be for this fleet if this cult propagated itself. Now, I realize that spending so much time with the Guardians may have led some to change their beliefs. That can only be expected. There were a few hundred monotheists on New Caprica. You were rescued by the Guardians and you want to please your saviors. I understand. How much of your crew belongs to this cult?"
He could answer and tell her hundreds, but decided to sit and not respond.
President Roslin expected nothing less. She had been completely unaccustomed to the military when first becoming president, but now, she knew the intricacies and peculiarities of military structure. And as Roslin sat and watched him, refusing to answer, she knew he never would.
He was surprised when she stood and walked over to him. Reflexively, out of respect for the office, he did the same. He was also surprised when she folded her arms and informed him the meeting was over.
"Major Avion, I hope this issue… I hope this does not become an issue in the fleet. We can't have cults undermining our beliefs and our values. The Guardian and Cylon religions are basically identical, and for all intents and purpose, they are identical, Major. We can't have the religions and superstitions of our enemies subverting our beliefs and the faiths we hold sacred. I hope you will be able to take care of this." She looked him over from toe to head before stopping and looking him in the eyes. "Good day, Major," she said curtly, adding in a half nod. She side stepped while still facing him and then turned and disappeared behind the curtain leading to the Quorum chambers.
There were a thousand things the Colonial sailor wished to say to President Roslin. He wanted to rush in and confront her over the arrogance about her assumption. She didn't know anything.
There was no Colonial Fleet. There were no Colonies. There were seventy thousand humans and a trio of battered warships guarded by an analogue of their most hated and despised enemy.
But there was still tradition and memories. Someone had to be professional and honor the traditions of the past and the sacrifices of the forgotten. He chose to be that someone.
||||||||||==BS-75 Galactica==||||||||||
Colonel Saul Tigh was on his back, dressed in a simple, sleeveless gray tank top and a pair of boxers. He'd kicked the sheets off of his bed… he wasn't sure how long ago. Facing the bulkhead of his bed he had begun to turn to catch a glimpse of the bright green numbers of his radio-clock, but remembered he had unplugged it a week ago and stuffed it somewhere in his duty locker.
Looking at the green, taunting light, as it flickered and glowed in the darkness of his stateroom, telling him, by the minute, how long he had been without sleep had been nerve racking, infuriating. It'd gotten so bad he had had his pistol out and loaded, the barrel pointing right at the insidious green glowing numbers on the clock on the night before.
He felt odd. Like he was being tugged up and down at the same time and that his insides were being eviscerated.
So much had been running through his mind, haunting his dreams. He felt like his shadow was no longer his own, but possessed by-
"Hello, Colonel," he heard.
He jumped and twisted, propping himself on his elbow he reached out and grabbed one of the many guns he had in his stateroom. He held it up, angled against his chest, and he methodically scanned the room.
"Did you forget me already, Colonel?" The voice said again.
He saw something move to his left, near the hatch. He squinted in the dim light and weighed his options. If someone was there to kill him, they'd have a hard time taking him down. If this was some sort of trick… whoever it was would get a pistol butt to the temple.
"I wasn't even twenty-five years old, Colonel… and you killed me. You killed me," he heard. The accusation sent a shiver of guilt running down the man's spine. Goose bumps began forming on his flesh.
But he was still paralyzed, he couldn't move more than his eyes.
His quarters felt cooler, colder.
Colonel Tigh heard a laugh, coming over from the direction of his duty locker.
"Do you even remember me? I wanted to help, Colonel. I thought I was doing a good job… I got in over my head… I said I was sorry!" It shouted at him. It sounded more distant next. "But you didn't care… you killed our own on the planet… you killed your wife!"
"You killed me, Saul!" He heard a woman scream. But it wasn't his wife.
The old, grumpy, gruff Colonel snarled. He couldn't take it any longer.
"Shut up!" He barked. "Shut up!" He yelled again.
And in an instant there was silence. The only noise within the dark and lonely stateroom was a low hum and whirl from the oxygen vents, and a very faint, but always present vibration from the machinery and engines of the old, proud Galactica.
Finally, calming down, Saul Tigh could release his breath. He carefully safetied his weapon, and he closed his eyes in silent gratitude and relief when he heard that magnificent click. Slowly, very slowly he leaned back over to his night stand and placed the pistol down.
Looking over his room once more, pressing out his neck and head he quickly scanned his surroundings. No one was there. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, breathing in and out slowly. Opening them, he put both hands down at his sides and brought his legs over the side of the bunk.
Then he saw it.
It was staring right at him. It was just sitting there, waiting for him. Half a dozen horizontal lines marked all that was left of his precious.
A wavering breath exited his lungs and he pushed off. A half dozen wide steps and he was upon the object of his misery. He grabbed the bottle, the last bottle of aged Aerilon brandy in the fleet.
Somehow his wife had gotten it for him as a present when the two had decided to settle on New Caprica. The very day, the very hour they had landed and settled the Cylons had come. He'd left the brandy in his quarters, to retrieve later once they had set up their tent.
He spat at that. Ellen was so adamant to live on the planet. That fraking planet in a canvas tent… on a planet which saw maybe two, three months at the most of warm weather a year. Warm? He knew that was just a code-word for not fraking freezing. And of course, of course she had decided to move her and Saul Tigh down in the middle of winter. Or spring. Or maybe summer. Tigh hadn't been sure since it was always so fraking cold on that planet.
And there it was. The last bottle of brandy and one of the last reminders he had of her. That bottle was the last remnants of a wife poisoned by his own hand.
He had her clothes. Two pairs of her old dresses and a pair of shoes and some odd jewelry she had somehow conned someone out of or sexed her way into acquiring.
But the clothes and the shoes and the clothes… those were not Ellen Tigh. Ellen Tigh was that bottle he had.
He gurgled the spit in his mouth at the site of the bottle. Alcohol had been the focus point of a dysfunctional marriage in which one half of the partnership had let every man, and maybe some women, screw from New Caprica back to the Colonies.
But somehow it'd been a marriage where the two, no matter how dysfunctional, perverted, or drunk one or both became, was still based on some weird and twisted form of true love.
And that was gone.
A hundred light years from New Caprica and still the planet haunted his dreams. Even after leaving the hunk of ice and misery it had still forced a cool revenge on him and tore away the last remnants of his soul, for what he, they, had done after, on Galactica.
So he grabbed the bottle and a glass and stalked over to the mirror.
He clenched his jaws and could see his teeth in his reflection. He hated the man he saw staring back at him.
That hollowed eye. He couldn't tell if he was missing the left or the right. Whichever one it was, there wasn't any life left in the one he still had.
He'd done so much evil in his life. He'd sent young kids to die. He'd been that demon in the garden of Paradise, that Evil Man, one too many times.
So he brought the bottle up to his mouth and bit down, hard, on the glass cork. With a yank of his head and a pull of his hand he heard a delicious and sweet pop. He spit the glass cork down and heard it ping on the metal deck. He didn't care where it rolled to.
The smell of aged Aerilon brandy, the last in the known universe, floated up gently from the bottle to his nose. He already felt so much better, just on the fumes.
So he poured a glass. He looked down at it. The beautiful colors were even darker in the darkness of his cabin. And down it went. He poured another. And down it went. Another. The same. Again. Gone. A fifth. Vanished. And finally he held the glass bottle. The dim glow of a night light showed he was at the last horizontal hash mark, a mark he had drawn with a black sharpie marker after the rescue from New Caprica.
"One more," Saul Tigh said to himself. He took a deep breath and held it in. After a few seconds he let it out through rounded lips. Licking those lips then smacking them quickly he poured his last glass.
The color was magnificent and beautiful. A deep orange-red-brown, made deeper from the darkness of the room. He took one last look at the bottle and held it inches from his nose. He took a staggered smell and closed his eyes. It was such a sweet, sweet smell he would always savor.
The glass was in his hand, his sweaty hand. And down it went. And down it went, down the sink like the previous five.
He turned back to his bed and stopped, half way there. He looked around his room, as if looking for whoever had spoken to him minutes before. "I will not hide. Not this time," he swore softly. He looked around one last time and crawled back into his rack. He didn't sleep at all that night.
|||||||||||==BS-75 Galactica (+936 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==|||||||||||
Gaius Baltar sat quietly in his personal cell, staring at the gray, dark walls of the brig. The cell next to him was empty, as always. The hatch was shut, as always. And the fraking light above the hatch was still flickering. It had been for the past two weeks.
He buried his face deep in his hands before he ran the sweaty palms through his hair. The close-cut look and clean-shaven appearance were still new to him; he'd spent his whole adult life as a long-haired playboy.
His lip twitched as that little bit of a happy memory surfaced. The long hair was a Caprica City fashion. A bit dated, but it worked on certain men. It had certainly bucked the more militaristic themes in fashion which had surfaced in the decade prior to the Colonial Holocaust. But when one had intelligence, fame, money, and an attractive body all in one there was really no one would could compete.
He'd been the most handsomely paid MoD scientist, after all. And the public face of a dozen universities, museums, and theaters in Caprica City. It was the life.
Now he opened and closed his eyes and brought his knees up to his chest as he, the great Gaius Baltar, once President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, sat on his too-thin cot on top of his poorly constructed bed frame. He slowly licked his upper lip as his eyes moved slowly back and forth across his prison. It even had the dank smell of one from the Colonial Dark Ages. They must have been doing this on purpose.
Like any prison there wasn't much to do. He'd taken up doing calisthenics; jumping jacks, push ups, sit ups, dips, and squats, and even some jogging in place. The guards always looked in and pointed and laughed, but he ignored them.
They were stupid filth from Aerilon and Gemenon and Sagittaron anyways.
He hadn't seen Caprica Six in days, weeks, nearly two months. They'd spent their first weeks confined in the same cell, the one Sharon 'Athena' Agathon had been confined to for months before her release prior to New Caprica.
Baltar just sat there, thinking, letting long sighs of air escape out his nostrils before breathing back in. He was so bored he was practicing his breathing techniques. He blew out from his mouth quickly, a sort of grunt-hiss noise as he was fed up with just sitting there.
He was actually looking forward to when Mr. Gaeta or one of the machines would come to him for help on finding Earth. At least that they still needed him for. As smart as Mr. Gaeta was or the machines were, they still needed his formidable intellect. And that put a smile on his smile.
"I told you they wouldn't discard you, like trash," he heard. The image of a beautiful, blond, tall woman was right in front of him. He smiled and she stood over him, and draped her left over his lap. She was standing over him, legs spread as he sat on the cot.
"I guess not," he responded sourly. While he was smiling she had not been to see him in… in… he didn't remember. "Where were you?"
Her sudden appearances were only marked by her sudden and terrific mood changes. Her eyes narrowed and he could almost see a small snarl.
"Do you remember what I said to you after you fraked Starbuck?"
He did, but he didn't care to answer her. She'd caused him too much pain.
"Of course you do Gaius… don't be an idiot, I know everything you think," she slapped the back of his head and recoiled from her position over him. She folded her arms and stalked towards the bars separating his cell from the empty one next to it. "You wont like me when I'm angry Gaius… you should answer me," she warned coolly.
She'd walked back up to him with an exaggerated, sexy hip sway which held his attention. The blue dress glittered in the light.
"You told me there is more to love than just physical attraction. More to it than sex and fraking," he told her, holding his chin high and meeting her eyes.
That answer elicited a broad smile to form on her lips, showing off her white, perfect smile.
"Bravo, Gaius," she mockingly clapped for him, "You remember. Then why don't you act like it?" She snapped at him.
He turned his head so she couldn't see the eye roll, but she surprised him when he felt her powerful, vice-like grip on the top of his head turn his face back around to look her right in the eyes.
"I think you know the answer to that," he answered ambiguously.
"Would you love me if I told you Caprica is pregnant?"
His attention had drifted the moment after he had answered h is previous question, and as common to Gaius Baltar, his eyes had wandered. But with that question, his attention was as focus as a laser.
"What… what?"
"It's just a question, Gaius," she answered innocently, as if she were completely naïve of the effect such a question or revelation would have. "Only one human-Cylon couple has ever had a child. It's an abomination," she spat out.
He still wasn't listening; he was still hooked on that question.
She noticed, of course, and brought her index finger up to his mouth, and placed it seductively on his lip. She leaned down, letting her long blond hair brush against his shoulder and neck. He could feel her hot breath on his ear. "Focus, Gaius," she said, whispering quietly, sexily, in his ear.
"Is she?" He asked. No, he would demand it. "Is she!" He yelled. He saw one of the guards look in through the hatch window. "Is she?!" He repeated a third time, quietly, but with no less force than the first.
"Would you love her if she wasn't?" She placed her hand on his chest and brushed it down as she stepped off, walking away from him and turning her back.
"Why are you asking me these questions?"
"They'll kill you, Gaius," she warned. There was a look of genuine concern on her face. "They'll try you and Laura Roslin will put you out an airlock the moment that 'guilty' verdict is read. You wont even have time to cry," she chided.
"Thank you," he replied sardonically. "I appreciate your wisdom and your faith so much. The figment of my imagination telling me I am going to be put out an airlock," he shot up off the bed and began pacing, "great, great, great."
"Do you know what I am?" She stood right in front of him. And though he knew, he knew she were a figment of his imagination he still stopped. "Do you know?"
Baltar dismissed her without even a snicker, a puff of air, nothing. He just ignored her.
"If I told you I am anything you want me to be, what would you say?" She walked away from his line of sight, and he could hear her heels striking the cold metal deck. She was circling him, and keeping her finger on his shoulder, then on his neck, and then on his shoulder again.
She had changed. Or something. The blue dress was gone and in its place a red one. The one she had wore when she had appeared to him so often so many years ago.
"What would I say? I'd say that the perfect figment of my imagination, dear," he said, smiling and dropping to a frown on that last word, 'dear.'
Narrowing her own eyes she stepped back. Her jaw came forward slightly, as if unhinged, before she moved it back. She brought up her arm and hand as she stepped forward and cupped his chin.
"What have they done to you in here, Gaius?" Her eyebrows came down, pressing together. "Oh Gaius…" she stepped forward to hold him. He stepped back. "Gaius?"
"You asked me what I want you to be? What do you want to be? Obvious you want to be something. Something to me at least. But there is a woman sitting in a cell I love, having God knows what done to her!" His eyes were wide and he began pacing again having excited himself. He heard banging on the hatch and one of the soldiers looked in and made a knife motion across his throat. They wanted him to be quiet. "But you had me build a fraking beacon which brought the Cylons down on us! We lost so many… and I'm here, because of you!"
"I made you build the beacon? Have I ever let you down? Truly, let you down? Everything I've done… God has a plan for you, Gaius."
"You've let me down. You've lied to me. That's what you do. You're twisted like that," he spat at her. He saw the instant her in her eyes and he snarled and turned quick on his heels, looking away. She didn't want to see the pain and confusion and the frustration flowing across his face. He brought his hands up and rubbed his temples, hard, until his head hurt even worse.
Genuine confusion, and hurt, he saw that clearly, spread on her face. He could see her eyes darken. "Lies? Lies? I've done nothing but help you, Gaius. I saved you on Caprica. I got you to the Vice Presidency and then I showed you how to save Roslin's life! I got you into the Presidency. I saved you from execution on New Caprica!" Her demeanor changed. A hurt and enraged expression changed and a sly, devious smile spread on her lips. "I'm your guardian angel, Gaius."
"My what?" He gasped.
"I told you, you are an instrument of God. And how does God communicate with you? By me," she smiled. "You've already acknowledge Him. 'Having God knows what done to her,' Gaius. Your words." She sounded like she was bragging and had caught him in a trap. "The ancient gods are dying, dead in fact, Gaius."
"I don't care," he stammered. His face was buried again in his palms, and he was bringing them slowly down his face, exhausted from this. "You haunt my very shadow. I'm never alone now because of you. What are you?"
"I'm certainly not a chip, Doctor," she said, ridiculing him over the memory of the CT scan. "I love you Gaius," she walked closed to him and draped her arm around him. "I love you Gaius and you need to leave her. If you know what's best for you."
He stepped back and pushed her away.
Maybe this was a test. Maybe, he thought, this was a test from God.
"Is it?" She asked.
She knew all his thoughts.
"You have a destiny Gaius. There is going to be death on the road to Earth. There is going to be death when the fleet finds Earth. You will know death intimately and she will know you as I know you. If you are by my side I will protect you. Your fate lies with me. This is your destiny. With me. You love me. You always have. Always."
"No! No! I don't love you, not any more. Stop with this! I don't love you! I love Caprica and she loves me!" He was on the verge of hyperventilating. The guards were banging furiously on the hatch for him to shut up and sit down. They wanted nothing more to do with him. He didn't want anything more to do with her. "I love Caprica!" He shouted.
He looked up and searched his cell for her. "Where did she…" he began to utter before stopping himself on the realization that she was gone.