Ghosts of the Past

by cliosmuse

Chapter 5

In CIC, Saul Tigh doubled over as the shock-wave from Tory's call rolled over him. Swiped at the sweat on his brow, streaming down around his eyepatch: it was the feeling of being struck by lightning.

He wouldn't have noticed her reaction at all if Felix Gaeta hadn't rushed to her side, metal leg pounding the CIC floor. From his vantage point, bent over, he could see Gaeta leaning over her clumsily where she was hunched down to the floor. She was breathing hard and rubbing her face in her hands. The boy was whispering, again and again: "You're okay. You're okay."

And then it wasn't just the call that shook him (though it did, shook him still) but also a lifetime of memories: Helen, his first wife (so very, very different from Ellen, later); his boys (looking at him with such love in their eyes); his partner on the beat, shot dead in front of him on a routine traffic stop (pushed him to start drinking and never stop). The bench in that park in Brooklyn where he first met Anastasia Dualla.

He was up and walking over to her; pushed Gaeta aside and closed his fingers tight around her arm, tight enough to bruise. "Lieutenant Dualla, I need you to come with me." She was looking at him with wide eyes (greener than they usually were, with fear); and then she relaxed a little and nodded, just once. Throwing a glance over his shoulder at Helo (Bill still in his quarters; better but not fully recovered from recent events; and this, this revelation, this wouldn't help): "Captain Agathon, you have command."

Together – he led her roughly, but she wasn't unwilling – they walked out of CIC.

***

The knock on his hatch startled him. He looked down at the sleeping toddler in his lap; thought about setting him aside but, after the wave of something that had just threatened to level him, he couldn't bear to let him go. So, pulling his son close to his chest, he stood and spun the wheel.

Tigh pushed past him into his quarters, pulling Dualla after him. (She stumbled a bit over the threshold.)

Tyrol inclined his head toward her as he watched her green eyes dart around the room. "What's she doing here?" Not that he had anything against her. Never had. But if he was going to talk to Tigh, he wanted to talk about what had just happened – the electric blast that had just ricocheted through his mind – and he didn't have much interest in having that conversation in front of her.

Tigh didn't let go of her – if anything, tightened his grip on her upper arm, shaking her slightly, as he pushed the words out: "It's her. Do you remember?"

He tilted his head and, narrowing his eyes, looking into those striking eyes of hers. "Her?" And, as he watched, he did remember, all at once (like Tigh had; like Sam had). Remembered Saul (a young man of forty, in those days) bringing her down into the lab; remembered the Bible she'd clutched in one hand, and that little pad of paper she'd kept constantly in the other; remembered the look of amazement she'd fixed on his ship; remembered her lifting her voice to tell them – as they watched her in awe – that Starbuck was telling the truth, that they had to follow the course she'd mapped for them. "My gods." He looked back and forth between the two Cylons before him. "I don't understand. I remember setting out on the course she set for us and then going into stasis. And the next thing I remember... is enlisting. It doesn't make sense. And what about Starbuck? We all remembered her being there."

"She was." Her voice at that moment was as surprising to him as it had been in his lab a thousand years before. "She was there. She left you to come find me."

Tyrol shook his head. "But didn't you tell us she came to you before the blasts?"

She nodded. "She did. And then she came to me again. And something... something horrible happened."

She stopped, and they couldn't tear their eyes away from her (Tigh's hand still clutching her arm). The Colonel: "Go on, girl. It's too long passed for guilt."

She swiped a hand across her eyes and took a shaky breath. "I –." Another breath. "I was scared. When I saw her, I was so scared. I – I shot her. I killed her. It was an accident." She was sobbing now. "It was an accident. I couldn't stop the blood. Just an accident."

Silence for a moment, her hitched sobs the only sound in the room, the shaking of her shoulders the only movement. Finally, Tigh swallowed. "And then you told Bill –"

"I – I told the admiral that she was the Fifth." Lips quivering: "I had just remembered. It was so much. It was too much...."

Tigh dropped her arm, suddenly, like it burned him. "Why didn't you hear the music?" Her answering gaze was full of confusion and pain.

Tyrol turned away, paced his floor once, twice, son balanced carefully, gently on his hip. "I think it was because of this." He nodded to himself. "The human brain –" At Tigh's quirked eyebrow, he amended: "Our brains are remarkable instruments. They're built to take in infinite points of data and to filter them down into a manageable amount of information that we can physically and emotionally process. Think about sight – you and I could look at the same scene and notice completely different aspects of it – we could swear to the presence of completely different features – because our brains decided for us which things were the most important for us to notice. It's crucial, really. It's a defense mechanism. It keeps us sane. If we were to see everything –" He shook his head.

Tigh smirked. "Guess you're not just a knuckledragger anymore, are you, Doctor Tyrol?"

Tyrol ignored him. "That's what repression is. A defense mechanism. The mind selects not to see certain things to protect itself from overload. Her mind wouldn't let her hear it, because it didn't want to remember."

"Well, tell me, Chief, if the mind is so all-powerful, why did she remember at all?"

Tigh shrugged. "You can't stop the tide."

Ana was breathing deeply, regaining her composure. "As interesting as this all is –" She swallowed. "I think right now we need to figure out –"

Tyrol blinked. "Who Tory just tried to call."

***

Few words had been spoken between Caprica Six and Laura Roslin in the space between the moment she made the call and that of Athena's arrival. When Sharon knocked on the hatch, they were both staring down at their laps, both deep in thought, ruminating on things said and unsaid. At the knock, Laura drew herself to her feet (though her hands were braced against her desk, for support). "Come in."

The Cylon walked in warily. "I can't stay long. I've left Hera with –"

"Lieutenant Agathon, have you been having the dreams?"

She swallowed thickly. Didn't want to tell them that every time she closed her eyes, she saw her little girl running farther and farther away from her grasp, into the waiting arms of the woman before her. "No."

Roslin nodded slowly; resumed her seat, steepling her hands in front of her lips. "You don't help Hera by lying, Lieutenant." A beat. "Please. Sit."

With a sidelong, leery glance at Caprica, Athena did. She didn't speak.

"When the visions first began, Captain Thrace told me that the hybrid had foretold them: the dying leader shall know the truth about the Opera House. And now Captain Thrace, provided she survived her spacewalk, is on Earth."

"With Gaius." Caprica.

Athena clenched her teeth. "Maybe so, but Hera's here. She's safe. And I'm going to keep her that way."

Laura took a deep breath. "I wonder if you can."

Next chapter we're back to Earth, I promise. And I promise it won't take two months to get out. Hopefully you'll see one a week from this point on. In the meantime, please click below to review!