Experimentally, Gaeta flexes the stick of gum. It snaps in half like a twig.
After a beat in which he stares at both halves, his expression clearly conveying why in the gods' names would anyone ever put that in their mouth?, he drops them back to the bartop to be reabsorbed by Bar.
Not Felix. It's not the Eight he knows from New Caprica. He recognizes the outfit as well this time; even if she weren't a Cylon, that alone would be enough to grab his full attention.
Yet it's still half a question when he says her name: "Sharon."
It's happening, he thinks, with a dim and distant awe. My gods, it's actually happening.
Or -- it will happen, in time. (And he can remember what Baltar told him, and feel the swell of uncertainty that comes with it.) But the fact remains: Adama's coming. He hasn't forgotten; he hasn't abandoned them.
It might actually be all right.
Gaeta presses a hand over his mouth. "Oh, thank the gods," he whispers, and it starts to tremble like a plucked string before he can steady it.
Gaeta takes a deep breath to get his composure back into place. It works; he sounds normal, and not a little wry as well, when he speaks next.
"Yeah. I'm sure people thinking the admiral's off his meds won't help to inspire confidence as he's planning."
He thinks it over; and hesitates, then, as a possibility comes to mind.
The insurgency's asked for information regarding weak spots in the Cylon jamming frequencies blanketing the city. They've been trying, in their own way, to speak to Adama directly as well.
Cautious, "There's...one tactical practice I've seen used before. I'm not sure if he's already using it, but -- putting a Raptor in wide orbit to listen for any hailing frequencies from the planet, that could be a way to forge contact outside the bar."
It's enough of one to take some of the edge off of his interest. Gaeta nods, and says very quietly, "Good."
Until they have a plan that isn't a suicide mission. That's still an open-ended time frame; it leaves room for the situation to get a lot worse before it gets better.
But if there's one faith Gaeta hasn't completely lost yet, it's in the admiral.
One corner of Gaeta's mouth twists, slightly. He nods again.
Even quieter, as he makes his decision: "I can't provide anything besides the most general information. Sitreps on the city as a whole, basically. But if he needs anything, that could help him execute a plan..."
Is this too much? he thinks, and abruptly cuts it off with, I need to give him something.
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After a beat in which he stares at both halves, his expression clearly conveying why in the gods' names would anyone ever put that in their mouth?, he drops them back to the bartop to be reabsorbed by Bar.
He hasn't noticed Sharon yet.
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Not Felix. It's not the Eight he knows from New Caprica. He recognizes the outfit as well this time; even if she weren't a Cylon, that alone would be enough to grab his full attention.
Yet it's still half a question when he says her name: "Sharon."
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His eyes grow wide.
"And?" It's barely a breath.
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Or -- it will happen, in time. (And he can remember what Baltar told him, and feel the swell of uncertainty that comes with it.) But the fact remains: Adama's coming. He hasn't forgotten; he hasn't abandoned them.
It might actually be all right.
Gaeta presses a hand over his mouth. "Oh, thank the gods," he whispers, and it starts to tremble like a plucked string before he can steady it.
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(The comment has been removed)
"Yeah. I'm sure people thinking the admiral's off his meds won't help to inspire confidence as he's planning."
He thinks it over; and hesitates, then, as a possibility comes to mind.
The insurgency's asked for information regarding weak spots in the Cylon jamming frequencies blanketing the city. They've been trying, in their own way, to speak to Adama directly as well.
Cautious, "There's...one tactical practice I've seen used before. I'm not sure if he's already using it, but -- putting a Raptor in wide orbit to listen for any hailing frequencies from the planet, that could be a way to forge contact outside the bar."
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It isn't exactly surprise, but it does mark a sudden, keen interest.
Silent as it is, it also asks for an explanation as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud.
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Until they have a plan that isn't a suicide mission. That's still an open-ended time frame; it leaves room for the situation to get a lot worse before it gets better.
But if there's one faith Gaeta hasn't completely lost yet, it's in the admiral.
"Is..." He hesitates. "How is he?"
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Even quieter, as he makes his decision: "I can't provide anything besides the most general information. Sitreps on the city as a whole, basically. But if he needs anything, that could help him execute a plan..."
Is this too much? he thinks, and abruptly cuts it off with, I need to give him something.
"I can do my best."
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