Collaborators
He can't comprehend it at first.
"Felix Gaeta, you've been tried and found guilty of crimes against humanity by a circle of your peers, as duly authorized by the President of the Colonies." Seelix has her arms folded around a sheaf of papers, completely impassive. "If you have any words to offer in your own defense, now is the time."
Now.
"Come on, Felix." By contrast, Galen keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable, practically pleading. "Talk. We'll listen."
Not in the CIC, where Tigh called him traitor, collaborator, turncoat, toaster-lover, all while Gaeta was voluntarily helping them patch up Galactica's comm system after her intra-atmospheric belly flop.
"Yeah, that's right," sneers Connor as he leans in. "We'll listen to you tell us how hiding behind Baltar's skirt was actually your way of helping the insurgency."
Not in the mess, when Starbuck cornered him under pretense of forgiveness, and offered nothing to Gaeta's protests but a sardonic, Right, Felix. You're a frakking hero.
"Say something," Barolay demands.
But now -- now that Gaeta's moments away from dying, mouth still tasting of oil and grit from the gag and wrists still bound with a zip tie -- now, they'll listen to what he has to say. A furious, hissing anger rears up and bashes against his ribcage, hard enough for the thump of pain to spread out to his throat and stomach. Gaeta bites down on nothing as he glares up at them.
This'll be on all your heads, he thinks, uncharacteristically savage. I haven't done anything. If you kill me, they'll find out, and it'll come back around on all of you.
"What's the point?" he spits. The launch tube's freezing: goosebumps prick along his arms, and his knees are starting to go numb from the cold. "I already tried to explain it. I'm not going to beg."
When he blinks then, the world splits, halos spiking out from the overhead lights, faces blurring above him. The rage suddenly weakens and unwinds.
No, says another thought, very quiet and just as certain. In front of him, Colonel Tigh's reeling off another litany of taunts; Gaeta can't hear it. It won't come around.
You know it won't.
The corners of his eyes prickle, chilling the air around them as tears start to leak out. He bows his head.
And this is nothing less than you deserve anyway.
"Beg."
It's Starbuck. Gaeta doesn't look up. He can feel her staring down at him, fey and shaking. "Beg," she repeats, and when Gaeta doesn't react, she snaps loose and screams it again: "BEG!"
Nobody moves to pull her back until after she's slammed a kick into Gaeta's ribs. He tries to twist aside, involuntarily shielding his face with his bound hands, but he can't move quick enough to avoid it; it knocks the air out of him and leaves him doubled over his knees as Tigh says, "Thrace -- "
"No." She whirls back on Gaeta, bending in to put their faces inches apart. "Beg."
Tell them everything, she says. Tell them everything you told me. She yells it, demanding the answers he can't give: the stories of the dead drop, and the dog bowl, and the --
"What?"
Galen, already retreating up the launch tube, whips around. His footsteps pound like cannons as he races back, demanding, "What'd she say? What did she just say? Back up, lady -- " He grabs Starbuck's shoulder, shoving her aside before he crouches in front of Gaeta; Gaeta stares back at him, dumbfounded, unable to speak.
"What did she just say?" Galen repeats, softer but no less urgent. "What did you say to her? Tell me. What did you say to her?"
And suddenly, it breaks down and rushes out of him like they've already vented the launch tube. "There was a-a-a yellow dog bowl," he quavers, the words trampling over each other in their scramble to get free. "It was a signal and then there was a message in the garbage dump. I turned it over." He's gulping for air, hands trembling. "It was a signal, it meant there was a message in the garbage dump."
Galen reels back onto his feet. "That was you," he breathes, and then, horrified, "Oh my gods -- "
One hand dives into his pocket and comes out with a box cutter. The quiet click of the blade extending almost disappears underneath Tigh's protest: "What are you doing?"
"Chief." Starbuck looks like she's about to be sick.
Galen ignores them and slides the box cutter between Gaeta's hands. The snap of the breaking zip tie silences the rest of the Circle. It also punches Gaeta backward into a flinch, despite himself; quickly, he reaches behind his feet to catch his balance on his fingertips.
"There was a yellow dog bowl," Galen tells them as he turns around. "I used it." Closing a fist around the box cutter, glancing to Tigh, "We were wondering who the source was, Colonel. There's no other way he could have known. He's the only other one that would know about it.
"He's the reason we knew about the death lists, he's the reason I saved Cally, he's the reason we're on this ship. He's the one who gave us the inside information."
Tossing the broken zip tie at Tigh's feet, Galen points to Gaeta with the box cutter. "There's our source, Colonel," he whispers.
Tigh's good eye widens in shock. Gaeta sags, too stunned to move any more than that. This is the reprieve he's wanted since he stepped back onto Galactica's hangar deck. The forgiveness for his crimes. Absolution.
After everything --
Gaeta finally moves to push out of the crouch, bracing himself as he rocks back onto stiff ankles. "I did what I could," he says, and he doesn't mean for it to sound that bleak or cracked. Carefully, like he's still half-expecting a blow, he uncurls and stands up. He can't look at any of them.
This is what he wanted.
(It's not the only forgiveness he needs.)
"I don't know what else I could have done."
Feet tingling with pins and needles, Gaeta half walks, half limps out of the launch tube. He doesn't look back.
"Felix Gaeta, you've been tried and found guilty of crimes against humanity by a circle of your peers, as duly authorized by the President of the Colonies." Seelix has her arms folded around a sheaf of papers, completely impassive. "If you have any words to offer in your own defense, now is the time."
Now.
"Come on, Felix." By contrast, Galen keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable, practically pleading. "Talk. We'll listen."
Not in the CIC, where Tigh called him traitor, collaborator, turncoat, toaster-lover, all while Gaeta was voluntarily helping them patch up Galactica's comm system after her intra-atmospheric belly flop.
"Yeah, that's right," sneers Connor as he leans in. "We'll listen to you tell us how hiding behind Baltar's skirt was actually your way of helping the insurgency."
Not in the mess, when Starbuck cornered him under pretense of forgiveness, and offered nothing to Gaeta's protests but a sardonic, Right, Felix. You're a frakking hero.
"Say something," Barolay demands.
But now -- now that Gaeta's moments away from dying, mouth still tasting of oil and grit from the gag and wrists still bound with a zip tie -- now, they'll listen to what he has to say. A furious, hissing anger rears up and bashes against his ribcage, hard enough for the thump of pain to spread out to his throat and stomach. Gaeta bites down on nothing as he glares up at them.
This'll be on all your heads, he thinks, uncharacteristically savage. I haven't done anything. If you kill me, they'll find out, and it'll come back around on all of you.
"What's the point?" he spits. The launch tube's freezing: goosebumps prick along his arms, and his knees are starting to go numb from the cold. "I already tried to explain it. I'm not going to beg."
When he blinks then, the world splits, halos spiking out from the overhead lights, faces blurring above him. The rage suddenly weakens and unwinds.
No, says another thought, very quiet and just as certain. In front of him, Colonel Tigh's reeling off another litany of taunts; Gaeta can't hear it. It won't come around.
You know it won't.
The corners of his eyes prickle, chilling the air around them as tears start to leak out. He bows his head.
And this is nothing less than you deserve anyway.
"Beg."
It's Starbuck. Gaeta doesn't look up. He can feel her staring down at him, fey and shaking. "Beg," she repeats, and when Gaeta doesn't react, she snaps loose and screams it again: "BEG!"
Nobody moves to pull her back until after she's slammed a kick into Gaeta's ribs. He tries to twist aside, involuntarily shielding his face with his bound hands, but he can't move quick enough to avoid it; it knocks the air out of him and leaves him doubled over his knees as Tigh says, "Thrace -- "
"No." She whirls back on Gaeta, bending in to put their faces inches apart. "Beg."
Tell them everything, she says. Tell them everything you told me. She yells it, demanding the answers he can't give: the stories of the dead drop, and the dog bowl, and the --
"What?"
Galen, already retreating up the launch tube, whips around. His footsteps pound like cannons as he races back, demanding, "What'd she say? What did she just say? Back up, lady -- " He grabs Starbuck's shoulder, shoving her aside before he crouches in front of Gaeta; Gaeta stares back at him, dumbfounded, unable to speak.
"What did she just say?" Galen repeats, softer but no less urgent. "What did you say to her? Tell me. What did you say to her?"
And suddenly, it breaks down and rushes out of him like they've already vented the launch tube. "There was a-a-a yellow dog bowl," he quavers, the words trampling over each other in their scramble to get free. "It was a signal and then there was a message in the garbage dump. I turned it over." He's gulping for air, hands trembling. "It was a signal, it meant there was a message in the garbage dump."
Galen reels back onto his feet. "That was you," he breathes, and then, horrified, "Oh my gods -- "
One hand dives into his pocket and comes out with a box cutter. The quiet click of the blade extending almost disappears underneath Tigh's protest: "What are you doing?"
"Chief." Starbuck looks like she's about to be sick.
Galen ignores them and slides the box cutter between Gaeta's hands. The snap of the breaking zip tie silences the rest of the Circle. It also punches Gaeta backward into a flinch, despite himself; quickly, he reaches behind his feet to catch his balance on his fingertips.
"There was a yellow dog bowl," Galen tells them as he turns around. "I used it." Closing a fist around the box cutter, glancing to Tigh, "We were wondering who the source was, Colonel. There's no other way he could have known. He's the only other one that would know about it.
"He's the reason we knew about the death lists, he's the reason I saved Cally, he's the reason we're on this ship. He's the one who gave us the inside information."
Tossing the broken zip tie at Tigh's feet, Galen points to Gaeta with the box cutter. "There's our source, Colonel," he whispers.
Tigh's good eye widens in shock. Gaeta sags, too stunned to move any more than that. This is the reprieve he's wanted since he stepped back onto Galactica's hangar deck. The forgiveness for his crimes. Absolution.
After everything --
Gaeta finally moves to push out of the crouch, bracing himself as he rocks back onto stiff ankles. "I did what I could," he says, and he doesn't mean for it to sound that bleak or cracked. Carefully, like he's still half-expecting a blow, he uncurls and stands up. He can't look at any of them.
This is what he wanted.
(It's not the only forgiveness he needs.)
"I don't know what else I could have done."
Feet tingling with pins and needles, Gaeta half walks, half limps out of the launch tube. He doesn't look back.