Fic - "Dead Man Walking part 19"
Woo! Part 19. I feel like I am getting close to the end here. Maybe a few more chapters. Ts is an AU tale, where most of season three and four didn't occur, except as a torture projection by Cylons into Gaeta's head. It is tagged ptsdfic.
He didn’t like the memorial wall, that was the truth. It was depressing, and sad, and it never made him feel better to look at the faces of thousands of dead people. His few photos were in his quarters, where he could see them, not on some garish display, an outpouring of grief that no sane person could sustain. That was why he always sped up and didn’t linger in the hallway with its steadily increasing rows of dead faces. The only reason he took the route through the memorial hallway was because he was late. Late for an interrogation.
Gaeta turned the corner and stopped in his tracks. His own face looked back at him. It was a picture he remembered. Dee had taken it, at a card game, just a few days before Louis had died. He was smiling and Louis was beside him, holding up his cards in delight. They had been together for just a few weeks, and he still missed Louis. Of course, it felt like more, and if he hadn’t hated the Cylons before, he hated them for twisting his memories of Louis. It had saved them all, he had meant it when he had told Lee about it, but it made him angry.
It also made him angry that his own picture was up on the wall. He hadn’t put up a picture of Louis. Louis hadn’t been well liked on the Pegasus, and he hadn’t had time to make friends on the Galactica. Dualla, he realized suddenly, she had taken the picture and she was sentimental. He reached out to take it down, and then stopped. Louis, he recalled, had put pictures of his parents and sister up. He had been sentimental, like Dee.
“I’ll have someone take that down.” Felix spun at the sound. The Admiral walked up to him, not smiling, but looking friendly. He gestured to the photo. “It should have been taken down when you were rescued.”
~*~
It occurred to Adama, as Lt. Gaeta stared at him as though he was struggled not to leap at him and attack him, that he was genuinely afraid. Not of dying or even of being attacked, Gaeta looked better but unwell, and even in top form, the man simply wasn’t a fighter. Men like Felix Gaeta didn’t physically fight unless they were threatened or enraged. He had startled the man when he had spoken, and if he didn’t make any sudden moves, Gaeta would calm down.
The problem was that the threat a man like Gaeta posed was far more dangerous than handling a fist or two. Laura could tease all she wanted but after discreetly asking around, he realized that Gaeta’s post-exodus unpopularity was a thing of the past. With rare exception, people were genuinely happy that the man was alive. The CIC staff seemed bolstered and far less surly and deep down, he knew why. They felt safer, and more respected, because they had seen one of the ship ‘favorites’ punished for behaving cruelly to one of their own. That had opened the flood gates, he realized, and proved he had made a horrible decision when he had allowed the Circle to get away with their crimes under the amnesty. Gaeta had spent months as the ship pariah, and he had allowed it, because people were afraid that being pleasant to someone that they respected and liked would trigger an attack from Kara Thrace and her cronies that would ultimately go unpunished. It had created not so much a divide in the crew, but an atmosphere of fear.
And there were people who truly believed that Felix Gaeta was blessed by the gods. That, the man’s considerable tactical skill, his reputation as a genuinely good person, and the unpleasant fact that when things got bad enough, he knew exactly how far Gaeta would go to change things, meant that he had reason to fear the man. He was looking at one of the few people the crew would accept in his place.
“I think Lt. Dualla put it up. After the funeral.” He didn’t back away from it. Gaeta knew there had been a funeral.
“It doesn’t matter,” Gaeta said after a long moment. “Louis didn’t have a picture up…. And everyone dies eventually. Sooner or later.”
Adama made the decision, despite how it hurt. “We’re not doing this, Mr. Gaeta.”
Gaeta looked at him quizzically. “Sir?”
“We’re not going to do this. I have enough proof. The interrogation drug could kill you and the Quorum already has enough evidence. I wanted to be certain… before I condemned people that I cared about, but I have a duty to all of my people. My being certain isn’t worth killing you.” Or worse. The drug had a tendency to permanently impair people. The hallucinations it caused made the information obtained chancy at best.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Gaeta asked, assuming the position of attention.
“Granted.” He didn’t change his stance but mentally he braced himself.
“You’re making the wrong decision, sir.” Gaeta said it quietly. “You’re making that decision for the right reason, because you’re putting duty above your feelings about your friends, but that doesn’t make it the right decision.” The man seemed to deflate. “I don’t have clear memories of what happened on New Caprica. For some reason, I found out something significant and I… kept it from you. I took an oath to the people of the colonies to protect them, and I repressed this knowledge. It’s important to know why, to know the details of what… the people locked in the brig really are. That’s why I suggested the interrogation. This is about our survival, our survival as a people, and that trumps any issue I might have with you.”
It occurred to him suddenly that even after everything, the destruction of the colonies, the dismal failure of New Caprica, and the even more dismal failure of military discipline, that Gaeta was still a believer. A believer in the platitudes about duty and honor, and service.
And the plan was to tear the man apart. Made worse by the fact that he had just been given a reason to go forward with the plan. Not just a reason, a damn good reason. A reason that, after all was said, was far better than the one he had. Still. “You could die with this drug, Lieutenant.”
Gaeta tapped the photo. “I don’t believe in gods, sir. But I do believe I’m here alive when I shouldn’t be.” He tapped the photo again. “Louis died, and by rights, I should have died ten days after him.” He smiled slightly. “Louis saved this ship by dying. The least I can do is try to keep it safe.”
There wasn’t anything to say to that.
He didn’t like the memorial wall, that was the truth. It was depressing, and sad, and it never made him feel better to look at the faces of thousands of dead people. His few photos were in his quarters, where he could see them, not on some garish display, an outpouring of grief that no sane person could sustain. That was why he always sped up and didn’t linger in the hallway with its steadily increasing rows of dead faces. The only reason he took the route through the memorial hallway was because he was late. Late for an interrogation.
Gaeta turned the corner and stopped in his tracks. His own face looked back at him. It was a picture he remembered. Dee had taken it, at a card game, just a few days before Louis had died. He was smiling and Louis was beside him, holding up his cards in delight. They had been together for just a few weeks, and he still missed Louis. Of course, it felt like more, and if he hadn’t hated the Cylons before, he hated them for twisting his memories of Louis. It had saved them all, he had meant it when he had told Lee about it, but it made him angry.
It also made him angry that his own picture was up on the wall. He hadn’t put up a picture of Louis. Louis hadn’t been well liked on the Pegasus, and he hadn’t had time to make friends on the Galactica. Dualla, he realized suddenly, she had taken the picture and she was sentimental. He reached out to take it down, and then stopped. Louis, he recalled, had put pictures of his parents and sister up. He had been sentimental, like Dee.
“I’ll have someone take that down.” Felix spun at the sound. The Admiral walked up to him, not smiling, but looking friendly. He gestured to the photo. “It should have been taken down when you were rescued.”
~*~
It occurred to Adama, as Lt. Gaeta stared at him as though he was struggled not to leap at him and attack him, that he was genuinely afraid. Not of dying or even of being attacked, Gaeta looked better but unwell, and even in top form, the man simply wasn’t a fighter. Men like Felix Gaeta didn’t physically fight unless they were threatened or enraged. He had startled the man when he had spoken, and if he didn’t make any sudden moves, Gaeta would calm down.
The problem was that the threat a man like Gaeta posed was far more dangerous than handling a fist or two. Laura could tease all she wanted but after discreetly asking around, he realized that Gaeta’s post-exodus unpopularity was a thing of the past. With rare exception, people were genuinely happy that the man was alive. The CIC staff seemed bolstered and far less surly and deep down, he knew why. They felt safer, and more respected, because they had seen one of the ship ‘favorites’ punished for behaving cruelly to one of their own. That had opened the flood gates, he realized, and proved he had made a horrible decision when he had allowed the Circle to get away with their crimes under the amnesty. Gaeta had spent months as the ship pariah, and he had allowed it, because people were afraid that being pleasant to someone that they respected and liked would trigger an attack from Kara Thrace and her cronies that would ultimately go unpunished. It had created not so much a divide in the crew, but an atmosphere of fear.
And there were people who truly believed that Felix Gaeta was blessed by the gods. That, the man’s considerable tactical skill, his reputation as a genuinely good person, and the unpleasant fact that when things got bad enough, he knew exactly how far Gaeta would go to change things, meant that he had reason to fear the man. He was looking at one of the few people the crew would accept in his place.
“I think Lt. Dualla put it up. After the funeral.” He didn’t back away from it. Gaeta knew there had been a funeral.
“It doesn’t matter,” Gaeta said after a long moment. “Louis didn’t have a picture up…. And everyone dies eventually. Sooner or later.”
Adama made the decision, despite how it hurt. “We’re not doing this, Mr. Gaeta.”
Gaeta looked at him quizzically. “Sir?”
“We’re not going to do this. I have enough proof. The interrogation drug could kill you and the Quorum already has enough evidence. I wanted to be certain… before I condemned people that I cared about, but I have a duty to all of my people. My being certain isn’t worth killing you.” Or worse. The drug had a tendency to permanently impair people. The hallucinations it caused made the information obtained chancy at best.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Gaeta asked, assuming the position of attention.
“Granted.” He didn’t change his stance but mentally he braced himself.
“You’re making the wrong decision, sir.” Gaeta said it quietly. “You’re making that decision for the right reason, because you’re putting duty above your feelings about your friends, but that doesn’t make it the right decision.” The man seemed to deflate. “I don’t have clear memories of what happened on New Caprica. For some reason, I found out something significant and I… kept it from you. I took an oath to the people of the colonies to protect them, and I repressed this knowledge. It’s important to know why, to know the details of what… the people locked in the brig really are. That’s why I suggested the interrogation. This is about our survival, our survival as a people, and that trumps any issue I might have with you.”
It occurred to him suddenly that even after everything, the destruction of the colonies, the dismal failure of New Caprica, and the even more dismal failure of military discipline, that Gaeta was still a believer. A believer in the platitudes about duty and honor, and service.
And the plan was to tear the man apart. Made worse by the fact that he had just been given a reason to go forward with the plan. Not just a reason, a damn good reason. A reason that, after all was said, was far better than the one he had. Still. “You could die with this drug, Lieutenant.”
Gaeta tapped the photo. “I don’t believe in gods, sir. But I do believe I’m here alive when I shouldn’t be.” He tapped the photo again. “Louis died, and by rights, I should have died ten days after him.” He smiled slightly. “Louis saved this ship by dying. The least I can do is try to keep it safe.”
There wasn’t anything to say to that.