As a rule, Martha avoided the clinic whenever possible. There seemed to be an ever-present possibility that she'd run into Chase there, and while she didn't have anything personal against him (Honestly she didn't, and might have been fond of him had circumstances been any different), she preferred to forget that he existed when she could. Things were easier for her that way
( ... )
Rubbing her eyes Dualla wondered if there was any way she'd be able to get a ration of water. Her throat was parched, feeling like paper or dry brush and she coughed slightly before forcing her eyes open.
It took her a moment to remember that someone had just spoken to her. Turning her head, she saw that it was another woman. The woman's seeming comfort did nothing to ease her own sense of disquiet.
"That I am." She frowned, trying to remember how she'd gotten here. "Does this make you old?"
The slight rasp to her voice didn't go amiss, and Martha took it upon herself to dart into the room and pour her a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. "Older than I care to remember," she quipped in reply as she turned to the bed. "Can you sit up at all?" she asked, cup clamped in one hand.
Thinking for a moment, before putting her hands to the mattress and forcing herself into the seated position. As soon as she did so, Dee exhaled roughly, feeling like it had taken more energy than she had cared to use to do so.
"I'm guessing you mean a jet and not a dinosaur," Martha replied as she carefully held the cup out. "Although I reckon the result would be similar. Are you military?"
There was a chart clipped to the end of the bed, but Martha resisted reading it. None of her business, she reminded herself.
"It's a type of scouting vehicle." Her brow furrowed for a moment at the fact that she had to explain it. It had been a long time since she'd encountered someone who hadn't heard the term. "Yes. I'm the CIC officer on board Galactica."
It didn't even occur to explain that it made her a military officer in the Colonial fleet. It was just something that she was.
There was something familiar about the name Galactica, but Martha couldn't quite place her finger on what it was. What was clear enough, however, was that this woman was very new indeed.
"I'm Martha," she offered with a tentative smile. "Has anyone explained to you where you are?"
"Hello." She licked her lips, feeling odd and out of place without anyone who just knew her or required a formal introduction. "I'm Dee, and not really. I was a bit incapacitated before."
That frakking illness had rendered her useless and all the details of what was happening had gotten lost in the fray. She still felt terrible, but now she felt a bit grounded.
Martha sucked in a slow breath, held it a moment, then exhaled as she sat carefully beside Dee on the bed. "This is likely going to sound quite strange," she began, dark eyes focused intently upon the other woman's face. "But just bear with me. You're stranded on an island. There are several hundred of us here, all in the same predicament. No one knows how we get here, no one knows how to leave. People appear and disappear at random, from all different times, places and realities. For instance, I'm from England, on planet Earth, and it was the year 2007 when I left, but I've been here nearly a year now."
"You're from Earth?" Her heart skipped a beat in her chest. It was like everything that the Scriptures said about the Lost Thirteenth Tribe was true. She didn't know if it comforting to have her hope be restored that way or crushing.
It probably didn't matter either way. "Oh Gods, that's..frakking insane. I mean, members of the Thirteenth tribe here of all places. I hope the others know."
It was the curse that did it, the vague bits of information clicking together to make a clearer whole. "I am, yes," Martha confirmed, then canted her head in curiosity. "Are you from..." Oh hell, what had Lee said? It had been months ago. Her eyes narrowed as a fuzzy memory surfaced. "Caprica?"
Suprise flickered over her face. It was one thing to meet someone from Earth, but to have them know about the Colonies...well, it just seemed unusual. She didn't know why though; it felt reasonable that they would know about them as well.
Shaking her head slightly, Dee pressed her lips together for a moment before speaking again. "No, I only trained there. I'm from Sagittaron." A fact that probalby explained why she was in this mess to begin with.
As far as answers went, that was good enough for Martha. There weren't all that many discernible patterns to how people arrived on the island, but one of them was dimension or reality of origin, as opposed to location. Sarah Jane, Jack, Rose, herself, and of course the Doctor -- They were all evidence of that, having arrived from vastly different times and locations, but all tied together nonetheless.
"I don't suppose you happen to know Lee Adama," she prompted.
Of all the questions Dualla had expected, such as what she'd been doing when she got here or what was wrong with her, this was not one of them. A look of suprise crossed onto her face and she nodded.
At the acknowledgment, Martha's mouth had begun to turn up into a smile, which promptly froze in place when Dee continued. The pause Martha took before replying was long enough to have become awkward, and it was only through sheer force of will that she spoke again so soon.
"Oh," she began, and canted her head in a stiff movement intended to communicate casual curiosity. "He's here. He'll, um. Be relieved to know you're safe, I'm sure."
That was that, then. Martha's luck was officially shit. At some point, that Murphy's Law bloke had made her his bitch. It was almost comical.
There was something noticeably off about the way that Martha had responded. It was just enough to make her wonder if there was something wrong. At least something that didn't involve a place that didn't make sense.
"I hope so too, but I'm glad he's here. It's easier to deal with this frakking situation knowing I'm not alone." Not that Dee couldn't get through it. Just to go from the battlestar and the life she knew, to being sick and alone wasn't exactly ideal.
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It took her a moment to remember that someone had just spoken to her. Turning her head, she saw that it was another woman. The woman's seeming comfort did nothing to ease her own sense of disquiet.
"That I am." She frowned, trying to remember how she'd gotten here. "Does this make you old?"
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"I feel like I've been hit by a Raptor."
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There was a chart clipped to the end of the bed, but Martha resisted reading it. None of her business, she reminded herself.
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It didn't even occur to explain that it made her a military officer in the Colonial fleet. It was just something that she was.
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"I'm Martha," she offered with a tentative smile. "Has anyone explained to you where you are?"
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That frakking illness had rendered her useless and all the details of what was happening had gotten lost in the fray. She still felt terrible, but now she felt a bit grounded.
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It probably didn't matter either way. "Oh Gods, that's..frakking insane. I mean, members of the Thirteenth tribe here of all places. I hope the others know."
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Shaking her head slightly, Dee pressed her lips together for a moment before speaking again. "No, I only trained there. I'm from Sagittaron." A fact that probalby explained why she was in this mess to begin with.
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"I don't suppose you happen to know Lee Adama," she prompted.
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"I do. He's my husband."
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"Oh," she began, and canted her head in a stiff movement intended to communicate casual curiosity. "He's here. He'll, um. Be relieved to know you're safe, I'm sure."
That was that, then. Martha's luck was officially shit. At some point, that Murphy's Law bloke had made her his bitch. It was almost comical.
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"I hope so too, but I'm glad he's here. It's easier to deal with this frakking situation knowing I'm not alone." Not that Dee couldn't get through it. Just to go from the battlestar and the life she knew, to being sick and alone wasn't exactly ideal.
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