Ficlet: Conditional Perfect
Title: Conditional Perfect
Characters: Gaeta (Gaeta/Baltar)
Summary: There were days when Felix Gaeta wished he were a Cylon.
Rating: PG-13 for a tiny bit of sex and general bleakness.
Wordcount: 550 words
Beta: Nope.
Author’s Note: I wrote this in the midseason break of season four, before the webisodes were out and before all those awful episodes took place (before I had an LJ account, actually). I found it while cleaning. I didn’t mean to post it, it was a finger exercise to get a feeling for Gaeta before I started writing him for real. But whatever. It’s a shameless variation on what I fondly call grammar porn. It isn’t complex (it’s, like, “Let’s try and get the greater picture so I can be more subtle next time”), but I decided it isn't half bad, so here goes.
Conditional Perfect
There were days when Felix Gaeta wished he were a Cylon.
It started after the election fraud when he went to the lab and carefully, diligently put away the notes, the notes on the route President Roslin had claimed would lead them to Earth. Roslin wasn’t the President anymore though, and Felix could stop plotting his jumps based on temple art.
He’d had moments of contempt before, of course, like when he realized that his promotion to captain? Wouldn’t happen, ever. Still, he’d always been okay with it. Everybody knew that the Admiral played favorites, but most of them deserved it. Felix was aware of the fact that he wasn’t that important in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t mind.
Now however, he paused. He thought of the looks people had been giving him all day, the look Adama had given him after he reported the fraud, after doing the right thing.
Hand hovering over a chart, he thought -
If I were a Cylon, I...
But he didn’t allow himself to finish that thought.
If he were a Cylon though, people wouldn’t be shooting him these looks, they wouldn’t dare.
If he were a Cylon, he could leave.
--
One year, one life later, he’d cry out Gaius’ name when he came in Gaius’ arms, but he’d try not to listen while the other man whispered endearments in his ear afterwards. He knew after all that they meant nothing anymore, if they ever had, were only said as a matter of course.
If I were a Cylon, he’d think suddenly, looking up at Gaius reaching for the ambrosia on the nightstand, you’d be forced to look at me, all frakking day long.
Two weeks after that, the Cylons found them anyway, and they only ever noticed Felix to mock him, so he wasn’t a Cylon, so that was made clear. The few times he’d think on it, he wouldn’t be surprised.
My luck doesn’t run tha--
He wouldn’t dwell on it, he wouldn’t.
--
Felix wasn’t, by nature, a violent person.
Still, one night he woke up in his rack, shaking in the grasp of a dream about Thrace, about holding her down with superhuman strength, about screaming and making her beg.
--
Baltar’s lips almost touched his ear, like a caress, his words clipped and precise and so full of spite.
“I know your secret, Felix, ah, I know--”
Felix’ eyes darted through the room, scanning for a weapon, anything sharp, before Gaius could say.
--
After that, he stopped thinking subjunctively as a matter of principle.
--
Another year later, he’d sit - always sit now - at his post and analyze sensor scans from that junkyard that was Earth, noticing that all the way through, he had been pressing his hand onto the console, transferring data without ever using the keypad.
Felix stared down at it for a minute, frozen, pieces of code floating through his mind, coloring his sight, connecting to a humming presence he suddenly knew was the allied basestar, so close by -
His first thought -
If they could still download, would I get a new body with--
Don’t.
He searched for a reaction, any reaction, helpless.
None was left. None at all.
Characters: Gaeta (Gaeta/Baltar)
Summary: There were days when Felix Gaeta wished he were a Cylon.
Rating: PG-13 for a tiny bit of sex and general bleakness.
Wordcount: 550 words
Beta: Nope.
Author’s Note: I wrote this in the midseason break of season four, before the webisodes were out and before all those awful episodes took place (before I had an LJ account, actually). I found it while cleaning. I didn’t mean to post it, it was a finger exercise to get a feeling for Gaeta before I started writing him for real. But whatever. It’s a shameless variation on what I fondly call grammar porn. It isn’t complex (it’s, like, “Let’s try and get the greater picture so I can be more subtle next time”), but I decided it isn't half bad, so here goes.
Conditional Perfect
There were days when Felix Gaeta wished he were a Cylon.
It started after the election fraud when he went to the lab and carefully, diligently put away the notes, the notes on the route President Roslin had claimed would lead them to Earth. Roslin wasn’t the President anymore though, and Felix could stop plotting his jumps based on temple art.
He’d had moments of contempt before, of course, like when he realized that his promotion to captain? Wouldn’t happen, ever. Still, he’d always been okay with it. Everybody knew that the Admiral played favorites, but most of them deserved it. Felix was aware of the fact that he wasn’t that important in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t mind.
Now however, he paused. He thought of the looks people had been giving him all day, the look Adama had given him after he reported the fraud, after doing the right thing.
Hand hovering over a chart, he thought -
If I were a Cylon, I...
But he didn’t allow himself to finish that thought.
If he were a Cylon though, people wouldn’t be shooting him these looks, they wouldn’t dare.
If he were a Cylon, he could leave.
--
One year, one life later, he’d cry out Gaius’ name when he came in Gaius’ arms, but he’d try not to listen while the other man whispered endearments in his ear afterwards. He knew after all that they meant nothing anymore, if they ever had, were only said as a matter of course.
If I were a Cylon, he’d think suddenly, looking up at Gaius reaching for the ambrosia on the nightstand, you’d be forced to look at me, all frakking day long.
Two weeks after that, the Cylons found them anyway, and they only ever noticed Felix to mock him, so he wasn’t a Cylon, so that was made clear. The few times he’d think on it, he wouldn’t be surprised.
My luck doesn’t run tha--
He wouldn’t dwell on it, he wouldn’t.
--
Felix wasn’t, by nature, a violent person.
Still, one night he woke up in his rack, shaking in the grasp of a dream about Thrace, about holding her down with superhuman strength, about screaming and making her beg.
--
Baltar’s lips almost touched his ear, like a caress, his words clipped and precise and so full of spite.
“I know your secret, Felix, ah, I know--”
Felix’ eyes darted through the room, scanning for a weapon, anything sharp, before Gaius could say.
--
After that, he stopped thinking subjunctively as a matter of principle.
--
Another year later, he’d sit - always sit now - at his post and analyze sensor scans from that junkyard that was Earth, noticing that all the way through, he had been pressing his hand onto the console, transferring data without ever using the keypad.
Felix stared down at it for a minute, frozen, pieces of code floating through his mind, coloring his sight, connecting to a humming presence he suddenly knew was the allied basestar, so close by -
His first thought -
If they could still download, would I get a new body with--
Don’t.
He searched for a reaction, any reaction, helpless.
None was left. None at all.