You don't say no to my Muse.
A Battlestar drabble. God save us all.
Title: Unfixable
Fandom: BSG
Pairing: Six/Cain
Summary: She was there to seek justice.
Disclaimer: The story is mine, characters are not
Envier? That's old Geminiese for rebirth, isn't it?
You knew your time would soon run out. The heart that so desperately wanted to be human thumped in your chest, pushing the blood through that dispensable body of yours, the hum of it almost deafening in your ears. You remembered those eyes and the softness that used to be in them. You remembered that smile over the wine glass on that faithful night. God, you remembered how the woman you loved recoiled when the evidence of your Cylon origin had been discovered. You remembered the terror on her face when she saw the barrel of the gun you pointed at her and then hesitated because, maybe, if you had given her just a second she would have reconsidered, and she would have remembered, too. Surely she couldn’t have forgotten so quickly how much you’ve meant to her, how capable you were to love her back. Those terrified eyes would have turned soft and forgiving if only you allowed yourself to hesitate for a second more. But there was only fear in those eyes and soon one second melted into another and her eyes grew full of rage. You realized then how wrong you had been. She forgot. Or maybe she never loved you in the first place.
“Tell me, Admiral...” you said, trying so hard not to let your voice tremble. “Can you roll over? Beg?” Right there you discovered how similar those two human emotions are, love and hate. How deeply they both run through one’s core, how thick they make one’s blood. She stood cold in front of you and all you could see were the flashes of the abuse, of the torture she allowed them to submit you to. They battered you, raped you, they destroyed your soul over and over again. Has she ever regretted it? Has she dreamed of you and if she has, were those dreams nightmares as gruesome as yours were? You hoped for so long she would step into the brig and kneel next to your broken body on that cold floor. You wouldn’t need an apology; you wouldn’t need a single word from her, only a touch. The kind of touch one human gives to another, a caress that holds more tenderness than anything else in the world, a brush of fingers over your bruised skin that would have saved you, anything, anything but this.
“Frack you!” she squeezed through her teeth, and the sound of her voice brought you back to this place, to this moment where it was you and her again. One pair of eyes boring into another and a barrel of deadly steel dividing you for the second time.
Did she still despise you now as you’ve learned to despise her during your captivity? Her gaze was forceful and her jaw was set. She was looking in the face of death and she knew it. Because, this time there were no guards, there were no officers to protect her. You were there to seek justice and she knew what kind of crime she had committed.
As you griped the butt of the gun with both hands, holding onto it like it was your sanctuary, tears appeared in her eyes, brimming and glimmering. Almost, you almost found yourself hesitating again. And maybe you should have, because in that fragment of a second between your finger squeezing on the trigger and the recoil of the bullet that tugged on your arms, you saw it, the reminiscence, flashing in her eyes under the tears and you knew she loved you, just like you loved her. The gasp that escaped her lungs before the bullet stopped her from breathing in ever again, told you more than any word or even a touch ever could.
You get a do-over. You get to be born again. But when you saw her at your feet, lifeless and bleeding, you knew that a do-over would never fix what you had just done. And they can call it a resurrection, and they can bring you back a million times over, but that only human part of you that existed within the machine died at the same moment the woman you loved did.