Pick your path and I'll pray, by sunshine_queen
Title: Pick your path and I'll pray
Author: sunshine_queen
Summary: Lida is enthralled by Gaius's sacrifice.
Characters: Lida Six, Gaius Baltar, Caprica Six, vague mentions to other Cylons
Pairings: Gaius/Lida
Rating: PG-13
Title, Author and URL of original story: take your silver spoon and dig your grave by nicole_anell
Beta Thanks: littledivinity
Author Notes: Title from Fleetwood Mac's Gold Dust Woman.
Lida isn't included in the decisions of her siblings.
It isn't that she's not clever- Lida can craft masterpieces out of numbers, make equations sing with perfection, place numbers in harmonious order- but she is not the one for diplomacy. She likes a world she can understand, functions presented at the outside, clear intent; their relations with the Colonists have never been that rational. Her brothers and sisters can decide what to do with the humans and their war.
Gaius is a problem, and one that she would like to solve. She can do this, create a melody as people negotiate, their voices harsh. She can take this small piece of the whole and fix him: he is not in order, the air around him fairly crackling with distress. Lida wants to take him in her hands and rearrange him neatly, through touch or words, and he is willing to let her. She can be quite convincing, her eyes wide and guileless, her touches sweet and imploring. This is the man who lived among them, the man her sisters have loved, and her curiosity burns brighter than usual. Why this man, she wants to know, as she tastes the hollow of his throat, as she learns the rhythm of his hips, how did such discord instill such devotion?
Lida finds her answer in the fluttering of glory that he inspires, glowing deep and rich like God's unending grace. It is the dissonance in him that is so attractive, so dark it is mesmerizing. She wants to be drawn in, to smooth the wrinkles of his psyche from within, to care for him and cultivate harmony. At the very least, she would like to keep touching him. He's so much warmer than her siblings.
"I want to go," he says, his words edged with the gleaming gold of the virtuous. This is what Gaius says when he's told he is to be sacrificed, for the humans, for the Cylons, for them all. He is calm and still now, eyes blazing with intent and righteousness. She has seen her siblings go out to die for their cause, their faces the very image of fervent faith, but they were nothing compared to the way Gaius sits, brilliantly composed. The tremble of his fingers is from the weight of his decision, Lida thinks, the knowledge of how grateful she is, how grateful they all are.
Her words are flighty, weightless: "You're very brave."
He knows this, of course. He is a scientist, and looks as though he might measure the distance between the column of her throat and the slope of her shoulder with his mouth. Instead he says modestly, "I'm not-- I suppose in this case, yes."
It seems almost indecent to kiss him then, someone so pure of heart, but she presses her lips to his palm three times quickly. He is blameless and doubtless all at once, and this makes him worthy of adoration.
Some of her siblings choose not to understand the gift he is giving them. They think he is a coward for not wanting to sully his nobility with violence, her sister sneering that he is useless by refusing to wear a bomb. Lida privately thinks that their wishes are distasteful: they do not understand the concert of Gaius's actions, the grace with which he has orchestrated his final offering. It makes Lida flush with pride and happiness, to see him so resolved and selfless, so perfectly aligned. He is an instrument of God, acting for the greater good of them all. "He's not useless, he's very brave," she reiterates for the sake of her siblings, who are more concerned with politics and alliances rather than the beauty of his choice.
Her last sight of Gaius is when the Raptor door is closing. He had walked to the transport with his head held high, but once seated, he lowered his chin and looked almost pained. Penance, Lida realizes, her heart beating wildly, and she knows that he is atoning for however he has wronged God. Perhaps he is humbly asking for strength.
When her sisters arrive from Galactica, each carrying a child, Lida joins her siblings in giving thanks. She pictures the new order as they ask endless questions, and tries to envision the divine perfection in the universe that Gaius's sacrifice has ensured. "He died for you," Lida tells her sister earnestly, and she imagines that Caprica closes her eyes in gratitude rather than pain.
Author: sunshine_queen
Summary: Lida is enthralled by Gaius's sacrifice.
Characters: Lida Six, Gaius Baltar, Caprica Six, vague mentions to other Cylons
Pairings: Gaius/Lida
Rating: PG-13
Title, Author and URL of original story: take your silver spoon and dig your grave by nicole_anell
Beta Thanks: littledivinity
Author Notes: Title from Fleetwood Mac's Gold Dust Woman.
Lida isn't included in the decisions of her siblings.
It isn't that she's not clever- Lida can craft masterpieces out of numbers, make equations sing with perfection, place numbers in harmonious order- but she is not the one for diplomacy. She likes a world she can understand, functions presented at the outside, clear intent; their relations with the Colonists have never been that rational. Her brothers and sisters can decide what to do with the humans and their war.
Gaius is a problem, and one that she would like to solve. She can do this, create a melody as people negotiate, their voices harsh. She can take this small piece of the whole and fix him: he is not in order, the air around him fairly crackling with distress. Lida wants to take him in her hands and rearrange him neatly, through touch or words, and he is willing to let her. She can be quite convincing, her eyes wide and guileless, her touches sweet and imploring. This is the man who lived among them, the man her sisters have loved, and her curiosity burns brighter than usual. Why this man, she wants to know, as she tastes the hollow of his throat, as she learns the rhythm of his hips, how did such discord instill such devotion?
Lida finds her answer in the fluttering of glory that he inspires, glowing deep and rich like God's unending grace. It is the dissonance in him that is so attractive, so dark it is mesmerizing. She wants to be drawn in, to smooth the wrinkles of his psyche from within, to care for him and cultivate harmony. At the very least, she would like to keep touching him. He's so much warmer than her siblings.
"I want to go," he says, his words edged with the gleaming gold of the virtuous. This is what Gaius says when he's told he is to be sacrificed, for the humans, for the Cylons, for them all. He is calm and still now, eyes blazing with intent and righteousness. She has seen her siblings go out to die for their cause, their faces the very image of fervent faith, but they were nothing compared to the way Gaius sits, brilliantly composed. The tremble of his fingers is from the weight of his decision, Lida thinks, the knowledge of how grateful she is, how grateful they all are.
Her words are flighty, weightless: "You're very brave."
He knows this, of course. He is a scientist, and looks as though he might measure the distance between the column of her throat and the slope of her shoulder with his mouth. Instead he says modestly, "I'm not-- I suppose in this case, yes."
It seems almost indecent to kiss him then, someone so pure of heart, but she presses her lips to his palm three times quickly. He is blameless and doubtless all at once, and this makes him worthy of adoration.
Some of her siblings choose not to understand the gift he is giving them. They think he is a coward for not wanting to sully his nobility with violence, her sister sneering that he is useless by refusing to wear a bomb. Lida privately thinks that their wishes are distasteful: they do not understand the concert of Gaius's actions, the grace with which he has orchestrated his final offering. It makes Lida flush with pride and happiness, to see him so resolved and selfless, so perfectly aligned. He is an instrument of God, acting for the greater good of them all. "He's not useless, he's very brave," she reiterates for the sake of her siblings, who are more concerned with politics and alliances rather than the beauty of his choice.
Her last sight of Gaius is when the Raptor door is closing. He had walked to the transport with his head held high, but once seated, he lowered his chin and looked almost pained. Penance, Lida realizes, her heart beating wildly, and she knows that he is atoning for however he has wronged God. Perhaps he is humbly asking for strength.
When her sisters arrive from Galactica, each carrying a child, Lida joins her siblings in giving thanks. She pictures the new order as they ask endless questions, and tries to envision the divine perfection in the universe that Gaius's sacrifice has ensured. "He died for you," Lida tells her sister earnestly, and she imagines that Caprica closes her eyes in gratitude rather than pain.