Barking up the wrong tree
for ar_drabbles challenge #44, Revelations.
Spoilers for The Eye of Jupiter; specific spoilers for the EoJ deleted A/R scene.
The only upside to being shot was that it made him a gentler person. The snarling junkyard dog that lived under his skin, ready to emerge at a snap, at Lee's whining, at Carolanne's howls, had died on the table.
When Laura used his crew to try to steal the elections he gave her sad puppy eyes. He watched Baltar wreck havoc on the fleet with restrained sorrow. He treated the cylon invasion of New Caprica like the war mission it was.
But it was a delusion. The dog wasn't dead, just slumbering. When Laura revealed what she had done to Hera the dog woke, wanting to attack. She didn't understand. She hadn't lost a child. He had.
He had.
The junkyard dog finally spoke a language he understood. He wasn't angry about what she'd done to the Agathons. He was furious about the distrust, her lies to him.
He wanted to welcome that old dog back like a long-lost friend. He knew the dog was better off in his shallow grave than here, where he could leap out and punish offenders.
Laura droned on, giving her politician's excuses.
The blade cut swiftly, precisely. Laura spoke of the fleet. It was never her fault. The dog snarled.
So I decided not to tell you.
She hurt, too. For the choices she'd had to make, for not being able to trust him. She'd done what she thought was right.
The dog whimpered and he understood -- the dog wasn't protecting him from the world, it protected the world from him.
He shoved the dog back into its cage, rusty from disuse. One day it would escape, attack, rip out his heart.
He hoped that when that day came Laura would fight as fiercely for him as she had for the fleet.
Spoilers for The Eye of Jupiter; specific spoilers for the EoJ deleted A/R scene.
The only upside to being shot was that it made him a gentler person. The snarling junkyard dog that lived under his skin, ready to emerge at a snap, at Lee's whining, at Carolanne's howls, had died on the table.
When Laura used his crew to try to steal the elections he gave her sad puppy eyes. He watched Baltar wreck havoc on the fleet with restrained sorrow. He treated the cylon invasion of New Caprica like the war mission it was.
But it was a delusion. The dog wasn't dead, just slumbering. When Laura revealed what she had done to Hera the dog woke, wanting to attack. She didn't understand. She hadn't lost a child. He had.
He had.
The junkyard dog finally spoke a language he understood. He wasn't angry about what she'd done to the Agathons. He was furious about the distrust, her lies to him.
He wanted to welcome that old dog back like a long-lost friend. He knew the dog was better off in his shallow grave than here, where he could leap out and punish offenders.
Laura droned on, giving her politician's excuses.
The blade cut swiftly, precisely. Laura spoke of the fleet. It was never her fault. The dog snarled.
So I decided not to tell you.
She hurt, too. For the choices she'd had to make, for not being able to trust him. She'd done what she thought was right.
The dog whimpered and he understood -- the dog wasn't protecting him from the world, it protected the world from him.
He shoved the dog back into its cage, rusty from disuse. One day it would escape, attack, rip out his heart.
He hoped that when that day came Laura would fight as fiercely for him as she had for the fleet.