Ficlet: Meteorology
Title: Meteorology
Author: kappamaki33
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam and Gaeta
Summary: Sam is not the only one looking for solace and answers at Joe’s Bar.
Notes: A slightly longer version of a ficlet I submitted for the twelvecolonies challenge to write something about snow.
Meteorology
Sam turned the radio dial, searching again. All the stations were still abuzz with the news of Baltar’s acquittal.
“Was it snowing when you left?”
Sam jumped. “Excuse me?”
It took him a moment to recognize the man slumped on the barstool next to him. He remembered seeing him with Dee, and knew his voice from the call to action stations. Remembered New Caprica. That made him reach for his drink.
“When you left Caprica. Was it snowing? Unseasonably cold?” Gaeta slurred. Sam hadn’t seen anyone as drunk as Gaeta was and still conscious in years. Considering he was married to Kara, that was saying something.
“Nope,” Sam answered. “There was lots of smoke in the air that kind of…dulled the sunlight, especially over the cities. That was it.”
Gaeta’s head hit the bar hard. Sam was concerned he’d passed out until he moaned. “Gods, that frakking bastard had to be right about everything.”
“Huh?”
“Gaius,” Gaeta said. “Back when I worked with him in the lab, we’d make bets about scientific theories. He went against all the research and modeling, said nuclear winter wouldn’t happen. Why the frak does he always have to be right?”
Honestly, Sam wished he were so lucky that Baltar was the worst of his problems that day. He understood Gaeta being upset, especially if the rumors about just how close Baltar was to Gaeta to get him to give up Galactica for government work were true. But Sam really didn’t know Gaeta well, which made an already awkward situation that much worse.
“Do you want me to get Dee, have her take you back to your quarters? Or the other comms officer-the Pegasus guy, uh-”
“Why the frak did he get away with it, Sam?” Gaeta tapped on the counter angrily as he spoke, but tears clung to the corners of his eyes. “He knew the Cylon. The one that came back with Hera. She was on New Caprica, and I know he knew her from before. I frakking cleared his name with the security photos and the Godfrey woman. I thought I’d done such a good thing, finding out the truth. But the truth is a lie, too. Isn’t it?”
“I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about, LT.” Sam stood up and slipped an arm around Gaeta’s shoulders. “But it’s been a rough day for everyone, and you’ve had enough.”
Sam was going to walk Gaeta back to his quarters, but they ran into the Pegasus comms guy-Louis, Gaeta called him-on his way from CIC to Joe’s. Louis thanked Sam, then took over, tucking Gaeta to his side and watching him with sadness but not surprise.
Even three drinks later, Gaeta’s words still rattled in Sam’s mind almost as insistently as the music had before. He didn’t know much about meteorology, but he could see why people would want to believe what Gaeta did: the dead worlds cloaked in soft white snow, peaceful, cleansing. But snow could only mask the carnage. Snow preserved it for another day of reckoning, maybe a day when the Cylons had learned enough to look on desolation and feel shame rather than victory. Sam just hoped he wasn’t lying when he told himself, but that won’t be my day of reckoning.
Author: kappamaki33
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam and Gaeta
Summary: Sam is not the only one looking for solace and answers at Joe’s Bar.
Notes: A slightly longer version of a ficlet I submitted for the twelvecolonies challenge to write something about snow.
Meteorology
Sam turned the radio dial, searching again. All the stations were still abuzz with the news of Baltar’s acquittal.
“Was it snowing when you left?”
Sam jumped. “Excuse me?”
It took him a moment to recognize the man slumped on the barstool next to him. He remembered seeing him with Dee, and knew his voice from the call to action stations. Remembered New Caprica. That made him reach for his drink.
“When you left Caprica. Was it snowing? Unseasonably cold?” Gaeta slurred. Sam hadn’t seen anyone as drunk as Gaeta was and still conscious in years. Considering he was married to Kara, that was saying something.
“Nope,” Sam answered. “There was lots of smoke in the air that kind of…dulled the sunlight, especially over the cities. That was it.”
Gaeta’s head hit the bar hard. Sam was concerned he’d passed out until he moaned. “Gods, that frakking bastard had to be right about everything.”
“Huh?”
“Gaius,” Gaeta said. “Back when I worked with him in the lab, we’d make bets about scientific theories. He went against all the research and modeling, said nuclear winter wouldn’t happen. Why the frak does he always have to be right?”
Honestly, Sam wished he were so lucky that Baltar was the worst of his problems that day. He understood Gaeta being upset, especially if the rumors about just how close Baltar was to Gaeta to get him to give up Galactica for government work were true. But Sam really didn’t know Gaeta well, which made an already awkward situation that much worse.
“Do you want me to get Dee, have her take you back to your quarters? Or the other comms officer-the Pegasus guy, uh-”
“Why the frak did he get away with it, Sam?” Gaeta tapped on the counter angrily as he spoke, but tears clung to the corners of his eyes. “He knew the Cylon. The one that came back with Hera. She was on New Caprica, and I know he knew her from before. I frakking cleared his name with the security photos and the Godfrey woman. I thought I’d done such a good thing, finding out the truth. But the truth is a lie, too. Isn’t it?”
“I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about, LT.” Sam stood up and slipped an arm around Gaeta’s shoulders. “But it’s been a rough day for everyone, and you’ve had enough.”
Sam was going to walk Gaeta back to his quarters, but they ran into the Pegasus comms guy-Louis, Gaeta called him-on his way from CIC to Joe’s. Louis thanked Sam, then took over, tucking Gaeta to his side and watching him with sadness but not surprise.
Even three drinks later, Gaeta’s words still rattled in Sam’s mind almost as insistently as the music had before. He didn’t know much about meteorology, but he could see why people would want to believe what Gaeta did: the dead worlds cloaked in soft white snow, peaceful, cleansing. But snow could only mask the carnage. Snow preserved it for another day of reckoning, maybe a day when the Cylons had learned enough to look on desolation and feel shame rather than victory. Sam just hoped he wasn’t lying when he told himself, but that won’t be my day of reckoning.