BSG fic: Postcards From the Edge (pg)
Title: Postcards From the Edge
Author: sabaceanbabe
Characters: Felix Gaeta, Anastasia Dualla, mentions of Louis Hoshi
Pairings: pre-Gaeta/Hoshi
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Title, Author and URL of original story: Greetings From Galactica by puszysty
Beta Thanks: A big thank you to greycoupon for looking this over for me and for the initial feedback.
Author Notes: I loved the bittersweet original story - I hope I did it justice in the remix.
--------------------------------------
Dear Dee,
Saw this in the Galactica Gift Shop and couldn't resist. I thought immediately of you and, well, here you go. Long time, no see. Wish you were here.
Your friend,
Felix
Dear Felix,
Galactica Gift Shop? What do you mean, "long time, no see?" I just saw you this morning, dork.
Your friend,
Dee
+++++
Standing in the hatchway, Felix's gaze wandered over the clutter in the room and he couldn't immediately comprehend the information his brain received. He'd thought every storage room on Galactica had been raided months ago for anything usable, but this one had so much stuff shoved haphazardly into it that there was barely space to walk through it all. Metal shelving units lined the back wall, four across and stacked three deep, and as far as Felix could tell, not one shelf had anything stored on it. Instead, there were boxes, still sealed, along the left wall, covered in a jumble of what looked like stacks of books and posters, coffee mugs, pads of paper, toy vipers and raptors, and… He blinked.
"Is that a… cash register?" he asked himself, his voice almost squeezed out by the chaos in the room. He took a step toward the antique-looking device and something crunched underfoot. Looking down, Felix saw that a couple of the ceramic mugs had fallen to the floor and shattered. He reached over and gingerly lifted one of the remaining mugs from the semi-crushed box it rested on, smiling at the image of a battlestar laser-burned into the midnight blue ceramic and the elegant script below it, Greetings from Galactica. "Not exactly the font I would've used," he observed.
Looking around again in bemusement, he realized he must have stumbled across the inventory of the old gift shop, stored here when Tyrol's deck crew had cleaned up the area so it could be returned to service as a landing bay. He picked up a glossy tube that turned out to be a rolled up poster of the front page of the Caprica Sentinel from the end of the first Cylon war. Its headline proclaimed victory over the Cylons; the grainy photograph depicted a crowd of humans cheering and hugging each other around a downed Cylon Raider and what was left of the two Centurions that had piloted it.
Shaking his head at his own whimsy, Felix rummaged through a box marked "office supplies" until he found some magnetic tacks, using them to flatten the poster and fasten it to the wall above the lowest stack of boxes. He made a mental note of the storage room's existence and location, telling himself it was so that he could return later to claim the office supplies for use in CIC. Dogging the hatch securely behind him, Felix continued on his rounds.
+++++
Dear Dee,
Okay, so it's not really a gift shop anymore, but on watch a couple of nights ago I found some of the old inventory shoved into a closet, and, well, since you’re so busy these days, Mrs. Keikaya, and I had nothing better to do with my free time…
Your long-suffering, lonely friend,
Felix
You are such a drama whore, Mr. Gaeta. And don't call me Mrs. Keikaya! Billy and I are NOT getting married. The President has him running so much we hardly see each other anymore. And what if someone had seen that postcard? Because you know very well two can play that game, Tiger.
Your dearest friend who knows exactly how to make you suffer,
Anastasia DUALLA
P.S. How many different postcard designs do you have, anyway? And when are you going to share?
+++++
Felix propped Dee’s latest postcard - more of an index card, really, nothing as formal as the postcards he left at her duty station for her to find - beside the cash register, grinning at the flourish under her last name. He’d rattled her, calling her Mrs. Keikaya; he could count the number of times he’d gotten to her like that on the fingers of one hand.
Beyond the register, he’d accented a display table with crystal bud vases that contained miniature flags representing all twelve colonies, but the display’s main feature was a pyramid of midnight blue and cream coffee mugs. A replica of the battle flag the Galactica had sported during the opening salvos of the First Cylon War, when the old girl had been shiny and new, hung above the whole thing to draw the eye to the merchandise.
It had taken him a week of early mornings, short or skipped meal shifts, and late nights to put things together, but he’d managed to set up a decent looking gift shop out of the inventory he’d found. If he examined his actions too closely, he realized it could be considered a little crazy, especially since he was fairly certain he’d never share it with anyone else, not even Dee. But it helped him to relax and it wasn’t hurting anyone, so he cut himself some slack. Everyone needed an outlet, and it was no worse than designing buildings that would never be built.
“Action stations. All hands report to action stations.” Dee’s voice over the comms was calm but urgent. “Cylon raiders incoming.”
“Damn,” Felix muttered, wishing the mining ships would finish the tylium extraction so they could get the frak out of this sector of space. He grabbed up his jacket and slipped it on, buttoning it as he headed out the hatch. Just about any hit the Galactica took would mean he’d have to all but start from scratch with the gift shop, especially with that main display.
+++++
Dear Dee,
Is everything okay with you? We haven’t had a chance to talk since Billy died and we never seem to be in CIC at the same time anymore. When we both have the same off shift, I’d love to just hang out for a while. Hell, a postcard would be better than nothing, if that’s all you have time for.
Your friend who misses you,
Felix
+++++
Felix slipped the postcard - a little girl grinning up from the cockpit of a Viper - face down under the keyboard on his way past Dee’s duty station. It was the fourth or fifth note in as many weeks and he no longer had any real hope that she’d respond, but he still had to try. She hadn’t been herself since Billy was killed and lately it seemed almost as if she was deliberately avoiding Felix. She was his best friend, and he’d thought he was hers, but for whatever reason, she’d shut him out of her life, these past weeks.
At first, he’d put it down to an awful combination of guilt and grief over the events surrounding Apollo’s shooting and Billy’s death. But the days turned into weeks and she neither spoke to him in quarters or the mess nor responded to the postcards he left for her. And ever since she started working with Colonel Tigh on the election, Felix was sure that she actively avoided him, even going so far as to turn and walk the other way if they approached each other in a corridor. She was hiding something from him, but he didn’t know what it might be or how to do anything about it.
+++++
Okay, Dee, what the hell was that? I cannot BELIEVE you tried to steal the election from Dr. Baltar! No, make that PRESIDENT Baltar. I don’t even know you anymore.
+++++
He kept a tight lid on his emotions, almost mechanically packing clothing into a duffle. The repetitive motion helped him keep his mind blank, but it wouldn’t help for long - he didn’t have all that much to pack. Underwear, socks, a couple of shirts, some trousers; most of what he had was uniforms, and he wouldn’t need those dirt side. Those uniforms were clean, precisely folded and stowed in a footlocker that he would take to the acting quartermaster as soon as he was finished packing.
When Felix left these quarters, he wouldn’t be coming back. This chapter of his life was over, killed by one slip into a moral gray zone, one minor betrayal after another, until the final betrayal broke him. Try as he might to shake the thought, he couldn’t shake the bitterness that remained. Felix closed his eyes and took a deep breath, held it, then let it go, shoving the last of his civilian clothes into the duffle; it held everything he owned, but still it was barely half filled.
He was aware of it when she stopped in the open hatchway, hesitant to enter, to be in the same room with him after what she’d done. Felix didn’t turn around as he closed and fastened the bag, but the collar of the civilian sweater he wore felt suddenly tight when he answered her unasked question.
“I’ve mustered out.” He punctuated the terse words by shouldering his bag. “We’re going to build something new down on the planet.” He met her eyes for just a moment, not bothering to hide either his anger or his hurt, before taking the few steps necessary to push past her and out into the corridor. Out into the unknown.
He didn’t look back when she called his name.
+++++
Dear Felix,
I’m so sorry I disappointed you. I thought I was doing the right thing. I still do, but I wish you’d just talk to me. I miss you.
Always your friend,
Dee
+++++
Felix stared at the postcard in his hands as the light faded into night. There were no stars visible, although if he squinted, he could pretend the pinpoints of light that were the remaining fleet ships were stars, moving across the sky against the backdrop of the colorful ion storm. His gaze drifted upward to those pseudo stars, one of which was the Galactica. He looked again at the familiar handwriting and then carefully tore the postcard in half and then in half again. He released the pieces and watched them, expressionless, as they fluttered to the ground. The freshening breeze lifted the hair from the back of his neck where it had grown out from the military haircut.
He wasn’t yet ready to forgive her.
+++++
Dear Felix,
Congratulations on your new position as President Baltar’s Chief of Staff. He couldn’t have chosen a better man for the job. I still miss you.
Your friend,
Dee
+++++
“Felix?”
Her voice was tentative, not something he was used to, coming from Anastasia Dualla. For a moment, he considered ignoring her and continuing on his way. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned around to look at her.
Her hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail and on the collar of her duty blues glinted shiny new officer’s pips. “You look good, Dee.”
A slow smile spread across her face and it was as though a second sun lit up the sky. The revelry continued unabated in the background as she ran to him, stopping just short of throwing herself at him. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
He tilted his head, considering. “Mostly,” he finally said and opened his arms to her.
+++++
Dear Felix,
As you know, I’ve transferred to the Pegasus. I’ve been working pretty closely with Lt. Louis Hoshi, learning my way around the ship and CIC (which is AMAZING). He’s a great guy, a little shy, but he’s really fun to talk to. I think you’d like him. Maybe you could get a couple of hours off and we could meet for dinner? Either here on Pegasus or I’ve heard that one of Anders’ old resistance fighters has opened a “restaurant” on New Caprica…
Dee
+++++
He set pen to pasteboard - the last of his “Greetings From Galactica” postcards - intending to get the card back to Skulls for quick delivery to Dee, when he felt a vibration through the soles of his shoes, through the seat of his chair. The water in the glass by his left hand picked up the vibration in the form of concentric circles rippling over the liquid surface. Frowning, Felix laid down his pen and pushed his chair back from the desk to the sound of shouts and screams from outside the presidential offices that had once been Colonial One.
“What the frak?” he asked aloud of the empty room even as he ran for the small window looking out over what he privately called the Presidential Trailer Park. People ran, panicked, scurrying for cover between the grounded ships that made up the center of government for the Twelve Colonies in exile. Many of the terrified men and women looked upward; many more looked over their shoulders as if the Hounds of Hades snarled at their heels. Someone pounded on the closed outer hatch and Felix ran to open it, banging his thigh painfully into a corner of the desk in his haste.
“Cylons! It’s the Cylons!” Felix didn’t recognize the man, but he definitely recognized the sound of the mechanical servos of Cylon Centurions, dozens of them, marching in unison on the hard ground. Sunlight reflected from polished chrome bodies approaching in glistening waves. He looked up as a wing of Raiders screeched by overhead and even the afternoon sunlight wasn’t enough to drown out the flares of the FTL drives as the ships of the Fleet, one by one, abandoned New Caprica.
+++++
Dear Dee,
I know you’ll never see this, but Gods, how I wish you were here. I can’t do this alone, but there’s no one else who can. Or will. On the other hand, I’m glad that you and the fleet had a chance to escape and that the Old Man took it. It’s ironic that I mustered out so I could help what’s left of humanity to survive and thrive, and now I’m here helping the human resistance with what may be humanity’s last stand.
Felix
+++++
Feeling like a rat scurrying for cover, Felix ducked into his gift shop. It wasn’t until he had the hatch closed and leaned back against the wall beside it that he realized he was huddled down into himself, shoulders rounded, back hunched, head forward and eyes downcast so that he wouldn’t have to look at any of his former crewmates. The simple act of leaning his shoulders and head against the wall emphasized how small he’d tried to make himself, as if he could hide from the frakking Circle, hide from everyone, by drawing down into himself.
Not bothering with the lights, he carefully made his way over to the niche in which he’d set up the cash register, so long ago. His right foot collided with something that shot across the floor to hit the counter, then bounced back from it, finally clattering to a stop, and he cursed himself for an idiot. Of course things had fallen from the displays and from the shelves - it had been a year or more since anyone had been here to tidy things up.
He shivered, remembering the initial terror of those tense moments, surrounded by the Circle, hounded by Starbuck, when he understood that he was going to die. “Maybe I am some kind of frakking coward,” he whispered. “Maybe I deserve that airlock.” But even as he voiced the thought, anger flooded through him, just as it had when he stood before the Circle. Anger for what they’d put him through, that they had judged him and found him guilty, worthy of execution without any input from him or even any facts at all. And in that moment when he knew he was going to die, his only regrets were that he couldn’t explain things to Dee and that he’d never had the chance to meet her Lieutenant Louis Hoshi.
But he wasn’t dead. They hadn’t gone through with it. And no one would find him here. He was safe, for now, as safe as any of them were, with the Cylons hunting them again.
He slid down to sit on the floor in the darkness, his back to the counter, and closed his eyes. With effort, he managed to push the anger, the fear, the uncertainty to the back of his mind, forced himself to just sit there and breathe, nothing more. In, hold it, out, again and again until he felt calm, felt that he might be able to think rationally about where to go from here.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes later that he heard the hatch open and someone enter the makeshift gift shop, whistling a cheerful tune.
+++++
Dear Dee,
I met a really great guy yesterday. I think you know him? His name is Louis Hoshi.
Your friend,
Felix
Author: sabaceanbabe
Characters: Felix Gaeta, Anastasia Dualla, mentions of Louis Hoshi
Pairings: pre-Gaeta/Hoshi
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Title, Author and URL of original story: Greetings From Galactica by puszysty
Beta Thanks: A big thank you to greycoupon for looking this over for me and for the initial feedback.
Author Notes: I loved the bittersweet original story - I hope I did it justice in the remix.
--------------------------------------
Dear Dee,
Saw this in the Galactica Gift Shop and couldn't resist. I thought immediately of you and, well, here you go. Long time, no see. Wish you were here.
Your friend,
Felix
Dear Felix,
Galactica Gift Shop? What do you mean, "long time, no see?" I just saw you this morning, dork.
Your friend,
Dee
+++++
Standing in the hatchway, Felix's gaze wandered over the clutter in the room and he couldn't immediately comprehend the information his brain received. He'd thought every storage room on Galactica had been raided months ago for anything usable, but this one had so much stuff shoved haphazardly into it that there was barely space to walk through it all. Metal shelving units lined the back wall, four across and stacked three deep, and as far as Felix could tell, not one shelf had anything stored on it. Instead, there were boxes, still sealed, along the left wall, covered in a jumble of what looked like stacks of books and posters, coffee mugs, pads of paper, toy vipers and raptors, and… He blinked.
"Is that a… cash register?" he asked himself, his voice almost squeezed out by the chaos in the room. He took a step toward the antique-looking device and something crunched underfoot. Looking down, Felix saw that a couple of the ceramic mugs had fallen to the floor and shattered. He reached over and gingerly lifted one of the remaining mugs from the semi-crushed box it rested on, smiling at the image of a battlestar laser-burned into the midnight blue ceramic and the elegant script below it, Greetings from Galactica. "Not exactly the font I would've used," he observed.
Looking around again in bemusement, he realized he must have stumbled across the inventory of the old gift shop, stored here when Tyrol's deck crew had cleaned up the area so it could be returned to service as a landing bay. He picked up a glossy tube that turned out to be a rolled up poster of the front page of the Caprica Sentinel from the end of the first Cylon war. Its headline proclaimed victory over the Cylons; the grainy photograph depicted a crowd of humans cheering and hugging each other around a downed Cylon Raider and what was left of the two Centurions that had piloted it.
Shaking his head at his own whimsy, Felix rummaged through a box marked "office supplies" until he found some magnetic tacks, using them to flatten the poster and fasten it to the wall above the lowest stack of boxes. He made a mental note of the storage room's existence and location, telling himself it was so that he could return later to claim the office supplies for use in CIC. Dogging the hatch securely behind him, Felix continued on his rounds.
+++++
Dear Dee,
Okay, so it's not really a gift shop anymore, but on watch a couple of nights ago I found some of the old inventory shoved into a closet, and, well, since you’re so busy these days, Mrs. Keikaya, and I had nothing better to do with my free time…
Your long-suffering, lonely friend,
Felix
You are such a drama whore, Mr. Gaeta. And don't call me Mrs. Keikaya! Billy and I are NOT getting married. The President has him running so much we hardly see each other anymore. And what if someone had seen that postcard? Because you know very well two can play that game, Tiger.
Your dearest friend who knows exactly how to make you suffer,
Anastasia DUALLA
P.S. How many different postcard designs do you have, anyway? And when are you going to share?
+++++
Felix propped Dee’s latest postcard - more of an index card, really, nothing as formal as the postcards he left at her duty station for her to find - beside the cash register, grinning at the flourish under her last name. He’d rattled her, calling her Mrs. Keikaya; he could count the number of times he’d gotten to her like that on the fingers of one hand.
Beyond the register, he’d accented a display table with crystal bud vases that contained miniature flags representing all twelve colonies, but the display’s main feature was a pyramid of midnight blue and cream coffee mugs. A replica of the battle flag the Galactica had sported during the opening salvos of the First Cylon War, when the old girl had been shiny and new, hung above the whole thing to draw the eye to the merchandise.
It had taken him a week of early mornings, short or skipped meal shifts, and late nights to put things together, but he’d managed to set up a decent looking gift shop out of the inventory he’d found. If he examined his actions too closely, he realized it could be considered a little crazy, especially since he was fairly certain he’d never share it with anyone else, not even Dee. But it helped him to relax and it wasn’t hurting anyone, so he cut himself some slack. Everyone needed an outlet, and it was no worse than designing buildings that would never be built.
“Action stations. All hands report to action stations.” Dee’s voice over the comms was calm but urgent. “Cylon raiders incoming.”
“Damn,” Felix muttered, wishing the mining ships would finish the tylium extraction so they could get the frak out of this sector of space. He grabbed up his jacket and slipped it on, buttoning it as he headed out the hatch. Just about any hit the Galactica took would mean he’d have to all but start from scratch with the gift shop, especially with that main display.
+++++
Dear Dee,
Is everything okay with you? We haven’t had a chance to talk since Billy died and we never seem to be in CIC at the same time anymore. When we both have the same off shift, I’d love to just hang out for a while. Hell, a postcard would be better than nothing, if that’s all you have time for.
Your friend who misses you,
Felix
+++++
Felix slipped the postcard - a little girl grinning up from the cockpit of a Viper - face down under the keyboard on his way past Dee’s duty station. It was the fourth or fifth note in as many weeks and he no longer had any real hope that she’d respond, but he still had to try. She hadn’t been herself since Billy was killed and lately it seemed almost as if she was deliberately avoiding Felix. She was his best friend, and he’d thought he was hers, but for whatever reason, she’d shut him out of her life, these past weeks.
At first, he’d put it down to an awful combination of guilt and grief over the events surrounding Apollo’s shooting and Billy’s death. But the days turned into weeks and she neither spoke to him in quarters or the mess nor responded to the postcards he left for her. And ever since she started working with Colonel Tigh on the election, Felix was sure that she actively avoided him, even going so far as to turn and walk the other way if they approached each other in a corridor. She was hiding something from him, but he didn’t know what it might be or how to do anything about it.
+++++
Okay, Dee, what the hell was that? I cannot BELIEVE you tried to steal the election from Dr. Baltar! No, make that PRESIDENT Baltar. I don’t even know you anymore.
+++++
He kept a tight lid on his emotions, almost mechanically packing clothing into a duffle. The repetitive motion helped him keep his mind blank, but it wouldn’t help for long - he didn’t have all that much to pack. Underwear, socks, a couple of shirts, some trousers; most of what he had was uniforms, and he wouldn’t need those dirt side. Those uniforms were clean, precisely folded and stowed in a footlocker that he would take to the acting quartermaster as soon as he was finished packing.
When Felix left these quarters, he wouldn’t be coming back. This chapter of his life was over, killed by one slip into a moral gray zone, one minor betrayal after another, until the final betrayal broke him. Try as he might to shake the thought, he couldn’t shake the bitterness that remained. Felix closed his eyes and took a deep breath, held it, then let it go, shoving the last of his civilian clothes into the duffle; it held everything he owned, but still it was barely half filled.
He was aware of it when she stopped in the open hatchway, hesitant to enter, to be in the same room with him after what she’d done. Felix didn’t turn around as he closed and fastened the bag, but the collar of the civilian sweater he wore felt suddenly tight when he answered her unasked question.
“I’ve mustered out.” He punctuated the terse words by shouldering his bag. “We’re going to build something new down on the planet.” He met her eyes for just a moment, not bothering to hide either his anger or his hurt, before taking the few steps necessary to push past her and out into the corridor. Out into the unknown.
He didn’t look back when she called his name.
+++++
Dear Felix,
I’m so sorry I disappointed you. I thought I was doing the right thing. I still do, but I wish you’d just talk to me. I miss you.
Always your friend,
Dee
+++++
Felix stared at the postcard in his hands as the light faded into night. There were no stars visible, although if he squinted, he could pretend the pinpoints of light that were the remaining fleet ships were stars, moving across the sky against the backdrop of the colorful ion storm. His gaze drifted upward to those pseudo stars, one of which was the Galactica. He looked again at the familiar handwriting and then carefully tore the postcard in half and then in half again. He released the pieces and watched them, expressionless, as they fluttered to the ground. The freshening breeze lifted the hair from the back of his neck where it had grown out from the military haircut.
He wasn’t yet ready to forgive her.
+++++
Dear Felix,
Congratulations on your new position as President Baltar’s Chief of Staff. He couldn’t have chosen a better man for the job. I still miss you.
Your friend,
Dee
+++++
“Felix?”
Her voice was tentative, not something he was used to, coming from Anastasia Dualla. For a moment, he considered ignoring her and continuing on his way. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned around to look at her.
Her hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail and on the collar of her duty blues glinted shiny new officer’s pips. “You look good, Dee.”
A slow smile spread across her face and it was as though a second sun lit up the sky. The revelry continued unabated in the background as she ran to him, stopping just short of throwing herself at him. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
He tilted his head, considering. “Mostly,” he finally said and opened his arms to her.
+++++
Dear Felix,
As you know, I’ve transferred to the Pegasus. I’ve been working pretty closely with Lt. Louis Hoshi, learning my way around the ship and CIC (which is AMAZING). He’s a great guy, a little shy, but he’s really fun to talk to. I think you’d like him. Maybe you could get a couple of hours off and we could meet for dinner? Either here on Pegasus or I’ve heard that one of Anders’ old resistance fighters has opened a “restaurant” on New Caprica…
Dee
+++++
He set pen to pasteboard - the last of his “Greetings From Galactica” postcards - intending to get the card back to Skulls for quick delivery to Dee, when he felt a vibration through the soles of his shoes, through the seat of his chair. The water in the glass by his left hand picked up the vibration in the form of concentric circles rippling over the liquid surface. Frowning, Felix laid down his pen and pushed his chair back from the desk to the sound of shouts and screams from outside the presidential offices that had once been Colonial One.
“What the frak?” he asked aloud of the empty room even as he ran for the small window looking out over what he privately called the Presidential Trailer Park. People ran, panicked, scurrying for cover between the grounded ships that made up the center of government for the Twelve Colonies in exile. Many of the terrified men and women looked upward; many more looked over their shoulders as if the Hounds of Hades snarled at their heels. Someone pounded on the closed outer hatch and Felix ran to open it, banging his thigh painfully into a corner of the desk in his haste.
“Cylons! It’s the Cylons!” Felix didn’t recognize the man, but he definitely recognized the sound of the mechanical servos of Cylon Centurions, dozens of them, marching in unison on the hard ground. Sunlight reflected from polished chrome bodies approaching in glistening waves. He looked up as a wing of Raiders screeched by overhead and even the afternoon sunlight wasn’t enough to drown out the flares of the FTL drives as the ships of the Fleet, one by one, abandoned New Caprica.
+++++
Dear Dee,
I know you’ll never see this, but Gods, how I wish you were here. I can’t do this alone, but there’s no one else who can. Or will. On the other hand, I’m glad that you and the fleet had a chance to escape and that the Old Man took it. It’s ironic that I mustered out so I could help what’s left of humanity to survive and thrive, and now I’m here helping the human resistance with what may be humanity’s last stand.
Felix
+++++
Feeling like a rat scurrying for cover, Felix ducked into his gift shop. It wasn’t until he had the hatch closed and leaned back against the wall beside it that he realized he was huddled down into himself, shoulders rounded, back hunched, head forward and eyes downcast so that he wouldn’t have to look at any of his former crewmates. The simple act of leaning his shoulders and head against the wall emphasized how small he’d tried to make himself, as if he could hide from the frakking Circle, hide from everyone, by drawing down into himself.
Not bothering with the lights, he carefully made his way over to the niche in which he’d set up the cash register, so long ago. His right foot collided with something that shot across the floor to hit the counter, then bounced back from it, finally clattering to a stop, and he cursed himself for an idiot. Of course things had fallen from the displays and from the shelves - it had been a year or more since anyone had been here to tidy things up.
He shivered, remembering the initial terror of those tense moments, surrounded by the Circle, hounded by Starbuck, when he understood that he was going to die. “Maybe I am some kind of frakking coward,” he whispered. “Maybe I deserve that airlock.” But even as he voiced the thought, anger flooded through him, just as it had when he stood before the Circle. Anger for what they’d put him through, that they had judged him and found him guilty, worthy of execution without any input from him or even any facts at all. And in that moment when he knew he was going to die, his only regrets were that he couldn’t explain things to Dee and that he’d never had the chance to meet her Lieutenant Louis Hoshi.
But he wasn’t dead. They hadn’t gone through with it. And no one would find him here. He was safe, for now, as safe as any of them were, with the Cylons hunting them again.
He slid down to sit on the floor in the darkness, his back to the counter, and closed his eyes. With effort, he managed to push the anger, the fear, the uncertainty to the back of his mind, forced himself to just sit there and breathe, nothing more. In, hold it, out, again and again until he felt calm, felt that he might be able to think rationally about where to go from here.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes later that he heard the hatch open and someone enter the makeshift gift shop, whistling a cheerful tune.
+++++
Dear Dee,
I met a really great guy yesterday. I think you know him? His name is Louis Hoshi.
Your friend,
Felix