The funny thing is, she didn’t cry like this when Caspar died.
She shed tears. She whispered soft pleas for it all to be a bad dream. But mostly she stayed silent, huddled underneath a workbench while she waited to be rescued. The crew plied her with questions. Did he hurt her? Did she know he was a Cylon?
It was hours before she could answer, but they filled the silence for her. He was a monster. A toaster. A skin job. Good riddance to him. She was better off without him.
Whenever she felt herself start to cry, she’d look at her friends’ angry, righteous faces. They had all lost loved ones. They thought they had lost her. It was Caspar’s fault. It was all his lying, conniving fault. They hated him.
The last thing they wanted to hear, she decided, was how much she loved him.
So she didn’t say a word.
But now. Now the dam has broken and she can’t stop sobbing. He’s dead. He’s dead for good this time and she never even got to say goodbye…
Someone is talking to her. Ghost. She gasps for air and looks up at him. She had forgotten all about him. She’s not alone. She’s not…
He’s talking. He’s talking, but it’s not the fearful babbling from before. She concentrates on the tone at first: calm, insistent. Patient. The words filter in a moment later. Puzzle. He needs her help on the puzzle.
He needs her.
“I thought I saw Caspar’s eyes,” she whispers. “But… but they weren’t, were they?” She takes a deep, shuddering breath, then lets it out slowly. “I… I went to a bad place, I’m sorry…”
She picks up the pen and paper, then shakily gets to her feet. Solve the puzzle. Find the cure. The eyeballs growing on the side of the panel are still there, but she ignores them.
no subject
She shed tears. She whispered soft pleas for it all to be a bad dream. But mostly she stayed silent, huddled underneath a workbench while she waited to be rescued. The crew plied her with questions. Did he hurt her? Did she know he was a Cylon?
It was hours before she could answer, but they filled the silence for her. He was a monster. A toaster. A skin job. Good riddance to him. She was better off without him.
Whenever she felt herself start to cry, she’d look at her friends’ angry, righteous faces. They had all lost loved ones. They thought they had lost her. It was Caspar’s fault. It was all his lying, conniving fault. They hated him.
The last thing they wanted to hear, she decided, was how much she loved him.
So she didn’t say a word.
But now. Now the dam has broken and she can’t stop sobbing. He’s dead. He’s dead for good this time and she never even got to say goodbye…
Someone is talking to her. Ghost. She gasps for air and looks up at him. She had forgotten all about him. She’s not alone. She’s not…
He’s talking. He’s talking, but it’s not the fearful babbling from before. She concentrates on the tone at first: calm, insistent. Patient. The words filter in a moment later. Puzzle. He needs her help on the puzzle.
He needs her.
“I thought I saw Caspar’s eyes,” she whispers. “But… but they weren’t, were they?” She takes a deep, shuddering breath, then lets it out slowly. “I… I went to a bad place, I’m sorry…”
She picks up the pen and paper, then shakily gets to her feet. Solve the puzzle. Find the cure. The eyeballs growing on the side of the panel are still there, but she ignores them.
She's trapped, but she's not alone.
Ghost needs her.