faithful_lt | (no subject)

Gods.

Gods, he can't get the memories from the past few weeks out of his thoughts. He... he's done so many godsdamn things he never would've done, never in a million frakking years. It isn't like a single one of them was intentional, it's just...

What the frak is he? He thought going with the Demetrius would be a good idea. He figured get the frak away from this Cylon business. Maybe he'd wake up and realize the music, the... the feelings, the fears, the whole thing would just...

Just what? Go away? Yeah, right. He just...

Gods, he feels so frakking terrible. He listened, man, he stood outside sick bay and listened to Felix singing, and he just...

"Sorry." The word's automatic when he brushes past someone in the corridor, but it means so much. He's so sorry about everything.

He'd been focusing so strongly on getting to sickbay that he hadn't paid any attention to who he'd been passing in the corridors, but that voice snaps his attention to the speaker in a heart's beat.

"Anders."

He manages to keep his tone somehow even, thanks be to all the gods.

"What are you doing here?"

Oh, frak him, it's...

"Lieutenant." He's still an Ensign in this fleet, and it's still his duty to salute a superior officer. "Walking, sir."

Just... just walking. He can guess where Hoshi's going, and a wave of despair washes over him. Right on schedule, it's been happening with this stupid regularity.

For an instant he's tempted not to return the salute, but training overcomes the momentary uncharitable impulse.

Hoshi salutes him back, and eyes him carefully as he lowers his hand.

"Anywhere in particular?"

"No."

His sigh's resigned as frak; right or wrong, he drops the protocol. He's just too godsdamn worn out to keep it up. It's been a long couple months, and while part of him wants to ask if it's the Duty Lieutenant's job to ask some rook pilot where he's going, he's just... just out of fight.

It all got used up on the Demetrius. Watching that Eight die, watching Barolay die, watching that Six get killed, watching Kara go crazy (gods, Kara), it was all just too frakking much. If Hoshi had only been there, he'd know.

But he wasn't there.

The words I am so sorry die on his tongue. They won't help anything.

"Good," he says. "That means you've got time to answer a question for me."

A deliberate pause. He doesn't like acting like this, feeling like this, but this is a chance that's not likely to come again any time soon, and if --

His throat closes, and try as he might, he can't keep the honest, bewildered confusion from his voice as he asks a question that's been haunting him for some time now.

"Why'd you do it?"

If he felt terrible before, he feels ten times worse at the question. He can feel his jaw tighten, feel his throat close up, feel his body tense with this immediate and unbidden chill. Anything he says will ring hollow. Anything he says will sound like an excuse.

Anything but the truth, and he's so godsdamn sick of lying, of hiding things. He can't do it any more.

"Instinct." Before Lieutenant Hoshi has a chance to rebut, to say anything at all, he goes on. "He was threatening my wife."

No, not threatening: he was--

"No. Kara was in danger. I moved to protect her without thinking. It's no excuse, but it's the truth."

Getting the words out doesn't make him feel any better, and he'd bet they don't make Hoshi feel better. He knows they can't make Gaeta feel better. "I didn't mean to shoot anybody."

The amount of attention Hoshi pays him during this recitation is somewhat unnerving in its focus - he's listening with his whole being, searching the other man's face, the way he's holding himself, anything and everything he can think of that might give him any sort of hint.

When Anders falls silent, there's a long beat of silence between them in the corridor--

-- followed by a rough sigh. He scrubs a weary hand over his face (how long has it been since his sleep has been restful? he's not sure), lets it drop, and looks back at Anders.

"Okay." It's the closest word he can find, but it's not the right one, so he keeps going. "I believe you. I believe you didn't mean to hurt him."

It doesn't help much, but he can feel somewhere deep within that it might eventually, at least a little. Hoshi draws a slow, ragged breath, and essays another question.

"Captain Thrace was in danger?"

"No one told you, huh?" Not... not Helo, not Athena? Not Seelix, not Pike, not... not a single frakking person from the crew. No, of course, they wouldn't, they were all ready to clap Kara in irons and throw her into the brig. "The crew mutinied. They were... they were trying to drag Captain Thrace off, and everyone was yelling, and... it was so frakked up, Lieutenant, it was frakking crazy in there. All I wanted to do was get someone's attention, remind them that Kara was the one in charge, what would be waiting for them when they got back here as mutineers."

Frak, frak, frak: he runs his hands through his hair.

"They were dragging the Captain away. All I knew was I needed to protect her. It was complete mayhem."

If Louis didn't know about that (and why should he, it's not like anyone was gonna go to the Admiral and say oh yeah, by the way? the Captain, the one you love like a daughter? We thought she was crazy, so we decided to relieve her of duty, isn't that great?) then he doesn't know Kara was the one who jumped to Felix's assistance right away.

One more time, he swallows hard. "But... sir... I'm not trying to make excuses for what I did." He looks Hoshi right in the eyes now. "My intention was right but my actions were wrong, and if there's anything I could do to... to take it back or make it right, I would. I swear to gods, I would."

"That's not exactly how I heard it happened," he says, very quietly. "The way I heard it -- Captain Thrace was going to be relieved according to Fleet protocol."

He's still watching Anders closely, his scrutiny both careful and without any visible sign of judgement, but there's something more relaxed about his stance than there was earlier.

"I believe you," he says again. "I don't know if that's going to make much of a difference to Lieutenant Gaeta, though."

Of course Hoshi's already heard the story. Of course it was phrased differently. When he was young, his father told him that there were always three sides to every story: your perspective, my perspective, and what really happened. He's already told the Lieutenant that he can't defend his own actions, that they were made in the heat of the moment.

But what no one on the mutiny side will ever admit, he's sure, is that the situation was ugly and it was complete and utter pandemonium.

"Fleet protocol, yes, but under duress and the situation wasn't quite that straightforward. Sir." He has no regrets about moving to defend his wife's safety and honor or her right and responsibility to command. That was his responsibility as an Ensign under her command. It was everyone's responsibility, but they decided they didn't like what their commanding officer had to say and took it upon themselves to take over.

It was a frakking mess, but he's done pleading his case. Not to Hoshi, not to anyone; he's already talked to the Admiral and the XO. If they want his head for it, they're gonna have to lop it off themselves. He's as done with tribunals as he was after New Caprica.

But his voice softens when he looks up into Lieutenant Hoshi's face. Hoshi's trying to stay so neutral, and gods, that's got to be difficult. There aren't a whole lot of secrets on this ship. Or in the Fleet in general; he knows that from his days on the Salpica where they heard everything on their supply runs.

"Is he... doing any better at all?" If he could take it all away, he would. By the Lords of Kobol and all he holds dear, he would undo it if he could.

Since the Demetrius returned, since he learned what had happened, Hoshi's spent more than one off-shift staring up at the bottom of the rack above his while waiting to fall asleep, trying to find some kind of understanding by making himself consider what he'd have done if Felix had been the one being relieved of command and he'd been the one with the gun.

He still doesn't have an answer, as he simply can't fathom it ever happening. And given what he's hearing now, it's more than likely Anders couldn't have, either.

Hoshi lets out his breath in a soft sigh, and nods.

"Some," he says, simply. "It's going to take some time, but he's doing a little better, I think."

"Thank the gods." It's been a long time since he's heard any good news at all and while this isn't great news, at least it's something. At least they made it back alive, most of them. Not Mathias, and he's... yeah, if there was a time he actually held it against her that she'd pointed her rifle at him on Lee's orders, he's long since over that. They should've killed him then. He could've died without ever knowing he's a frakking machine.

Gods. He runs his hands through his hair, remembers he did that exact same thing just after he shot Felix in the frakking leg. The memory forces his hands to his side. At least this time he's not holding a side arm. At least this time he's not ruining some poor motherfrakker's life accidentally.

Or was it accidental? The whole thing happened so godsdamn fast. At the time he didn't even know what was happening, but still, he wonders: was it an accident? Was it programmed to happen? Was there some... some other switch that got flipped? 'Cause in a million frakking years, he would never have shot Felix. Never.

Never.

He hears the sincerity in the other man's prayer of thanks, sees the way Anders shoves his hands through his hair again and then yanks them back down, and watches the clear play of emotions over his face.

All of it together drives him to ask yet another quiet question.

"What about you?"

"Me?"

The question startles him: no one's asked him that. Not since the whole mutiny thing, not since he lost his best friend and the only other C-Buc left in the whole frakking universe. Hard to believe Hoshi's the one asking him the question after everything that happened. Part of him would like nothing better than to tell the truth: he has no frakking idea how he's doing, 'cause there's so much he can't reconcile and it goes way beyond being the asshole who shot off Gaeta's leg.

We lost Barolay, he wants to say, like Hoshi doesn't know. Or maybe he doesn't, but it's not the Lieutenant's problem, not his thing to figure out anyway. He has to shake it off.

"I'm... yeah, I'm okay."

How the frak can he be okay? He doesn't even remember what okay feels like any more.

"Just..." His voice trails off. There's absolutely nothing else he can say without falling apart, and falling apart is the last thing he can afford to do.

He waits in silence for the other man to continue, his steady, expectant glance fixed on Anders' face.

Nah, he's not gonna go there. Lips tightened into a frown, he shakes his head.

"I'm good."

Kara knows he's lying when he says that, but Lieutenant Hoshi probably doesn't. It's self-defense, self-preservation, self-delusion. All those things wrapped into one.

"Thanks for asking." He didn't think anyone cared. Odds are Hoshi doesn't care either, not really, and why the frak should he? Why should anyone? They might not know it, but he's just a godsdamn machine, no better than any other godsdamn machine.

Maybe if he felt different he could appreciate that a little more. But he doesn't. If anything, he feels worse than ever.

"Sir." Protocol dictates he stay here until he's dismissed. Right now, he really frakking hates protocol.

"Okay."

Have it your way, rises to his lips, but dies there unspoken. That's not fair to either of them.

None of this is fair, to anyone.

He glances up the corridor toward sickbay -- toward Felix -- and then looks back at Anders.

"I won't keep you any longer," Hoshi says, quietly.

Some things, man, some things he just doesn't want to talk about. Can't talk about. How the frak can he tell Lieutenant Hoshi the just... was the tip of some frakking iceberg, that it was gonna go down the path of just... I shot someone I didn't mean to, and it was a godsdamn disaster, and I probably deserve to be court-martialed for it except for the fact that I acted to defend my superior officer, isn't that rich? She just happens to be my wife, and she doesn't want to talk to me any more than you do and oh, by the way, I'm your enemy in more ways than you know and frak if I know what to even do about that. Airlock's looking pretty good these days, I can tell you that much.

"Lieutenant?" He doesn't wait for any acknowledgment. If he doesn't say this shit now he's not gonna be able to say it later. "If it ever seems like the right time, Sir, and isn't too... too trite or ridiculous in the moment, please tell Felix how sorry I am. I know it's small comfort, but I never would have hurt him. Not in a million years."

Except he did.

"'Cause I'm pretty sure he won't want to hear it from me."

(Life was so much simpler when all he had to do was play ball and smile for the godsdamn reporters. These days, it feels like his heart's gonna explode.)

Hoshi studies him for several seconds, then nods, once.

"I'll tell him," he promises. "You have my word."

He wasn't expecting that promise, but he's glad to have it, for what it's worth.

Hoshi gets a salute -- protocol -- before he casts his gaze back down to the floor, where it was before the two of them bumped into each other. If he stops looking at people, maybe they'll stop looking at him. Maybe they'll stop seeing the guy who shot Gaeta.

Gods. Just wait until they find out he's--

"Thank you, Sir." Frak, frak, frak: he swallows hard and doesn't look up again.

He returns the salute, then lowers his hand to his side and just stands there for a moment.

"You're welcome."

A single, quiet breath.

"I'm sure I'll see you around."

Oh, yeah. For all its size, this ship is still too frakking small not to run into people. There are so many reasons why he always opted to live in big cities instead of small towns, but like a lot of shit that's happened the past few years, it isn't like he has a choice.

It isn't like any of them have a choice.

"Lieutenant." The salute's out of the way and that means he's free to go. Probably, he oughtta run as fast as he can just to get the hell out of there, but he doesn't. He just walks away at a nice slow thoughtful pace. He hasn't been assigned to any flight duty again yet, although he guesses that'll happen pretty soon since there's no surplus of Viper pilots just waiting to take his place.

But someone did, he reminds himself, while he was off with the Demetrius. Someone did, and that old adage about no one being indispensable comes back to haunt him with a frakking vengeance. Some days, he can't help but wonder: what's the point in any of it?