They stand in the sunshine and watch the body removal. Caprica is quiet, quieter than Sharon ever imagined it could be. "It worked," she says, momentarily losing track of the body count. She's already thinking about the next phase, the new opportunities afforded by the humans left alive. They're already tracking the human Helo. The situation is fortuitous. "Of course it worked," Six answers. "God has a plan." Sharon fights the urge to roll her eyes. Six thinks she's the strongest, the most dedicated, and her attitude grates. "There are infinite possibilities," Doral says. "So many permutations. It may not have worked this way in all of them. It might have gone very differently." "It worked," Six looks at them as though they're weak. "God has a plan." Sharon isn't so sure. And if it didn't work exactly this way in all of the timelines, what does that say about God's plan? * The Cylons don't attack. They never get the chance, Sharon makes sure of that. Years later, after they've mustered out of the Fleet, she leans back against Galen and tells him a story. Her story. About working secretly, carefully, to develop a virus that would destroy the Cylons, leave them in tattered remains. She tells him about making sure she'd protected herself, her single copy, before releasing the virus. She speaks of how she watched as the Cylon plan – what should have been her plan too – fell apart around them. They'd always thought she was the weakest model, the one built for carrying babies and taking orders and betrayal. They'd never even guessed. When she finishes, Galen looks at her strangely. It makes her think of him not as Galen, but as the Chief, focused and intent, making sure everything stays together. "The Cylons?" She nods. He starts laughing. "You should write that one down." Smiling up at him, her head tilted back against his chest, she laughs too. He'll never believe the story, he's not that kind of person. He's the only one she'll ever tell. "Too much work?" His hand traces across her belly, slow and sure. His fingers are warm and familiar as they slip under her shirt. They've got no where to go this morning, nothing to do but luxuriate in each other. It's almost a year since they'd mustered out, since they'd moved in together, and still she can't get enough of him. "Hi," she says, and rolls onto her side, the sheet slipping down her back. "Morning," he responds, grinning at her like he's seeing her for the first time. And then his hands are on her, touching her in the ways he knows she likes. Sometimes, over breakfast, or at the park, he talks to her about children, having a family, taking them out, what great parents they'd make. Sharon always smiles, because he's right. Except for one thing. She's having difficulty conceiving. She was built for betrayal and taking orders and babies. She should excel at each of these things, not just betrayal. But everyday, when she wakes up and realizes she's still not pregnant, she knows the truth. God works in unfathomable ways. * There are days when Karl can't believe that they're still alive. They're more frequent than the worst days, those times when he wishes he'd died in the first strike, or died when the Raptor had come crashing down. But some days, he breathes in air heavy with smoke from someone's attempt to cook something edible, or feels overwhelmed by the scent of too many unwashed bodies. Those are the days he's shocked by the realization that he's still alive. He wonders what it might have been like, if they'd made it back to the Galactica. If the Raptor hadn't crapped out on them and crashed to the ground in the mountains. The crash had left the civilians dead, Sharon with a broken leg and Karl unsure of who he was and where he was for days. Weeks, Sharon told him. It was only by luck that they eventually found a group of survivors, lean and angry and eking out a living in the mountains, moving from area to area, staying in abandoned houses and buildings. "Hey," Anders says, coming to kneel by him. "Hungry?" The food they're finding is awful, tainted and scavenged. "No." But he takes the bowl anyway, feeling the already-familiar chips and gouges of the ceramic under his hands. "Thinking about it again?" "No." It doesn't do any good to think about the Galactica, to wonder what happened. How long they lasted. "Where's Sharon?" Anders shrugs. "Scavenging." Sharon is their best scavenger, routinely going out and coming back with things they all need. Anti-rad meds, food, clothing. Some days she lets Karl come with her, but others she brushes him off. "I'm smaller," she says. "It's easier for me to hide if I'm alone." Karl and Anders have tried to insist that she needs backup, a second pair of eyes watching for Centurions. But Sharon ignores their pleas. "She's tough," Anders says, watching as Karl reluctantly shoves a handful of the food – rice and beans, maybe, it's hard to tell – into his mouth. "She is." Maybe too tough. After the crash, he'd lost track of days, swimming in and out of awareness while Sharon lay beside him, nursing her own injuries. He's not sure how long it was before he came back to himself fully. He remembers Sharon's smile, bright as sun, as he looked at her and asked for water. She says it had been weeks, almost long enough for her leg to heal up. Sometimes, though, Karl wonders. Later, much later, Sharon comes back. Her shirt is newly torn along one shoulder, and she looks exhausted. But she smiles when she sees him, and fits herself against his side. She's warm under his arm. "I have an idea," she says, and starts talking about Cylon transponders and stealing a transport ship and getting them all back to Galactica, if they can figure out where Adama might have taken her. It's almost too convenient. * Sharon stands in the field and watches as the Raptor disappears into the sky. All around her, people are crying, collapsing. They're bitter and angry, desperate and scared, and their emotions just claw at her, threaten to drown her. "I'll come back for you," Helo had said. "Don't." He wouldn't find her anyway. "Boomer – " She'd shaken her head. The world is ending for the humans, and Sharon knows all about Helo and the Chief. It's unspoken gossip on the flight deck. Sharon's seen the way they look at each other, and maybe it's almost over, maybe soon enough the Galactica will be scrap, but they should get any last gasps of happiness and relief that they can. She can't begrudge them that. She never could. "Stop. Just go. Go now, before things get out of control." The humans had been growing angry, crazed with fear, and she'd known she'd be unable to hold them back if he waited much longer. He'd nodded. She hadn't been sure he would go, with his stupid, human, sense of nobility, but Helo's always listened to her, and he'd listened for the last time too. When she can't see the ship anymore, she melts into the crowd, and then heads for the trees. She isn't about to become a shepherd to these people. The others will be waiting for her, and they'll be furious about losing one of their key agents on the Galactica. But Sharon doesn't care. If she'd gone back, she knows what she'd have had to do. Someone else can do it. Sharon isn't a pawn in God's plan. * Helo comes back, Raptor full of civilians, but missing Sharon. "LT?" Galen asks, afterwards, when the chaos of terrified, new, people has died down. Helo is standing by himself, staring into the cockpit. "What happened?" Helo turns slowly. "She got in the way. Of a couple of civilians. They went nuts, grabbed her, dragged her away, and that –" his voices catches. "That was it. I was too slow. She shouldn't have been outside anyway." Galen squeezes his eyes shut, imaging Sharon bloody and beaten, body twisted in all of the wrong ways. "Why?" "Extra space," Helo says, his voice flat, broken. "To make room for one more person." "What happened to them?" He opens his eyes, and looks at Helo. His eyes are dead. "Shot in the head." There's a pause, too long, because Galen can't imagine being stuck on Caprica, surrounded by radiation and fear and Cylons. He can't imagine taking an innocent and killing her just to maybe, maybe, get off planet. He doesn't want to think about Sharon, left there, rotting into the ground. "You should have brought her back." Helo doesn't look away, just says, "She wouldn't have wanted that. She'd have wanted the space used for something. Someone." Eventually, Galen shakes his head. "I need a drink." He needs more than that, needs to go to Caprica and find her, bring her home. He needs to wrap his hands around a Cylon and scream at it until something breaks. Helo stares at him, grim, and says, "I need more than just one." * It's decided that negotiation is the preferred tactic. "After all," Leoben says, "If we kill them all, it makes us no different." Sharon isn't sure she agrees, but she acquiesces. They pick Six. Of course. They give her glasses, pull her hair back into a conservative bun, and dress her in drab clothing. "Very dull," Sharon says, looking her over. "So respectable." Six's expression is flat. "Your model is flawed." Perhaps. But when the negotiations fail – and they will, Sharon knows humans well – it'll be Six who's acknowledged as the weak one, the inherently flawed. And they'll need someone to plan the attacks. All Sharon has to do is stay in the background, never show her face, and wait. |
| Characters:
Helo, Sharon, Tyrol Words: about 1650 Rating: PG-13 Summary: "It may not have worked this way in all of them. It might have gone very differently." AU. Notes: Many thanks to inlovewithnight for read-through! Spoilers up to 2.13. |