ways_infirmary | (no subject)

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"Alone she sleeps in the shirt of man
With my three wishes clutched in her hand..."

Simon finally hooked him up to a morpha -- morphine, whatever it's called here -- drip once the nerve block wore off and the supposedly unidentifiable opioid had left his system. Gaeta's half-drowsing, eyes closed in a vain attempt to sleep outright; the pain's still too great, though, and the exhaustion more prominent.

And if he sleeps, that means he can't do the only thing that's worked so far.

"The first that she be spared the pain
That comes from a dark and laughing rain..."

The words are a little roughened with hoarseness, a touch slurred by morpha -- but his voice still rings clear through the infirmary.

[ooc: for continuity's sake, all threads now take place before Boyd's and Simon's.]

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"I know," is all he can say before his throat closes up entirely.

Gaeta lifts a hand, clumsily swiping at his eyes.

"You can cry,"

As lightly as she can, she moves to hold him and block him from view of anyone who might enter.

"Yeah, that's fine," he says. "Thank you."

The scratchiness to his throat isn't bothering him at all. The bed feels a lot more comfortable all of a sudden, too; Gaeta huffs a tiny, cracking laugh. "Think it might be working," he says, tapping off some of the ash.

"When she finds love, may it always stay true
This I beg for the second wish I made too -- "

It trails into a gasp, and shakes a little when it starts up again, the lyrics rushing faster as if to outrun the pain.

"But wish no more
My life you can take
To have her please just one day wake -- "

Her throat threatens to lock up.

(She had no idea Gaeta could carry a tune, much less sing like he was trained to do it.)

She swallows the feeling.

(His hair's longer, softer, curling. In her two years and change on Galactica she's never seen it like this.)

The look on his face reminds her that she's intruding, but her feet feel rooted to the spot.

(His leg. Gods, his leg.)

"What the frak did they do to you?"

"I don't remember, I'm afraid," he says lightly, with a ghost of a smile and a slow rub to the back of his neck. "It was a very long time ago."

Ganymede studies Gaeta for a long moment before he speaks up again; the amputation doesn't appear to faze him, though he can't help but feel something for the man who's lost a limb. "It is a very beautiful melody. Where do you know it from?"

Gods, three years? At least that means... that means he survives, because--

"Hey, this is completely frakked up. Tell me your name."

He's sorry he doesn't know this man, doesn't know what he did to him, doesn't know anything. And he's not sure he does want to know any of it. One thing he's godsdamn sure of, he hasn't just and isn't about to shoot the guy.

"Or... or at least tell me what to call you. For end of the universe purposes."

There's a sick, hollow, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach, like someone just knocked the ground out from beneath him. There's nothing about this situation that feels right, but not in the all this has happened before way that's been eating away at him since he got here. This is almost worse.

"I'll leave the bag and the lighter, if you like."

Boyd eyes the chair next to the bed. "Though if you don't mind, I think I might stay a little bit, make sure you're having the reaction you're supposed to have. If it's working now," he hastens to say, "I don't think it'll go bad for you from here, but leaving you alone till we know for sure seems to me to be a mite irresponsible."

Boyd Crowder is a paragon of responsibility.

Gaeta shakes his head, just once, and casts his glance away. In spite of his best efforts, a tear leaks out the next time he blinks.

"I missed him so much," he whispers.

He doesn't know what he's expecting: to see someone visiting a sick friend, singing to them, maybe.

His eye falls on the singer, and he goes still.

Oh.

The laugh -- the snicker, really -- is a little more solid this time.

"Yeah, maybe," he agrees. A pause to take another drag: the room doesn't quite resettle when he releases the smoke. Gaeta doesn't mind. "And...sure, yeah, if you're okay with leaving it. Thanks."

For a deeply uncharitable moment, Gaeta considers offering the most ridiculous pseudonym his brain can concoct. Or, better yet, a number, just to frak with Anders' head a little.

He doesn't have the capacity for that, either.

"Felix," he mutters, and follows it with a long sigh. "Just...call me Felix. Frakked up doesn't even cover it."

"What's kept you from each other?"

It worries her that they're not together, not now when its clear they need each other.

Gaeta pauses. Wets his lips as he tries to think.

"I don't know," he says at last, in a thoroughly helpless mumble. "I can't -- I don't know."

For a long beat, Gaeta just stares.

And then he chokes on a harsh noise in the back of his throat, something that would threaten to become much worse if she were still Lieutenant Thrace, and rasps, "They, sir?"

Gaeta anchors himself to that question, trying to grapple himself up back to steadiness. It's just like giving a sitrep. You can do this much.

"I was on a mission," he mumbles. "Um -- a volunteer mission. The Demetrius. It took me off Galactica for two months."

"To have her please just -- one day wake -- "

A breath, and he tries to start the cycle again: "Alone she sleeps in the shirt of -- nngh -- "

His eyes fly open, glazed and staring sightless with pain; Gaeta's hand fumbles for the remains of his leg.

She stays steady, there if he needs to hold onto her,

"That's so long away, but you're together once more?"

"No."

This won't be as good an anchor as he hoped.

"I haven't seen him since I..."

He should go. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching this --

He can't move.

"It's all right," Ganymede says, moving further into the room with a patient smile. He's not in any hurry--he never really is, not with all the time in the world at his hands. "I was only curious...few people ever sing songs that remind me of anything from so long ago."

He tucks his hands into his pockets as if he's unsure of how his next request will be taken. "Could you sing it again?"

"My pleasure," Boyd says, and takes a seat.

He seems to be fine with silence.

His grip digs deep as the heart monitor near his bedside spikes higher.

It's a short while before the beeping dips back down to a steadier level; before his fingers slacken, and he sags back with his head lolled to one side.

Gaeta opens his eyes, and inadvertently locks gazes with Andrew.

"Shh, oh child,"

That makes it so much worse and she strokes his hair.

For a second he only stares back, mouth a little open, then swallows.

"... hey." His voice is a little thin with shock. "I, I heard ..."

He trails off, and gestures feebly behind him at the door.

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