Author: To Be Revealed
Characters: Sam Anders, Kara Thrace, Tory Foster
Pairing: Sam/Kara, Sam/Tory
Summary: Sam tries to make sense of his cylon bits and pieces.
Original Story: Five Things That Didn't Surprise Sam About Being A Cylon by beatrice_otter
Author's Notes: Hope I did the author some justice!
1. Motion (I).
Sam clutched the Pyramid ball, feeling the way it curved in his fingers. Perfect symmetry. He could do the math in his head. The distance between his body and the goal post. The curve needed to make the goal. Invisible angles and lines drawn in the air. He knew the way he needed to throw it, the force and the precision required to score the perfect goal. He had this one in the bag. If he hadn’t stopped and realized just how mechanically his brain worked. Like data collecting on a hard drive. Nothing more.
A sudden force collided with him, throwing him to the ground. Sam’s masochistic thought process came to a quick halt when he found himself staring at the ceiling, a very precise pain burning against his chest. And Jean above him, smug expression on her face, though her eyebrows were hiked up her forehead. “Wake up, T.,” she chastised, holding out a hand to help him back up. If only he could.
2. Kara Thrace.
“We’re getting closer,” Kara Thrace mumbled, half to herself, half to anyone who was listening, as she paced beside the map. “Just another system…we need to retrace our steps…we’re going too far…losing traction…”
Of course, she’d been saying things like that over and over again. Just one more. This will be it. The most they looked, the more elusive her quest for earth seemed to be. The crazier Kara seemed to get. And it was all Sam could do to sit back and watch her spontaneously combust. The mad woman and the cylon. What a pair they made.
The rest of the crew thought she was crazy. He knew that, even if she was so blind with purpose that she couldn’t see it. Sam let out a breath, because exhaustion still weighed on him, made his head heavy. But hopelessness was something he was all too familiar with. And whether it was this start system or the next…he had faith in Kara. “You’ll find it,” he reassured, even though she wasn’t listening. Not really. What he meant to say what: you need to find earth. And I need to help you find it. Because I’m a frakking cylon and I need to redeem myself in the eyes of humanity.
Not that she’d hear him anyway. Kara Thrace murmured to herself like something barely sane, yet Sam’s faith in her never burned so desperately or so brightly.
“Do you ever think about it?” Sam said, staring off at a square panel screwed into the wall of the ship just to fix his eyes on something other than the half-naked woman next to him.
Tory tugged her pants back over her hips, buttoning them. “Think about what?”
“New Caprica.” Sam was still staring off, lost in thought. “I mean…we led the resistance. Galen and Saul and I. And then…what? Were we subconsciously sabotaging ourselves? Was there something we should’ve done different but some…cylon trigger that kept us from killing our own kind.”
“You blew up cylons all the time,” she reminded.
“Maybe. Maybe not enough.” Sam thought suddenly at about the poor soul he’d sent out to die for “the cause.” Had it really been the cause? Or had something cylon in him hungered for human blood? Or maybe he was just one big frakking joke the Gods played to keep them entertained…the resistance leader continuously punching himself in the face. Hilarious.
“I should go,” Tory said. She wasn’t here for this and he knew it.
She got up to leave, but he stopped her in her tracks. “Hey…” he grabbed her arm, pulling her back in. “Where do you think you’re going?” And he kissed her before she could respond—not because he liked her. In truth, a very large part of him hated her, hated the fact that she was a cylon, hated her mechanical coldness and her madness. But a larger part of him needed someone to hold him, to pet his hair, to tell him he wasn’t alone, half wondering if all cylons felt this frakking lonely.
“Hit me again, Joe,” Sam said, pushing his empty glass out for Joe to refill. He’d had so many glasses he’d lost count. Yet, he still wasn’t half as numb as he wanted to be. Too many thoughts stirring in his head. Keeping him up.
Joe cast him a grim look—one of those looks he hated. “Think you’ve had enough, Anders,” he said, trying to be both apologetic and firm at the same time.
How much did he have? Probably enough to kill a small animal. Or intoxicate a regularly running human. But Sam wasn’t human, he knew that. He was something else. Something that required far more alcohol to stop his spokes from turning (which had to make him wonder about Kara, who so often drank him under the table. What was her liver made out of, iron?).
Sam’s eye caught the makeshift goal post at the other end of the bar, something they’d put up for a little recreation and down time. “Pass me the Pyramid ball,” he said, reaching his hand out for it.
Joe lifted his eyebrows, but at least, acquiesced that request, digging it up from behind the bar and handing it over. Sam rolled it over in his hand, did some minor calculations in his head, then threw it. It sailed across the bar, between a couple patrons, and rattled against the goal basket. A perfect score.
Joe hesitated only a second before unscrewing the bottle again, refilling Sam’s glass before stepping away wordlessly. “Thank you,” Sam said, half-smug, half-hating life, and he worked on downing his drink until he could feel nothing at all.
5. Motion (II).
Numerical equations ran through data streams of subconscious thought. Winding like helixes of DNA, unwound and twisted up in the shape of metal, of skin, of earth and body. Beating hearts rising and falling in quick, measurable patters, measurable life.
Snug in the womb of the ship, Sam never felt more at home. At least, he wouldn’t have, if feelings were things he could conceptualize anymore. But most of that crumbled to the wayside now, because happiness and belonging were too abstract, too subjective. Sometimes, when he could feel Kara’s presence, hear her voice, it awoke something human in him.
But those feelings were growing fewer and farther between. The ship was swallowing him whole, demanding all of his attention. Perfection. Perfection was optimal. Perfection was complete.
End of line. (Kara breathed beside him, heavy, asleep breaths. He could count them. Alive. Perfection. Also, the cranes in the hanger bay hummed steadily. Two doors unlocked and three locked. A light in Kara’s room flickered on, unprompted, then flickered off again as though it had mistakenly opened the door to the wrong room and turned around to leave). End of line.