Felix Gaeta (
mr_gaeta) wrote in
milliways_bar2009-08-21 09:42 pm
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It's been a long day.
A long week, actually.
(Gaeta won't even talk about what the past month's been like.)
Not having something to occupy his hands and mind -- a report, a stack of notes, even just a pen and paper -- feels awkward enough that Gaeta's taken to folding a small fleet of paper airplanes at his table. Being made out of napkins, all of them are too wobbly to fly, but that's not exactly the point; the point is to stay alert, stay awake, and do anything but sit around doing nothing.
...Even if it's much more likely that any alertness Gaeta currently possesses comes more from the three empty mugs rimmed with coffee stains, not the slowly massing collection of floppy aircraft.
A long week, actually.
(Gaeta won't even talk about what the past month's been like.)
Not having something to occupy his hands and mind -- a report, a stack of notes, even just a pen and paper -- feels awkward enough that Gaeta's taken to folding a small fleet of paper airplanes at his table. Being made out of napkins, all of them are too wobbly to fly, but that's not exactly the point; the point is to stay alert, stay awake, and do anything but sit around doing nothing.
...Even if it's much more likely that any alertness Gaeta currently possesses comes more from the three empty mugs rimmed with coffee stains, not the slowly massing collection of floppy aircraft.
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Much.
"I had a sandwich?" he offers.
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Its not his fault that all the mortals she knows seem to be trying to destroy themselves, he's just the closest one.
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...He thinks.
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She kisses his cheek and pulls out a fresh loaf of bread,
"What are you making?"
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"Nothing, really," he says as he sweeps a few of the planes aside, a touch rueful. "Just...trying to keep myself busy."
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Because it's not like he would rather be back on Colonial One, all that much. It just...feels like he should be.
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"Not with me," he says. "But...I've gotten workout clothes from the Bar before." A beat. "Why?"
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And while he could protest that he doesn't know much about gardening beyond "plant, water, and hope something sprouts in a couple of weeks"...it sounds a frakload better than what he's resigned himself to doing at the moment.
The faint twitch of a smile reappears. "No, I don't mind," he says, sliding out of his chair. "Give me a moment?"
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A twitch is the start of a smile and she will get a laugh out of him somehow.
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One brief inquiry, one new set of clothes, and five minutes spent down the hallway leading to the bathrooms later, Gaeta reemerges with his usual set of civvies neatly folded under one arm, wearing a T-shirt and a heavy pair of green pants. He leaves the clothes with Bar before returning to the table.
"All right," he says to Demeter.
(To his further credit, dressing down to this extent is not evoking a typical air of mild self-consciousness from him.)
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"Good, some weeding will you good and then some pruning and we'll have a good solid dinner later and put some meat on your bones."
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Gaeta lets her lead him along. The heat and humidity, while not entirely unexpected, take some adjusting; it takes just as much to adjust to the sight of so many thriving plants.
It's a much nicer adjustment, though.
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"Fine is not good enough, you should be eating wonderfully. Now I need you to pick all of the tomatoes that are ripe and put them into that basket. We'll eat them later."
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Maybe he'll take some of the food back to New Caprica. Gaeta's pretty certain she won't object.
"Yes, ma'am," he says with a nod, picking up the basket she indicated.
...This is probably going to take a while, judging by the sheer size of the garden.
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As he does, he sneaks a glance at Demeter as she scolds a plant back into place. It's such an absurd sight, and simultaneously so fitting, that he can't help but chuckle quietly as he retrieves his basket.
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"Eat that."
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He examines it, shrugs, and says, "Thank you," before taking a bite.
...Wow, says his expression.
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The only reason it isn't more immediate and decisive is because he has to swallow a mouthful of pepper first.
"Gods," and another small, almost soundless laugh as he moves to the next plant, "I don't think I've had fresh oranges since even before the attacks."
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"I don't think I've ever had those," he remarks.
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