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[Not-quite-OOM, just prior: Physical therapy.]

"One more" turns into three more exercises by the time Gaeta departs the infirmary. Awful as he felt, it didn't feel right to leave off after so few; at least this way, he isn't wasting his or Dr. Tam's time with such a brief session.

Whether he'll be able to move from the couch he just collapsed on is another story. After requesting a glass of water from a waitrat, he gulps down three painkillers (the usual dose is two, but frak it, he hurts so much right now) before stretching along the couch's full length. Some minutes later, the same waitrat returns with a silver tray.

Gaeta eyes the tray's contents. "Um."

The rat chitters.

"Sorry for the language, but...what the frak is that?"

Squeak.

In lieu of pointing out that he doesn't speak rat, Gaeta just sighs, scoops up the small -- very colorful -- magazine, and opens it to take a look.

Apparently there's a tie-in comic book series for that famous squopera, Tentacles of Our Waves. Who knew.

[ooc: in and out for a bit, but back for good at 10 PM eastern!]

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" -- Oh."

Yeah, this part he remembers: the constant misinterpretations and awkwardness in trying to get on the same page with their conversation.

"I thought you meant -- no," he says. "Never mind. Um. I'm reading it because I don't have anything better to do right now."

Whatever she meant, she doesn't seem bothered at all by his response.

Still even - "Is there something else you want to do right now?"

Almost as even as her: "There's a lot of stuff I'd rather be doing."

Walking without crutches, for one.

"I can't."

This doesn't get any reaction from Elle, either.

But then, she also doesn't answer this with another 'Why?' So she can't be entirely oblivious.

But, unfazed, "What about what you can?"

"There's not going to be a 'can' for most of it."

The rising bitterness in his voice tastes like bile. Gaeta tries to force it back, disgusted with himself.

She just watches him.

Then -

"Do you want a different book?"

Beat. "I know - other books."

And they involve... we'll say 95% fewer squids.

Oh.

(Well, now he feels even worse about the bitterness.)

Gaeta swallows again, a little harder this time. "Sure," he manages, almost hesitant. "Um. What other kind do you know?"

In response, Elle turns, and walks away...

... to the Bar. She leans on it for a moment, before two books appear, one small and slender, the other about as thick as a brick. Elle picks them up, and returns to Gaeta's couch, sitting down on the floor next to it.

The cover on the slender book reads that it's of poetry by someone named Emily Dickinson. The thick book's title is 'Encyclopedia of Greco-Roman Mythology.'

"These are the ones I know," she answers.

[OOC: I can edit this, if that's not okay.]

[ooc: that's totally fine!]

"Huh."

Gaeta studies them both, but holds out a hand for the slimmer volume first. (It'll be easier to lift, he figures.) "May I see?"

Without hesitation, Elle hands the book over to him.

She does, however, sound a little uncertain as she explains, "They're poems.

"I didn't really - understand any others, but this one..."

Didn't make her feel stupid? Left out? She shrugs. "It didn't bother me."

"Oh." Quietly.

With great care -- books, after all, have become a scarce commodity on Galactica, and this one isn't his own to mishandle -- he opens the book to the table of contents. Gaeta hesitates as he skims down the list.

Cautious, "Was there any one in particular you liked the best?"

The honest answer to this is 'no.' Rather than try to hold them in her mind, which was difficult enough in any case, Elle just let the experience of reading the book wash over her. Pleasant even if it didn't leave much trace.

But she also feels like she has to have an answer, so she looks into the list, and after a long moment, points to one called 'POWER.'

Edited 2012-08-17 16:40 (UTC)

It's so short; short enough that Gaeta reads it three times within a matter of moments.

You cannot fold a flood --

The second verse seems to catch on something in his chest, like a seed sending down its first roots. He can't even begin to explain why, but it makes him read the lines twice more, makes the emotion that is not quite an ache grow a bit stronger each time.

He folds one hand against his mouth.

It helps that it's short. And that Elle can kind of understand the point, even if not every line.

As it is, she looks between him and the book, still with no particular expression, but she also doesn't say anything just yet.

Edited 2012-08-18 02:51 (UTC)

"It's a good poem."

Gaeta doesn't sound too hoarse, at least.

"I can see why you like it."

Elle, however, has no real conception of how people typically respond to things like poems or books. So by all accounts, at least, his reaction just assures her she probably hasn't screwed up.

So she blinks back down at the book, and then -

"There's also one about grass."

(Elle thinks it's weird.)

"About grass?" Gaeta echoes, blankly.

He tries skipping back to the table of contents in search of this strange and elusive poem.

She glances over, and points him in the right direction.

It's longer, and more full of ideas she doesn't understand.

Gaeta lets out a tiny huff of breath when he reaches the end.

"Must be nice," he mumbles in agreement, mostly to himself.

"You can have it."

Beat. "The book."

She's pretty sure that was also a positive reaction. Right?

Gaeta draws in a slow breath. He looks down at the book, then back up at Elle.

Cautious: "Are you sure?"

"If you - want it."

Elle's not really sure how to read his answer. But then, she shrugs.

"I can get another one."

"If you're offering," still tentative, "I would like to keep it."

He draws his fingers along the pages of the book.

"Thank you."

She nods.

And then, with all the surety of someone's who's only seen other people do this, she offers a rather small, but still friendly, smile.

Gaeta returns it, a little more steadily.

And then glances down at the much thicker book.