milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There's a Watcher in the bar.

Specifically, there's an Andrew Wells in the bar, seated in a booth not far from the fireplace. He's ostensibly making a list in his notepad, but right now he's staring into the fire without really seeing the flames or the serenely circling fish, pen resting forgotten on the page.

He's got stuff on his mind.

Any moment now he's going to notice that the tip of the pen's making a large blot and the list will have to be redone.

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Andrew valiantly tries not to laugh.

With ... mixed success.

"Gogo," says Gaeta again, warningly. A brief tug-of-war ensues; when Gaeta succeeds in pulling the marshmallows free, Gogo lets out a sullen plock and stares forlornly as his nestmate slaps the bag onto the very center of the table. "No marshmallows until we're done now."

"Plock."

"Yes, I know, I'm very mean."

"Poor bird," says Andrew sympathetically. "Don't worry, we'll be done soon."

... yeah, he's not sure he can eat more than one s'more either.

"So begging at the table is next on the training list too, I guess," says Gaeta, eyeing the bag of marshmallows. "Gods, it really is like owning a dog."

"I never owned a dog," he says a little wistfully. "You?"

"I didn't own one, really," he says. "But...there was a dog I sort of looked out for, a while ago."

"Yeah?" He polishes off the last of the s'more, and drinks some milk.

And studies the remaining s'mores with mild regret.

He nods, takes another sip of coffee.

"It's a long story," he admits. "I, ah, don't know if you actually want me to tell it, or..."

Andrew could've just be opting for politeness there.

"Well, sure. Uh, unless you'd rather not?"

"No, no, it's all right," he's quick to say. Gaeta pops the rest of the s'more in his mouth, washes it down with another swallow of coffee, and thinks.

(As he does, one hand absently drifts down to settle on Gogo's head. The bird looks up, a touch startled, then eases closer to his chair.)

"When I first came here," he says, quieter, "we'd just settled on a planet called New Caprica. I'd left the military and joined up with the new political administration that was going to oversee the settlement -- I was named Chief of Staff."

"Yeah?"

He vaguely remembers Gaeta being in civilian clothes, when they first met at Happy Hour. And being back in uniform the next time.

"Yeah."

He rubs his other hand over his mouth, sorting through the next words.

"The administration turned out to be corrupt. And about a year in, when the Cylons found our settlement, the President surrendered to them. This...rebellion started up to counter it." A shrug. "I was still working as Chief of Staff, as far as anybody knew I didn't have a part in it -- "

(hiding behind Baltar's skirts)

" -- but I started passing information to the resistance from a dead drop."

Andrew's eyes widen. "Seriously? Wow."

His mouth twitches; even Gaeta's not sure if it's the start of a smile or a grimace.

"Anyway," he says, "it was down by this garbage dump, and somebody kept a dog tied up there. Jake. Whenever I dropped off a new message, I'd signal the resistance by flipping over his water bowl. And I, ah. I tried to make sure he was getting enough food, too. I never saw his owners around, so I wasn't sure..."

He trails off.

"We had to evacuate the planet four months later. I didn't see his owners then, either, but...I made sure he got into one of the Raptors."

"Wow," he repeats softly. "That's amazing. Kudos."

Again, that little uncertain pull to his mouth, as if he has no idea how to handle the compliment.

(He doesn't. He only wanted to be recognized to make the abuse from his crewmates stop; he never did it solely for the kudos.)

"So...that's the only time I've had anything like a pet until now," he says, awkward.

And he recognizes that, just a little; enough not to press the admiration any further.

"Well, you gotta start somewhere," he offers. "And Gogo seems pretty happy with it. ... I mean in general."

Right now, Gogo is still rather sadly eyeing the forbidden marshmallows.

Gaeta follows Gogo's line of sight; the crooked smile resolves into something firmer.

"Poor bird," he says, with all due solemnity. Glancing to Andrew: "I, ah, don't think I can eat anymore. Do you want another one?"

"Nah, I'm good. One's enough." Rueful: "I think maybe that means I'm getting old?"

"There are worse fates," says Gaeta, no less solemn.

Only after the words have left his mouth does he realize how frakking true that is. Even before the mutiny, he'd adjusted his expectations down: I will probably not live to see forty. If that.

Shaking it off and reaching for the marshmallow bag, "Okay, Gogo, you want your treat?"

"... yeah," he says, and his gaze goes inward and distracted again, barely noticing Gogo's reaction to the offer.

As Gaeta rips open the bag, Gogo's excited plocking escalates as he hops from foot to foot. "There you go," he says, pulling out a marshmallow and offering it to the bird.

Gogo happily wolfs it down; Gaeta's about to offer him another one when he catches Andrew's expression. "Everything okay?"

"Huh?" He blinks up at the other man, and it takes him a moment to focus again.

Gentler, he repeats: "Are you all right?"

Gogo strains upward to try and grab the second marshmallow; Gaeta relinquishes it without a fight.

"Yeah," he says, and summons up a smile. "Sure, just ..."

Oh, how to explain.

"Sort of zoned out there for a second. Stuff on my mind."