She had told him about it before she died, how she had killed Leoben over and over again but he always came back and told her that he loved her. Was it part of his own programming to love her too? He had felt like she'd killed him when she considered leaving him for Apollo. When she was looking at Lee that way at the boxing match. When she asked him to marry her after she had been with someone else. Like she killed him every time she pulled away after sex. But he didn't stop loving her. Something inside said don't let her know, just keep coming back. No retaliation, no anger. Don't show her.
He was walking to the cell. He had heard rumors from CIC and the hangar deck of an unmarked viper that came in without transponders, with no colonial signals. He knew it was her because now she was the last person in the universe that he wanted to see. He was a cylon. He'd fraternized with another cylon. Did the cylons have anti-fraternization rules like the pilots do? Trust him to be a bad cylon too. The knowledge covered him like a blanket, he could scarcely breathe.
He and Tory had frakked once more that first night, not looking each other in the eyes... like machines. He hadn't seen her since.
Quick step with his good leg, slow step with the bad. Quick, slow, quick, slow. CY-lon, CY-lon, CY-lon. His hurt leg was healing fast. What a good machine he was, he didn't stay broken long; at least not on the outside.
The men on guard moved out of his way. Lee Adama looked at him; his eyes appeared less haunted than before, but not welcoming. He stepped into the glass enclosure and saw her sitting on a cot, the only furniture in the room. She looked tired but calm; unexpected, considering she was locked up again and she hated being locked up. Her vibrant personality filled the sterile room and that voice in his head chanted Kara, Kara, Kara.
She walked over to him and started to take off his jacket. He stepped back, flinched and she laughed, saying, "Relax, Sammy, I'm not going to molest you."
"Don't call me Sammy." The phrase popped out of him automatically. She smiled as a reward, running her fingers over the tattoo on his arm. She pulled him toward the cot and sat down next to him, ink-covered arm pressed against his. She looked at him, fingers lightly touching his head.
"What have you done to your hair?" He didn't know how to answer so he didn't speak. She glanced through the glass at the small group of men outside the cell. "Are they listening?" she asked.
"I think so."
She looked at his older scars, those that she used to avoid touching, that she had never asked about. She looked enigmatic, the look she used to give Lee Adama. The 'I know a secret about you' look.
He didn't want to hear her say it, to hear someone who wasn't in that room that night say what he was. That would make it too real. She caressed the old scars. "Do you have memories of getting these?" she asked. He had always been the one who probed, who pushed; their roles were reversed now.
"Yeah." He almost said more but those stories didn't matter anymore.
She looked pensive. "I haven't told them yet. But they're going to find out."
He let out a breath and asked, "What does it mean?"
"I don't know." Her face betrayed some flash of emotion and she changed her statement. "I mostly don't know what it means. But I did learn some things while I was away." She told him that he was different, that she wasn't afraid of him, that she wasn't afraid of them anymore. Her eyes were wide and she looked almost happy. No, not happy; serene.
She laced her fingers with his and leaned her head against his shoulder. He asked, "So what does it mean for us?" He stared at the wall across from them, not blinking until his eyes started to water.
"I don't know. You're still... still the man who put a frakkin' tattoo on his arm for me. But I just don't know."
He sat there, not saying anything, breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling the warmth of her skin. They both turned as one of the guards tapped on the glass and signaled the time. He stood up and started walking toward the hatch.
"I'm really glad to see you." Her eyes searched his face, looking for something.
He gave her the correct response: "Me too, babe." He smiled. Check. He was done here.
Walking back down the corridor, the voice echoing the pattern as he walked. Empty. Empty. Empty.