A/N: Wrote this awhile back and had it posted on my live journal so I figured I'd post it her and see what you guys thought of it.
Disclaimer: It's mine... my own... my precioussss.
Pairing: Slight Tad/Tamara if you squint and close your eyes at the same time.
Summary: Joseph Adama needs Tad's help.
Feedback: Yes please!
He told himself he was done with V-world. Done with holo-bands. Done with it all.
At first it was easy to keep away. He stashed his holo-band in the very back of his top dresser drawer and resolved to not think of it again. But it had been his only focus for so long that such a thing was difficult.
So he threw himself in the mind-numbing monotony that was his life.
School. Work. Sleep.
By the end of the week he was literally itching to play. Even his manager noticed, remarking that his left eye was twitching and scaring off the customers. He was sent to stock the back room and clear out the bad produce. A mindless task and all too soon his mind was wandering to what had occurred.
He had mulled over the moment, relived it in his head a thousand times. Tried to imagine any way for it to not have happened. But no matter how he imagined differently the ending remained the same. Him pushed to the ground by her bumbling idiot of a father, the spray of bullets and the brief intense sear of pain before he is de-rezed, for good. Forever.
He curled his noise at the stench of rotting produce and hefted another crate, this one held withered lettuce and the heavier weight of old cantaloupes at the bottom.
He had known no good could come of it. It he was truthful with himself he had known from the very beginning. From the very moment he saw her wide eyes in her too round face he had known. Known that the feeling in the base of his stomach was a warning to stay away from her.
But he had been blinded. Blinded by her sweet smile. Blinded by the wonder of the code within her and without, exposed to his eyes after the bullets tore through. Blinded until it was to late, she had her gun to his throat and he was thoroughly and completely tangled up.
He dumps the last of the crates and stacks it beside the dumpster and turns to find... oh no.
"What do you want?"
"I need your help. Tamara..."
"NO!... no I helped you and you got me killed."
"You don't understand. I found Tamara and she...
"No you don't understand. YOU GOT ME FRAKKING KILLED. I can't go back... ever."
"Neither can I! Thats what I've been trying to tell you! Listen you have to help me please!"
He takes a good look then and sees that the man is thrashed. Dark purplish circles round his eyes and his clothing hangs loosely from his frame. He looks like he hasn't slept or eaten in awhile. He looks like a man possessed. Obsessed. He looks like a madman.
He looks like an amphead.
He feels a wave of pity. But still this isn't his problem. He has problems of his own.
"Look man, I'm sorry but its not my problem. I already helped you, remember, and looked where its got me." He opens his arms in a mock gesture at the dirty alley.
Her father opens his wallet, shoving bills into his hands. "Is it money you want? I'll pay you. I'll pay you whatever you want. Just please..."
He can almost taste the desperation in those words and he knows he should just turn and walk away. Leave this erie mess alone. Dead people should stay dead.
But he knows even if he walks away that this will stay with him. Haunt him. Keep him up at night staring at the drawer and imagining what ifs'.
And there's the money. Of course there's the money. He could use it. Oh how he could use it. He could finally be on time for rent, finally get the hot water turned back on, finally eat something other than instant noodle packets.
His hands twitch just the slightest against the crisp bills before he jerks away. Shaking his head soundlessly. He doesn't need this to frak up his life anymore then it already has.
But Adama senses his brief moment of indecision, sees his weakening resolve, and goes in for the kill.
"She's in trouble. She needs our help!"
He shakes his head stubbornly. "I don't care."
But that was the thing. He did. He cared much to much.
"Two hundred cubits per day. Up front."
The blind relief that swaps Adama's face is hard to see. There might not be anything he can do to help.
"What is it you want me to do?"
The feral smile that creeps across his face is unsettling and Tad feels the stirrings of dread tighten his chest.
"Get us back in."
After watching "The Imperfections of Memory" I just imagined Tad as this skinny unwashed struggling college student living off of top ramen noodles and sleeping on a futon in a craptastic apartment. You know... like I do lol.