Title: Your Deathless Face
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Character: Sharon "Boomer" Valerii
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: For if she flees, soon she will pursue.
Notes: Set after 2.18.
After their revolution, a Three suggested Sharon visit the resurrection grounds.
"It might help you come to terms with all of this," she said.
Sharon frowned, turned her shoulder. "Maybe I don't want to."
The Three watched her for a moment, then shrugged. "Suit yourself."
It was funny, Sharon thought later on. She had thought that settled it.
There was no dissent in the Cylon ranks, nothing like what Sharon and Caprica had done. The Twos clasped hands with her, and the Ones scowled, but once their seven votes were in, they moved as one.
Sharon stood among her sister Eights as if she was trapped in a vase filled with broken glass. She knew them, felt them whispering to her, even when she wasn't paying attention, but none of them felt like her.
None of them had names, none of them had the history embedded in her spine, lost mother, lost father. Kittens when she was five, and that first kiss, when she was seven.
The next time the Three asked her to visit the resurrection grounds, she nodded tightly. The Three smiled.
Sharon didn't like to touch the goo, but this time, as a body, her body, thrashed within, she dipped her hand in, wincing at the welcoming warmth of it. Something gathered in the back of her throat, and she swallowed.
Pasted a smile onto her face, and then the Eight, then she arched out of the pod, gasping, shrieking.
"Hey," Sharon said, sliding her hand across the Eight's shoulders, clasping firmly. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."
The Eight jerked forward, clutching Sharon's hand. "Yeah. I'm okay." She blinked, liquid glopping down her cheek. "There was an explosion."
"There are still some humans out there," Sharon said, hating that she could make that distinction. "Are you in pain?"
"Some." The Eight gulped, curling until she rested on her knees. "I'll be okay."
Sharon nodded. She kneaded the Eight's shoulder, waiting until her breath evened out, waiting until the Eight really looked at her. "Hi."
The Eight tilted her head. "You're Boomer."
"I am." Sharon sat back. "Who are you?"
The Eight frowned. "I'm you. An Eight."
"No," Sharon replied, "I mean, what should I call you? Do you have a name?"
"Yeah." The Eight stood, goo dripping from her limbs like blood. "I'm Sharon. We all are."
Sharon shut her eyes. "Of course we are." She opened her eyes, and didn't smile. "Of course."
She held her arms out, and helped herself escape the pod.
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Sappho's 1, as translated by Anne Carson. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.
Linked on halfamoon.