Tomorrow
"He's going to tell her that he misses her, and it won't be true." Boomer/Tyrol, Battlestar Galactica
Summary: "Whether they find Earth or they spend the rest of their days on this broken-down Battlestar, he has to believe that there's something worth living for, something worth getting up every day and trying for." Tyrol with some Boomer/Tyrol, 581 words.
~*~*~
He's going to tell her that he misses her, and it won't be true. He misses the Sharon he thought he knew, the one that bled out in the corridor while he held her, useless, unable to stop it. They look the same, but he knows in his gut that the woman – thing? – standing in front of him could never be his Sharon. But he'll pick up the phone and say that he misses her anyway, and she'll understand.
She's not his Sharon, but she knows him just as well. Knows that he had intended to go to the Academy, intended to become a hotshot pilot who'd make his mama proud when he brought home his wings. But somewhere along the way he realized that home wasn't the cockpit of some bird hanging in the star-strewn sky. Home was the hustle of the deck, where he could get his hands dirty and fix whatever was broken with the right equipment. He'd never been in control a moment in his life until the first day he sent a once-busted Viper out to launch. She knows him, knows how much he needs to feel like one frakking thing is his own to control as he will. Fix what's broken. Take care of his crew. This is life for him, not just a job, and she gets that.
She remembers the early mornings, just like he does. Curled up in his rack, trying to be quiet – but not trying too hard, because everyone knew and no one really cared – as they took turns sharing secrets. He'd never told anyone how much he wanted to be a father someday, have a chance to build a family like he'd never had growing up. But she knows, just like she knows that the dream, as it stands, doesn't exist without her. He has to find a new dream for himself, has to fashion a future without her in it, as much as it kills him. There's no past anymore, for any of them. The past is an annihilated solar system light-years beyond their reach; with a few exceptions, it's something none of them can revisit. They have today and tomorrow, and not much beyond that.
He'll tell her that he loves her, and that maybe he'll never stop, but at the very least he wants to try and live his life, what's left of it. Whether they find Earth or they spend the rest of their days on this broken-down Battlestar, he has to believe that there's something worth living for, something worth getting up every day and trying for. He'll hang up the phone and press his hand to the glass, and when she mirrors his posture he'll imagine he can feel the heat of her palm against his even through two layers of glass and metal. He'll close his eyes and turn his head away, following with the rest of his body until he's striding down the corridor toward the hangar bay. Toward home.
He'll lie on the empty deck, his left hand tucked under his head and his right curled around a jar of stilled booze, and look up at the newly christened Blackbird fighter. He'll look up at the panels of carbon composite, at the cockpit built with ruins of old Vipers, and think about what's next. He'll think that Apollo's wrong when he says that no one expects miracles. There's still a tomorrow to think about, which is miracle enough for him.
end
Posted by Carrie on 05:33 PM