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Actaeon Hounded
by Voleuse
Gaius had never thought about death, before. Now it's difficult to think of anything but.
It's why he allows himself to be so easily distracted. Momentary diversions are much more pleasurable.
*
Did you ever pray to humanity's gods, Gaius? she asks, stalking about him in circles. Did you ever think to believe?
*
He remembers his first glimpse of the twin gods.
His mother had already entered the main sanctuary, but he had stopped to scratch at his neck, unused to the texture of his suit.
And he looked up, and saw them.
They were beautiful.
It was a mural, of course, almost ancient in years. The two gods looked down on him, faces stern but mouths quirked. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, arms entwined, weapons slung over their backs.
A priestess drew up next to him, placed her hand on his shoulder. "Artemis and Apollo."
"They're gods?" He stared up at them, couldn't tear his eyes away.
"Two of the Lords of Kobol," the priestess confirmed. "Gods of the hunt, and of healing."
"They look..." He searched for a word, something to properly address the majesty of their forms, but failed. Settled for the merely adequate. "They look powerful."
The priestess' hand tightened on his shoulder, and she bent to murmur in his ear.
"They are."
As the years progressed, his awe of the gods faded. He forgot that golden moment of reverence, of transcendence, and thought it hollow, instead.
Even so, whenever the gods are mentioned, he first thinks of that moment, when he gazed upon their faces, and trembled.
*
It's in the corridors of the Galactica that Gaius first sees her. He's following the stream of people, making his way to the deck where the litany for the dead will be held.
A woman, a pilot, brushes against his shoulder brusquely, glances at him as she walks past.
She's pretty enough, he assesses, though not as refined as the women he usually prefers. She looks him over, once, then strides past.
"Apollo!" she calls, softly, and ahead of them, Captain Adama turns, and nods.
Gaius watches her as she catches up to Captain Adama, thinks back to that moment by the temple gate.
He wants to know her name.
*
Against all his expectations, he finds her callsign is Starbuck. Lieutenant Kara Thrace, formally, though he discovers nothing about her is formal at all.
He likes sitting across from her in a card game. She leers at him, half-heartedly, and doesn't want him to perform miracles. She doesn't want anything from him but what's in his pockets, and maybe a little more, besides.
When he attempts to pursue her outside of the rec room, though, she doesn't even look him in the eye. Turns her head away, and leaps out of his reach.
He catches glimpses of her, in the corridors, but never manages to run her down.
*
Could you love her, Gaius? she asks, her voice like a blade. Could you finally worship someone other than yourself?
*
He'd like to forget that first impression he formed, the pair of them, walking in tempo.
Sometimes, when she grins at him over a hand of cards, he's able to let the image slip.
Yet every time he manages to banish that picture, somehow, Captain Adama intrudes again. Another pilot makes reference to a briefing, or the CAG is called to CIC over the intercom, and when Gaius looks at Starbuck next, she's smiling altogether differently.
Once in a great while, Apollo himself descends upon their table, turns to Starbuck, and then, well.
Then, Gaius watches their two gazes meet, and thinks he's ceased to exist at all.
*
She can't save you, she says, sliding onto his lap, slipping her arms around his neck. She doesn't even see you. Not the way I do.
*
By chance, Gaius happens to be in the CIC when the Cylons jump into the fleet's airspace. Lieutenant Gaeta dashes away from their workstation to another, punches a few keys, eyes on the Dradis console.
Alarms blare condition one, and Gaeta calls across the room to Colonel Tigh. "Eight raiders up ahead."
Scouting party, she hisses in his ear. We're getting closer.
"Who's flying CAP right now?" The XO swings his gaze around the CIC, and Gaius ducks, instinctively.
Dualla looks up from her station. "Apollo and Starbuck, sir, with Karma and Racetrack in the Raptor."
Gaius notes a fleeting look of satisfaction on the XO's face, but it's quickly replaced by resolve.
"Have the Raptor jump ahead to check for a base star. And open a channel, tell Apollo and Starbuck to engage."
The comms crackle to life, and Gaius starts when he hears Starbuck laughing in response to the communiqu.
"Copy that, Galactica." A burst of weapons fire, then more laughter. "Apollo, cover me."
"I've got you, Starbuck." He sounds oddly amused, as well. "I'm used to it by now."
Colonel Tigh frowns, while the other officers on deck exchange smiles.
Gaius stares at the flickering screen above him, manages to distinguish the two Vipers from the Cylon ships, but even as he marks them, the Cylons blip out, all but one.
"Galactica, Apollo." Another burst of weapons fire, and the last red blip disappears. "Cylon raiders destroyed."
The XO nods at Dualla. "Copy that, Apollo," she replies. "Come on home."
The Raptor reports back as well. There's no base star nearby. The skies are clear.
Gaius slumps in his chair with relief, and when Gaeta asks him if he's all right, he tells him he's not used to so much excitement.
*
It's only a matter of time, she tells him. Repent. Worship God.
"Which one?" he asks her, helplessly, but his question echoes in the empty room.
*
At cards that night, Starbuck is giddy with celebration, tossing cubits and cards down like rain.
The other players grouse at her luck, but concede without surprise. It's her night, her victory. No one can touch her.
After the game, Gaius sits back and stares, admiring the sweep of her arm as she gathers her winnings, the sway of her body as she leaves the room.
He follows her, can't help but follow her, down one corridor then another, and he hopes that she'll stop, just once, to smile on him.
Then he turns the corner.
*
Did you think she would stop for you? she taunts, low and rich against his skin. Did you think you could even get close?
*
Gaius almost doesn't see them, leaning against the recess of a hatch. The light in this corridor is dim, and their faces are obscured by shadow.
She's pressed him against the wall, and her hands splay on his chest. His hands circle low on her hips, and even as Gaius watches, he bends his head to hers. Whispers something, almost inaudible, and she laughs, a breathless, intoxicating gasp.
They kiss, slow and deliberate, devout, and Gaius braces his shoulder against the wall. Tries to look away.
One of her hands slips low, hooks in his belt, and he breaks away from her lips, slides his hands down to pull her against him, completely, and they both gasp, groan.
Are you going to just stand here? she bites out, squeezing his shoulders.
Then, as one, they turn. Look upon him, their limbs still entwined.
Gaius whimpers.
And flees.
*
Repent, Gaius, she says, and he can't see her, can see only them. Repent.
Even as he runs, stumbles, finds his way back to his laboratory, the alarms begin to blare.
He shuts the hatch, leans against it, panting, and when he turns again, she's standing there.
There is no escape, Gaius, she says. There is only the way God has given you.
"Which way is that?" he says. Laughs, and notes the hysteria of it. "Which way does your god want me to go?"
She scowls at him, prowls forward until his breath, by rights, should ruffle her hair.
There is only one God, she tells him again. No other.
"Are you sure?" he asks. Lifts his hands to trace her reassuring curves.
She tilts her head. Why aren't you? Nips at his earlobe, sharp. It's not like you ever believed in yours.
Gaius lifts his chin, stares at the ceiling low above his head.
Remembers the way they gazed down upon him, stern and smiling, their arms wound together.
He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and wills their image away.
Thinks only of her, before him. Insistent, vicious, beautiful.
The alarms still peal, outside of her arms, and for the moment, he lets himself believe.
Gaius, she says. Tugs at the hem of his shirt, kisses his throat, open-mouthed. Gaius. Do you?
He forgets it all, forgets the context of the question, forgets the priestess' hand on his shoulder, her words in his ear.
He feels her phantom hands stroke over his skin, and tells her exactly what she wants to hear.
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