A Man of Action [BSG - Baltar, Gaeta]
Title: A Man of Action
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Characters: Felix Gaeta, Gaius Baltar
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1300
Summary: He finally realizes that Gaius Baltar isn't the man they so desperately need.
Notes: Written for IJ's kinkfest. Prompt: BSG - Baltar/Gaeta - disillusionment - tarnished image


“Mr. President,” he begins almost brightly, somehow still thinking that Gaius Baltar can solve every problem that the fleet will ever face. “I’ve collected some statistics – numbers, facts – that you’re going to want to take a look at.”

He hesitates, uncertain. The president has not even bothered to glance up from the mess of papers scattered across his desk. Mumbling incoherently to himself – a simple eccentricity, Felix has always thought, a sign of his great genius – Gaius fiddles with the papers for a long moment before blinking and jerking his head up.

“What?” he asks weakly, distractedly, and then repeats the question more sharply.

With practiced patience, Felix gestures with the sheet of paper he’s clutching in his hand. “There are statistics here that you should know about…”

Gaius Baltar laughs suddenly, and the sound is coloured by despair and a hint of madness. “Statistics?” he repeats disbelievingly, his eyes shifting manically, looking at everything but Felix. “Do you really think I have time…?” he breaks off, shakes his head, and starts again, “You can’t possibly understand how much pressure I’m under, how much…”

“When you get a chance,” Felix interjects, dropping the paper onto an empty corner of the president’s desk and escaping as quickly as he can. The sound of quiet insanity follows him out of the room, and he’s forced to remind himself that no, he truly doesn’t understand.

* * *

“Mr. President,” he announces, tapping his fingers lightly against the edge of Gaius’s desk. “The Ones said that they… require your presence.” Felix has to swallow down bile at the thought of himself as the Cylons’ errand boy and the president at their beck and call.

“Ah,” Baltar says intelligently, and he taps his pen nervously against one of the papers in front of him. Felix sees that the information he left days earlier is still sitting untouched in the corner, now half buried under a stack of new reports.

He lets himself assume that the president simply hasn’t found the time to look at it.

“Why do you let them do this to you?” Felix demands, as obvious as the answer may be. Surely Baltar could still earn some form of respect from their occupiers if he were only to demand it.

Baltar’s head jerks up and he blinks his eyes at Felix, vaguely fishlike. “And what, exactly, is the alternative?” The words are sharp but his smile is forced and bitter.

Felix has no reply.

Gaius Baltar laughs, a hopeless, desperate sound. “I never meant for any of this to happen. You do realize that, right?” he asks, his eyes again trained on the desk.

Until now, Felix would never have assumed otherwise. “I… yes, of course I do.”

* * *

“Mr. President,” Felix Gaeta says, one week later, as he waves a new handful of papers around, “there are some… troubling new reports that you should take a look at…”

He hesitates, frowns, and his hand falls to his side. “But since you haven’t managed to even look at the older reports yet, I guess I might as well hold on to them for a while.”

“Ah, yes. Yes, please do that,” Baltar replies, his eyes darting strangely between Felix and a patch of empty space. It’s hard to tell whether or not he has even really heard the words.

Felix wonders whether the occupation has driven the man insane, or if he has always been this way.

“You’re an intelligent man, Mr. Gaeta,” the president declares. “Surely… surely you’re capable of using your own judgment to… attend to these matters.” He trails off distractedly, as if such concerns are unworthy of his attention.

Felix watches him for a long moment, and then the breath hisses out of him in a barely audible sigh. He wishes he knew where the brilliant scientist who actually cared about the people of New Caprica disappeared to, if such a person ever existed at all. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to remember.

“As you say, sir,” he says, defeated, as he turns to leave.

* * *

“Mr. Presi—” he manages, though the words hardly come anymore.

Felix Gaeta breaks off as soon as he fully steps into the room. Gaius Baltar is not alone. Gaius Baltar is seldom alone, of course, but Felix has long since grown accustomed to the harem of women who wander into and out of the president’s life.

He will never grow used to the blonde… thing that now hovers over the man’s desk.

“Can’t you see that I’m busy, Felix?” Baltar asks, his tone weary but his eyes never deviating from the Cylon woman at his side.

The Six, however, glances up, and her smile would be enough to melt any other man. “You should come back later,” she suggests, though her words are little more than an order in disguise. “We have important matters to discuss.”

“Yes. Very important,” Baltar parrots vaguely, and Felix wonders when it was that he started to hate the man.

“I’ll do that,” he says, failing to keep the anger out of his voice. The Cylon’s eyes narrow slightly at his tone.

The president never notices.

* * *

He enters without a word. Gaius Baltar is president in name only, and Felix no longer wishes to even give voice to the lie.

Baltar is collapsed over his desk, half asleep, as if the problems of his people mean nothing to him. Felix finds the sight sickening, though he cannot be sure whether it is Baltar he hates, or himself for believing in the man for so long. He can’t recall how he ever thought this madman was qualified to be president; he no longer considers him to be worth anything at all.

He moves over to wake him up, and jumps when Baltar jerks awake. Baltar has never been a man of violence – inaction and incompetence, yes, but nothing more – and so Felix is more than a little surprised when, instead of cowering away as would’ve been expected, the president pushes him against the nearby wall. Baltar looks dazed, disoriented, not quite there, but Felix can’t bring himself to care. “Is your Cylon whore not enough for you anymore?” he asks, his voice cold and dead.

“What…? I…” The president blinks once and then staggers away from Felix, rubbing his hands as if he’d been burned. “I’m… I apologize.” He sinks back into his seat and turns away. “I didn’t mean to…”

That defence is growing tiresome. Felix tries to smile, but his lips suddenly won’t move that way. “Of course not,” he says quietly. “You never do.”

Disgusted, Felix walks back to the door. He doesn’t need to turn around to see Gaius Baltar nodding behind him.

* * *

Use your own judgment, Gaius Baltar had said.

He is not in his office when Felix rifles through his desk as quickly as he can, glancing over every piece of information that might possibly be important. His hand is cramping slightly from taking notes so rapidly, and he knows that he’s going to need to find a better way to do this.

Assuming, of course, that he hasn’t already frakked himself over.

He has just gone through everything recent and is putting the papers back in order when the door swings open. “What are you doing?” Baltar asks, and Felix is relieved to see that the man is alone.

“Nothing, sir. Ah… just putting your affairs in order.” Felix tries not to wince. He realizes that he’s going to have to learn very quickly.

“Really,” Baltar says. He doesn’t seem particularly convinced, but he shrugs and apparently decides that this is just another thing he can’t be bothered to care about. “Is that all?” he asks, wandering around the room almost nervously.

“It is, sir,” Felix replies, for once relieved by the president’s inattentiveness.

Use your own judgment, he had said. Stolen information in hand, Felix finally intends to do so. He sees no alternative.