[open] when I came down, the dawn poured into me

[5055034455]

Date & Time: May 28, morning/afternoon
Location: Room 509 & the Hold
Characters: Saul & whoever's around
Summary: In which Saul has lost the ability to deal.
Warnings: All aboard the angst express BOO HOO WOO WOO~ CW for a panic attack. Also: Stephanie.

A — CLOSED to the residents of apartment 509;

[Saul is making pancakes at 5:45 AM because he's lost control of his life.

Or, more accurately, because he's awake and hungry and they just so happen to have the proper ingredients and if he doesn't do something aside from flopping from side to side in a futile attempt to get a little more sleep, he's pretty sure he might actually go crazy.

So: PANCAKES.

He's trying to be quiet, but he's chugged so much coffee that his hands are shaking and there's a good chance he might —

A pan clatters to the floor.

Oops.]

B — OPEN to whoever might run in to him;

[A little later, after he's fueled up on more caffeine and some syrup he's fairly certain is over a millennium old (call him skeptical, but he knows better than to believe, even for a second, that Mrs. Butterworth is still a thing), he makes his rounds.

First, he checks the office. It's still too early; no one's there, and it's too quiet. He tries sitting at his desk to meditate, but within seconds his leg is bouncing wildly, the toe of his wingtip digging into the carpet underfoot.

He refuses to believe that this is legitimate anxiety. That feeling clawing at the pit of his stomach — nope. Old syrup and crappy coffee, nothing more. It's certainly not the nightmares he's been having. It has nothing to do with Jesse. It's not the image of Stephanie, dead. It's not the possibility of Walter showing up and everything going to Hell.

When he hits his knee on the underside of his desk, he decides to head elsewhere.

He arrives in one of the Hold's training rooms shortly thereafter, where he checks to make sure he hasn't lost his ability to handle a weapon since getting taken out by one. His aim's a little off, but that's nothing new. His grip is firm, steady. Surprisingly so. He's not yelling at anything this time, not pausing to make snarky comments no one (correction: no one he can see) will hear — he's all focus this morning, to the point where he falls into a steady rhythm of load, fire, reload. Click, bang, click. It's almost hypnotic.

Almost.

The energy high starts to die down after about half an hour. When the momentum stops, so does Saul, slammed with a sudden wave of panic that makes him fumble with his gun.

If the Initiative can raise people from the dead, why can't they make them forget dying in the first place? That's what he wants to know.

He also wants to know why he decided to do this in one of his suits. With a shrug, he sheds his jacket, and he's soon sitting heavily on one of the benches outside the training area with his sleeves rolled up, tie undone, head in his hands. If he had the option, he'd have gone to the safehouse to do this, have his little moment of weakness in private rather than out here in the open, but the funny thing about walking is that it requires breathing.

And that's a bit of a problem, at the moment.

It's times like these he really misses the luxuries of his office, like the drawer full of benzos he kept just in case.

"Just in case what?" Francesca had asked.

This, he thinks. In case of this.]

Comments

[thecag]

[Lee wants to be angry at the sound that jars him from sleep far earlier than he ever wants, but when he yanks the door open and there's that smell.

Pancakes.

At first he thinks its the alcohol and surely he must be dreaming. Lee had realized there was food here but that had translated into weird meals and unexpected forays into the local taverns. Breakfast just. Hadn't occured, at least not as soon as it should have. It does now though and Lee wanders out from his room in the same thing he'd passed out in the night before.]

I will absolutely pay you to share those.

[What? That's what you do when someone has something amazing on Galactica. Trade or pay. Classy.]

[5055034455]

[Oh, Lee.

That is one word you should never use around Saul. Pay. He turns with a wicked smile on his face, ready to ask how many marques Lee is willing to part with, but quickly notes his appearance and — bah. Sympathy.]

I can make more.

[A pause. Saul then nudges an empty glass in Lee's direction, nodding toward the sink.]

You look like shit.

[thecag]

Oh thank the Gods.

[This could have been a business transaction, look what you ruined with feelings Saul. Lee's fail must be catching.

Glancing between the stove and the sink, Lee took the implied advice to heart. His head hurt, half because it was still swimming and the other half because it was starting to stop that first part. Groan. Lee knew what came next and water, food, and a small dash of liquor on top would only help so much.

Some help was better than none.]

I'd take it personally, but this is coming from the guy who looks like he's about to start having a seizure. [This is said with a pointed look at Saul's hands doing a good impression of having Parkinson's.]

[5055034455]

[Feelings are stupid and ruining everything lately. Whatever.

Saul turns his attention back to the task at hand once he's sure Lee is doing the smart thing and getting some water. He flips a pancake, frowns when it's not perfect, then scowls at Lee's comment without looking up.

This is why all of the pancakes are lopsided.]

Do me a favor and grab a spoon, just in case.

[thecag]

[Feelings so are stupid. So instead time to be into food and get their repression on!]

Those smell frakking fantastic.

...A spoon?

[After helping himself to a glass of water and refilling it once again, Lee goes rummaging in the drawers. When he comes up beside Saul he's got both a metal table spoon and a wooden spoon.]

[5055034455]

[...did Lee really just bring a pair of spoons over.

Saul looks over and laughs, genuinely laughs, then shakes his head.]

No, no. I mean — y'know, in case I have a seizure and start choking on my tongue? You're supposed to use a spoon. Or so I've heard.

[thecag]

I thought it was a wallet? Or maybe a belt strap.

[Shut up guy, he's a pilot okay. Or was. Anyways he's definitely not a doctor so he is just going to set those spoons down real nonchalantly and drink some more water.

Siiip.]

At this point I'll use a spoon to eat those pancakes if makes them get done faster. [A pause.] Is there syrup...?

[If you say yes Saul, Lee will look unhealthily delighted for how hungover he is.]

[5055034455]

...a wallet?

[That's a new one. Belt straps, not so much, but the last time he found himself biting one of those, he definitely wasn't having a seizure. BUT I DIGRESS.

Saul tosses Lee a skeptical look, one eyebrow cocked.]

Do you think I'd be making pancakes if there wasn't syrup?

[thecag]

[You know what? Forget the spoons. Utensils are overrated. Lee will just reach around Saul and grab one of those cooling pancakes with a hand and start eating it.]

Are you kidding me? If I had the ingredients I would be.

[Oh gods though, with syrup. Lee checks the cabinets first, please don't be one of those weirdos that keeps it in the fridge.]

[5055034455]

[Wow, Lee. So much for pretending like a bunch of uncivilized bachelors don't live here. Saul tosses him a vaguely annoyed look, then nudges the plate over so Lee won't have to get all up in his space again.

As for the syrup, yes, it's in the cabinet.

But...]

I'm also pretty sure it's older than the both of us combined, multiplied by a lot.

[thecag]

[Whatever. Its Saul's fault for making it so delicious smelling.

As for the syrup, Lee doesn't care. When he retrieves it from the cabinet, he shakes it and tips it upside down.]

If I can get it to come out, I don't really care how bad it tastes.

[At least Lee takes the hint and helps himself to a plate?

...And also some more pancakes.]

[5055034455]

[He's sorry.

Wait. No he isn't.]

That's what she said.

[STILL NOT SORRY.]

[thecag]

That's what who said?

[Nope.

Nada.

Blank stare.

That's what your lack of remorse gets you Saul. What Lee doesn't realize is a joke falls flat in the room while the military man stands waiting for an answer. He looks genuinely interested at least?]

[5055034455]

[DAMN IT, LEE. Saul looks absolutely crestfallen.

That was perfect, man. So good. And you just ruined it.]

...never mind, Spaceman. Eat your pancakes.

[thecag]

[Lee would look apologetic if he weren't so confused. Instead he'll just grab that syrup and see if there's any hope of salvaging it.]

...Right.

You might want to have some too, that nervous twitch isn't completely gone.

[He's trying to be helpful but he's also really excited about this food okay.]

[5055034455]

It's not a nervous twitch.

[He hopes. That would be a little embarrassing. And he's not nervous about anything. He has nothing to be nervous about...!]

Anyway, I'm not the one with the obvious hangover.

[thecag]

It's not?

[Look Saul, here's Lee's skeptical face.]

Maybe you should be. Drinking doesn't solve anything but it helps with a few hours of forgetting.

[5055034455]

No.

[Methinks the gentleman etc. etc.

Here, Lee. Have a slightly dad-like concerned face in return.]

Now there's a worrying string of words. Just what this apartment needs — one guy in dire need of Visine, one guy with a drinking problem. Great.

[thecag]

It's not a problem. What's a problem is finding out your future wife is an undercover agent for an enemy that slaughtered the entire human race.

[Lee. Always the fun one. On that note. More pancakes because food makes things better okay.]

[5055034455]

[Whoa, Lee. Jesus Christ. Saul's just gonna do some staring now, okay? Okay.]

...sorry, what?

[thecag]

[Damn, Lee shouldn't have been so quick to retort. Now he has to explain himself and he, like all Adamas, hates doing that.]

Apparently the woman I was dating before I cam here, and supposedly end up marrying, is a frakking toaster. [A pause.] Rather, she's one of a mechanical species hell bent on eradicating every human that still remains. Of billions there were, less than fifty thousand remained when I ended up in this gods-forsaken wasteland.

[And he'll just have some more to eat instead of continuing to talk.]

[5055034455]

[Thanks for that clarification, broseph. Saul almost thought there was an actual toaster involved.

...not really.

He whistles low, frowning.]

Damn. And I thought my ex-wives were bad. But hey, look on the bright side — better you know now before you marry her, eh?

[PROBABLY NOT HELPING.]

[thecag]

I don't even know if we can get home to make use of the knowledge.

[It occurs to him that this is absolutely depressing beyond belief. So here Saul, have a super inappropriate joke in response.]

Probably would the first guy in Caprican history who gets to throw his wife out an airlock and be praised for it.

[5055034455]

[Saul is all for inappropriate jokes, but man, that's just grim. Have a sympathetic shoulder pat, Lee.]

We all make bad choices sometimes, buddy.

[thecag]

Yeah. No frakking kidding.

[Welp.How fun they are!]

So. Tell me more about you. Here. Anything. My problems are a universe away and the headache I gave myself from all that drinking is more pressing. Maybe you've people have painkiller shots? Or at least more of an abundance than we had...