Anders, Battlestar Galactica
hc-bingo, prompt "loss of possessions".
Sam thinks about things sometimes. He thinks of his flat in a tower in Caprica City. The main room had been a full wall of windows, looking out to the bay. There had been workout equipment in one room, a trophy case, banners, framed copies of magazines his photo had been on the cover. He'd had art, selected by a designer, on the other walls. But looking back he didn't miss any of it. It all seemed to shallow and unimportant, all for display and very little of it personal.
The Cylon attacks had made it all irrelevant anyway. He'd gotten close enough to Caprica City to know the tower had been obliterated, and all his stuff with it. By then, the only things he cared about were weapons, medicine, and food, with occasional interest in bomb making equipment and cigarettes.
New Caprica had become a year of more things. But this time, he'd been more cautious and less attached. He hadn't believed in his heart it would last, so he'd only gathered what was necessary and nothing he'd be sad to leave behind. His photograph of him and Kara together, he kept on him at all times, just in case they had to evacuate, but that was all he kept. Well, the pyramid ball, but that was replaceable. It was nothing he'd risk his life to keep.
Things had gotten more scarce after the evacuation of New Caprica, with very little of it going with the evacuees. He'd had a knife, a pyramid ball, a blanket, and a photo. He scrounged scrap to make a pyramid backstop, just to have something to do. People seemed to appreciate having a place to loosen up that wasn't survival only.
Observation about things got a bit tangled into the personal, as he wondered if he had become a thing. If he'd always been a thing, only now he knew about it. He doesn't know how he can believe that Sharon is a person, and yet be so unsure about himself. They should be the same, right? Aren't they the same thing? Or are they? She at least has always known who and what she is – he thought he knew both and now they're both thrown into question (however much Saul likes to say it's not, Sam knows that's a lie).
Later still, he thinks of the things in his old flat on the bay that he'd left behind. He thinks of the things on the bay on Earth that he also remembers, from a life before that. And he thinks of the humans now settling a new land, without any of their things. They've left everything behind. Including him.
He hears her voice, and he sees her. All of her. His angel. He would smile but he's too tired and the ship is getting too warm.
"You ready, babe?" Kara asks.
He finds his voice. "Soon."
"You don't have to wait, you know," she says, sauntering closer and holding out her hand. "You and me, we're done here."
His hand lifts, takes hers, and she doesn't flinch at the chill touch of his skin. She's very warm. "Come on. I can show you the way."
He sees it then, in the warmth of her eyes. Things – including the body, that's a thing, too – things are transitory. He underestands that now and he's eager to leave this body and its weak and injured flesh behind. It's time to see what's on the other side.
In a moment, there's nothing there.
Crossposted from DW There are comments over there. Feel free to comment wherever.