Confessions
Confessions
Summary: Micah gets a few things off his chest, gains a chance for redemption
Date: 18 ACH
Related Logs: Panther Bar, Parts I and II
Players:
Micah..Rue..

Micah is sitting on the floor of his cell, back to the bars but not to the corridor that leads past his little slice of temporary home. Elbows braced against his knees, he has his head ducked like he's dozing, but his eyes are open; he's ostensibly listening to the banter being tossed between Doss and Mercer in the adjoining cells.

Rue pins the MPs with a look as she enters, then moves down towards Micah's cell. She slaps him upside the head from behind and says, "What did I say?"

Micah rolls forward onto his feet, pivots sharply, and comes up like a shot when he's swatted at. Whatever was about to trip from his mouth is thankfully bitten back, and he straightens to offer a salute. "To stay out of trouble, sir." It's a paraphrasing, but it's still applicable. He's looking contrite, if a bit haggard.

"Thank you for spectacularly failing. I wasn't able to talk the Commander out of the demotion… you're lucky you're even keeping your flight status," Rue says, calmly speaking even though her body language is chock full of anger. "I'm not your mother, I'm your CAG. I can't give you infinite chances. Eventually, you'll run out and you'll be stuck cleaning toilets for the rest of your life. Understand? There's no mystical magical destination for this fleet. You can't just go back to civilian life."

Micah doesn't move, doesn't blink, as this is explained to him. Neither does he quite meet the CAG's eyes, but focuses on some point slightly to the left of them steadily. "Aye, sir," is answered quietly when she's finished. There's certainty in his voice, but a little less of his usual ferocity.

"I've sent the Master-At-Arms a directive to release you. Until then, you're to stay put," Rue says, running a hand over her face. "I'm trying hard to not step on toes at this point."

Micah is silent for a long moment after that, eyes flitting toward the woman at her gesture of exasperation. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" He's smoked too many cigarettes for a kid his age. That, or he's been doing a lot of shouting.

"If it's about how the Marines have been acting, you can stow it. We're officers and thusly are held, automatically, to higher standards of honor and behavior," is Rue's response. "If it's /not/ about Marines, go ahead."

There's a bare flicker of something at the corners of his mouth when she says that. Might be a smile, if he did much smiling; but it's gone too quickly to tell. "I know, sir." He grinds his jaw a little to the left, then the right. "I meant t'say, that I won't disappoint you. If for no other reason than I don't want to be cleaning toilets in the Marines' mess the rest of my godsdamned life. I meant t'say, that I'm sorry. Sorry that you got stuck with the likes of me in this fine squadron, and to make a confession, sir: I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be back on Caprica, but my dad.." His eyes slit a little with wry humour. "..he pushed my commission through. I shouldn't be here. I should be dead, like all the rest. You should have someone worthy of that uniform, but you've got me. An' I won't disappoint you again." He bites his lip, hard. "That's all, sir."

"Daddy helping you or not, you're a capable pilot. Just remember what I tell you all before every op. Watch each other's backs and you'll all come home," Rue says, raising her hand in salute. "I'll see you around, St. Germain."

Micah sucks in a breath and lifts his chin a little. "Aye, sir." There isn't a speck of emotion on his face now, save perhaps an ounce of recrimination for having spoken so freely. "Thank you, sir." A salute is offered in return, brisk and formal.

Rue holds her salute for several seconds before she says, "Hang in there. You'll be out shortly." And off she heads for the exit.

Micah holds his own salute until the CAG steps back. Mouth firming, he gives her a singular nod for her words and then watches her depart. Then it's back to slumping on the floor with his back to the bars, with a near-bonelessness like he's taken a weight off his shoulders.

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