PHD #481: Acceptance
Summary: Ciro finally grieves for those he loved and lost. Circe is there to help pick the pieces back up.
Date: 23 June Month 2042 AE
Related Logs: Visitation
Circe Ciro 
Athletics Area
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear
Post-Holocaust Day: ##481

The athletics area is a little sparse this time of night, shifts and sleep stealing most people away. But Circe is about to pull a double and nothing charges her up like a few good laps. It also helps to untense that old wound of her's in her leg. It's never been quite the same since and it frustrates her to some degree. Even now as she is stepping out of the pool area, towel wrapped around her waist to make her way to the leg curl machine, she is testing her left foot with a roll of it between steps. She mutters something and scrubs wet air back from her face.

A few rivelets of water trail down her back to disappear into the curve of her suit. Wetting her lips, she sighs and hooks her legs in, beginning to pump the weights little by little add some more tension to try to work that stiffness out of her calf.

The stillness of the night is interrupted by the sound of the hatch to the main entrance of the Athletics Area slamming shut. Silence follows until the sound of grunting accompanies the dry, packing sounds of fists pounding into one of the workout bags. Something crashes, sending what sounds like heavy free weights scattering across the floor. The angry grunting continues as the rage is suddenly redirected back to the punching bag.

So the punching is not something that is out of place but when the crash rings out, Circe slows, undoing the tension in the weights so that she can rest it down. A brow furrows and slowly she untwines herself to stand, barefeet padding softly over in the direction of the bags. Hair is drying a little, beginning to curl as she rounds the slight wall separating the areas. Her gaze moves from feet up and as she recognizes Ciro, her brows deepen. "Sondray.." Her voice sounds softly, questioningly as she means to look for whatever was the cause of the sound with a brush of her gaze upon the area. She stands her ground, not moving closer as she returns her gaze to him. Anger. She can read it plain as day and without a word, she is moving for the bag to help hold it.

"No. Get away from the bag." Ciro holds up a finger, bringing his fist up but hesitating as the area that was once empty is replaced by a vision of Circe Lagana. "No." He reiterates, balling his fists up angrily. His eyes are slightly dead looking as he's trying to not outright fly into a frenzy, but it seems as if he's lost, unsure as to what he should be doing. Something's wrong. Unable to swing at the bag for fear of hitting her, he turns and lets out a seething roar that ends as his booted foot comes slamming into the side of the assembled lockers. The unsecured doors rattle as he turns, stepping away from her to try to find something else to hit. "Stay that FRAK away from me…"

Not vacating from the bag, she doesn't touch it but Circe stares at him. Not wide eyed, just watches him carefully. Her hands lift to show her palms and she doesn't say a word. The anger is palapable and fills the air to a point of clinging to her. She does stay away from him, her own instincts telling her to more so than his words. "Ciro." Not Sondray. She can feel the hairs along her arms stand on end at his rage and slowly she hesitates a step to the side to get in view of her peripheral so he knows where she is without surprising him. "Ciro, damaging things is not going to change whatever you are upset about. Breathe gods damn it." She says sharply, her gaze hardening some as she realizes it is not a rational man before her.

His fist slams into the grated front of a locker, resulting in a loud, gunshot-like bang. The first time it doesn't break skin. The second time leaves his hand bleeding freely from one of the knuckles. "This is frakkin b—" He gets out before he turns, kicking one of the hanging lower lockers, busting it clear off of its hinges. The small door skids across the floor, coming to a stop against one of the weightlifting benches. His chest heaves with more than a year's worth of pent up anger, so much that he doesn't seem to notice the smear of blood he applies to his jaw and forehead as he reaches to brush over his shaved head. He glances about, not knowing where to go or what to do. Without warning, he turns and slams the side of his fist into the bag, following with a second, a third, and a fourth, each an attempt at putting more weight and pent-up anger into each thrust.

SHe doesn't get in his way, but flinches a little as she notices the blood. Circe even jumps slightly with all the screeching of metal and then she is moving. "Ciro stop! SARGEANT!" She intones deeply. "We do not need you in the brig." She knew though, she knew whateve he had to get out was something deeply released. She could probably guess. Her gaze, though hold sympathy, is hard. She is stepping back up to that bag, whether he likes it or not and if he is going to hit something, it might as well be the frakkin bag and not the lockers. Let his anger come out. She puts her hands up to it and leans in slowly with her shoulder to brace it. "Hit it." She tells him, waiting if he has stopped and bracing if he continues.

His head snaps up as Sergeant is called, the marine corps' training branded into his brain, bringing him back to the present. He lowers his fist, letting the blood drip onto the floor and his side. He's cut himself good, likely in need of stitches as his knuckles came into contact with the slatted portion of the locker doors. He shoulders inwards, punching the bag hard.

"We were gonna get married." He grunts, slamming his fist into the bag. "Frakkin kids and frakkin father and frakkin Dixon—" Each aspect is matched with a fist to the bag, alternating his right and left hands. The side of the bag smears over with some of his residual blood. Even her skin gets a drop or two as he swings in. "…and they're not FRAKKING down on Gemenon." He stops punching, instead barking into Circe's face.

"What does it frakking matter? They're -dead-. DEAD. I don't have a frakking thing to bury and the best I've got going is that the whole god-damned thing was a frakking MISTAKE, Circe. FFFFff—-" He growls, slamming another fist into the bag.

She takes it, she takes his anger and his onslaught and shoulders it. As it pours over her insight is give and clarity takes root. Ciro is only now coming to terms with all his loss. Circe understands it and she doesn't say a word, letting him instead vent all he is worth into her face and into the bag. The specialist lets him slam that fist in and closes her eyes. "Nothing is a mistake. Just because you lost it doesn't mean it was wrong." She tells him with certainty.

"I know how you feel.." She lets her voice trail. "I was going to get married….I had a father, a sister, mother..little nephew. I had close friends..we have all lost, Ciro." She says. "But I think you finally have lost them. I think you…finally are letting it come to rest as certainty." She says to him. Slowly she lifts her head, not wanting to get a rebound from the bag to her face, but she levels one hazel eye from around the bag at him.

"No, it IS a mistake, Circe." Ciro seethes, not angry at her. She's in no danger of him as he actively tries to avoid hitting her. He steps back, again balling his hands into fists. He lunges forward and stops himself, almost confused at the idea of hitting something without risking hitting her. He turns again, eyeing the lockers. He starts towards them again, his voice low and feral as he seems to have no inclination to not take his rage out on something that hurts him back. "I went to meet the Cylon. She said she thinks the bombings were a mistake." He admits, planting his heel into the side of the lockers again. "and I CANNOT frakking hate her for it, but they're not down there. I showed her a frakkin picture and she didn't know any of them. If they're" Again, he kicks. "Still frakkin alive they were taken by the other F-" Again, he kicks. "…or starved to death, or got FRAKKING MELTED." He raises his fists again, the rage bubbling over once more. He prepares to start punching again. "FRAK THIS."

When he turns away to redirect, Circe is listening, but she is also eyeing his ruined hand. She moves forward then, shifting around the bag with swiftness to lock her arms tightly around him if she can, dragging her arms down his to try to clamp them back as her cheek rests against the back curve of his shaved had. "Frak everything, I know." She hisses. "It's not fair, it's not Gods…where were they? What did we do to deserve it and why did so many of those we love have to die? I know." She says the last two words with more feeling, her own throat constricting a little. "It's a shit life..mourning those we are not sure are dead, rather..we hope aren't." She says to him, trying to keep hold of the sargeant and maybe cool off his steaming boil of anger. "Just stop hurting yourself. It changes nothing.." She tells him. "You have to accept it…there is nothing else to do."

As she restrains him, Ciro doesn't fight her. Instead he seems to immediately weaken. He leans forward, resting his forehead against the cool metal of the rack of lockers. His eyes close and he lets out a ragged sigh. His back to her, he allows himself to grieve, letting her inability to see him hide his face. Still, as always, he refuses to break under the sheer emotional strain of his anguish, but at least he's talking about it.

"…we were going to get married. I waited too long. She was ready…gods…" He shakes his head. "…I'll never get the chance to make it right. I buried my best friend, but I didn't get to bury her." His chest rises, slowly taking in a breath that again, comes out constricted and ragged. "I miss them. I miss my life. I hate my FR—" He suddenly gets angry again, threatening to break free of her hold.

Listening, she keeps her cheek rested to his head and closes her eyes. Circe knows well his anguish. "It's okay.." She whispers. She offers a soft kiss to his bald head, down by her own hand and she just lets him speak. As he tries to break free, she suddenly jerks back to ready mode and clamps her arms tighter. "Gods damn it need to cool off." She tries to tug him backwards. Pool. He was going in if she had to drag himt here. "I miss mine too! FRAK!" She grunts trying to get him to move the way she wants to, she may be strong, but she is more lean muscle than built. The specialist grits her teeth. They all had sad stories and she was going to make sure that Ciro didn't end up ruining things because of it. "You big bullheaded rat hat wearing fool of a man. Stay away from them damned lockers!"

With her shove, he stumbles in the direction of the door to the pool. She gets him halfway, as one part of his brain seems to be overly numb from the recent shock to his emotional state, and the other part that's a simmered rage doesn't want to hurt her. He wants to hurt other things. The next few feet towards the poor are met with more resistance as he plants his boot, trying to fight her. Tugging at her arm to try to slip free, he loses his balance enough for her to outright shove him into the pool.

Clothes and all, Ciro Sondray splashes into the pool. It's a shot of ice-water to his system, immediately sobering him. Rather than fight it, he instead rolls onto his back and floats, staring up at the ceiling. Immediately uncomfortable, he rights himself and leans against the wall, hand covering his eyes, his jaw tightened. "…gods damnit."

Grunting and fighting him the whole way, their little dance ends with his boot slamming into her foot once, crushing her toes. Wincing, Circe ends up winning, getting him through that hatch and finally dumped. She nearly topples after him, but manages to stay upright as she can watch him. When he resurfaces and slowly steams free of the hot anger, she sighs. Swallowing, his raw state is completely understood and part of her is now feeling exposed and painful once more.
"I know, right? God's damn it." She mutters.
Slowly the specialist moves to perch on the edge of the pool, settling herself to it having lost her towel somewhere in the struggle. Her long legs slide into familiar territory and she watches him, finally her eyes drift away to stare over it's surface in silent thought.

Her leg slides into the water near him, and Ciro continues not being polite. This time, he braces his arms over her leg and lowers his head to her thigh, breathing softly against her skin. For the first time he's calmed down so that she can get close to take a look at his bleeding hand, which rests atop one of her legs, dripping blood down the side of his hand and onto her skin.

"I never talked about it." He says weakly, mindlessly assuming she wants to hear it. His grief is absolute, consuming him whole. "Dixon and I just made the agreement to transfer back home so that Vanessa could resign. I'd already bought the ring. The bombs shook the mountain and he fell. I climbed down and buried him." He pauses, closing his eyes as the rest of his body weakly hangs off of her legs. "I don't want to give a frak about anyone." His brow lowers, and he slowly starts to pull away. "Frak. Just…don't mind me. I can't do this."

As he starts to pull away, her hand reaches up to brush over his shaven head lightly. There is a soft furrowing of her brows in a peak as a gentle gaze sweeps over him. "Sometimes you can't do it…" She pauses and instead of trying to offer her shoulder, which she does, Circe holds out her hand to him. "Let me see your knuckles.." She instructs him. "I gotta do my job." She gives him a wan smile, warm still despite the understanding that seethes behind it. "I am sorry for your losses…may the God's keep them safe. They are in a beautiful place and wait for you, Sondray. Just make your life here worth telling them about." She says. Them. The millions upon millions that died.

Ciro allows Circe to carry the burden, clearly unable to do so for a moment longer. It's been well over a year, and he's all out of steam…at least until he gets to the next stretch of road. Leaning against her, he lets her inspect his hand as he speaks weakly against her shoulder. "It's okay." He replies, a packaged response. "I don't want to see them yet. They'd want me to get everyone safe first. I swore an oath." He pauses, breathing slowing down as his pulse returns to normal. "I had to ask her. I've known the answer all along, but if I didn't ask I never would have known for sure. If there was a chance I had to take it, but…Yazdah, the Cylon, she didn't know any of them. You know that picture from the bar? The one with my dad?"

Her hands hold his as she tilts the injured appendange carefully. Her hazel eyes focus on the wound, grateful at least for that as she shares in his pain. Circe looks up at his question, meeting his gaze. "Sort of.." Vaguely. She doesn't say what she is thinking, about asking the Cylon. Instead she falls silent, waiting for him to continue as well. He does need stitches, a few along the edge closer to his thumb but she keeps that information to herself. She is councselor and medic tonight, a shoulder for him as she stays close to her fellow marine and man she is learning to count as a friend.

"The odds are…frakking stupid. Thousands out of billions survived. Those that were lucky enough were frakked without a ship. If there was a chance, though, I had to ask. Frak…I don't think she's lying." He sighs, pulling his head free from her shoulder, facing her in the water as she looks over his hand. His eyes are closed, and although he's clearly done being furious, he's still trying to blindly pick through putting his head back together. "I'm just gonna have to…move on. Keep going."

That strikes a chord wth her and Circe looks up at his closed eyes. "Ciro…we all have. In our own ways." She was different herself for that event and the losses she had accumlated. She could not fault him if he did. "We have to become different people to shelter ourselves from the grief." She tells him. She lifts his ruined hand to rest on her shoulder. "That's enough chlorine for the wound. We need to get stitches done up properly. Probably best to drag you out of here." She is offering a soft smile, trying to lighten things. "You are so bullheaded, Sondray. So bullheaded." She tsks a little and then lifts a hand to cheek, cupping it before she nods her head and pats it lightly.

Leaning into the affectionate pat to his cheek, the grieving marine fails to smile. Instead he cracks his red-rimmed eyes open to lazily look to the corner of the pool. "I didn't give up on her for four hundred and eighty days. Give or take a few." His eyebrow raises with his words for emphasis. Yes…there were some nights he spent in the present tense. "Bullheaded, right?" He chuckles weakly, walking to the end of the pool without her. When he reaches the end, he climbs up the stairs, his heavy clothes a cascade of pool water. He cuts the foreplay and peels his shirts off, throwing them at the wall where they make a loud splat. He seems every bit interested in leaving them behind. "Please don't put me on psych eval. I'm going to be okay. I just…it came in fast and hard."

That makes her pause as she draws herself out of the pool, gazing at his clothes, she moves to pick them up, wringing them out. "Ciro..we all need psycho eval if we are going by old standards…this is different. We are all frakked up. We are all suffering. I wouldn't do such a thing…" SHe says and moves closer towards him. Her hair is drying now, curling with that scent of chlorine that always seems a part of her. Circe swallows and reaches out again, dropping the clothes to wrap her arms about him, bringing him into a hug. "YOu still need time…it may have hit fast, but its going to linger. Trust me." She says that with the painful knowledge herself. She draws a long breath, starting to pull away.

The hug is returned, a heavy squeeze directed towards a friend and sudden caretaker. He sighs into her shoulder with the hug, clearly grateful for the human contact with how he clings. Tonight he's weak. Tomorrow he can be strong again. To her words he nods his head, hearing them a few seconds after they've been spoken, a testament to the numb headspace he's entered. "Right. Time. I'll be okay, alright?" He asks, eyebrows raising to her as he opens his eyes. His hand gives her shoulder a soft squeeze. "I just…maybe I just need to get something to eat and lay down."

"What you need is time in the Chapel..I hate to say it, but even if you don't need to speak to the need to speak to her." Circe studies his face, holding his gaze. "Go speak to her. Tell her how you feel, that you miss her, what you have been doing. Trust me. It's better than any psych help you can get. She will hear you." The part of her that lives withn him will hear him. That is what counts, thta is the peace he needs. "Talk to her as many days as you like for as long as you like. Talk to her before you go to bed. Something that means so much should not be thought of as lost." She says to him. "When you give so much of yourself.." Her eyes lower, "It's hard to lose it. So don't."

Ciro's walking slows and he turns his head to look at her with a face filled with curiosity. His chest bucks, a veiled sound of surprise emitting from the center of his throat. Trailing water still, he turns and continues to watch for the hatch. "You know…all this time I'd never thought of that as a possibility, because I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to be affected." He says mutedly, bringing his knuckle up to take a look at it. "I'll do that, Circe. I will. No bullshit." He clarifies, knowing damn well he's made promises he didn't intend to keep before. He's never broken any promises to Circe, but it's a sign that he's paid a good deal of lip service to everyone.

"Good." She says and tilts her head to look at him sidelong for a moment. She offers him a faint smile. "Go on, go get something to eat and rest. It won't be easy sleep, so talk." She tells him. Turning, she reaches down for his clothes, "Visit medical too for those stitches." She says to him and is holding onto his wet shirt and tank before heading for the locker room. The medic says nothing more, his pain had been given out and had been expressed. She had played her part and for it…she felt her own need to visit the Chapel and speak. Would Elaos be listening?

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