| Fidelity |
| Summary: | The friendship between Kincaid and Sawyer is tested. |
| Date: | 24 Jan 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Who Watches the Watcher (Sawyer confronts Piers). |
| Players: |
  |
| News Room - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus |
|---|
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
| This room isn't huge by any means, but it does have all the updated equipment and a small news staff that runs the area. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #332 |
Sawyer's fresh off the shuttle back from the Elpis, the evidence being a travel case is sitting atop her desk and she's currently in the process of unpacking it. Dirty laundry gets tossed in a pile and her assorted work-related accoutrement are being tucked back into the various drawers of her work station. From the expression she's wearing on her face? It wasn't a good trip.
Enter Danny. He's clutching two folders. Both are official-looking. One reads across the top strip: 'Rassvet, Nataly (BG).' The other: 'Langer, Marissa (KIA)'. He seems in — if not good spirits, as such — then slightly manic spirits, like he's on the trail of something. "Sawyer! Hey! How'd the trip to Elpis go? Am I going to see my report hitting the Wires soon?" Of course, there are no more Wires in the world. Just once you're used to using the lingo …
Sawyer gives a dry little chuck of laughter to Kincaid as he waltzes in, but it seems rather ill-amused at the entire situation. "If by report you mean a fat load of nothing but a waste of my time, then sure. The only thing that turned up from confronting Piers was his tongue down my throat." She says without a hint of humor in her voice. And yes, she seems dead serious. The irritation at her own words is emphasised by a slamming of a drawer. "I didn't deliver this time, Danny. I'm sorry."
Kincaid goes to hop up on the table in the center of the news room, claiming his usual spot. It's like it hasn't hit him yet. Blink. Blink. "Confronting him? You /confronted him/, Sawyer?" It's disbelief at first. The CRASHing sound you hear is Danny's excitement slamming into the brick wall. "Why the frak did you do that, Sawyer? What did you tell him? Did you tell him your source?" His questions come, rapid-fire now.
"I'm not that stupid." Sawyer steps back from her unpacking to light up a cigarette, tossing the pack in his general direction. Bad news is always easier to handle when you have some nicotine in your veins. "I didn't tell him where I got the information, just that I knew what he'd been up to for the military and that I'd expose him if he didn't back off this charade."
"Okay." Kincaid pauses, taking out a cigarette from the pack, using the action as a way to try to gather his thoughts and get over the shock of this revelation. "What did he say? What happened?" Trying to gather some information.
"He was more interested in sweet-talking me and laying on the flattery than anything I had to say. In fact, I believe he was using it as a diversion tactic, which only pissed me off all the more." Sawyer's lips pull tight around the cigarette as she takes a long draw, starting a mild pace that has her heels clicking lethargically on the deck. "He doesn't seem to care about his past being exposed. Says he's after the same thing I am, but wasn't keen on putting a definition on it. That's it. I told you I failed."
"So. He could be bluffing." Kincaid takes in a long drag on his cigarette, slowly letting out the smoke. "Putting on a swagger. People might truly care that he's involved with the military, especially if, as my report suggests, his affiliation is current." He's just pondering now, but there's a layer of — well — anger beneath it. "If we go public now, he'll have had time to prepare for the fallout — but."
"He could be bluffing." Sawyer confirms, her back turned to him now while she contemplates the rivots in the wall as she takes another drag of her cigarette. "I don't think he's current, though. He doesn't seem to hold any connection to Pewter, at least." Perhaps she senses his anger, or at least anticipated it with her own shortcomings being as they are, and her shoulders roll forward protectively, one arm wrapped around her midsection as if she could just curl in on herself. Confident Sawyer is not confident. Not today.
"I don't /care/ if it's current, Sawyer." Kincaid sounds exasperated, letting out a heavy puff of smoke from his lips. "All I care is if it's /perceived/ to be current." He sighs. "Rene-Marie is a /bad person/, Sawyer. He's not out to help the Fleet. He's not — I —" It's like he has something to say to back it up, but is holding back on it. "He's just not. And — yeah." A pause. "Are you into him? Behind him?"
"I'm sorry, what did you just ask me?" Sawyer turns on him slowly, an incredulous expression on her face. Did he just imply what she inferred? If he wanted to raise her backbone, there it is. If she's hurt, it's buried beneath a heavy dose of pissed the frak off.
"I'm asking you if you're supporting him, Sawyer. I just want to know before I go any further on this. Because — I don't know. I asked you to leak a story for me, I asked you to trust me, and what you did instead is confront Rene-Marie and get his tongue down your throat. So — I want to ask you about that, okay?" Kincaid's back is up, too.
Sawyer actually has the audacity to flick her cigarette at him, because she's not in the range for a slap. "Frak you, Danny. I said I was going to do things my way, and I did." And failed. Miserably.
Kincaid watches the cigarette sail towards him with a detached sort of look about it, as if he's not quite believing that it's directed at him. Once it hits him, he grabs it by the end and crushes it out on the nearby ashtray, looking back at her. "You know what, Sawyer? Frak you." That's the most backbone she's seen from him in a while. "I thought it meant you were going to look for your own channels of distribution. But I run around and so gods damned much for you. I prioritized two background checks for you, including one for a guy who quit after — what was it — a few weeks? You know more about my investigations than my frakking chain of command does, and just one time I ask you to do it my way, and what did I get?"
"It's not /my/ fault that Sylvester couldn't hack it." Sawyer takes a few steps for him, hurdled by her own rising ire. "I told you I wasn't just going to just throw this information out there. Because no matter what you say? That /is/ propaganda, Daniel. That /is/ a smear campaign that's just as condemnable as those frakking manifestos he's churning out for mass consumption. So yes I went down there, I tried to get something better for you than just some gut feeling you had about him working for the military. At least he did as much as confirm that fact for me. You do what you do for me because you can't get journalism out of your blood. Don't you dare," She pokes a finger at him. "DARE say that I've somehow schmoozed you into doing my dirty work."
"It wasn't some frakking hunch, Sawyer! I had /facts/. I did /leg work/. I looked at papers and I interviewed people and I wrote it up. That he's still working for the military? Yeah, that might be a flight of fancy. But I'm doing this because — because —" Kincaid's practically stammering now. "Look, Sawyer, if you think you can play politics and not even employ the /slightest/ bit of politics in it; no strategic leaks, no rumors, nothing, then, well, maybe you're not cut out for it, after all." His jabby finger comes out as well, pointing right back at her. "I asked you to trust me that I was doing this for the right reasons. Because — frak it, Sawyer, I've got a case building that this guy is a frakking murderer, not some heroic political dissident."
Sawyer slaps away impatiently at his hand. "I /told/ you I /suck/ at politics." Is all she says in her defense, that's all she's got now and she's desperately clinging to it. "If you've got him on murder, then I'll do everything in my power to help you put him away, which is what I thought I WAS DOING."
Kincaid sighs heavily. He seems to sense that he's made his point; no use rubbing her face in it. The anger melts away, at least somewhat. His voice softens; he's more teacher now. "I can't just haul him in on murder. If I do, it looks like we're retaliating for his actions against the Marines on Elpis. I have to weaken his base first. Try to get him down to just the hard-core supporters. And then we prove up the murder case, and THEN we make our move."
"You want to weaken him, have a press conference. I'll call him out on the mat." Sawyer turns away from Danny, her own anger fading into that same resigned tone of voice. "Give me a list of questions you want me to ask, and I'll get your leak out that way. Some place where he can't just hide behind his hall of lackeys and wave everything away with a flick of his scarf or try to use seduction to change the subject. Put him on the spot and shake some of those supporters from his shadow." Like a whipped puppy, she's retreating to her desk and the safety of anther pack of cigarettes she fishes out. Maybe she's just reloading ammunition.
Kincaid falls into thought, considering that. "We can't do a press conference. I mean —" His voice trails off. "I can't hold a press conference. I'm just a Lance Corporal. I'm not anyone. I'm not the S-2. And I don't trust them to — to handle this right." But he seems to be considering it.
"I meant you…" Sawyer makes a winding motion with her hand in the air, now unable to meet his eyes for all the cubits in the world. "In the collective sense. I don't know how much sway I have with Pewter, but Tillman might still have some twisted affinity toward me. I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to convince them." There's a quietness that overtakes her, the journalist fidgeting with a cigarette she hasn't had the heart to light. "I'm sorry I disappointed you. I know how it feels."
Kincaid sighs heavily and shakes his head. "Sawyer. It's — it's okay." His anger can't last all that long. Not for her, at least. "I know you were trying to do what you thought was right. And — I respect that. I just — I know my shit too, sometimes, that's all." He takes out a lighter from his pocket, offering it on up to her and that cigarette.
Sawyer turns slightly as she sees the lighter out of her peripheral, but instead of taking it, she just waits for a flame as if not trusting her own fingers to do the deed. "I have this nasty habit of needing to see things for myself. But now I can tell you where he rooms, approximately how many people he has loitering around to do his bidding, and that his right hand body guard is named Bob. He's also gathered better appointments than most."
A pause as Kincaid lights up Sawyer. He considers that information. "Well, that's all good stuff to know, Sawyer. It's all good stuff to know." He leans away. "Look. I'd — better get going. You need to sign for Nataly's credentials, by the way." He slips off the table, pulling out the laminated card from the folder with Nataly's name on it, passing it over with an octagonal paper receipt. "You're all set there, at least."
"Yeah, sure." Sawyer mumbles, words limited by the cigarette hanging from her lips. She finds a pen from the top of her desk and bends over the paper to ink her name. "The one damn thing I didn't care about, is the one damn thing that went right." She hands it back to him without much fanfare. "Thanks, Daniel."
Kincaid takes the receipt back and tucks it back into the folder. Tuck, tuck. He then turns to go. But then he turns back. "Sawyer. I don't do this just because I can't get journalism out of my blood. Not just." He lets out a heavy puff of air. "I also do it because I love you, okay?" It comes out in a rush of words and air. "So. Yeah. I'll see you soon. Promise."
Well, if Kincaid wanted to blindside her? He just did. At first the words don't really seem to register, so strung up in their fight that she is, but it seems to dawn on her a little too late. Her mouth opens just a hint, but she's at a loss for words. "Danny, I…" Her heart catches in her throat, her hand extending to reach for him but as soon as it's offered her fingers curl and it's just as quickly withdrawn. "You're my best friend." Which is the crappiest consolation prize in all the Colonies.