PHD #406: My Team
My Team
Summary: Kincaid approaches Circe over the gun matter.
Date: 08 April 2042 AE
Related Logs: Under the Gun
Circe Kincaid 
Marine Enlisted Berths
Designed specifically to house a small Marine contingent, this berthing is one of the smallest on the ship. The bunks are arranged in standard formation in the classic over-under configuration and lockers dividing each one. However, the lockers here are a bit larger than most elsewhere on the ship to accommodate the bulky combat gear associated with the security details of the crew that lives here. Tables are spread out for use through the area with their standard allotment of chairs.
Post-Holocaust Day: #406

To Kincaid's credit, he kept his promise. When Circe was back in the Chair for the second day, Kincaid was right there for it. The whole day. Every second she was in the Chair, he was watching her, keeping an eye on her. He even escorted her back on the Raptor to Cerberus, the two of them in an awkward silence. He gave her time to sleep some in her own bunk, and it's finally now that he appears near it: "Lagana? You got a minute?" His voice is wary, as if he's expecting her to say 'no.'

At some point, the medic had gone for a shower, if not to soothe her burning skin then to try to escape that fact she couldn't sleep. Circe rests there, curtains closed and can't really find rest. Wiping at her face, the crewman cringes at the voice on the other side of the curtain. "Why?" she asks from within. There is no stirring, she does not shift, finally finding a position where her raw skin doesn't hurt.

"Because I want to apologize. And because I want to explain — though it doesn't make any better what they did to you — I want to explain how what I did is going to help take these people down. If you'll let me. If not, that's fine. I understand." And it sounds like Danny actually does. "But if you want to hear me out, I want to tell you."

The curtain finally moves as Circe gives a tug at it, opening it so she can get her feet out and hang over the edge of her bunk. Looking down at him, the mop of curls is still somewhat damp and she scrubs them from her face. "This changes how? Godsdamn it..they have me believing I am a Cylon. Can you fix that?" She asks him, brows furrowing before she lowers herself to the ground with a faint thud, rising slowly. "I am not the only one..I certainly hope they don't do some real harm. I certainly hope they haven't." She says. Moving for her locker, the medic brushes past him with less regard.

Well, it wasn't a 'no' at least. So Kincaid will take that as a positive sign and he presses on. "The XO of Areion called Captain Mathers and I in. They told us that the Gun was a Cylon detector and that they wanted names of possible suspects so they could start testing people. You remember that I was counsel for Admiral Abbot, right? So I thought that — Hades — if they knew the Gun was a Cylon detector before he was executed, why didn't they use it? So I went after the Marine CO over there, asked them how long he knew. But he kept pressing me for names. And so I gave him yours; because of the Hybrid thing. And he told me that they'd known since August, since five months before Abbot was killed."

"So despite this, you just gave them names?" Circe says, now staring at him. "Did you go to Pewter? Did you go to anyone?" She asks him, pressing at him before her frustration bubbles out. "What they are doing could kill someone.." She says. "That radiation?!" She shakes her head and turns, moving for her locker finally as she bangs it open and pulls out a file. "So since August..why has it taken them so long and why do they need to sneak us off if it's legit?" She asks him.

"Mathers was right there! I can't believe he didn't frakking tell —" Kincaid stops himself and takes a deep breath. No use being defensive about all of this. "I know. I know. I only gave one. Yours. But. That's the thing. Why has it taken so long? I don't know. But I do know that during Abbot's trial, Lieutenant Vandenberg was contacted after she initially voted 'not guilty.' A hacker put files in her computer that led her to change her vote; information about Abbot being on an initial list of Cylon suspects and how Marines got killed trying to apprehend him when he was removed from command."

"Sounds like something a Cylon would do. Who would be able to do such a thing?" She asks Kincaid. But Circe narrows her gaze on him. A breath is slowly drawn and she tries to remain calm. THe nearly cherry red skin of the medic is slowly turning into a tan, thank goodness for that. "It seems perhaps you shouldn't have given them a name at all. Why did you not go to someone?" She asks him then, her head tilting. "Too busy trying to follow orders?" She steps towards him, slapping the thin file against his chest. "Here's your information on that Doctor you wanted."

"A Cylon. That's who. In fact, whoever did the hacking did it so well that the best computer mind in the Fleet couldn't find any trace of it." Kincaid presses on. "Even worse, they left a trail that suggested that Vandenberg hacked the files herself and left her fingerprints all over it." He takes the file and glances down at it, but doesn't read it quite yet. "I did it because I didn't think I'd be able to make a fuss about it all by myself. So. I played along so I could find out what I could find. And I'm sorry. Now, I'm trying to hunt down this agent is, and if you want to help, I'd love to have you on my team. But if not, I understand that, too. You don't have to tell me right away, but think about it." He gestures with the file. "Thanks for this."

Swallowing, her anger starting to fade a little despite her pent up want to let loose on Kincaid. Circe's eyes still shoot daggers but she gives a faint nod. "Let me think on it.." She says, "But I am not sure I was on your team anymore the moment you handed my name over." Her gaze lands on the file and Lagana takes a step back. "I hope you know who else they are taking..because I can't be the only one."

"I'll find out," Kincaid promises. "Get some rest, Lagana." His voice is soft; he turns to go. Then he turns again. "And. Again. I'm sorry." It's said sheepishly, but sincerely. He means it, though he also seems to know that the words don't mean all that much. And then he goes for real.

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