PHD #086: Something You Want to Tell Me?
Something You Want to Tell Me?
Summary: After getting the delicate news from Tillman, Maggie and Cidra dance around a very personal subject with business. Things just go down hill from there.
Date: 23 May 2041 AE
Related Logs: Manning Up; Aneurysms
Quinn Cidra 
Recovery Room
A much more quiet area of Medical, this elongated room is also lined with beds. Each is similarly outfitted with privacy curtains as necessary and even the paint on the walls has been lightened in an attempt to help lift spirits. Chairs are readily available all over the place so that visitors can pull one up to talk to the patients during their recovery. Near the entrance, visiting hours are posted with a very conspicuous 'No Smoking' sign.
Post-Holocaust Day: #86

Quinn is laid up in one of the beds off to the side. Not critical care or anything, but she's hooked up to a good few monitors, between everything from the surface and the anesthesia this morning when they rebroke/reset her leg. She's awake now, though, a bit drowsy and more than a bit stir crazy, but awake. She's got a magazine in her hand some kind soul gave over, and she even managed a shower (or sponge bath) at some point enough to comb out her hair and rebraid it. So, other than facial bruising/scratches and her heavily casted right leg… she looks almost normal. She's doing her best to read, to focus on the old text in front of her. It's not working so well. Apparently, Pyramid's Hottest Teams from last season aren't all that interesting.

Cidra slips into the Recovery Room. She's not too long off the flight line from the Wing's last little encounter with the Cylons, but she's taken some downtime to shower, and change into her off-duties. Copious tattoos on display on her bare arms and shoulders. There's a vaguely abstracted look at the CAG. As if she were trying to process something that did not quite compute in her brain. Still, she offers Quinn a "Maggie" in an ordinary enough tone. A look is flitted down at the magazine. "I do not much like the C-Bucs chances this year. What do you think?"

Quinn looks down to the magazine with a bit of a smirk. "C-Bucks suck." She states simply, like it's a routine, factual statement, before she gently sets the magazine aside, "Sir." She greets gently, knowing the woman has started this meeting off with a more casual name, but it's still the first time she's seen her CO since everything happened and respect is best. Maggie gently shifts in her bed, using her elbows to pull herself up to half sitting, just a hint of pain crossing her features but she's gotten fairly used to it by now. "…Good to see you. Damn good."

"It is good to see any of you. My only regret was more could not be evacuated. It rankles me, doing this piece-meal. We shall get them all back soon," Cidra says. Firmly. As if making a promise to herself. She clears her throat. "How are you? I have not gotten an indepth report from Medical yet but I am to understand your leg was injured quite seriously."

Quinn looks down to her leg quietly, a frown pulling at her lips…"Broken in two places… never got set right on the surface so…" She exhales quietly through her nose, "They reset it this morning. Guess it's wait and see from there. Least it wasn't shattered." Like some of them feared. She rubs one hand tiredly across her sunburnt, heavily freckled face. At least most of her colour is back. "I… soon as they let me out tomorrow, I want to write commendations for Knickers and Fresh. They… frak, Cidra. I've never seen flying like that, even out of -Vipers-, much less a Raptor."

"Thank gods for small favors," Cidra murmurs. "Injuries like that can heal. With time." A good deal of time. Not that she dwells on precisely how long it might take. Her praise to Ethan and Temperance earns a smile. A tired smile, but a genuine one. "They have had many challenges with you and Lieutenant Doe off ship. I admit, I wondered if they were up to it. But they are solid Raptor pilots. I am much proud of them."

Quinn nods in affirmation…"Beyond solid. They're damn impressive, Cidra. I'm serious. Commendations, both of them. They saved our lives and frakked the day of a LOT of cylons along the way. I was… blown away." Maggie admits with a warmer, proud smile, almost motherly, but then she's always been the den mother of the Raptors. She then stifles another bit of a yawn, settling back into her propped up pillow. "And… we'll get the rest off. I heard there's a plan… just gotta shake a tail or somethin', and we can do it." And, on a side note, she's not using a hint of that Caprican accent. It's all Aerilonian lilt… low and raspy.

Cidra notes the accent. It also seems to ease her manner, though she still eyes the woman as if waiting for something more. "Well, you shall be off the flight line for awhile with the leg. Do not worry overmuch about the squadron. You have good people, and we shall manage."

Quinn nods quietly, "When we get Trask back… " Not if, but when… "I want him to step up as Squadron Leader. With your permission, of course. He's got the experience, the maturity, and the intelligence for it all. Unless you have another suggestion, I think he's our best bet. I… I spoke with him, briefly, about it." All business still, despite that accent. Though her eyes narrow slightly as she seems to realize there might be something else behind Cidra's expression.

"If Lieutenant Trask is willing I would be most pleased with him in the position," Cidra says. "He has done nothing but prove his worth as an officer to me since we have been aboard this ship. There are more senior officers in the squadron, but none I would trust more with it, and I can make accommodations for that." That seems to settle that business for now, so far as she's concerned. Brows arch a little at Quinn. "Is there anything more, Maggie?"

Quinn smiles a touch more as Trask's position seems secured. She nods, "Excellent. I… I can't wait for us to be able to tell him." And yes, that does finish business. Maggie frowns, listening to the rest of Cidra's words. Her eyes flicker to the side, searching the door way, almost trying to see if Clive was standing off to the side waiting to come in. "…I… maybe… I don't suppose Major Tillman said he'd be… coming by…"

"No, I wanted to speak with you alone, actually," Cidra says. Looking a little bemused. "Clive and I have talked." She kind of just leaves it at that.

Quinn blinks quietly a moment, finally catching onto that — damn — maybe she already knows. She looks up to the woman quietly. "…He… he told you?" SHe dares to ask, not even giving the matter a name yet.

"Yes, he told me," Cidra replies. "I presume that, because you have told him, you intend to keep it?" She gets right to the point, tone carefully neutral on the matter.

Quinn looks down and away a moment, all of her smile gone now… She breathes out quietly, "Cidra… look. Between the fact that… I'm almost 40… and all the mess that just happened down on Leonis… hell, I don't even know if the Gods will give me that option." And she sounds half sick to admit it, saddened, but at least she's facing the fact.

"Do you wish to?" Cidra asks, very softly. She doesn't look at Quinn as she asks it. For a moment she looks on point of adding something more, but she doesn't.

Quinn is quiet a long moment, weighing her answers here. But, finally, she just goes with quiet honesty. "…Yes." Maggie whispers, still not quite able to meet the CAG's eyes. "Not… not a chance I ever thought I'd have, whether I wanted it or not." She gives a short, bittersweetly amused little laugh. "The blessings of Beltaine. The Gods… are amusing, sometimes."

Cidra is not meeting Quinn's eyes either. The woman seems drawn into herself just now. She nods short. "The gods…yes…they play strange tricks with our lives at times," she murmurs, more to herself than Quinn. She clears her throat. "In any case, it is a personal matter. I hope you…get what you wish out of it."

Quinn slowly looks back up to her CAG, trying to catch those fleeing eyes quietly even if she isn't having much luck. "…Of course… whatever the fleet deems necessary… I… I'm still a member of the colonial military. Gods knows when I'll be back in the pilot's seat anyway, but… " Her voice faulters. Could she really deny this chance on an order? Yes, but she doesn't look happy about the thought. In fact, she looks a bit ill.

Cidra is all about eye contact, generally. To the point where some might find it unnerving. Except when she doesn't want to be, of course, and this is one of those times. The woman can come off like a mirror, seemingly taking people apart in her mind and weighing them while offering little of herself in return. "The Fleet deems necessary? Forget that nonsense." It is said low but firmly. "What you do for this is no one's business but your own."

Quinn can't entirely hide the breath of relief that comes when Cidra dismissess the thought of things being ordered to go one way or another. She just nods quietly, "Then… then it's in… the Gods' hands." She gives a weak sort of laugh, half collapsing back into her pillow and running one hand through her thinner red hair, "…Hell, if… if the human race is to survive, we're all going to have to start sooner or later…I just… I didn't plan quite this soon." She then looks back over to Cidra again, still searching for those eyes. Her expression falls to a calm frown, concern brushing her gaze. "…Cid?"'

Cidra gives her head a small shake. Composure back up. As if it never left. She clears her throat, standing. "I think our situation has more immediate concerns than…repopulation. But it is not something that shall affect me terribly one way or another. In any case…gods bring you what you desire. Whatever it is. I shall leave you to it." With that, she turns to go.

Quinn tilts her head up, staring after the woman in shock for one moment, just before she dares call, "Cidra! … Frak… talk to me, please? What's wrong…" Maggie breathes out, trying to get the woman back, her own face a complete wash of confusion at her boss' reaction.

Cidra turns slowly, expression inscrutable again. Though she still does not quite meet Quinn's eyes. "Nothing is wrong, Maggie. Do rest, please. I am quite certain exertion would not be good for you now. I must be off, though. The Wing was involved in an engagement this night and I still have matters to attend to. I shall be by to see you at a later time." And with that, she flees. A stately striding sort of fleeing, but fleeing nonetheless.

Quinn frowns quietly, part of her ready to call bullshit, but Cidra's pulled the work card. "I…I'll see you then…" Maggie sighs out, and then her head drops back into her pillow again. She just shuts her eyes, not in exhaustion this time, just doubt and confusion. "Dammit…" SHe breathes out to no one in particular.

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