Pairings: Caprica/Gaius implied
Word count: 300
Note: Written for twelvecolonies
The first time Caprica felt the rain...but she can't remember the first time she felt the rain. John--she'll always call him John now that she knows--stole that memory from her. Washed it away, just as he washed it away from the Twos and the Fives and Threes and the Eights and the Fours. All of them reborn fresh and ignorant, blank slates on which he could impress his purpose.
The first time she remembers feeling the rain is on Caprica. She remembers the unexpected delight, and fighting the sudden urge to dance between the drops. (She'd never danced before. Couldn’t remember dancing. Machines don’t dance. One...John...had said so.)
She remembers the pounding storm after her first encounter with Baltar, and his reluctance to let her go into the downpour. She’d insisted, of course, and told herself it was because she was playing hard-to-catch. She remembers the way the lightning streaked across the sky, like a message from God, a reminder of her mission. (Why doesn’t she remember the rain at home? Surely it rained on their world.)
She remembers every storm on Caprica. She’s sure of it. She could count them off like sheep, lulling her to sleep. If she slept. Machines don't, of course. Unless they're the Final Five. (Machines don’t forget either. But she had.)
The first time it rains on New Earth, she ignores Gaius's protests and walks into it, palms up, laughing. She imagines John telling her that machines don't laugh, and laughs harder. Finally Gaius comes out to join her, still puzzled, but playing along. The words gush out of her, about forgiveness and redemption and God’s will. Gaius just shakes his head, and she laughs again, because it no longer matters if he understands. She tilts her face into the cleansing rain.
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