not_a_traitor | IC Inbox

Between his illness and that flood, Number 6's delivery of this is far more delayed than he would have liked. But, as they say, better late than never. He knocks on the door to Gaeta's residence with a brown paper-wrapped package tucked under his arm.

"It's Mr. Starr. I have your prosthetic leg for you to try. I'd like to see if the final measurements are correct. May I come in?"

A muffled voice inside calls, "One second!"

Equally muted scuffling follows, for maybe fifteen or twenty seconds, before Gaeta wrangles the door open. "Mr. Starr, hello," he says, sounding a touch winded. "Yes, please, come in -- "

He hobbles aside so Peter can enter. While Gaeta's apartment is more or less returned to order after the flood, that's probably because there wasn't much in it to begin with. The furniture's still the basic set that comes with every apartment; there are no decorations on the walls, nor anything out of place except for a coffee mug near the couch. Clearly, Gaeta hasn't shaken off the asceticism of military life yet.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you, no need to trouble yourself for anything just now. I shared a late lunch with Ava before I came."

He enters and looks around in what seems to be a casual enough way, despite the fact that he's quietly checking what he's seen of this interior before against how it looks now, searching for any changes. Hardly any to speak of.

"How has the healing progressed? I hope that business with the flood didn't set you back too sharply."

"No, not too badly," he says. He shuts the door behind them both. "It wasn't pleasant, but, uh, I'm fine now. I think everything is as healed as it'll get."

The scabbing and swelling from his old prosthesis are pretty much gone, and the only time his stump really hurts out of the blue is when it's about to rain. (Ask him how the first week and a half of April went. Ugh.)

He's trying to be a little subtle about eyeing the package under Peter's arm, but without much success.

Number 6 smiles and brings the package to the table, fully aware of where Gaeta's attention is focused. Who can blame the man? Number 6 doesn't intend to keep him in suspense.

"Good. Then I think the time has come to get you fitted once and for all. Come look."

He unwraps the bundle to reveal a carved oak calf and foot connected by a ball hinge to allow some flexible movement. The base of the leg is carved hollow and lined first with leather, including straps, and then filled in with rabbit fur for cushion. The whole thing still smells slightly of linseed oil.

"Now, you will have to keep up some maintenance on this. You'll have to keep the joint oiled and occasionally check that the screws are staying tight. And I've included some beeswax, as well. You'll need to use it from time to time to reseal the wood and protect it from water damage long-term. It will help if you keep it enclosed inside a boot or shoe to protect it from wear." The food has been carved specifically to fit Gaeta's shoe size so he can wear the set.

"What do you think of it?"

"It's..."

It's beautiful. That's all he can think at first. Battlestars are utilitarian by nature, inorganic alloy hulks riveted together for one purpose above all else: to let their crew survive in the vacuum of space. There's not a lot of room for form over function. Hell, he's not even sure he saw anything this nice on the Colonies, aside from fancy artisan shops.

It's obvious, too, how much care Peter took with the project -- and by extension, that he took with Gaeta, when Gaeta still isn't really used to anyone showing him care and consideration. He doesn't expect the sudden lump in his throat as he rests a hand on the prosthesis.

"This is incredible, sir," he manages, finally. "Thank you. I promise I'll take good care of it."

He doesn't want to see all that hard work gone to waste.

Number 6 smiles knowingly. He went into this project with the aim of restoring more than Gaeta's utilitarian function. This is no mere accessory; the man deserves the dignity of a well-made limb, because it truly will become a part of him. It's gratifying to see the admiration in Gaeta's expression. He knows, already, that he's achieved his goal.

"I'm glad you like it. I have no doubt that you will care for it well. Of course, if there is ever an issue, should it be damaged or destroyed, you had better come right back to me and let me see to it. I guarantee my work for a lifetime."

Gaeta chuckles. It's a little hoarse; the lump hasn't entirely gone away. "Hopefully we won't need to put that to the test," he says.

He moves his hand to touch the rabbit fur lining. Gods, it's so soft.

"Here, um -- " He glances over his shoulder to locate the nearest chair. "Show me how the straps work? With my old one, we just sort of..." He pulls a wry face. "Put a bunch of socks over my stump and hoped for the best."

No wonder the damn thing hurt so much.

Number 6 grimaces in sympathy. "That's no good. This one should be far more comfortable for you. Here." He takes it upon himself to pull one of the kitchen table chairs over so Gaeta doesn't have to try to hobble to a seat.

"Now, I would still recommend regularly using and replacing a sock as a barrier to catch any sweat or dirt; that's far easier to wash. But the rabbit's fur should be the primary cushion. We want it good and snug. There should be less chafing that way."

Gaeta settles onto the chair with the requisite tiny groan and thank you. "Of course," he agrees with a swift nod. "Not much different from a shoe, that way."

(Though try telling that to some of his rackmates back on Galactica. How anyone could tolerate not wearing socks with their boots, between the chafing and the stench, Gaeta will never know.)

"Yes, exactly."

Number 6 stoops to show Gaeta the two leather straps on either side meant to cinch him snugly into the leg like belt buckles. He will guide Gaeta through the process of stepping into the prosthetic, securing it, and then checking that it all looks and feels good once it's in place. All that's left after that is to test it.

"Are you ready to take your first steps on your new leg?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

A flutter of nerves tightens his belly. What if it still hurts? What if Peter did the best he could, made this astonishing thing in the hope of improving Gaeta's life, and it isn't enough, because nothing will ever be enough? There are so many things that could go wrong. The damage to his lower leg was irreparable to start with, and what Doc Cottle left behind -- what if that's truly irreparable, too?

Stop it, Gaeta tells himself, as firmly as he can, and grasps Peter's hands to pull himself to his feet. Feet, plural.

It's... to be honest, a little uncomfortable. His right leg hasn't supported his weight in months. It aches in multiple spots. He feels kind of wobbly, like someone could kick his whole leg out from under him with the slightest tap.

And you would never know any of it from the way he's beaming as he takes a careful, careful step forward.

"Well done," Number 6 says encouragingly. He's keeping his hand in Gaeta's to help balance.

"Now, there may be a period of adjustment still. I'd recommend at least using a cane while you acclimate. I wouldn't sleep in it if I were you. How does it feel? Is it pinching anywhere?"

"No, no pinching -- " He laughs, giddy, and the suddenness of his joy seems to take even Gaeta himself by surprise. "Hurts a little, but it's not the prosthesis, it's just because I haven't walked in a while. Gods, look at that."

Another tiny, bright laugh as he stares down at his feet. He takes another cautious step with Peter's help.

"I'll keep using my crutches a little longer, yeah. And I never tried sleeping in my old one anyway; I'm used to that."

Number 6's eyes are warm with joy as well. This is what he's wanted to do for so long, to make a tangible difference, one he can be there to witness--not from the shadows, not as an anonymous spy, but as a friend and member of the community.

"Just be sure to give it plenty of rest starting off. As you know, you'll have to get the nerves used to it. But, from here it looks to be distributing your weight evenly. Something tells me you won't be needing those crutches for long."

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