: All things Buffy
belong to Joss. BSG belongs to Ron D. Moore. I'm just borrowing their characters for a bit.
Her head hurt. Oh Gods, how it hurt. Why did it hurt so badly? For one split second, she wondered where she was and how she’d got here. And then she remembered everything
She remembered New Caprica. She remembered drinking from a cup her husband had been holding- and the stricken look in his eyes when she’d called him by his old name before the darkness took her. Why had it been only then that she had seen him clearly?
But that wasn’t all. She remembered dying on Picon. She remembered dying on Earth. She remembered dying in Sunnydale. She remembered all her lives. It was all back. And so was the knowledge that she had chosen
this. Xander must have followed later, but at the time the choice was laid before her, she had been dead and choosing for herself only.
In the back of her head, where that silly boy she’d created couldn’t see it, she smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It wasn’t Ellen Cavil’s smile. It wasn’t even Ellen Tigh’s smile. It was the smile of Anyanka, patron of scorned women, who’d had centuries to perfect the art of vengeance, and knew more ways to destroy a man than Cylons had ever dreamed. It was the smile Anyanka smiled when she had found a new victim. Cavil had no idea who he was messing with.
She was scheming before she even opened her eyes. Cavil thought he was good at playing games with people’s heads? The silly fool had only been around a few decades, a mere drop in the bucket. And she had learned from a master. Part of her hoped D’Hoffryn still looked in on her from time to time. She might be one of the white hats now, but she knew what she had in mind would make him proud. Cavil was about to find out how a pro played the game.
By the time she was finished with him, Cavil was going to kill himself in despair. She was going to be there to see it. And so was her husband.