It had been a mistake. She knows that now. New Caprica was proof enough.
Somehow, in those initial moments following resurrection, the painful jolt of warmth and suffocation and lungs compressing too tightly, too much to be dead from that hole in her body, she had managed to convince herself that the truth was a lie. Convinced that if she just tried hard enough, remembered long enough – she would be human. Just human.
Somewhere, in her cylon networked brain of organic neurons and synthetic synapses, she had managed to forget. She was a monster, a machine. She was a number, one of many, a hero among self-imagined heroes and crusaders.
In the end, she had spent too much time (on a treadmill, in a locked room, under caving cement, on cold, frozen ground) on trying to make things right again, to make them fit (with the lie that was a truth that was a lie). The cost was too high, and she stares into the eyes of a child, the child, uncomfortable and all too aware of that feeling. That she was not her mother, and she had not dreamed of this when she and the chief had frakked frantically in dark storage lockers. She hates wondering now when it was impossible. It’s a bitter taste of reality when her ‘sister’ meets her eyes and has everything she has always and never wanted.
She had always chosen wrong.
She would not make the same mistake again.
Sharon Valerii was a cylon, a machine – always had been, always will be.
The next time Cavil smiles at her, she commands her mouth to smile back. “My perfect little machine.” Boomer will not get this wrong. She won’t need anymore second chances – from anyone.
Maybe she will get her last choice right.