[There are, as far as Gaeta is concerned, worse things than a life sentence in a relatively peaceful prison. Dying before hitting thirty, for instance. Or living with the constant stress of being chased around the universe by genocidal robots. Or working every moment of every day to keep the remnants of human civilization from being annihilated by aforementioned robots. Or--
Well. There are worse things than MarinaNova, and Felix Gaeta might not understand why or how he's in his late forties and still alive, but he's grateful.
(Except for when he's not. When he makes the mistake of not keeping his mind occupied, he thinks about the 41,422 surviving humans who weren't whisked away to a prison dome. Could any of them still be alive when everything in the universe, Cylons and not, seemed bent on wiping them out? What became of Dee and Karl and the other good, decent people who would have better appreciated a new life? If they're dead, could he have helped save him? How did they remember him? As a traitor? As a hero? Was he remembered at all or did he join the billions of anonymous dead who had no friends or family to put their pictures in the memorial hallway?
But he's grateful, really.)
Gaeta stays busy. He has learned new things, picked up new hobbies, and found ways to make himself feel useful. He has even had time to remember how to be a (mostly) sane, functional, and socially-adept human being, After years of work, he might even be described as genial or affable (provided that whoever is doing the describing isn't put off by a wry sense of humor). It's remarkable. It has been a life-altering life sentence and he is grateful. Usually. Almost always.
If Felix isn't in the library trying to pick up a new language, maybe he can be found at a restaurant picking up a meal or in Lyrical trying to pick up a date. Perhaps he's attending whatever class is being offered today or pretending to understand the artistic value of the sculptures in Quatro Park. The possibilities for a man who's staying too busy to get pulled into the morass of his mind are endless!]