Unbuckled
Summary: It's a good thing Bill is an atheist. He'd make a lousy prophet.
Time frame: Six of One
Rating: T+
A/N: Thanks to bugsfic for the plot bunny. Look, Ma, I made an LJ cut!
It's a good thing Bill is an atheist. He'd make a lousy prophet.
My words hit their mark and he hurt. Like a wounded animal he struck back. "And you're afraid to die that way. You're afraid you may not be the Dying Leader you thought you were." He started breathing hard, harder than at the "dance" when Chief was beating him to a pulp. An old dog, lashing out, thinking he was fighting down and dirty. I'm glad he can't see my smile. "Or that your death may be as meaningless as everyone else's."
He leaves, and I slip back into my glasses, into my files, into the truth. That this life I've made after all the miracles, after all the absurdities, is not who I am. I am, was, and will always be that woman who fell into friendships, jobs, beds, as long as no one demanded too much of me in return. The woman who frakked for the feel of it and freely kicked men out in the middle of the night if they looked too hungry. The woman who lived alone and would die alone. I'd done enough caregiving in my life, and I wasn't going to have or even want anyone to take care of me.
And then, when the world ended, as I survived one, two, a ridiculous number of death sentences, after I had become hard as a diamond, I found a friend who wanted to give more than he took, who wanted to protect everyone he touched, who wanted to protect me, mainly from him.
When the cancer came back I thought that maybe, just maybe, I had been wrong all my life. That I might die, but it wouldn't be alone. That in giving so much to the Fleet I had earned something in return - someone to lean on, just a little. Someone who would take care of me when I could no longer take care of myself. Someone who would do for me all the things I had done for my mother. Someone who would remember me years after I'd gone.
When Kara held a gun on me, I could stay calm. Bill was on his way. I could rely on Bill. I felt weak. I was ashamed of what I'd become, and furious at Kara for making me see it. I shot at her, and a part of me was glad I hit that picture of Bill and me. Part of me wanted to shatter our facades like the glass.
Poor Bill. He wanted so hard to hit me. All he did was give me a gift. He gave me back to myself, the me I always was and thought I might escape. No matter how much it hurts, there's something comforting in knowing you were right all along.
I reach for my hair, an old gesture of self-comfort I haven't needed in a long time. I stroke it, reminding myself I still have my hair, that I'm not turning into my mother. I won't ask someone to sit by my bed, hold my head while I vomit, change my diapers. I've been through this before and would have left a beautiful corpse. I can do it again.
As long as I have my hair.
Time frame: Six of One
Rating: T+
A/N: Thanks to bugsfic for the plot bunny. Look, Ma, I made an LJ cut!
It's a good thing Bill is an atheist. He'd make a lousy prophet.
My words hit their mark and he hurt. Like a wounded animal he struck back. "And you're afraid to die that way. You're afraid you may not be the Dying Leader you thought you were." He started breathing hard, harder than at the "dance" when Chief was beating him to a pulp. An old dog, lashing out, thinking he was fighting down and dirty. I'm glad he can't see my smile. "Or that your death may be as meaningless as everyone else's."
He leaves, and I slip back into my glasses, into my files, into the truth. That this life I've made after all the miracles, after all the absurdities, is not who I am. I am, was, and will always be that woman who fell into friendships, jobs, beds, as long as no one demanded too much of me in return. The woman who frakked for the feel of it and freely kicked men out in the middle of the night if they looked too hungry. The woman who lived alone and would die alone. I'd done enough caregiving in my life, and I wasn't going to have or even want anyone to take care of me.
And then, when the world ended, as I survived one, two, a ridiculous number of death sentences, after I had become hard as a diamond, I found a friend who wanted to give more than he took, who wanted to protect everyone he touched, who wanted to protect me, mainly from him.
When the cancer came back I thought that maybe, just maybe, I had been wrong all my life. That I might die, but it wouldn't be alone. That in giving so much to the Fleet I had earned something in return - someone to lean on, just a little. Someone who would take care of me when I could no longer take care of myself. Someone who would do for me all the things I had done for my mother. Someone who would remember me years after I'd gone.
When Kara held a gun on me, I could stay calm. Bill was on his way. I could rely on Bill. I felt weak. I was ashamed of what I'd become, and furious at Kara for making me see it. I shot at her, and a part of me was glad I hit that picture of Bill and me. Part of me wanted to shatter our facades like the glass.
Poor Bill. He wanted so hard to hit me. All he did was give me a gift. He gave me back to myself, the me I always was and thought I might escape. No matter how much it hurts, there's something comforting in knowing you were right all along.
I reach for my hair, an old gesture of self-comfort I haven't needed in a long time. I stroke it, reminding myself I still have my hair, that I'm not turning into my mother. I won't ask someone to sit by my bed, hold my head while I vomit, change my diapers. I've been through this before and would have left a beautiful corpse. I can do it again.
As long as I have my hair.