Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Title: Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Author: frakcancer
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Roslin, Cottle. Hints of A/R.
Rating: T
Summary: Sometimes you have to stop to know why you want to go forward.
Author's Note: Title by Emily Dickinson. Takes place during A Disquiet Follows My Soul. Beta by kastari.
Laura wanted neutral ground.
Not her office on Colonial One.
Certainly not Bill's quarters.
And absolutely, definitely not the Life Station.
She suggested the observation deck. Cottle agreed on condition he be allowed to smoke.
When he arrived the president was already inside, staring out the big window. She said nothing; for long moments the only sound in the room was the lighting of his cigarette. Even when she spoke, she did not turn to face him.
"I need a vacation."
He stood slightly behind her, looking out at the Fleet. "Not much by way of destination travel out there. Too bad we lost Cloud Nine; it was as close as we had to a resort."
"I didn't mean it that way. I need a holiday."
He thought he understood her, and as a doctor the idea appalled him. He tried to deflect it as he did everything unconscionable, with a joke. "You know how the Gemenese revere you. I'm sure you could get them to declare a holiday in your honor."
Laura turned. "The diloxin. I need a break."
"You know that's not a good idea. It might not be having much of an effect, but stopping treatment will halt whatever progress you've made."
"Progress towards what? It's not going to keep me from dying, is it?"
Cottle's voice took on a note of desperation. "It might," but he couldn't keep up the lie with her looking at him like that. "It might delay it. Give you some more time."
"Time for what? To die by inches instead of kliks?"
He took her hand, ran a thumb over the too thin fingers, the too prominent knuckles. He pushed at the old lady veins and noted the speed and color as they surfaced. She was somewhat dehydrated; he'd have to talk to her about that, too. Her hands looked skeletal, a harbinger of things to come. "Come, sit down."
"I still have the strength to stand."
"You don't have to prove yourself to me, young lady. Ever think that maybe I'm the one who needs to sit? I'm not as young as I used to be."
Laura shook her head, but allowed Cottle to settle them into chairs. "You'd feel a lot younger if you didn't smoke so much. You're not the old man you like to pretend you are."
"Speaking of old men, what do you think this holiday of yours will do to Adama?"
"Bill? He'll understand."
Cottle nearly dropped his cigarette. "Understand? How much of that frakkin' chamalla you take today, anyway?"
She laughed, and the laugh turned into a cough. "Obviously, not enough," she wheezed, trying to recover her breath. When she had, she asked "What can I expect?"
"From the admiral?"
She glared at him over her glasses. "From the break."
"At first, you'll experience some euphoria. Renewed energy, less nausea, fewer aches and pains. Increased appetite. That'll be the side effects of the toxins leaving your system. You stay off treatment too long, your hair might even start coming back. But eventually the euphoria will fade and you'll know the cancer is attacking. I'm sure you remember what it felt like the last time…" he left the end of the sentence unsaid: you were dying.
She shrugged it off. "During this euphoria -- I can do anything I want?"
He looked down at his own hand, large and healthy, and hers, still bruised with puncture marks. "You're dying. There's nothing you could do that would do more damage. At least not physically. Emotionally--"
"I can take care of my own emotions, thank you." She pulled her hand away from his, stood, and left the room.
Cottle stared at the closing hatch. "But who'll take care of Bill's?"
Early the next day Cottle realized what the answer to his question had to be. "Get me the admiral" he said into the phone. When he was connected he told Adama that the president had not reported for her treatment, would not be reporting for her treatment, and never had any intention of reporting for her treatment. He told Adama about Laura's state of mind and her state of health, the long-term prognosis and the short-term euphoria. "She needs something to live for, Bill. The Quorum, the people, Earth, politics -- none of that's going to work. Give her a reason to want to live, Bill. Go find her and make her happy."
Author: frakcancer
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Roslin, Cottle. Hints of A/R.
Rating: T
Summary: Sometimes you have to stop to know why you want to go forward.
Author's Note: Title by Emily Dickinson. Takes place during A Disquiet Follows My Soul. Beta by kastari.
Laura wanted neutral ground.
Not her office on Colonial One.
Certainly not Bill's quarters.
And absolutely, definitely not the Life Station.
She suggested the observation deck. Cottle agreed on condition he be allowed to smoke.
When he arrived the president was already inside, staring out the big window. She said nothing; for long moments the only sound in the room was the lighting of his cigarette. Even when she spoke, she did not turn to face him.
"I need a vacation."
He stood slightly behind her, looking out at the Fleet. "Not much by way of destination travel out there. Too bad we lost Cloud Nine; it was as close as we had to a resort."
"I didn't mean it that way. I need a holiday."
He thought he understood her, and as a doctor the idea appalled him. He tried to deflect it as he did everything unconscionable, with a joke. "You know how the Gemenese revere you. I'm sure you could get them to declare a holiday in your honor."
Laura turned. "The diloxin. I need a break."
"You know that's not a good idea. It might not be having much of an effect, but stopping treatment will halt whatever progress you've made."
"Progress towards what? It's not going to keep me from dying, is it?"
Cottle's voice took on a note of desperation. "It might," but he couldn't keep up the lie with her looking at him like that. "It might delay it. Give you some more time."
"Time for what? To die by inches instead of kliks?"
He took her hand, ran a thumb over the too thin fingers, the too prominent knuckles. He pushed at the old lady veins and noted the speed and color as they surfaced. She was somewhat dehydrated; he'd have to talk to her about that, too. Her hands looked skeletal, a harbinger of things to come. "Come, sit down."
"I still have the strength to stand."
"You don't have to prove yourself to me, young lady. Ever think that maybe I'm the one who needs to sit? I'm not as young as I used to be."
Laura shook her head, but allowed Cottle to settle them into chairs. "You'd feel a lot younger if you didn't smoke so much. You're not the old man you like to pretend you are."
"Speaking of old men, what do you think this holiday of yours will do to Adama?"
"Bill? He'll understand."
Cottle nearly dropped his cigarette. "Understand? How much of that frakkin' chamalla you take today, anyway?"
She laughed, and the laugh turned into a cough. "Obviously, not enough," she wheezed, trying to recover her breath. When she had, she asked "What can I expect?"
"From the admiral?"
She glared at him over her glasses. "From the break."
"At first, you'll experience some euphoria. Renewed energy, less nausea, fewer aches and pains. Increased appetite. That'll be the side effects of the toxins leaving your system. You stay off treatment too long, your hair might even start coming back. But eventually the euphoria will fade and you'll know the cancer is attacking. I'm sure you remember what it felt like the last time…" he left the end of the sentence unsaid: you were dying.
She shrugged it off. "During this euphoria -- I can do anything I want?"
He looked down at his own hand, large and healthy, and hers, still bruised with puncture marks. "You're dying. There's nothing you could do that would do more damage. At least not physically. Emotionally--"
"I can take care of my own emotions, thank you." She pulled her hand away from his, stood, and left the room.
Cottle stared at the closing hatch. "But who'll take care of Bill's?"
Early the next day Cottle realized what the answer to his question had to be. "Get me the admiral" he said into the phone. When he was connected he told Adama that the president had not reported for her treatment, would not be reporting for her treatment, and never had any intention of reporting for her treatment. He told Adama about Laura's state of mind and her state of health, the long-term prognosis and the short-term euphoria. "She needs something to live for, Bill. The Quorum, the people, Earth, politics -- none of that's going to work. Give her a reason to want to live, Bill. Go find her and make her happy."