Finally, X is For...
As promised, I have finally finished this fic. Truth and Deceit Chapter three will follow later today.
I hope you enjoy it.
Spoilers: None, it's totally AU and 'what-if' guesswork.
Warnings: Angsty? Well, I'm the one writing it so you can be pretty sure there's angst in there :) I am working on a happier fic to balance things out.
Disclaimer: I don't own them and I certainly don't make any money from them ::sighs:: I would rather enjoy owning them though, so if RDM et al ever feel like giving up the rights to Laura Roslin and the other characters of BSG ::waves:: I'm right here.
X is For...
Laura paced. Up and down, back and forth, wall-to-wall. The room got no bigger, no smaller; it never changed, not in the entire time she had been locked within its confines. Occasionally she would imagine that a door had somehow magically appeared before her, on the wall in front of her, even once she imagined it on the ceiling. At first, when she had originally been placed there, she had attempted to use those imaginary doors, only to find cold hard stone blocking her way. She didn’t try to use those doors any more, even when they did appear.
There was only one real door. It was small, old, worn but solid. It didn’t often open but when it did she came to fear its movement knowing full well the train of events that would follow. Sometimes she imagined, of her own accord, that there were windows to gaze out of. Sometimes she cursed the fact that there were none, sometimes she was glad of it. It pained her to think of how many days she had missed seeing the light rise and fall, how many hours has passed, minutes, seconds, moment, each one much like the last within her isolated world. She had always felt uncomfortable with the idea of change, now she longed for it, realising once and for all that change was part of life. This wasn’t life. Stuck, here, alone in this cell, she realised that. Very little changed here, only the smallest of things and although they never went by unnoticed, she realised all too often that they were radically insignificant in comparison to the things that had changed in her life previously. The day-to-day changes she used to experience. The big things and the little that had shaped the path she took. The Cylon attacks, her Presidency, her life on Colonial One, the countless raptor flights between vessels, shared meals, simple conversations, all of it. She appreciated how much it had once meant to her.
She missed those things now.
Conversations with other people, especially civil ones, were a thing of the past. She’d given up talking to herself a long time ago; she’d run out of fresh topics and so covered the same ones over and over again until it drove her almost to the point of madness. That was when her internal voice had silenced and she found herself more alone than she thought possible. Alone and abandoned, even by her own mind.
Sometimes she half questioned whether she was really there. Without the little voice inside her head, she was barely sure that she existed. She had questioned that more than once. Whether her existence had merely ended and she was just waiting to be informed? Perhaps no one else had noticed? Perhaps she had merely ceased to exist and all trace of her was gone?
No.
No, that couldn’t be right.
At least she came to that same conclusion every time the question of her existence arose. After all, had she really had ceased to exist, so would the pain. It was a dull ache, not the piercing pain she had experienced before, not the sudden and sharp realisation of impending mortality, no, this pain was slow and torturous. This was an ache that told her that the confines of this cell, the lack of exercise, the poor diet, the feeble excuse for a bed, the need for sunlight and proper care had all taken its toll on her body.
It was days like this, when the ache was particularly bad, that she began to miss having Cottle around. Not that she would wish the confines of this cell upon him, but a visit from him wouldn’t come amiss right now. A visit from any familiar face wouldn’t come amiss.
There were many people she missed. Many. She tried hard not to think of them. At first, long ago, she heard sounds. Sounds that told her there were other cells, other people, and other souls trapped within this horrible place. Those sounds had ceased so long ago that she wondered whether they had really been there to begin with. Or had she simply imagined them? She would rather think that she had imagined them; after all, she didn’t wish this life on anyone, especially anyone from the fleet.
Her fleet.
His fleet.
Their fleet.
It was all over now.
Even on New Caprica she had never given up hope. Sat, alone in a cell not unlike this one, she had spent hours thinking of the day when she knew Galactica would appear in that scorching New Caprica sky, like a blazing beacon of hope that would carry them home.
Home.
Laura choked back a laugh, or was it a sob?
That was another thing she tried not to think about. Earth. The Earth they had held onto during the coldest times of their journey, the Earth that had lived in their hearts, driving them on through the toughest of times.
She couldn’t think about that now.
Laura finally stopped pacing, leaning back against the wall and slowly sliding down until she sat, knees up against her chest, alone.
She was tired.
The ache she felt in her body often invaded her head, a thudding pounding ache that left her pressing her head against the cold stone floor, wishing that someone, anyone, would take pity on her and let her go, into this world or the next.
Some days she felt that way, others she felt so determined that she could and would be released, returned to her people, that she felt she could literally cause her cell to explode, forcing the walls to free her from their torturous confines.
The sound of her breathing slowly, in and out, each breath, kept her focused today. Forcing the ache that threatened to invade her head, making its tricky and planned way up her spine towards its destination, its moment of war with her already tired mind, no, her breath forced that ache back. For now.
Hands wrapped around her legs, she slowly lowered herself until she felt the cool floor all along her side, cooling the ache if only for a while.
“Oh Bill…” She muttered into the nothingness of her life, her hand moving up to lay next to her head, feeling the ice cold stone beneath her fingers.
She smiled at the memory of him, though with the smiles came the pain, the sadness that she had no doubt, none what so ever, that she would never see him in this life again.
She knew that one way or another they would meet again. But not in this life. That was a door closed much firmer than the one that locked her within this cell. Bill was gone. This time he was never coming back. She knew this for certain, because she, Laura Roslin, had been there the day that Bill Adama, the man, the Admiral, all of him, she had been there the day that he had left this world. She had seen the end of Bill Adama as clearly as she knew that he would one day come to take her away from this.
One day, she knew, Bill Adama would appear. He would take her hand and lead her away from this life.
A tear slid down her cheek, making its journey to the floor, preceding the countless more that would silently follow.
One day, whether she was in this cell or not, Bill Adama would find her. He would be waiting for her, she was certain. He would greet her and they would marvel at the irony that after so many years together, they had never once realised that it was him who was destined to die for their people to reach Earth. They would reminisce how the fleet, offering peace and searching for a new life amongst their fellow humans, found pain well beyond that inflicted by the Cylons. They would muse at the irony that the people they had searched so hard to find, the world they had glorified in thoughts and dreams, their new life, had been nothing like they had expected. They would recall, sadly, the day he died, the day she went to Earth, the day she was forced into this tiny cell, the day an upward attack began and Galactica, with the few remaining ships of the fleet, jumped away. Perhaps, when this was all over, she would find out what became of them? Where they went, if they survived. It was apparent that no one here knew, from the occasional times she was questioned, the demanding tone of voice of her interrogator, the one that demanded she tell them where her fleet had gone, the one that threatened her with pain. But what more pain could they inflict?
She took one measure of solace from these thoughts. Galactica, the fleet, Bill Adama, they were all gone. She was stuck here, in this cell with likely no other members of her home world or any of the other eleven colonies to be found. That pleased her. It pleased her because she knew, knew, that at least they wouldn’t be here when the inevitable happened. One day, she knew, it couldn’t be too long before it happened, the Cylons would arrive and the people of Earth would reap what they had sown. They would curse the day they had turned their backs on their fellow colonists. They would beg and plead and pray to their God for forgiveness, before they found out who they should have truly been afraid of.
She had tried to warn them.
Now when the Cylons arrived, which she knew one day they would, the people of Earth would face them alone.
She took comfort in that. Through it all, she reminded herself, the day would come when the people of Earth would realise their mistake. They should have welcomed their cousins, the people of the twelve colonies who could have protected them, offered them the ability to defend themselves.
No. Now the people of Earth would die and she, Laura Roslin, would sit there in that cell and marvel at how their destruction could have been so easily avoided, had they not been such a xenophobic people.
I hope you enjoy it.
Spoilers: None, it's totally AU and 'what-if' guesswork.
Warnings: Angsty? Well, I'm the one writing it so you can be pretty sure there's angst in there :) I am working on a happier fic to balance things out.
Disclaimer: I don't own them and I certainly don't make any money from them ::sighs:: I would rather enjoy owning them though, so if RDM et al ever feel like giving up the rights to Laura Roslin and the other characters of BSG ::waves:: I'm right here.
X is For...
Laura paced. Up and down, back and forth, wall-to-wall. The room got no bigger, no smaller; it never changed, not in the entire time she had been locked within its confines. Occasionally she would imagine that a door had somehow magically appeared before her, on the wall in front of her, even once she imagined it on the ceiling. At first, when she had originally been placed there, she had attempted to use those imaginary doors, only to find cold hard stone blocking her way. She didn’t try to use those doors any more, even when they did appear.
There was only one real door. It was small, old, worn but solid. It didn’t often open but when it did she came to fear its movement knowing full well the train of events that would follow. Sometimes she imagined, of her own accord, that there were windows to gaze out of. Sometimes she cursed the fact that there were none, sometimes she was glad of it. It pained her to think of how many days she had missed seeing the light rise and fall, how many hours has passed, minutes, seconds, moment, each one much like the last within her isolated world. She had always felt uncomfortable with the idea of change, now she longed for it, realising once and for all that change was part of life. This wasn’t life. Stuck, here, alone in this cell, she realised that. Very little changed here, only the smallest of things and although they never went by unnoticed, she realised all too often that they were radically insignificant in comparison to the things that had changed in her life previously. The day-to-day changes she used to experience. The big things and the little that had shaped the path she took. The Cylon attacks, her Presidency, her life on Colonial One, the countless raptor flights between vessels, shared meals, simple conversations, all of it. She appreciated how much it had once meant to her.
She missed those things now.
Conversations with other people, especially civil ones, were a thing of the past. She’d given up talking to herself a long time ago; she’d run out of fresh topics and so covered the same ones over and over again until it drove her almost to the point of madness. That was when her internal voice had silenced and she found herself more alone than she thought possible. Alone and abandoned, even by her own mind.
Sometimes she half questioned whether she was really there. Without the little voice inside her head, she was barely sure that she existed. She had questioned that more than once. Whether her existence had merely ended and she was just waiting to be informed? Perhaps no one else had noticed? Perhaps she had merely ceased to exist and all trace of her was gone?
No.
No, that couldn’t be right.
At least she came to that same conclusion every time the question of her existence arose. After all, had she really had ceased to exist, so would the pain. It was a dull ache, not the piercing pain she had experienced before, not the sudden and sharp realisation of impending mortality, no, this pain was slow and torturous. This was an ache that told her that the confines of this cell, the lack of exercise, the poor diet, the feeble excuse for a bed, the need for sunlight and proper care had all taken its toll on her body.
It was days like this, when the ache was particularly bad, that she began to miss having Cottle around. Not that she would wish the confines of this cell upon him, but a visit from him wouldn’t come amiss right now. A visit from any familiar face wouldn’t come amiss.
There were many people she missed. Many. She tried hard not to think of them. At first, long ago, she heard sounds. Sounds that told her there were other cells, other people, and other souls trapped within this horrible place. Those sounds had ceased so long ago that she wondered whether they had really been there to begin with. Or had she simply imagined them? She would rather think that she had imagined them; after all, she didn’t wish this life on anyone, especially anyone from the fleet.
Her fleet.
His fleet.
Their fleet.
It was all over now.
Even on New Caprica she had never given up hope. Sat, alone in a cell not unlike this one, she had spent hours thinking of the day when she knew Galactica would appear in that scorching New Caprica sky, like a blazing beacon of hope that would carry them home.
Home.
Laura choked back a laugh, or was it a sob?
That was another thing she tried not to think about. Earth. The Earth they had held onto during the coldest times of their journey, the Earth that had lived in their hearts, driving them on through the toughest of times.
She couldn’t think about that now.
Laura finally stopped pacing, leaning back against the wall and slowly sliding down until she sat, knees up against her chest, alone.
She was tired.
The ache she felt in her body often invaded her head, a thudding pounding ache that left her pressing her head against the cold stone floor, wishing that someone, anyone, would take pity on her and let her go, into this world or the next.
Some days she felt that way, others she felt so determined that she could and would be released, returned to her people, that she felt she could literally cause her cell to explode, forcing the walls to free her from their torturous confines.
The sound of her breathing slowly, in and out, each breath, kept her focused today. Forcing the ache that threatened to invade her head, making its tricky and planned way up her spine towards its destination, its moment of war with her already tired mind, no, her breath forced that ache back. For now.
Hands wrapped around her legs, she slowly lowered herself until she felt the cool floor all along her side, cooling the ache if only for a while.
“Oh Bill…” She muttered into the nothingness of her life, her hand moving up to lay next to her head, feeling the ice cold stone beneath her fingers.
She smiled at the memory of him, though with the smiles came the pain, the sadness that she had no doubt, none what so ever, that she would never see him in this life again.
She knew that one way or another they would meet again. But not in this life. That was a door closed much firmer than the one that locked her within this cell. Bill was gone. This time he was never coming back. She knew this for certain, because she, Laura Roslin, had been there the day that Bill Adama, the man, the Admiral, all of him, she had been there the day that he had left this world. She had seen the end of Bill Adama as clearly as she knew that he would one day come to take her away from this.
One day, she knew, Bill Adama would appear. He would take her hand and lead her away from this life.
A tear slid down her cheek, making its journey to the floor, preceding the countless more that would silently follow.
One day, whether she was in this cell or not, Bill Adama would find her. He would be waiting for her, she was certain. He would greet her and they would marvel at the irony that after so many years together, they had never once realised that it was him who was destined to die for their people to reach Earth. They would reminisce how the fleet, offering peace and searching for a new life amongst their fellow humans, found pain well beyond that inflicted by the Cylons. They would muse at the irony that the people they had searched so hard to find, the world they had glorified in thoughts and dreams, their new life, had been nothing like they had expected. They would recall, sadly, the day he died, the day she went to Earth, the day she was forced into this tiny cell, the day an upward attack began and Galactica, with the few remaining ships of the fleet, jumped away. Perhaps, when this was all over, she would find out what became of them? Where they went, if they survived. It was apparent that no one here knew, from the occasional times she was questioned, the demanding tone of voice of her interrogator, the one that demanded she tell them where her fleet had gone, the one that threatened her with pain. But what more pain could they inflict?
She took one measure of solace from these thoughts. Galactica, the fleet, Bill Adama, they were all gone. She was stuck here, in this cell with likely no other members of her home world or any of the other eleven colonies to be found. That pleased her. It pleased her because she knew, knew, that at least they wouldn’t be here when the inevitable happened. One day, she knew, it couldn’t be too long before it happened, the Cylons would arrive and the people of Earth would reap what they had sown. They would curse the day they had turned their backs on their fellow colonists. They would beg and plead and pray to their God for forgiveness, before they found out who they should have truly been afraid of.
She had tried to warn them.
Now when the Cylons arrived, which she knew one day they would, the people of Earth would face them alone.
She took comfort in that. Through it all, she reminded herself, the day would come when the people of Earth would realise their mistake. They should have welcomed their cousins, the people of the twelve colonies who could have protected them, offered them the ability to defend themselves.
No. Now the people of Earth would die and she, Laura Roslin, would sit there in that cell and marvel at how their destruction could have been so easily avoided, had they not been such a xenophobic people.