Lord, what fools...
He never forgot the day. Omar always acted like he did, but John never forgot it. He never would. In four hundred years, there'd been a lot of women, but there'd only ever been one like Lily Rae Brown, and the way she'd danced and laughed, and the way she'd made him wait to marry him. Only ever one girl like that for John York, and never mind any prophecy about The One.
Until Kara Thrace came along, that was.
In his arms, on John's hip, Calliope reminded John powerfully of her mother. He'd offered to take her for Kara mainly to keep himself busy, to keep his mind off the day. 29th December. The day they put Lily Rae York in the ground. The day he lost the one, and had to go on living, anyway.
There are more ways to be dead than just stopping breathing.
That day, he missed Omar almost as much as he missed Lily, and he held Calliope in his arms and he looked for something to read. Somebody had given the little girl a powerful love of story books and, just like her mother, John was pretty goddamn powerless to say no to her.
Never let it be said that John Amsterdam wasn't putty in the hands of a pretty girl.
"What shall we read, Calliope?"
Leaning out of his arms, she reached for a book with both hands, tugging it out of the shelf. For a moment, John just stared at it. Calliope had chosen the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, the very same edition that John had presented to Lily, the day that Omar was born. He'd rushed to get there. He'd rushed to be beside her. He opened the book and half expected to see the familiar inscription; the one that he'd kept from Omar for sixty years. You will always be the one.
Of course, it wasn't there.
John felt the pit of his stomach drop away. For a long time, he'd been thinking about it. He'd wanted to belive that Kara was the one, but Daisy had been right, all that time ago; the island did this to them. If that was true, if it was that arbitrary, that random and that ordinary then it could have been Lily, way back when, and everything could have been different, and easier.
John swallowed hard, against tears that hadn't been there a moment before, and kissed the top of Calliope's head.
"Let's choose something else," he said, and set the book aside. He was only just beginning to remember how very, very small these mortals felt all of the time, every day of their lives.
Until Kara Thrace came along, that was.
In his arms, on John's hip, Calliope reminded John powerfully of her mother. He'd offered to take her for Kara mainly to keep himself busy, to keep his mind off the day. 29th December. The day they put Lily Rae York in the ground. The day he lost the one, and had to go on living, anyway.
There are more ways to be dead than just stopping breathing.
That day, he missed Omar almost as much as he missed Lily, and he held Calliope in his arms and he looked for something to read. Somebody had given the little girl a powerful love of story books and, just like her mother, John was pretty goddamn powerless to say no to her.
Never let it be said that John Amsterdam wasn't putty in the hands of a pretty girl.
"What shall we read, Calliope?"
Leaning out of his arms, she reached for a book with both hands, tugging it out of the shelf. For a moment, John just stared at it. Calliope had chosen the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, the very same edition that John had presented to Lily, the day that Omar was born. He'd rushed to get there. He'd rushed to be beside her. He opened the book and half expected to see the familiar inscription; the one that he'd kept from Omar for sixty years. You will always be the one.
Of course, it wasn't there.
John felt the pit of his stomach drop away. For a long time, he'd been thinking about it. He'd wanted to belive that Kara was the one, but Daisy had been right, all that time ago; the island did this to them. If that was true, if it was that arbitrary, that random and that ordinary then it could have been Lily, way back when, and everything could have been different, and easier.
John swallowed hard, against tears that hadn't been there a moment before, and kissed the top of Calliope's head.
"Let's choose something else," he said, and set the book aside. He was only just beginning to remember how very, very small these mortals felt all of the time, every day of their lives.