Two Roads Diverged : Chapter 5
Title: Two Roads Diverged (5/10)
Author: icedteainthebag
Word Count: 34,420
Rating: MA
Pairings: John Cavil/Ellen Tigh, Ellen Tigh/Saul Tigh, Laura Roslin/Bill Adama
Warnings: Dubcon, physical violence
Summary: Sometimes we make mistakes when we think we're doing the right thing.
Notes: See Chapter One, but specific thanks on this chapter go to tjonesy.
Artist: MrsDrJackson
Link to Art: banner can be found here.
x x x x
Ellen left the detention center without checking herself in the mirror. She'd wanted the frak out of that apartment as quickly as possible. She was tired of hearing him, of seeing his eyes follow her about the room as she wavered on the edge of a complete breakdown. But upon walking out the doors, she was self-conscious about her appearance.
If I look as awful as I feel, I'm sure I look like hell.
She ran her hand through her hair, working at the knots in the back with shaking fingers. The few red, aggravated marks he had drawn upon her arms burned as the wool of her coat scratched against them.
It was hard to concentrate on her journey home; instead, she wondered if anyone would notice there was a tear in her skirt.
For once she didn't want to be the center of attention. The lingering gazes she felt as she walked made her blush, both in shame and in anger. She didn't want them to see her like that.
Nobody should see me like this.
She couldn't feel any lower, used and dirty and smelling of him.
x x x x
Ellen found it was easier to deny the reality of things when she was in constant motion.
Keep moving, keep occupied.
There was so much to be done. She cleaned everything in their tent, as much as a tent could be cleaned. She arranged the pillows on the cot perfectly, then the blankets, until she was satisfied.
Just in case he comes home.
She wasn't sure if she should tell Saul at all about what she'd done, when and if he was released from detention. She wanted to be honest with him-gods, how she craved being honest with him. They'd started over on New Caprica and it'd felt like they'd been given a second chance. Their first night together in the tent, she stayed awake in bed next to him and thought about how the mistakes they'd both made could be forgiven. And he'd seemed comfortable leaving the past behind, even leaving Bill behind on Galactica, instead finding purpose on the ground and meaning in her embrace.
She'd thought they had a fighting chance to have that quintessential life that normal people have, the one with the faithful wife and the attentive husband and everyone, everything, would leave them alone to be happy for one godsdamned time in their lives.
How naïve.
It wasn't the way things worked for them. She should have known that eventually, some dark cloud would rain on their parade.
Closing her eyes, she took a shaky breath to compose herself.
This tent is too quiet without him.
She decided to head to the market for no reason besides the clamor around her would drown out the echoes of the afternoon.
The sun had burned off the clouds and the sky was an unusual blue. It reminded her of afternoons on the back porch of their house, back when they had one, when Saul was actually off rotation. She'd felt like they hadn't had a care in the world when she snuggled in his arms on a worn chaise lounge.
In retrospect, they didn't.
She wandered the market, looking for nothing in particular. She wasn't hungry, and the offerings had gotten more meager upon the onset of winter. It still existed as a social venue, though, a place for people to see each other and be seen, to connect with each other.
She saw Laura at one of the stands. Since the occupation Ellen rarely saw her out, especially in such a public place. Tory or Maya were picking up most of her necessities. It was a smart move, one Ellen wished Saul would have considered before he went to that frakking pyramid game.
It's not his fault this is happening to you.
Laura still risked going to the school to teach, but that was Laura, as far as Ellen had observed. She'd give up a little, but wouldn't give up all of it.
Ellen felt relieved to see her until she remembered the argument she'd started in the schoolhouse tent. As much as she needed to talk to someone, she wasn't sure Laura would be in any mood to indulge her after she'd vilified Bill. To her face.
As if on cue, Laura looked up and saw her. Ellen diverted her attention to the half-empty basket of potatoes in front of her.
Gods, I frakking hate potatoes.
Laura was already headed over-she could see it out of the corner of her eye. Ellen tensed up, not sure what to expect. She hadn't left on very good terms. In fact, she'd been a downright bitch.
"Ellen." Laura stopped next to her. Her voice was tentative, an unusual tone. "How've you been?"
Not the best question right now, Laura.
"Better." Ellen pulled her hair behind her ear and glanced at Laura. Her expression, if she read it correctly-which was always a crapshoot-seemed slightly concerned.
"Is there something wrong?"
You mean besides Saul being in detention? Besides me whoring out my body to get him back?
Ellen felt a burn behind her eyes and looked back at the stand, picking up a dirty potato and examining it. She suddenly felt ashamed.
She'd never do anything like that.
"No! No, I just...you know. I miss Saul."
Laura touched her shoulder and Ellen tried to smile. "I know how that feels."
They were quiet then, the sounds of the market encompassing them. Conversations, laughter, the rumble of a cart.
This is awkward.
"Surprising to see you out here," Ellen said, clearing her throat. "Thought you were keeping a low profile nowadays."
"I got tired of hiding," Laura answered, staring off into the distance. "I can't live like that."
But hiding is safe.
"I wanted to apologize for how things went the other day." Laura's voice sounded so formal, like she was talking about the weather. It surprised her; Ellen assumed she should be the one apologizing, but she was thankful she didn't have to make the first move.
"Me too," Ellen said. "It's okay. I think we're both going through a helluva lot right now."
There's the understatement of the year.
"We have to cut ourselves some slack." Ellen tossed the potato back in the bin.
Laura took a deep breath as her hand slipped off Ellen's shoulder. "You're right."
They were silent until it became awkward. Ellen felt like she was hitting a wall with Laura for the umpteenth time. She felt a need to reach out to her somehow, but couldn't quite figure out how to do it. Laura was an enigma, and Ellen never was any good at deciphering mysteries.
Ellen gave her the most enthusiastic smile she could muster. It was one of her few strengths-appearing happy when she wasn't.
"Well. It was nice running into you here," Ellen said. "Take care."
Laura hummed with a nod. "Don't be a stranger."
Her smile was absent, and Ellen wondered what she was truly thinking. Their eyes met for a few seconds before Ellen walked away, unsure of where to wander.
x x x x
124th Day of the Cylon Occupation of New Caprica
Went to the market today for the first time in a week. It was a challenge. It was me, challenging myself to not be afraid; it was me, challenging them, because I'm tired of living in fear.
All I could think about was you. Every time I heard a deep voice or a ring of laughter, or wandered along the edge of the tents where you can see the banks of the river and the field where we always said goodbye. I've been avoiding that, not because I don't want to think about you, but because it hurts to think about you when I don't know where you are, or even if you're alive. If I think, I question. Whether you'll come back for us or not, how much longer we're destined to be in this godsforsaken place.
I don't want to give in to the idea that this is how we're meant to end. It doesn't seem right after all we've been through.
I saw Ellen today and she looked haunted. Saul's disappearance-well, we know very well it isn't a disappearance. We know where he is. What we don't know is what happens inside those walls, and I think that idea, beyond all others, is what tears her apart inside.
Uncertainty eats away at our hope at every chance we give it.
I'm trying not to give it those chances, but with every day that passes it gets harder to believe in this mysterious concept of salvation we've relentlessly pursued.
Laura drew the blankets over her body and pulled her knees up, huddled for warmth. She stared into the darkness, giving in to the idea of another restless night.
x x x x
There were times Ellen was able to pretend she was somewhere else, with someone else, doing something else, anything else. Times when Cavil didn't bruise her, didn't seem disgusted by touching her, and times he didn't taunt her with his eyes and his words.
This was one of those times, an easier time than most. She would think of different things while she frakked him-this time it was a summer jazz concert on Picon, the breeze off the lake hitting her face. Gods, she loved the water. Saul's hand was tightly clasped with hers as they took swigs from his flask and joked about frakking around right there on the blanket.
Nobody's watching, Saul had told her as his hand crept up her sundress. Nobody'll know.
During these stomach-churning trysts with Cavil, she always left her clothes on, never revealing more than necessary. Cavil wasn't allowed to kiss her, wasn't allowed to put his mouth on her. He actually respected these few rules, though she knew he sometimes cheated by sliding his hand between them so he could taste her on his fingers. He would suck them, staring at her with that gleam in his eyes that made her want to rip both of them out.
She tried to ignore it, but sometimes, when she smelled her arousal on him, it was all she could do not to turn her head and vomit. Or maybe she wouldn't turn her head.
It would serve him right.
The times he hurt her were few and far between, but when he did it caught her off guard-it seemed like his test to see if she was paying attention, to drag her back into his nightmare and out of the daydreams that kept her sane. Scratches, bruises, his hands under her dress, his fingers around her neck, his nails raking over the soft skin of her belly, down her arms, like he was marking her, trying to make her belong to him somehow.
Most of the times he didn't hit her in the face.
He'd always come inside her, hold her hips down in place, his long fingers digging at her hipbones as he thrust, again and again. This was the part she hated the most, when she felt the most violated. She didn't want any remnants of him left inside of her, and he knew it.
This time was no different. She tried to focus on the whirring sound of the ceiling fan-spinning, spinning, spinning-instead of his satisfied groans.
She always asked him about Saul when he'd finished. She'd casually inquire about when he'd be released, sending a silent prayer to the Lords of Kobol that this would be the last time she'd have to frak him, knowing it most likely was not.
He always cracked a remark teasing her about her wantonness. This time he asked her if she even knew how many of the brothers she'd actually frakked.
"We all look the same, you know," he said with a chuckle.
She wanted to kill all of them. Every single last one of them with her bare hands.
She took a deep breath, smiled and asked about Saul one more time.
His assurance was to give them some time to debate their decision. As if there was a Quorum of Cylons deciding how much was enough-how much of her body's sacrifice was worth a human life.
She left him in his apartment, on his couch. He may have ravaged her, taken everything he could get his hands on, but she always got to leave him behind.
x x x x
Ellen had gotten used to the lack of privacy in the communal showers at the camp. Civilians were expected to share facilities since the Colonists' resources for constructing less demeaning accommodations were sorely lacking. There were several shower heads, but no walls separating them. People showered out in the open, pretending not to look at each other.
She was relieved when she entered the shower tent to find it silent, the smell of damp earth settling into her senses. She was alone. Entirely, completely alone, if only for a few moments.
She took off her clothes, permeated with her sweat and his, and folded them neatly into a pile on the bench outside her stall. She would have to wear them again.
She waited until the lukewarm water ran over her head and down her face before she let her tears flow freely.
Thus began her ritual, and it was always the same.
She ran her hands over her body, reclaiming it as her own, washing the filth away. His touches, the words he rasped at her, the ache deep inside of her body, what he left inside of her-all of it, down the drain, back into the sewer where they belonged.
She let herself cry harder than usual because there was nobody listening. She usually avoided looking down-she used to love looking at herself, admiring her body and all the work she put into it-but every time she saw a new bruise or scratch upon her skin, she grew angry at herself for letting someone do this to her; when her anger had passed, despair would set in when she realized she'd have to go back for more.
Maybe she liked it. She didn't know herself anymore, anyway. Maybe she didn't deserve to have Saul back, and this was the lesson she had yet to learn. She'd frakked around on him several times before, some times he knew about, some times he didn't, and now she had to frak around to get him back in her life. The irony of it was unsettling.
She grasped for the communal soap, a harsh mixture of wood ash and animal fats that smelled of the smoke that permeated the camp. She rubbed it on her hands and began washing every inch of her body until her skin was reddened.
Then she did it again.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
Author: icedteainthebag
Word Count: 34,420
Rating: MA
Pairings: John Cavil/Ellen Tigh, Ellen Tigh/Saul Tigh, Laura Roslin/Bill Adama
Warnings: Dubcon, physical violence
Summary: Sometimes we make mistakes when we think we're doing the right thing.
Notes: See Chapter One, but specific thanks on this chapter go to tjonesy.
Artist: MrsDrJackson
Link to Art: banner can be found here.
x x x x
Ellen left the detention center without checking herself in the mirror. She'd wanted the frak out of that apartment as quickly as possible. She was tired of hearing him, of seeing his eyes follow her about the room as she wavered on the edge of a complete breakdown. But upon walking out the doors, she was self-conscious about her appearance.
If I look as awful as I feel, I'm sure I look like hell.
She ran her hand through her hair, working at the knots in the back with shaking fingers. The few red, aggravated marks he had drawn upon her arms burned as the wool of her coat scratched against them.
It was hard to concentrate on her journey home; instead, she wondered if anyone would notice there was a tear in her skirt.
For once she didn't want to be the center of attention. The lingering gazes she felt as she walked made her blush, both in shame and in anger. She didn't want them to see her like that.
Nobody should see me like this.
She couldn't feel any lower, used and dirty and smelling of him.
x x x x
Ellen found it was easier to deny the reality of things when she was in constant motion.
Keep moving, keep occupied.
There was so much to be done. She cleaned everything in their tent, as much as a tent could be cleaned. She arranged the pillows on the cot perfectly, then the blankets, until she was satisfied.
Just in case he comes home.
She wasn't sure if she should tell Saul at all about what she'd done, when and if he was released from detention. She wanted to be honest with him-gods, how she craved being honest with him. They'd started over on New Caprica and it'd felt like they'd been given a second chance. Their first night together in the tent, she stayed awake in bed next to him and thought about how the mistakes they'd both made could be forgiven. And he'd seemed comfortable leaving the past behind, even leaving Bill behind on Galactica, instead finding purpose on the ground and meaning in her embrace.
She'd thought they had a fighting chance to have that quintessential life that normal people have, the one with the faithful wife and the attentive husband and everyone, everything, would leave them alone to be happy for one godsdamned time in their lives.
How naïve.
It wasn't the way things worked for them. She should have known that eventually, some dark cloud would rain on their parade.
Closing her eyes, she took a shaky breath to compose herself.
This tent is too quiet without him.
She decided to head to the market for no reason besides the clamor around her would drown out the echoes of the afternoon.
The sun had burned off the clouds and the sky was an unusual blue. It reminded her of afternoons on the back porch of their house, back when they had one, when Saul was actually off rotation. She'd felt like they hadn't had a care in the world when she snuggled in his arms on a worn chaise lounge.
In retrospect, they didn't.
She wandered the market, looking for nothing in particular. She wasn't hungry, and the offerings had gotten more meager upon the onset of winter. It still existed as a social venue, though, a place for people to see each other and be seen, to connect with each other.
She saw Laura at one of the stands. Since the occupation Ellen rarely saw her out, especially in such a public place. Tory or Maya were picking up most of her necessities. It was a smart move, one Ellen wished Saul would have considered before he went to that frakking pyramid game.
It's not his fault this is happening to you.
Laura still risked going to the school to teach, but that was Laura, as far as Ellen had observed. She'd give up a little, but wouldn't give up all of it.
Ellen felt relieved to see her until she remembered the argument she'd started in the schoolhouse tent. As much as she needed to talk to someone, she wasn't sure Laura would be in any mood to indulge her after she'd vilified Bill. To her face.
As if on cue, Laura looked up and saw her. Ellen diverted her attention to the half-empty basket of potatoes in front of her.
Gods, I frakking hate potatoes.
Laura was already headed over-she could see it out of the corner of her eye. Ellen tensed up, not sure what to expect. She hadn't left on very good terms. In fact, she'd been a downright bitch.
"Ellen." Laura stopped next to her. Her voice was tentative, an unusual tone. "How've you been?"
Not the best question right now, Laura.
"Better." Ellen pulled her hair behind her ear and glanced at Laura. Her expression, if she read it correctly-which was always a crapshoot-seemed slightly concerned.
"Is there something wrong?"
You mean besides Saul being in detention? Besides me whoring out my body to get him back?
Ellen felt a burn behind her eyes and looked back at the stand, picking up a dirty potato and examining it. She suddenly felt ashamed.
She'd never do anything like that.
"No! No, I just...you know. I miss Saul."
Laura touched her shoulder and Ellen tried to smile. "I know how that feels."
They were quiet then, the sounds of the market encompassing them. Conversations, laughter, the rumble of a cart.
This is awkward.
"Surprising to see you out here," Ellen said, clearing her throat. "Thought you were keeping a low profile nowadays."
"I got tired of hiding," Laura answered, staring off into the distance. "I can't live like that."
But hiding is safe.
"I wanted to apologize for how things went the other day." Laura's voice sounded so formal, like she was talking about the weather. It surprised her; Ellen assumed she should be the one apologizing, but she was thankful she didn't have to make the first move.
"Me too," Ellen said. "It's okay. I think we're both going through a helluva lot right now."
There's the understatement of the year.
"We have to cut ourselves some slack." Ellen tossed the potato back in the bin.
Laura took a deep breath as her hand slipped off Ellen's shoulder. "You're right."
They were silent until it became awkward. Ellen felt like she was hitting a wall with Laura for the umpteenth time. She felt a need to reach out to her somehow, but couldn't quite figure out how to do it. Laura was an enigma, and Ellen never was any good at deciphering mysteries.
Ellen gave her the most enthusiastic smile she could muster. It was one of her few strengths-appearing happy when she wasn't.
"Well. It was nice running into you here," Ellen said. "Take care."
Laura hummed with a nod. "Don't be a stranger."
Her smile was absent, and Ellen wondered what she was truly thinking. Their eyes met for a few seconds before Ellen walked away, unsure of where to wander.
x x x x
124th Day of the Cylon Occupation of New Caprica
Went to the market today for the first time in a week. It was a challenge. It was me, challenging myself to not be afraid; it was me, challenging them, because I'm tired of living in fear.
All I could think about was you. Every time I heard a deep voice or a ring of laughter, or wandered along the edge of the tents where you can see the banks of the river and the field where we always said goodbye. I've been avoiding that, not because I don't want to think about you, but because it hurts to think about you when I don't know where you are, or even if you're alive. If I think, I question. Whether you'll come back for us or not, how much longer we're destined to be in this godsforsaken place.
I don't want to give in to the idea that this is how we're meant to end. It doesn't seem right after all we've been through.
I saw Ellen today and she looked haunted. Saul's disappearance-well, we know very well it isn't a disappearance. We know where he is. What we don't know is what happens inside those walls, and I think that idea, beyond all others, is what tears her apart inside.
Uncertainty eats away at our hope at every chance we give it.
I'm trying not to give it those chances, but with every day that passes it gets harder to believe in this mysterious concept of salvation we've relentlessly pursued.
Laura drew the blankets over her body and pulled her knees up, huddled for warmth. She stared into the darkness, giving in to the idea of another restless night.
x x x x
There were times Ellen was able to pretend she was somewhere else, with someone else, doing something else, anything else. Times when Cavil didn't bruise her, didn't seem disgusted by touching her, and times he didn't taunt her with his eyes and his words.
This was one of those times, an easier time than most. She would think of different things while she frakked him-this time it was a summer jazz concert on Picon, the breeze off the lake hitting her face. Gods, she loved the water. Saul's hand was tightly clasped with hers as they took swigs from his flask and joked about frakking around right there on the blanket.
Nobody's watching, Saul had told her as his hand crept up her sundress. Nobody'll know.
During these stomach-churning trysts with Cavil, she always left her clothes on, never revealing more than necessary. Cavil wasn't allowed to kiss her, wasn't allowed to put his mouth on her. He actually respected these few rules, though she knew he sometimes cheated by sliding his hand between them so he could taste her on his fingers. He would suck them, staring at her with that gleam in his eyes that made her want to rip both of them out.
She tried to ignore it, but sometimes, when she smelled her arousal on him, it was all she could do not to turn her head and vomit. Or maybe she wouldn't turn her head.
It would serve him right.
The times he hurt her were few and far between, but when he did it caught her off guard-it seemed like his test to see if she was paying attention, to drag her back into his nightmare and out of the daydreams that kept her sane. Scratches, bruises, his hands under her dress, his fingers around her neck, his nails raking over the soft skin of her belly, down her arms, like he was marking her, trying to make her belong to him somehow.
Most of the times he didn't hit her in the face.
He'd always come inside her, hold her hips down in place, his long fingers digging at her hipbones as he thrust, again and again. This was the part she hated the most, when she felt the most violated. She didn't want any remnants of him left inside of her, and he knew it.
This time was no different. She tried to focus on the whirring sound of the ceiling fan-spinning, spinning, spinning-instead of his satisfied groans.
She always asked him about Saul when he'd finished. She'd casually inquire about when he'd be released, sending a silent prayer to the Lords of Kobol that this would be the last time she'd have to frak him, knowing it most likely was not.
He always cracked a remark teasing her about her wantonness. This time he asked her if she even knew how many of the brothers she'd actually frakked.
"We all look the same, you know," he said with a chuckle.
She wanted to kill all of them. Every single last one of them with her bare hands.
She took a deep breath, smiled and asked about Saul one more time.
His assurance was to give them some time to debate their decision. As if there was a Quorum of Cylons deciding how much was enough-how much of her body's sacrifice was worth a human life.
She left him in his apartment, on his couch. He may have ravaged her, taken everything he could get his hands on, but she always got to leave him behind.
x x x x
Ellen had gotten used to the lack of privacy in the communal showers at the camp. Civilians were expected to share facilities since the Colonists' resources for constructing less demeaning accommodations were sorely lacking. There were several shower heads, but no walls separating them. People showered out in the open, pretending not to look at each other.
She was relieved when she entered the shower tent to find it silent, the smell of damp earth settling into her senses. She was alone. Entirely, completely alone, if only for a few moments.
She took off her clothes, permeated with her sweat and his, and folded them neatly into a pile on the bench outside her stall. She would have to wear them again.
She waited until the lukewarm water ran over her head and down her face before she let her tears flow freely.
Thus began her ritual, and it was always the same.
She ran her hands over her body, reclaiming it as her own, washing the filth away. His touches, the words he rasped at her, the ache deep inside of her body, what he left inside of her-all of it, down the drain, back into the sewer where they belonged.
She let herself cry harder than usual because there was nobody listening. She usually avoided looking down-she used to love looking at herself, admiring her body and all the work she put into it-but every time she saw a new bruise or scratch upon her skin, she grew angry at herself for letting someone do this to her; when her anger had passed, despair would set in when she realized she'd have to go back for more.
Maybe she liked it. She didn't know herself anymore, anyway. Maybe she didn't deserve to have Saul back, and this was the lesson she had yet to learn. She'd frakked around on him several times before, some times he knew about, some times he didn't, and now she had to frak around to get him back in her life. The irony of it was unsettling.
She grasped for the communal soap, a harsh mixture of wood ash and animal fats that smelled of the smoke that permeated the camp. She rubbed it on her hands and began washing every inch of her body until her skin was reddened.
Then she did it again.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10