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misscamFive Ways Bill and Laura Came to Earth and One Way They Didn't
by Camilla Sandman
Disclaimer: Not my characters, only my words.
Rating: Teen.
Summary: We're already dead. All we have left is to live. [Adama/Roslin]
Author's Note: Six AU scenarios, some more than others. All from my warped mind – some vague spoilers from the beginning of season four. My beta tells me I have another spoiler from later in the season as well, but as I am relatively spoiler-free, I have no idea what it actually is. Much thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyricalviolet for beta.
II
Glass
II
Dreams are like glass. Clear pictures, bright enough to burn her eyes, like sun on a particularly bright day. Like a stream, what is beneath it even clearer with the water than without. Dreams are like glass.
It's awake that's become muddled. It's as if a fog has come between her and life, and she's too tired to strain her eyes and see through. Sounds are muffled, and only her name still seems to carry.
"Laura," Bill says. Bill, who she hates but loves even more. Bill, who won't let her go. "Laura, do you remember what you promised me?"
"That you'd have Zarek... His papers..." she wets her lips, trying to remember. It was important.
"No," Bill interrupts. "I didn't want that promise. Earth, Laura. Do you remember?"
"I wouldn't die before Earth," she says, and her fingers seek his hand and finds the cloth of his uniform instead. "Is it...?"
"Yes," he says, and she can feel triumph and fear and joy and anger in his voice all at once, fighting for domination. "Your doctor won't let me take you. Remember your promise, Laura?"
"Yes," she breathes. "Doctor, I release myself from your care. Admiral Adama..."
... and she feels Bill's fingers clutch her wrist, realising it's so thin he can reach all the way around easily...
"... is going to show me Earth."
"It's your funeral," Dr Cottle mutters, but it's Bill she beams at.
"Yes. It is."
She sees Bill's face lean over her for a moment, his face like stone. She thinks she might touch his chin, and she tries to hold on as he lifts her, even when her arms feel like they're no longer obedient to her will.
She never realised how hard it was to have a body until it failed her.
She thinks she might sleep through the trip down, because all she remembers is the sound of breath and cloth moving, and then brightness, something so bright on her face.
"It's summer on this continent," Bill whispers, his voice by her ear and his arms still lifting her.
"Tell me," she pleads, straining against the fog of her fading life. "Describe it to me."
"There's grass. Tall grass. You can feel it move against your feet in the wind."
"Like the map," she remembers, and feels the wind against her lips as it catches her breath and carries it.
"Like the map. At night, you can see the stars. There's a moon. White."
"Mm," she breathes. "You can see it at day too. Just paler. Almost invisible against the blue."
"Laura," he says, voice like gravel and grief. "Do you see it?"
"Yes," she says, feeling his heartbeats against her cheek even as her own seem to stutter. "Yes, I do. Clear as class."
Finally, clear as glass.
II
Safe
II
Seen one cell, seen them all, Laura thinks. It's all variations on a theme, the theme being 'decor to drive prisoners to suicide through utter frakking boredom'. Nothing to fasten your eyes on. Nothing to distract you.
Just you and the cell, married.
Just her and Bill, like a marriage, right up until it had always been an illusion.
"Why?" Bill says, pacing to and fro, watching her as she sits on the bunk with barely concealed rage.
"Because," she says, choosing her words carefully. "We both know where Earth is now."
"Did you frak me to find out if I knew?" he flings at her, and she lowers her head a little, remembering. His fingers, pushing against her; his teeth, scraping her collarbone; his earlobe, tasting of salt and sweat; her cries, muffled against his hair.
"Yes," she lies coolly. "You played the doubt so long I had to know if it was real."
"Nothing was real," he spits, and she exhales to keep from shaking. "I let you talk me out of a suicide retaliation!"
"Yeah," she agrees, getting up. "You let me. All the way, you let me. How much was real, Bill? How much was Cylon? Can you look at me and tell me that?"
He is up in her face so fast she almost stumbles backwards, but she holds her ground even when he lifts his hand, almost as if he wants to choke her.
"No," he finally says, the word like a bullet.
"Thought so," she says, closing her eyes for a brief second. "Guards! I'm done here."
"What now, Laura?" he says, challenging her even now.
"I can't kill you," she says softly. "You might download to one of their ships, give them the location to Earth before our final jump."
"I might not."
Another Sharon, she thinks. Oh, how she can hope for another Sharon like their Sharon. But hope doesn't keep her people safe.
"You wouldn't risk that if it had been me," she tells him, stepping out and watching the bars close behind her and in front of him. "So you're coming with. I'm keeping you close. You and me, Bill. All the way to Earth."
II
War
II
It is almost morning as she wakes, but not quite. The sun is just below the horizon, spreading light but not sunshine across the sky. Dawn, and cold just before spring gets any real warmth.
The sheets are warm, though, even his side, telling her he hasn't woken much before her. She knows he doesn't sleep much, but then, neither does she.
This is Earth, but this isn't peace.
She puts on a light robe, letting the tiles be cold against her naked feet. It's another way of waking up, and another way of walking silent enough that he doesn't hear her. It lets her watch him, not the shield he erects not to worry her.
He's sitting at the steps down to their garden, naked feet in the wet grass and a loose shirt unbuttoned. He looks old in this light, but they are years she's loved in him, so she doesn't mind.
"Star-gazing," she says, leaning against the door frame as he turns his head to look at her. "Still romantic, Admiral?"
"Earth-gazing," he corrects her. "And 'special advisor to the committee of Terran interstellar security' to you, cultural attaché."
"New planet," she observes, sitting down beside him. "Same frakking bureaucratic names."
He laughs, and she leans against his shoulder.
"Why do I feel like we lost?" she asks. "We found Earth. 32,678 of our people are here. 79 when Duella has her baby. We found the 13th tribe. Terrans."
"You feel like an outsider," he says calmly, and she closes her eyes to how well he knows her. "This is their planet, not ours."
"They're not my people," she says after a moment, exhaling. "I don't feel home."
"They're angry. We brought war with us."
"At least they don't have a Baltar. They might win."
"There's always a Baltar," he says, strangely devoid of bitterness. Maybe time removes that too. Maybe enough time will remove the nightmares that still wake her and they both pretend he isn't aware of.
"There's always a Kara too," she says, opening her eyes and smiling a little at him. "You were right to trust her."
"I was right to trust you too," he points out, kissing the side of her mouth. "Thank you for what you said at the funeral."
"Mm."
So many dead, she thinks. So many dead, but him and her alive by some odd chance and against all her belief. Not even cancer killed her when the Cylons couldn't. Of course, the Cylons might still get another chance.
"Will we win?" she asks.
He seems to think for a moment, before giving her honesty. "I hope not. There's been enough war. Maybe Sharon can broker the peace she wants for Hera. I hope there's been enough war."
There has, she thinks. Oh, there has. Earth isn't the reward she always imagined for surviving. Earth is the war to keep life, and she's tired.
But she has a clear stream running by her house, she thinks, and there's that too.
He puts a hand on her knee and they sit like that, him and her and Earth, waiting for a rising sun and another day to fight.
II
Lies
II
There are shades of darkness, Laura thinks, raging from merely absence of light to the darkness of space that even stars cannot fight. This isn't that dark, not quite managing pitch and letting her make out faint shapes when she strains her eyes.
Now and then there's the faintest glimmer of light, and she knows they're watching. No more deaths, they've said. Not this time. A new beginning. Cylons and humans, a new beginning.
She doesn't believe it, but she knows many do. It's that, or despair.
The onslaught of light is sudden, and she blinks against it until she can make out the shape of a Six, cast in light like an angel. Baltar's angel. Their demon.
"I want you to know we're here," the Six says, smiling beautifully. "Earth. I want you to know you've come home to Earth. We've all come home."
"It won't be your home," Laura says softly, feeling a strange moment of pity. "You're created. You can't just take on human skins and be home at Earth. I don't know what you're still looking for, but it isn't Earth."
Cylon lies, she thinks. Lies even Cylons want to believe.
The Six says nothing, and a moment later it's dark again, homely, comforting dark.
"What was that?" Bill asks, stirring by her side.
"Nothing," she says, putting a hand on his arm. "Nothing at all."
"I dreamt…" he breathes a little unevenly.
"It was just a dream."
"Was it?" he asks, and his fear is pain to hear. "Did I tell them about Earth? Did I break, Laura?"
We all broke, she doesn't say. We never had a chance. We all broke, and this cell is our tomb. They're just not letting us die.
"No," she lies to him, heart breaking a little, but she can carry that. "You didn't break. You didn't tell them about Earth. Kara and Lee will be safe. You never broke."
She finds lips in the dark, kissing them reverently until she feels his breath steady and his fingers draw a pattern across her cheek.
"You're a terrible liar, Laura," he says.
II
Anew
II
He finds her among the ruins, a pale smoke like fog in the air, a light rain just faded. She doesn't greet him right away, just lets him find his place next to her, taking in the same scene as she does. Always next to her, never a step behind or in front.
"Do we know what killed them?" she finally asks, closing her eyes for a moment. "Cylons?"
"No," he replies. "I had Sharon and Helo do some initial scouting. It's not Cylons."
"Then what?"
"They did it by themselves," he says, and the chill she feels isn't just from the air. "Civil war."
"All this way," she says, and can't even finish the sentence. She wants to cry, but can't. "No survivors?"
"None we've found."
"We have to make sure."
"We will," he assures her. "Madam President?"
"What?"
"Our people are waiting," he says softly. "What do you want to do now?"
Madam President, she thinks. Her choice brought them here, through fire, death, space and peace with the surviving Cylons. All the way here. Where now?
No. No where.
"We're staying," she tells him. "Our people, the Cylon survivors of their civil war, all of us. This is Earth. We'll make it home. A new Thirteenth tribe, born from the Twelve."
"Humans all over again," he remarks, looking at her intently. "Are you sure, Laura?"
No prophecies from here on, she thinks. No texts to guide us. No signs from the Gods to follow. Just the future, decided by choice. Hers.
"No, Bill," she says, hooking her arm in his and starting to walk back with him. "But I'm making the decision anyway."
Somewhere amongst the ruins, Hera laughs; a strangely clear sound against the sky.
II
Offering
II
Step, echo. Step, echo. Step, echo.
It's the silence that unnerves her most. There is no sound except when she makes one. The buzzing, the constant presence of people and movement, the engines, all the noises she got so used to she didn't hear anymore are suddenly gone.
Galactica is dying.
Not by the Cylons. Not even by age. By choice.
Hers. His. Theirs.
She knows where he is, but she still doesn't hurry, keeping the slow pace through empty corridors where no one would see her run.
Step, echo. Step, echo. Step, echo.
She never knew silence could be this loud.
She finds him leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching the silence on the command deck. The lights are faint, just enough that shadows can be made out from darkness and his body from the ship itself. He stands like a hush, she thinks, as quiet as the ship.
"Admiral," she greets him, and he looks at her, eyes still in shadow. She can't read his gaze, can't know if he grieves or not.
"Do you think they'll come?" she asks, finding something to lean against opposite him.
"You did," he counters. "Leave Galactica, let the fleet break for Earth. Give them enough time to disappear between stars while the Cylons go for the bait."
"You didn't fight me on it."
"No," he says, voice so even it cuts. "I didn't."
She nods, accepting it. "You didn't have to stay with it."
"I did," he says, the admiral, the captain, the heart of the ship. "You didn't have to stay with me."
"You didn't fight me on it."
"No," he agrees. "I didn't."
She takes the step forward, resting a hand on his folded arms, watching him as she does. "I am dying. There is no Earth for me. The captain goes down with the ship. The leader goes down with the hardest choice she made."
He says nothing as she laces her fingers in his, watching them entwine. Scars and skin and sorrow, all the choices they've made leaving their mark.
"We're the offering," she says, kissing his fingertips one by one. "You, me, the ship. Our people find Earth. They survive."
"We die," he says, but there is no anger in his voice, just a little fatigue.
"Mm." She breathes a little, leaning her forehead against his chest. "How long do you think we'll have?"
"I don't know. We left enough that the Cylons should find us if they want."
"And if they don't want to, how long can we survive here?"
"I don't know," he says, and she tilts her head up a little.
"You do."
"I do," he admits, pressing a kiss against her knuckles, almost like a blessing. "A while. When... If... It'll be painless, Laura. Just sleep. Either way, it'll just be sleep."
"Mm." She doesn't press him. She knows if the Cylons come, Galactica will blow. Perhaps that is a sleep of sorts, in fire and space. Perhaps... So many perhaps.
Perhaps a needle in her sleep, never waking from a dream while he sets one on himself and cradling her, silence a lullaby and space a grave.
Perhaps a gasp, oxygen running out, the book she is reading falling to the floor by his feet.
Perhaps a bullet, painless as unexpected, and her blood soaking into the ship, becoming part of it.
Perhaps a fall, hers against his chest as she fraks him, Galactica's against a star as no engines remain to fight gravity.
Perhaps.
She touches his cheek, feeling his skin so like this ship's - weathered, tried, aging, but even now not defeated.
"We're already dead," she tells him, smiling and feelings his lips curve too as she touches them with her thumb. Him, her, Galactica, just like it started. "All we have left is to live."
II
FIN
by Camilla Sandman
Disclaimer: Not my characters, only my words.
Rating: Teen.
Summary: We're already dead. All we have left is to live. [Adama/Roslin]
Author's Note: Six AU scenarios, some more than others. All from my warped mind – some vague spoilers from the beginning of season four. My beta tells me I have another spoiler from later in the season as well, but as I am relatively spoiler-free, I have no idea what it actually is. Much thanks to
lyricalviolet for beta.II
Glass
II
Dreams are like glass. Clear pictures, bright enough to burn her eyes, like sun on a particularly bright day. Like a stream, what is beneath it even clearer with the water than without. Dreams are like glass.
It's awake that's become muddled. It's as if a fog has come between her and life, and she's too tired to strain her eyes and see through. Sounds are muffled, and only her name still seems to carry.
"Laura," Bill says. Bill, who she hates but loves even more. Bill, who won't let her go. "Laura, do you remember what you promised me?"
"That you'd have Zarek... His papers..." she wets her lips, trying to remember. It was important.
"No," Bill interrupts. "I didn't want that promise. Earth, Laura. Do you remember?"
"I wouldn't die before Earth," she says, and her fingers seek his hand and finds the cloth of his uniform instead. "Is it...?"
"Yes," he says, and she can feel triumph and fear and joy and anger in his voice all at once, fighting for domination. "Your doctor won't let me take you. Remember your promise, Laura?"
"Yes," she breathes. "Doctor, I release myself from your care. Admiral Adama..."
... and she feels Bill's fingers clutch her wrist, realising it's so thin he can reach all the way around easily...
"... is going to show me Earth."
"It's your funeral," Dr Cottle mutters, but it's Bill she beams at.
"Yes. It is."
She sees Bill's face lean over her for a moment, his face like stone. She thinks she might touch his chin, and she tries to hold on as he lifts her, even when her arms feel like they're no longer obedient to her will.
She never realised how hard it was to have a body until it failed her.
She thinks she might sleep through the trip down, because all she remembers is the sound of breath and cloth moving, and then brightness, something so bright on her face.
"It's summer on this continent," Bill whispers, his voice by her ear and his arms still lifting her.
"Tell me," she pleads, straining against the fog of her fading life. "Describe it to me."
"There's grass. Tall grass. You can feel it move against your feet in the wind."
"Like the map," she remembers, and feels the wind against her lips as it catches her breath and carries it.
"Like the map. At night, you can see the stars. There's a moon. White."
"Mm," she breathes. "You can see it at day too. Just paler. Almost invisible against the blue."
"Laura," he says, voice like gravel and grief. "Do you see it?"
"Yes," she says, feeling his heartbeats against her cheek even as her own seem to stutter. "Yes, I do. Clear as class."
Finally, clear as glass.
II
Safe
II
Seen one cell, seen them all, Laura thinks. It's all variations on a theme, the theme being 'decor to drive prisoners to suicide through utter frakking boredom'. Nothing to fasten your eyes on. Nothing to distract you.
Just you and the cell, married.
Just her and Bill, like a marriage, right up until it had always been an illusion.
"Why?" Bill says, pacing to and fro, watching her as she sits on the bunk with barely concealed rage.
"Because," she says, choosing her words carefully. "We both know where Earth is now."
"Did you frak me to find out if I knew?" he flings at her, and she lowers her head a little, remembering. His fingers, pushing against her; his teeth, scraping her collarbone; his earlobe, tasting of salt and sweat; her cries, muffled against his hair.
"Yes," she lies coolly. "You played the doubt so long I had to know if it was real."
"Nothing was real," he spits, and she exhales to keep from shaking. "I let you talk me out of a suicide retaliation!"
"Yeah," she agrees, getting up. "You let me. All the way, you let me. How much was real, Bill? How much was Cylon? Can you look at me and tell me that?"
He is up in her face so fast she almost stumbles backwards, but she holds her ground even when he lifts his hand, almost as if he wants to choke her.
"No," he finally says, the word like a bullet.
"Thought so," she says, closing her eyes for a brief second. "Guards! I'm done here."
"What now, Laura?" he says, challenging her even now.
"I can't kill you," she says softly. "You might download to one of their ships, give them the location to Earth before our final jump."
"I might not."
Another Sharon, she thinks. Oh, how she can hope for another Sharon like their Sharon. But hope doesn't keep her people safe.
"You wouldn't risk that if it had been me," she tells him, stepping out and watching the bars close behind her and in front of him. "So you're coming with. I'm keeping you close. You and me, Bill. All the way to Earth."
II
War
II
It is almost morning as she wakes, but not quite. The sun is just below the horizon, spreading light but not sunshine across the sky. Dawn, and cold just before spring gets any real warmth.
The sheets are warm, though, even his side, telling her he hasn't woken much before her. She knows he doesn't sleep much, but then, neither does she.
This is Earth, but this isn't peace.
She puts on a light robe, letting the tiles be cold against her naked feet. It's another way of waking up, and another way of walking silent enough that he doesn't hear her. It lets her watch him, not the shield he erects not to worry her.
He's sitting at the steps down to their garden, naked feet in the wet grass and a loose shirt unbuttoned. He looks old in this light, but they are years she's loved in him, so she doesn't mind.
"Star-gazing," she says, leaning against the door frame as he turns his head to look at her. "Still romantic, Admiral?"
"Earth-gazing," he corrects her. "And 'special advisor to the committee of Terran interstellar security' to you, cultural attaché."
"New planet," she observes, sitting down beside him. "Same frakking bureaucratic names."
He laughs, and she leans against his shoulder.
"Why do I feel like we lost?" she asks. "We found Earth. 32,678 of our people are here. 79 when Duella has her baby. We found the 13th tribe. Terrans."
"You feel like an outsider," he says calmly, and she closes her eyes to how well he knows her. "This is their planet, not ours."
"They're not my people," she says after a moment, exhaling. "I don't feel home."
"They're angry. We brought war with us."
"At least they don't have a Baltar. They might win."
"There's always a Baltar," he says, strangely devoid of bitterness. Maybe time removes that too. Maybe enough time will remove the nightmares that still wake her and they both pretend he isn't aware of.
"There's always a Kara too," she says, opening her eyes and smiling a little at him. "You were right to trust her."
"I was right to trust you too," he points out, kissing the side of her mouth. "Thank you for what you said at the funeral."
"Mm."
So many dead, she thinks. So many dead, but him and her alive by some odd chance and against all her belief. Not even cancer killed her when the Cylons couldn't. Of course, the Cylons might still get another chance.
"Will we win?" she asks.
He seems to think for a moment, before giving her honesty. "I hope not. There's been enough war. Maybe Sharon can broker the peace she wants for Hera. I hope there's been enough war."
There has, she thinks. Oh, there has. Earth isn't the reward she always imagined for surviving. Earth is the war to keep life, and she's tired.
But she has a clear stream running by her house, she thinks, and there's that too.
He puts a hand on her knee and they sit like that, him and her and Earth, waiting for a rising sun and another day to fight.
II
Lies
II
There are shades of darkness, Laura thinks, raging from merely absence of light to the darkness of space that even stars cannot fight. This isn't that dark, not quite managing pitch and letting her make out faint shapes when she strains her eyes.
Now and then there's the faintest glimmer of light, and she knows they're watching. No more deaths, they've said. Not this time. A new beginning. Cylons and humans, a new beginning.
She doesn't believe it, but she knows many do. It's that, or despair.
The onslaught of light is sudden, and she blinks against it until she can make out the shape of a Six, cast in light like an angel. Baltar's angel. Their demon.
"I want you to know we're here," the Six says, smiling beautifully. "Earth. I want you to know you've come home to Earth. We've all come home."
"It won't be your home," Laura says softly, feeling a strange moment of pity. "You're created. You can't just take on human skins and be home at Earth. I don't know what you're still looking for, but it isn't Earth."
Cylon lies, she thinks. Lies even Cylons want to believe.
The Six says nothing, and a moment later it's dark again, homely, comforting dark.
"What was that?" Bill asks, stirring by her side.
"Nothing," she says, putting a hand on his arm. "Nothing at all."
"I dreamt…" he breathes a little unevenly.
"It was just a dream."
"Was it?" he asks, and his fear is pain to hear. "Did I tell them about Earth? Did I break, Laura?"
We all broke, she doesn't say. We never had a chance. We all broke, and this cell is our tomb. They're just not letting us die.
"No," she lies to him, heart breaking a little, but she can carry that. "You didn't break. You didn't tell them about Earth. Kara and Lee will be safe. You never broke."
She finds lips in the dark, kissing them reverently until she feels his breath steady and his fingers draw a pattern across her cheek.
"You're a terrible liar, Laura," he says.
II
Anew
II
He finds her among the ruins, a pale smoke like fog in the air, a light rain just faded. She doesn't greet him right away, just lets him find his place next to her, taking in the same scene as she does. Always next to her, never a step behind or in front.
"Do we know what killed them?" she finally asks, closing her eyes for a moment. "Cylons?"
"No," he replies. "I had Sharon and Helo do some initial scouting. It's not Cylons."
"Then what?"
"They did it by themselves," he says, and the chill she feels isn't just from the air. "Civil war."
"All this way," she says, and can't even finish the sentence. She wants to cry, but can't. "No survivors?"
"None we've found."
"We have to make sure."
"We will," he assures her. "Madam President?"
"What?"
"Our people are waiting," he says softly. "What do you want to do now?"
Madam President, she thinks. Her choice brought them here, through fire, death, space and peace with the surviving Cylons. All the way here. Where now?
No. No where.
"We're staying," she tells him. "Our people, the Cylon survivors of their civil war, all of us. This is Earth. We'll make it home. A new Thirteenth tribe, born from the Twelve."
"Humans all over again," he remarks, looking at her intently. "Are you sure, Laura?"
No prophecies from here on, she thinks. No texts to guide us. No signs from the Gods to follow. Just the future, decided by choice. Hers.
"No, Bill," she says, hooking her arm in his and starting to walk back with him. "But I'm making the decision anyway."
Somewhere amongst the ruins, Hera laughs; a strangely clear sound against the sky.
II
Offering
II
Step, echo. Step, echo. Step, echo.
It's the silence that unnerves her most. There is no sound except when she makes one. The buzzing, the constant presence of people and movement, the engines, all the noises she got so used to she didn't hear anymore are suddenly gone.
Galactica is dying.
Not by the Cylons. Not even by age. By choice.
Hers. His. Theirs.
She knows where he is, but she still doesn't hurry, keeping the slow pace through empty corridors where no one would see her run.
Step, echo. Step, echo. Step, echo.
She never knew silence could be this loud.
She finds him leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching the silence on the command deck. The lights are faint, just enough that shadows can be made out from darkness and his body from the ship itself. He stands like a hush, she thinks, as quiet as the ship.
"Admiral," she greets him, and he looks at her, eyes still in shadow. She can't read his gaze, can't know if he grieves or not.
"Do you think they'll come?" she asks, finding something to lean against opposite him.
"You did," he counters. "Leave Galactica, let the fleet break for Earth. Give them enough time to disappear between stars while the Cylons go for the bait."
"You didn't fight me on it."
"No," he says, voice so even it cuts. "I didn't."
She nods, accepting it. "You didn't have to stay with it."
"I did," he says, the admiral, the captain, the heart of the ship. "You didn't have to stay with me."
"You didn't fight me on it."
"No," he agrees. "I didn't."
She takes the step forward, resting a hand on his folded arms, watching him as she does. "I am dying. There is no Earth for me. The captain goes down with the ship. The leader goes down with the hardest choice she made."
He says nothing as she laces her fingers in his, watching them entwine. Scars and skin and sorrow, all the choices they've made leaving their mark.
"We're the offering," she says, kissing his fingertips one by one. "You, me, the ship. Our people find Earth. They survive."
"We die," he says, but there is no anger in his voice, just a little fatigue.
"Mm." She breathes a little, leaning her forehead against his chest. "How long do you think we'll have?"
"I don't know. We left enough that the Cylons should find us if they want."
"And if they don't want to, how long can we survive here?"
"I don't know," he says, and she tilts her head up a little.
"You do."
"I do," he admits, pressing a kiss against her knuckles, almost like a blessing. "A while. When... If... It'll be painless, Laura. Just sleep. Either way, it'll just be sleep."
"Mm." She doesn't press him. She knows if the Cylons come, Galactica will blow. Perhaps that is a sleep of sorts, in fire and space. Perhaps... So many perhaps.
Perhaps a needle in her sleep, never waking from a dream while he sets one on himself and cradling her, silence a lullaby and space a grave.
Perhaps a gasp, oxygen running out, the book she is reading falling to the floor by his feet.
Perhaps a bullet, painless as unexpected, and her blood soaking into the ship, becoming part of it.
Perhaps a fall, hers against his chest as she fraks him, Galactica's against a star as no engines remain to fight gravity.
Perhaps.
She touches his cheek, feeling his skin so like this ship's - weathered, tried, aging, but even now not defeated.
"We're already dead," she tells him, smiling and feelings his lips curve too as she touches them with her thumb. Him, her, Galactica, just like it started. "All we have left is to live."
II
FIN
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Date: 2008-04-22 09:21 pm (UTC)As always, your words are brilliant and beautiful. Well done.
Edited because my brain is faster than my fingers.
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Date: 2008-04-23 10:01 am (UTC)Anyway, thanks - it's very nice to know you've enjoyed my writing in both fandoms :)
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Date: 2008-04-22 09:22 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing this. I will pimp it out to a bunch of A/R shippers looking for a good read.
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Date: 2008-04-23 10:02 am (UTC)(Also, icon!love.)
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Date: 2008-04-23 12:22 am (UTC)*adds to memories*
So happy to see you writing Roslin/Adama!!
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Date: 2008-04-23 10:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 12:29 am (UTC)i love that.
Another Sharon, she thinks. Oh, how she can hope for another Sharon like their Sharon. But hope doesn't keep her people safe.
that right there is totally roslin. this one was my favorite. whatever may happen, whether or not the decisions she makes are ultimately wise, she sticks to her guns. she sticks to keeping the fleet safe.
and she was extremely lucky with sharon.
thanks for sharing these, cam! i'm so glad you've come to enjoy bsg :o) have a good one!
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Date: 2008-04-23 10:09 am (UTC)Thanks :)
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Date: 2008-04-23 12:38 am (UTC)But seriously, these were beautiful. I have no other words to describe them. The last few left me heartbroken, too, because obviously I don't want to think about my heros dying ;_;. And I have favorite bits from each one...every one is so lyrical and flows and just...
*bites fist*
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Date: 2008-04-23 10:21 am (UTC)Will be exciting to see!
And thank you very much :)
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Date: 2008-04-23 06:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 10:23 am (UTC)Thanks - and that's a lovely icon as well. *is hunting BSG ones to feed the new fannish joy*
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Date: 2008-04-23 07:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 10:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 10:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-24 07:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 03:54 pm (UTC)Very glad to meet you.
Hope you'll stay around and bring us more A/R fic.
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Date: 2008-04-24 07:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-24 07:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 07:39 pm (UTC)I love that you have a distinct, dream-like style. It sets itself apart from a lot of other A/R stuff, and it's nice to have the variety. And you have a lot of good speculation in your fics.
Hope we'll get more!
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Date: 2008-04-24 07:53 am (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2008-04-23 09:51 pm (UTC)You have a lovely, distinctive style of writing. Each section is beautiful and devastating in different ways, and each one is completely in character and plausible.
I'm very happy you are now writing for BSG.
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Date: 2008-04-24 07:54 am (UTC)And thank you :)
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Date: 2008-04-24 02:38 am (UTC)*iz insanely jealous*
It's odd because in some of them, I have no idea what's happened, there's no backstory, no explanation, and yet the intensity of the scene you've written overshadows all those little 'how did this happen?'/'what made them get to this point?'/'what the frak?!' reactions. I'm usually such a nitpicker, but I get so caught up in the story, I leave my snarking behind.
We all broke, she doesn't say. We never had a chance. We all broke, and this cell is our tomb. They're just not letting us die.
"All this way," she says, and can't even finish the sentence. She wants to cry, but can't. "No survivors?"
"We're already dead," she tells him, smiling and feelings his lips curve too as she touches them with her thumb. Him, her, Galactica, just like it started. "All we have left is to live."
I can't even quote the first one because it hurts too much, it's so *real* and I can see it happening, damn it. The second one was soothing, like the eye of the storm before the other stories took me apart and shattered me completely.
I don't think there's any part of me that isn't broken after reading this entry of yours. Brilliant writing, brilliant characterization...you should totally take over the show.
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Date: 2008-04-24 08:04 am (UTC)Also I like to make people think a bit and not explain or resolve everything in the text. Personal preference, I guess. Works for some, doesn't for others.
Again, mighty thanks for your comment - it was a lovely think to wake up this morning and I feel childishly proud for evoking that much emotion :)
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Date: 2008-04-26 10:00 pm (UTC)*wipes away tears* ... this was so incredibly intense! i don't know how you managed it, but every single scene touched me, and every single scene was so in character and so in tune with the mood of the show, that i'm be able to imagine each of these scenes as an ending for the show.
especially the last one really got to me. that both of them would sacrifice themselves for the survival of the fleet, but not knowing what might happen or when and how it's gonna end. sad, but beautiful!
thank you so much for shring this with us! :)
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Date: 2008-05-23 07:19 am (UTC)That last one melted me..
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Date: 2008-10-27 08:54 pm (UTC)No kidding about the accidental prediction. But I love the ending you chose here. Lovely work.