A/N: Just as Admiral Adama and Laura Roslin discussed Lee's mindset and modus operandi in politics at the end of 'Escape Velocity' (ep. 4.04), Lee Adama might have gotten a chance to ponder social and personal ramifications of his recent clash with the President over freedom of assembly. Set on the outside margin of 'Escape Velocity', soon after Lee left Baltar's sermon.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points, inherent to the show, belong to me.
When the hills do*
- The President doesn't get it! She really doesn't get it! There are judicial and social repercussions, she refuses to face! It won't amount to salvation, if we do away with human rights on the daily basis.
He was pacing the room, fuming with residual agitation and contempt-induced frenzy. For some mystifying, or, more likely, apparent, reason the Admiral chose to withhold reassignment of their former family quarters. Everything was in place, but for the layer of mingled paper-work, that used to obscure every surface available and a few pictures, that used to adorn the shelves. One of the shots was gracing his desk in the cramped bed-and-office he now inhabited on Colonial One, the rest were tucked safely into her locker in the officers' quarters here, on Galactica.
Her intent, anchoring gaze followed his erratic shuttling, urging him, upon a brief debate with self, to eventually plop on the couch next to where she was busy vanquishing Baltar's blood off his best, among precious few, dress shirt with meticulous precision. The stains had to be sponged off carefully right away, or the attire was ruined. Seeing as there were only so many things producible from algae those days, and office-wear was not on the list, he had to comply. That Dee would actually volunteer for the task, once the Marines were dismissed and a semblance of peace was restored in and around the hapless ex-president-turned-preacher and his herd's den, factored heavily into his consent as well.
He could bet Galactica's artificial gravity had been upped a good deal of notches, so drained he instantly felt, fatigue weighing lead on his shoulders and clasping the temples. He was just so frakking tired of butting heads with Laura Roslin. It felt as if repeatedly failing an exam he had been doomed to never pass to begin with. It annoyed and frustrated him to no end, that his motives and agenda kept being called into question over what should have, otherwise, been a non-issue for a sensible and benevolent leader.
A soft touch on his bare arm brought him back out of the distressing introspective spin. She regarded him with an inquisitive compassion, inherent to her alone. He didn't register having been sighing audibly.
- Maybe, you rather talked to her directly? The President? To assure, you're on her side. To assure, you're not doing this for the sole purpose to prove yourself right.
He stole a sideways glance at her, shaking his head in confirmation:
- No. I'm not. Not anymore.
It would, quite possibly, never cease to amaze him that she could read him better, than anyone else, the Admiral and himself including. There had, indeed, been a time, when he was hell-bent on proving his father, teamed up with President Roslin, wrong, while still under a woefully delusional spell that it was about upholding the system at all costs, regardless of collateral damage to individual humanity. He had learned to know better the hard way. That was when she left.
- It's not about me being right or wrong. Even less so is it about Baltar and his pathetic flock. We just can't afford to abolish or restrain civil rights arbitrary, if we are to look forward to long-term survival. It's true, that in times of peril societies had turned to religious fundamentalism and political enforcement bordering on dictatorship. It had hardly ever ended well, either. What makes us human is a lot easier extinguished from within, Dee, than reclaimed. It's a matter of our safety to consider too.
He could feel himself blush, bathed in warm fluid mirth she radiated, silent and contemplative through his soliloquy. He really didn't intend to climb the soapbox… again. Was he all about spirited rhetoric now? Would it be all he was ever good for, sans his wings? The solid, affectionate confidence in her voice made him start and venture a look:
- It would seem someone has found his war…
He witnessed the smile seep up into her eyes and was aware of his own lips being tugged upward in return. Maybe, he had yet to figure out his bearings within that new incarnation of Apollo, she taught Lee Adama to embrace, and definitely had yet to impress her. And maybe he was not certain what to make of them both, when she could see through him too well to issue appraisal easily, but he was damn sure determined to make it earned that time around.
*Alter! When the Hills do—
Falter! When the Sun
Question if His Glory
Be the Perfect One—
Surfeit! When the Daffodil
Doth of the Dew—
Even as Herself—Sir—
I will—of You—
(Emily Dickinson)