A/N
Ok i wrote this sometime ago, but never posted it. I've finally been persuaded to post it by some forceful shoving from certain people .... mainly Mikki *glares at Yahtzie*
There are certain things i need to stress : This is set sometime after Unfinished Business, but before The Passage. I tried to make sure it didn't effect the actual storyline at all. In this story, Saul Tigh is back in CIC already, so just ignore the fact that he's not meant to be just yet! There are probably a hell of a lot more things that don't fit in with the actual BSG timeline, but try and enjoy it for what it is!
Disclaimer
You all know the drill, i don't own any of the BSG characters, locations etc. etc. They all belong to RDM et al. YOU ROCK RDM!
The woman sat, her legs crossed beneath her, on the hard stone floor. Ruins lay around her, unruly vines wrapping themselves around, creeping upwards. It was dark, cold, desolate. She was the only one there, poised and calm as she looked at her surroundings. The only sound that greeted her was the soft whisper of the wind as it slowly travelled through the derelict building. It did not happen often, but when it did, the building seemed to sway with it. The woman glanced slowly to her right, her eyes dulled, taking in the crumbling stone patterns of the walls, the worn writing that once stood out, calling at people, drawing their attention. Gone. With the rest of the city. Gone. With the rest of the planet. Gone. With the rest of the colonies. Yet she sat, palms outstretched, unnoticed amidst the fallen columns around her. It would only be a matter of time before the Centurion made its rounds past the museum. Clockwork. Once every hour, the thuds of their metal feet would echo through the lobby, indicating that she should leave. She never did though. She never would. They seemed to accept that. They left her to her own devices. She left them. It was the perfect relationship. Cylon and human cooperated, ignoring each other studiously. Neither were doing any direct harm to each other. The war was over, no reason to start a fight over nothing.
The woman's head suddenly snapped up, her eyes searching the remains of the floor above her. Where she sat seemed insignificant to anyone who passed by (always cylons, mostly metal but sometimes the human form), but to her it was of great importance. Dried blood decorated the stone in front. Not her own. Yet the blood was special. It was both human and cylon. Neither distinguishable from the other, but she knew that there were two types. She knew what had transpired in that spot. The bodies had gone, one walking away, the other mournfully dragged. This was the spot. A woman, wild with courage and belief, had taken a sacred object, had pulled a human cylon over the edge, into the abyss below. She could see it in her mind. Blonde hair, golden arrow, death. Throwing them both over the ledge, the human woman had secured her landing by pulling the cylon woman below her, to absorb the impact. Ingenious really. It was quite some time ago, yet the memories did not vanish, did not dull with time like the building. Instead they grew more vivid every time she saw them. But now, something else was drawing her attention. There was something else here. Something more alive. The woman slowly, almost reverently, drew beads from her pocket, placing them carefully in front of her. Twelve beads, twelve colonies. Placing them in a circle, the face of a clock, she let her hands find her knees, resting them palm upwards to the floor above. Daylight was fast approaching but she did not care.
"I know you're there," she called out, her words echoing around the empty space. The wind died immediately, leaving hot and heavy air surrounding her, dust floating, reluctant to settle to the ground. She did not care.
"Everyone comes to me. They ask questions. They want answers. Yet you are different."
No voice greeted her words. Nor did she expect any. She could feel the presence, floating above her, confused, vulnerable.
"You want answers to questions you have not yet thought to ask."
The presence drew nearer, eager to hear out what the woman had to say. She, in turn, lightly touched the tattered shawl that pulled her hair out of her face. The presence was strong, yet she knew it would not last long. It had a lifeline, a bitter tang of mortality. Whether it was aware of its impending doom, she did not know.
"You are seeking knowledge, you want to do right yet you are drowning in the current of turmoil. People look to you for advice, for hope. You are torn. Come to me and you will know the truth. Come to me," she stated, her eyes seeking out the aura that encased her, "come to me and you will know peace. You will know your future, you will know the future of your people."
The presence was fading rapidly, a victim to consciousness. The woman called out one last time, valiantly trying to stop the presence from leaving without it knowing that what had transpired here was true.
"Come to me and you will know the truth, Laura Roslin."
…
Laura Roslin gasped, her eyes flickering open. Darkness greeted her, shadowing her shocked expression. With one hand, she slowly wiped her face, feeling a cold sweat cling to it. She lay there, taking in what had just happened. She had been somewhere, stone and wayward plants greeting her. A woman had sat, symbolic items - beads maybe - spread out before her, speaking to the broken floor above. To her in fact. But she was never there, not physically. Laura shook her head slightly, breathing into the pillow, needing the reassuring physical scent of Colonial One. The chairs beneath her were narrow, not allowing her full freedom of movement. The Colonial One was not built to be a presidential ship, but Laura didn't mind. She was one of the lucky few who was able to sleep at least somewhere semi-comfortable. Her desk was enough to signify the amount of power she wielded. She didn't need a luxurious bed.
Suddenly, a flash of light shone on her face, and Laura automatically squinted, her hand drawing up and her head moving away from the source of the sudden interruption.
"Madam President, is everything alright?"
Tory Foster, Laura's aide, was holding back the curtain that separated Laura's quarters from the rest of the ship. Laura reluctantly looked over, her eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness in the room. Sometimes she wondered if Tory ever slept, as every time something happened the experienced aide would come running, alert for anything.
"I heard you say something-"
"-Thank you Tory, for your concern, I am fine. I just found an uncomfortable position on the chairs, that is all."
Tory looked at Laura, obvious disbelief etched on her face. Laura could sense the inner turmoil between obedience to her superior and concern about her friend. Reluctantly, Tory slowly drew the curtain back across, encasing Laura once more in darkness. With a sigh of relief, she pulled her blanket up to her chin, wanting nothing more than to fall soundly back asleep. She closed her eyes slowly, but sleep would not come. The dream she had before was content to slowly torture her, playing back in her mind, every time a bit of detail slipping away like water cupped in her hands.
She needed to sort the dream out and fast, or else she would be getting no sleep.
There was a building, made of stone, time wearing it away slowly. But surely time couldn't destroy the building to that extent? Something else maybe? A nuclear explosion!
Of course! Laura frowned, knowing that it did nothing to reduce the amount of buildings that had been targeted by that exact thing. Twelve colonies to view. Somehow, however, the building seemed familiar to her, lurking in the back of her mind. She had maybe passed it a dozen times, not taking time out to thoroughly see it. She hadn't been to many colonies, which narrowed it down further.
The signs in the building, she saw that they were worn, cases covered in layers of dust, wanting nothing more than to be seen. It was a public building, she had no doubt about that. The woman in her dream had sat facing something on the floor. Laura remembered the woman's thoughts, flooding back into her own mind with startling clarity. Blood. The blood of human and cylon combined. Something had happened there. Laura felt a strange connection, a ribbon wrapping around her, tying her to this event.
What could she possibly have wanted from the building? Who had she sent on mission for her, to retrieve something, obviously special from the-
The Arrow Of Apollo.
"Delphi Museum," Laura spoke out, the sudden knowledge surging into her mind. There was a woman in Delphi Museum, amidst the Cylons. She knew things that Laura didn't. Things that Laura yearned to know. She was calling to her, unconsciously urging her to return. Return to the destroyed planet that had once been her home.
"Come to me and you will know the truth, Laura Roslin."
Laura closed her eyes, taking in the words that rang through her mind. She needed to know what this woman knew. Something about her, something about the fleet. What if it was something important? Something that could be prevented? Laura mulled over the prospect, knowing that she would hate to lead the fleet blindly into an ambush. The dangers of returning, however, also battled for dominance in the forefront of her mind.
She was crazy for even thinking about returning, for even considering to return to that wretched, cylon-ridden planet. Yet something pulled and tugged at her, and Laura couldn't quash that feeling either. With a strangled sigh, Laura tried valiantly to wipe the thoughts from her head but failed, falling into a fitful sleep.