In this timeline, they save Sandra's baby. It changes everything.
Let's be honest, most of us feel awful that Laura lost her entire family and that there's a way to fix that for her. I wanted to give that a try and well...this happened. I was planning for this to turn out a lot more fluffy than it did, but the story goes where it wants to go. A big thank you for beta-reading goes to the fantastic ImGroovyAndIKnowIt, thank you! Also, it's obviously not my sandbox, just one I love to play in!
Word of warning before you start reading: It gets very sad in the middle - I kept crying while writing it. Just so you can get the box of tissues ready.
Dying and Living
In this timeline, Laura didn't wake to the police knocking on her door. Instead, she woke to the incessant ringing of the phone. Her eyes heavy with sleep, she blinked at her alarm - it was just past midnight, not a usual time for calls, unless it was an emergency.
Sandra.
Something must be wrong with Sandra, premature labour perhaps, and she needed to get to the hospital to be by her sister's side because they promised each other that they would always be. Suddenly, Laura wasn't tired anymore and she stumbled over to the phone to answer.
'Roslin, hello?'
'Ms Laura Roslin?'
'Yes.'
'Ms Roslin, this is Detective Marsh from the CCPD. I am calling to inform you that there has been an accident involving your family. We are sending some officers over to pick you up and take you to the hospital, they should arrive within the next ten minutes.'
'Thank you.' There was a pause, as if the Detective was waiting for Laura to say anything else but Laura couldn't, she could barely even think.
There's been an accident. The words were ringing in her ears, in her head, and she wanted to scream and cry and call the police back to demand answers; what happened, which hospital are they at and most importantly, how are they? She got dressed in a trance, didn't bother to brush out her hair from the loose braid she kept it in at night and then waited, for minutes stretching like eternity, until the police car pulled up in front of the house.
The two officers were talking to each other in hushed tones but Laura was still rendered silent, unwilling and unable to make the deep, heavy fear in the pit of her stomach into words. It was, quite possibly, the longest car ride she had ever had to endure and when they finally made it to the hospital, her knuckles were bone white from clutching her purse tightly during the entire drive.
She was handed over to another officer who gave her look full of pity, doing nothing to quash the uneasy fear inside her, and then led her off towards a waiting room. Seconds after they entered, a nurse came in through the other door, eyes fixed on Laura.
'Ms Roslin?'
Laura merely nodded, afraid her voice would break if she tried to speak. The nurse seemed to understand and led her to one of the chairs, making sure Laura was sitting, albeit perched on the chair ready to jump up any moment, before sitting down next to her.
'Ms Roslin, you're aware that your family was in a car crash earlier this evening?' She nodded again. 'A drunk driver crashed into them. Mr Brooke and your father were in the front. There was nothing that could be done for them, they died on the scene. Miss Cheryl Roslin's heart stopped three times, once on the scene and twice on her way here. They couldn't bring her back her last time.'
No. Everything in Laura screamed. Her father, her very little sister, dead. Her brother-in-law, dead. It was too much to comprehend, why was she here if they were all gone? Except, they weren't, the nurse still hadn't said anything about -
'- Sandra? The baby?'
The nurse nodded.
'Mrs Brooke is still in surgery.' She stopped, sighed heavily, then looked Laura square in the eye. 'It doesn't look good, Ms Roslin. She is still bleeding heavily and she has already lost a lot of blood. Our doctors are doing everything they can to save her-'
'What about the baby?' Laura was surprised by herself how clear her voice sounded.
'Your niece was born at 11.47pm after an emergency C-section on Mrs Brooke. She was 34 weeks along, which gives your niece excellent chances of survival. It's a miracle but she was unscathed by the crash and was only delivered when your sister started coding.' The nurse reached for Laura's hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. 'I know this is a horrible time for you but there is a little girl in the NICU who needs you right now.'
'She's alive?' Laura wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry about that. Her entire family was dead or dying and yet that fragile, innocent baby was still alive? She couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it and yet...Laura looked at the door the nurse had come through, where Sandra was fighting for her life. There was nothing she could do for her now, but she could be with her niece. She nodded at the nurse. 'I want to see her.'
'Of course. Come with me.'
Laura followed her through the sterile corridors, the tang of antiseptics heavy in the air. They had to be sterilised before entering the NICU, but Laura barely even took notice of the process. Then, they were allowed to enter. The NICU was filled with incubators that held impossibly tiny people, all connected to tubes and beeping machines far too big for people this small. They stopped in front of an incubator on the far left and when Laura saw inside, her breath caught.
She had always loved children, loved babies, and this one, her niece, was the most beautiful child she had ever seen. She was sleeping now, hooked up on several tubes herself like the other children, and she looked oddly peaceful for the terror that had brought her into the world far too early. When the nurse nodded, Laura gently slipped a hand into the incubator and let the tips of her fingers brush over one tiny cheek. Unwittingly, tears welled up in her eyes. Would this child ever know the feeling of her mother's hug, her deep love for her daughter? Would she ever have the chance to snuggle into her mother's arms, breathe in her scent of Picon oranges and soak up her warmth?
Laura didn't know, but she hoped so with all her heart. The alternative was not yet acceptable. She had lost too much today - already, her precious niece would never be able to celebrate her birthday the way she deserved because it would forever mark the day she lost her aunt, father and grandfather. And perhaps her mother too.
'Would you like to hold her?' It was a different nurse from the one who brought her up, older and more matronly, with a kind and understanding smile. Laura wanted nothing more and yet, she couldn't help but shake her head and decline.
'Her mother should be the first to hold her.'
'Of course.' Nothing but kind understanding in her eyes. She didn't judge or begrudge Laura that thin thread of hope that her little sister would make it, that her niece would not lose everyone in one night before she even had the chance to know them.
Time lost all its meaning as Laura was sitting by her niece's side, the person most precious to her right now. At one point, someone had rolled over an armchair that she had sunken into, her finger never leaving the tight grasp of her niece's tiny hand. As long as she was here, standing vigil by her side, no harm would be able to befall this child, she was convinced. As long as she didn't leave, her niece was safe and sleeping and cared for, loved so very much already. Even if Laura hated herself for not being who she needed, not being her mother - but in her absence, was her presence not the next best thing? It wasn't the same, that she was sure off, but she knew that she couldn't love her niece more if she had been her daughter instead. She was, after all, her sister's child and Laura had always loved her sisters more than life itself.
Perhaps she had fallen asleep, perhaps she had just been far away in her thoughts, Laura didn't know, but she startled when a gentle hand brushed her shoulder.
'Ms Roslin?' It was the kind nurse from before. Laura blinked at her owlishly, her eyes needing a moment to put the world back in focus. She gave the nurse a nod and she squeezed her shoulder. 'I was told to inform you that your sister is out of surgery. She is in the ICU now, still very critical, but she's breathing on her own. If you want to go down to see her, I can sit with your niece for a while.'
Her words took a moment to sink in and then Laura found herself nodding slowly. Sandra was still alive. She had made it through the surgery. Sometime earlier, she couldn't remember when, someone had given her a rundown of what happened, Sandra's condition when she had come in and why they had to deliver her baby and then the baby's condition too, what was positive and what not. A subconscious part of her brain must have filed all the information away even if she was barely conscious of her surroundings at the time, all her focus on her niece and not letting the sudden grief over the death of Cheryl, her dad and Peter overwhelm her.
She almost missed the nurse's next question. 'Does your niece have a name already?'
Once again, unbidden tears sprang into Laura's eyes but this time, they were of pure grief. Breathing was suddenly hard, swallowing even harder and speaking near impossible. She gave a jerky shake of her head. Just this afternoon, hours ago, they had joked and teased Sandra about it, that she wanted the name to be a surprise. Not even Cheryl's incessant prodding had gotten her to budge and Laura had smiled at their antics with a shake of her head and resolved to let Sandra have that surprise. Now, though, she wished she had pressed harder too, she would have only had to ask and Sandra would have told her because the one person she told all her secrets was Laura.
'Is there anyone I can call for you?' Laura wasn't sure if the nurse had said anything else, caught in her own thoughts as she had been, but the question brought reality back. The world kept turning, even if hers had stopped and may never start spinning again, the people around her would go on about their lives with no care for her.
She had never liked socialising much. Perhaps when she had been a child, Laura could barely remember, but then when she was a little older and her mother got ill for the first time, it was easier to hide in the fantastic worlds of her books than to explain to other children why her mother could barely stand up long enough to cook and wore soft scarves to cover her bald head. By the time she went into remission, the other children had given up on Laura already and she remembered not caring all too much because she got her mother back and wouldn't lose her anytime soon. Not too long after that, Sandra came along, then a few more years later Cheryl and there was no more need for friends because she had her sisters, her family. When she left for University, Laura had come to realise that her socialising skills were barely existent and while she made a few friends, she still didn't see the need for a big circle of friends. Except for a precious few, she fell out of touch with most of them when she moved back home to help care for her dying mother.
And now? Now Laura wished that there was someone she could call, anyone. Just so that this crushing loneliness inside would stop trying to swallow her up, someone to hold her back from stumbling right into the endless black void that was her grief and loss. But there was nobody. Not a single soul she could think of to call to her side for support and a shoulder to lean and cry on.
The world would keep spinning, however, and while there was no one Laura could call to her side, there were people that needed to know of this tragedy to make her excuses.
'Richard,' she said slowly, after being in silent thought far too long. 'I need to call Richard. Adar,' she added when the nurse looked confused. Her eyes widened at the mention of his name, after all, why would a bedraggled looking, grieving woman need to call the Mayor? She had too much tact to ask but Laura was good enough at reading people to know what she was thinking anyway. 'He's my boss.'
There was a no-mobile rule in the NICU but Laura didn't even know where her phone was. Perhaps in her purse, outside the room by the nurses' desk still, where she had left her jacket too, earlier? She didn't remember.
She blew her tiny niece in her incubator another kiss and caressed her bald, tiny head, then gently wrangled free the finger the baby was still clutching tightly and finally turned to the nurse.
'I have to go see my sister.'
'Of course.' The nurse showed her to the door and then, while Laura was still watching her through the glass wall, returned to the incubator and sat in Laura's chair to watch over her niece while she was gone. There were a lot of people in the room, Laura noticed, many parents standing by their children's side to keep watch. Some incubators were unattended but even they were checked regularly by other nurses, soothingly touching shoulders and giving kind words to worried parents, sometimes holding one of the children, looking after them with calm reassurance. Clearly, Laura wasn't the first one to be unwilling to leave their charge alone while they went to check on other family in the hospital.
Her purse was indeed sitting by her jacket at the nurses' station, and her phone was inside too. It was dead, though. She turned to the nurse who was sitting at the station, viciously typing something into a computer.
'Do you have a charger for my phone?' The nurse looked up and eyed her for a moment, took in her disheveled appearance and wordlessly handed her the one. Apparently, Laura wasn't the first one to walk in here without a charger either. She plugged her phone in and waited a few agonisingly long minutes - minutes she wasn't able to spend with either her niece or her sister - before her phone came back to life and her background picture appeared. It had a clock on it. 4am. Richard would freak if she called him now. Instead, she opted to write him a quite message, only the barest, most basic summary of her night:
There was an accident. Dad, Cheryl and Peter dead. Sandra and baby in the hospital. Sandra's critical, going to check on her now. Won't be in tomorrow. Laura
Richard had been one of the few friends she had retained all through university and the years since. They had grown apart for a while but then he'd offered her the job as Superintendent for Caprica City's schools and now that they were working together, they'd gotten closer again. He would be able to make sense of her message, even if Laura herself was barely able to.
She had to retype the words several times, her fingers too shaky to hit the right keys because everything in her tried to will the words she was typing to be untrue. They weren't, but she had not yet had the time to accept that. Sandra and her baby, they were Laura's very first priority now. Then, she would have three funerals to organise. After that, there would be paperwork. Death, Laura remembered from back when her mother passed, brought a lot of paperwork. And then, maybe, she would find the time to sit for a minute and grieve before life would catch up on her again and it would be back to work and the usual. There was the faint thought on the edge of her mind that nothing would ever be the same again and that she wasn't sure if she could ever go back to the life she had led these past few years, but Laura pushed that thought away. Like grieving, that was something she'd have to postpone.
Her mother had been in the ICU years ago, for weeks before she had finally come home to die in peace away from the sterile confines of the hospital. Laura's feet remembered the way even now, years later, and in no time did she find herself at the front desk of the ICU.
'Laura Roslin,' she said to the nurse there, 'for Sandra Brooke?'
The nurse nodded and waved for someone to take her to Sandra's room. They explained her condition in more detail and Laura soaked the information up - and yet only caring for the bottom line: Her chances were miniscule. That she made it through the surgery was good. The next 72 hours would be crucial. She might wake up sometime before that but that didn't have to mean anything until she made it through the next few days.
Looking at Sandra was hard. The woman in the bed looked nothing like Sandra, her tough little sister who wouldn't let anyone tell her what to do and refused to let anything get her down. No, the woman in the bed was bruised and battered, hooked up on more tubes and machines than Laura wanted to count and what little was visible of her skin was white as the sheets.
Once again, Laura lost track of time as she sat by her sister's side. She didn't move, the only sound in the room the consistent low beeping of the machines.
Laura hated hospitals with passion. She didn't mind doctors, quite the opposite, but she had spent many an afternoon sitting with her mother when she got her Doloxan treatments and then again later, when she was too ill to go home. They had made sure she would, in the very end, so she could die surrounded by her family, but before, she had spent months in the hospital.
Their father, Edward, and Laura had known that Judith wouldn't recover when her cancer returned. She told them early on, when the doctors did test after test and they all came back negative, barely any response to the treatment this time, cancer slowly growing despite everything. Judith had still fought, even after having done it all before and knowing that the cure was worse, because she had three daughters now who needed her. Two, Laura kept pointing out - she would always need her mother, of course, but she was a grown woman herself already. More importantly, though, she had seen her mother go through the Doloxan once and while she might have been a child back then, she remembered enough of it. When her mother told her that she wouldn't recover this time, Laura didn't cry. She refused to. Instead, she vowed to be with her mother every step of the way and support her as much as she possibly could.
There had been childcare to consider as well. Helping to watch Sandra and Cheryl had been one of the main reasons Laura moved back home originally. When their mother got sick that time, Laura had alread finished her undergraduate degree, but Cheryl was only ten. Sandra was thirteen and too many times in desperate need of her mother's listening ear in her teenage years. But Judith's condition was deteriorating fast and then all of a sudden, it was Laura who was there for Sandra, taking care of things their mother didn't have the strength for any longer.
Laura had always been the big sister, that was no question. But she was twelve years older than Sandra and when she and Cheryl were growing up, she was utterly devoted to them - but she wasn't their playmate like they were to each other. It was during that period of limbo that she had grown close with Sandra, who came to her with questions and troubles that she needed both a sister's advice and a mother's on, and Laura had done her best to provide. A few years later, with Cheryl, it was different yet again because their mother was gone and there was only Laura she could come to. She had already been used to it then, that Laura was the female authority in the family.
And now, now Cheryl was dead like their mother and Sandra was lying in one of those beds she had so hated.
There was another shift change for the nurses and the other staff and Laura found herself wandering back upstairs to the NICU where she took up her place by her niece's side again. Perhaps she should have asked the nurses to just put any name in the form, they could change it later, but she couldn't bear the thought of having to tell Sandra she named her daughter. Just like she still refused to hold the baby - not until Sandra had, or at least until Sandra allowed it.
One of the nurses brought her a bottle of water once and after that, another showed her where she could freshen up. She went down to sit with Sandra again and then came back upstairs for her baby once more. It must have been well past lunch at that point but Laura's whole focus was on her niece and her sister now, the only two people in her world who still mattered now.
She couldn't have been sitting there very long when one of the nurses, a new one with kind eyes, slipped into the room and made a beeline for Laura.
'Ms Roslin?' Laura hummed in response. 'I think you left your mobile phone with us this morning, it has been ringing for quite a while now. Should I turn it off or would you like to answer it?'
For a moment, Laura hesitated. It was tempting and it would be so easy, to just turn it off. But she had merely informed Richard via text, it was only right that he heard what happened from her. So, with a sigh, she took the offered phone from the nurse and called Richard back.
He was very kind, told her that her assistants could cover for her and to take all the time she needed. He'd put her on bereavement leave and if she needed anything, she would only need to call him and he'd make sure she'd get it. After all, there had to be some perks to being Major. She thanked him and told him she'd be in touch when she knew more, that she might have to take some time off until Sandra was better, and then there were still the funerals that needed to be organised eventually. Richard promised he understood, he had always been a good friend, and even offered to stop by later if his schedule permitted. Laura didn't answer his offer, just hummed in the back of her throat - she wished for someone to hold her and tell her things would be alright, but she didn't wish for it to be Richard.
The new nurse seemed to realise, now, that Laura was all alone here and that nobody would come to take care of her, so she sent her downstairs to the bistro to grab a bite and go home, sleep and change. Laura didn't even know how she would get home, the police officers who had brought her long gone already, just a single one waiting downstairs in case Sandra woke up and he could take her statement. So, instead, Laura went downstairs and forced down some tasteless soup - or maybe it was tasty, but she was just not hungry and too worried to find it pleasing. Then, she retreated into a ladies room to freshen up a little, her purse a well for all the things she needed. Thank the gods she always carried everything with her, something her sisters always teased - had teased - her about but that came in handy now. She detangled the plait down her back and brushed her hair out, then, after a moment's hesitation, plaited it again. Right now, she couldn't have cared less about how she looked and she had no time to try make her hair presentable.
The nurse upstairs raised her brows when Laura came back so soon but didn't say anything, just allowed her to slip back into the nursery and sit with her niece. At some point, she must have fallen asleep because she suddenly woke to someone gently shaking her shoulder.
'Ms Roslin?'
'Yes?' Blearly, her eyes blinked open and it took a moment before she could focus on the nurse. She smiled down at Laura.
'We've been in touch with your sister's station,' she informed her and had she not been smiling a little, Laura's stomach would have clenched with the ever present fear that while she was up here, Sandra had perhaps died. 'They just called up to let you know that she's awake.'
'Awake?' It seemed impossible, though Laura had no idea how long she had even been at the hospital yet. At least a day, it was dark outside again. They had said Sandra wouldn't wake up anytime soon - now, her stomach twisted after all and she pushed herself up, pushing past the exhaustion that had her fall asleep in the first place. 'I have to go see her.' The nurse nodded and almost in trance, Laura made her way downstairs to the ICU where Sandra was still stationed.
One of Sandra's doctors caught her before she slipped inside the room.
'Ms Roslin, your sister is awake now,' he started, the but already audible. It made Laura bite her lip in fear. 'But it doesn't look good. She isn't responding to the antibiotics we have given her and that she's awake now is only because her response to the morpha wasn't good either. She's in pain right now but clear, and she wanted to talk to you.'
'What did you tell her?'
'That you were with her daughter and that she is very well, all things considered. We didn't tell her about her chances to make this, I have seen miracles before and patients tend to fight harder when they don't know their odds.'
'You don't think she'll make it.' Laura thought her voice sounded strangely detached, she wasn't even sure if she herself was the one speaking or if perhaps she was just imagining this, but the doctor shook his head.
'No, I don't expect her to. Her injuries are severe, there was a lot of damage done internally, which makes the fate of her daughter the miracle it is. There is still a chance if she makes it through the next two days but her blood levels are constantly dropping, and so are the other things we are measuring. That's not a good sign.'
Laura just nodded silently. What could she possibly say to that? She turned away from the doctor and when he made no move to stop her, she slipped into the room where Sandra was lying in the bed, so fragile and pale and small.
'Hey honey,' she said softly and reached for Sandra's hand. Her sister groaned and turned her head, slowly and very clearly in very much pain.
'Laurie?' she whispered, like she always had when she was a little girl still and snuck into Laura's bed because she was scared.
'Yes, I'm here Sandy.' She squeezed her hand and reached up to carefully brush a stray lock of short hair from Sandra's forehead. When she set on to talk, Laura placed a finger against her lips. 'Shh. Don't say anything, alright? Just listen, that's easier for you.' Sandra didn't answer but she blinked once, which Laura took as confirmation to continue.
'You were in an accident, honey. They had to do an emergency C-section and deliver your daughter - she was born last night at 23.47pm and Sandy, she's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen.' She swallowed. 'The nurses keep asking me what her name is but I didn't know - will you tell me?'
'Helena. Helena Judith.' Judith for their mother, Helena for the brightness that little girl was meant to bring to their family. Laura smiled warmly.
'That's a beautiful name.'
The tiniest hint of a smile graced Sandra's lips at that, then her eyes, sparkling just for a moment, dulled again and she looked at Laura with fear. 'Peter?' She asked, her voice barely a husk. 'Cherry? Dad?'
Laura swallowed thickly and closed her eyes. 'What do you remember?' She asked softly when she opened them again and looked at her sister. Sandra shook her head, or would have, if she had been able to move it much.
'We were driving. Then nothing.'
'You were hit by a drunk driver.' Once again, Laura had to swallow in order to press on, force herself to continue speaking. 'Only you and Helena survived. Cherry, Dad and Peter died, honey. I'm so sorry.'
'No.' Sandra's short nails cut into the palm of Laura's hand as tears shot into her eyes. The beeping of the heart monitor next to her bed grew faster and Laura palmed her sister's head with her free hand, her fingers brushing away the tears that wouldn't stop.
'I'm so sorry,' she whispered again. 'So, so sorry, Sandy.'
For a long time - or perhaps it was just a minute when time no longer had any meaning - they stayed silent, focused on their grief and loss. Then, Sandra's tight grasp on Laura's hand loosened and she took a shuddering breath and tried to blink away her tears. She wasn't very successful, but she still fixed her eyes on her older sister.
'I'll join them soon, won't I?' It wasn't really a question, she had overheard some of the nurses talking earlier and she knew how she felt - she was pumped too full of painkillers to feel anything and yet the pain was still overwhelming. When Laura adamantly shook her head, it was Sandra's turn to squeeze her hand. 'I know I will, Laura. I...I just know.'
'I can't lose you too, Sandy.' The utter desperation, pure fear, in Laura's voice broke Sandra's heart. If she could choose, she would never leave her sister too but it really was no longer in her hands.
'I won't make it out of this room, Laurie.'
'You have to. For Helena. She needs her mother.'
The look in Sandra's eyes as she fixed them on Laura's almost had her reel back. 'She has. She'll have you. Be her mum, Laura. I won't be able to. You're all she has Laura, you'll be her mum, you'll be fantastic.' There were tears swimming in her eyes again. 'Please Laura. I have to know she's taken care off. I couldn't leave her in better hands than yours. Please.'
'Of course I'll look after her, honey. She's your daughter, my niece.'
'No,' Sandra said, her thin voice forceful. 'She's your daughter now.'
'No, honey -'
'No. Laura. I'm dying. I know it, I can feel it.' Laura could hear it, too, in the raspiness of her sister's voice, her shallow breathing. 'The Gods know, I don't want to leave her - she's my everything - and I don't want to leave you either but...you'll have her. You're not going to be alone. And neither will Helena, because she'll have you. Promise you'll be her mum.'
They were both crying now and at some point, both of Laura's hands had found their way to Sandra's face, softly cradling it and trying in vain to stop her tears from rolling down into her hair and onto the pillow. The hand she had clutched before was now clutching Laura's cardigan, faintly trying to tuck her closer. After a moment's hesitation, glancing outside towards the nurses' station, Laura carefully sat on the bed next to her sister. Making sure not to disturb any of the tubes and monitors, she laid down and very, very carefully wrapped her arms around her sister, pulling her into her chest.
'I love you, Laurie,' Sandra whispered and buried deeper into her sister, trying to ignore the pain that was cursing through her entire body and growing stronger by the second.
'I love you too, Sandy. And I love Helena, and I promise I'll raise her like my own daughter and never let her forget you.'
'Don't forget yourself either.' Sandra was struggling to breathe, suddenly, and a nurse slipped into the room. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw the sisters curled up together on the bed but when her eyes fell on the monitor that had started beeping, her face softened.
She gave Laura a sad look and then, low enough for only Laura to hear, whispered, 'Her organs are starting to shut down. There's nothing more we can do but make her comfortable.'
Laura found herself nodding and holding tighter onto Sandra. Sensing that they needed a few more moments alone, the nurse slipped out of the room as silently as she had entered it before.
'Will you stay with me?' Clearly, Sandra already knew that she didn't have much longer. Laura squeezed her as tight as she dared.
'Of course, honey. Until the end. We made a promise, didn't we?' They had, years ago after their mother died. They promised each other that they would be together forever, until they all died. Neither of them had imagined it would end like this and the thought had Laura choking up again. But no matter how much she wanted to run and hide and pretend the last two days had never happened, she wouldn't, couldn't. Her little sister needed her. Her very little sister had needed her too and she had already failed her when she hadn't been by her side. She wouldn't fail her little sister too by running and hiding.
They were laying in silence, just soaking up each other's presence and Laura tried very hard not to think about the fact that this would be the last time she'd ever hold Sandra, that she would never again hear her laugh, or that she would never know her daughter. She no longer tried to pretend that she wasn't crying and let her tears fall into Sandra's hair and on neck. Already, she didn't smell like Sandra anymore but rather like disinfectant and illness.
'Find someone.' Sandra's voice was faint and thin and it took Laura a moment to realise that she had been speaking. Already, Sandra was pressing on, trying to wet her dry lips to make the words come easier. 'Find someone. Love someone, Laurie. Don't be alone, don't hide.'
'I'll try.' She wouldn't promise, because Laura didn't know if she would ever be able to move past this, how she would go on. She would, somehow, because she now had a baby to take care of, someone who would be completely reliant on her, but she had no idea what else she would do, what would happen.
They fell back into silence, the nurse coming in several times, giving Sandra more of the medication that would dull her pain and then later unhooking several of the beeping machines and monitores to silence them. Laura's hands were running up and down Sandra's shoulders, trying desperately to avoid causing her anymore pain.
'Laurie?' Her voice was even weaker than before and when she blinked at Laura, Sandra's eyes were bleary and unfocused. 'I'm scared.'
It broke Laura's heart to see her little sister like this and she pulled her as close as she could, this time disregarding the pain she was in. A soft hum formed in the back of her throat.
'There's nothing to be scared of, honey. You'll be fine, you'll go on to the Shore and be with mum and dad and Cherry and Pete again. They'll be waiting for you, and then you'll wait for me and Helena to join you, one day, far in the future. But until then, you'll be happy and you'll run through the fields of Elysium beyond the Shore. All the pain and the fear, you'll forget all about that. It doesn't exist there, you know? All the pain will be gone,' she repeated and under her fingers, she felt Sandra's breathing grow shallower. 'Don't talk, honey. Just sleep. It'll all go away.'
Sandra's eyes fluttered shut again and, even stiff as she was, she was burrowing deeper into Laura's embrace. Softly, like she had when their mother was ill and then gone and Sandra and Cheryl had found their way into her bed because they couldn't sleep, Laura began to hum her favourite lullaby, the one her mother always sang for them when they were children still.
Time was ticking by but it had no meaning, no value any longer if just she could hold Sandra for one more moment.
'It doesn't hurt anymore,' Sandra murmured suddenly, her voice barely a breath. One of the nurses came in, a different one from before.
'You have to leave now, Ma'am,' she said softly but Laura shook her head.
'No. I'm right where I need to be.' And then she buried her face back into Sandra's hair and resumed her humming. She heard someone else enter, soft voices behind them, but she paid them no mind. There was nothing they could do, her sister was on death's doorstep and she would be with her until she passed over into the realm that Laura was not yet able to enter.
She felt it when Sandra's heart stopped beating, when that last shallow breath left her lungs and they didn't fill up again. She didn't let go, just kept on holding her because what else could she do?
When someone tried to pry her arms away from her sister, Laura just held on tighter. She couldn't let go, she couldn't. She'd already lost everyone else, she couldn't let go of Sandra too.
Afterwards, she didn't remember very much of what happened, but she woke up in a hospital bed herself, hooked up to an IV. She was still dressed in her own clothes and she recognised the station as being the ICU, though she didn't know what could have warranted a stay for her here. Carefully, she sat up. Her head was all muzzy and she felt unsteady as she pushed onto her feet.
'Sit back down, Ms Roslin.' It was the kind nurse again. She gave Laura a sad smile.
'Why am I here? What happened?' Her voice sounded foreign, unfamiliar to her own ears, scratchy as it was. She did as the nurse told her, though, and sat back on the edge of the bed.
'Your sister, Sandra. She died, do you remember?' Laura gave a jerky nod and took a shuddering breath. Of course she remembered, how would she ever be able to forget that? 'When we finally got you to let go of her, you collapsed right in front of us.' She sat down next to Laura and squeezed her arm. 'We realised that you were dehydrated and probably hadn't eaten anything much since you got here, hadn't rested either. We allowed you to stay here because you already knew us, and we knew you.' Once again, she gave Laura's arm a gentle squeeze. 'We're all very sorry for your loss.'
Laura just nodded at that. She had never known how to answer declarations like that, what were you supposed to say when you'd just lost everyone?
'If you would like to freshen up, there's a bathroom down the hall,' the nurse explained. 'You should also go downstairs and see that you eat something, it won't do you any good if you collapse again because you didn't eat. And then perhaps you should go home and rest for a little while?'
'I can't.' Laura shook her head. 'I have to go back upstairs to the NICU.'
'Of course.' Clearly, the nurse could see that Laura wasn't going to budge, so she decided to let it rest for now and call up that someone should keep an eye on her there. The NICU nurses, at least, were just as used to stubborn families, unwilling to leave and take care of themselves, as they were down here. She showed Laura to the bathroom and then sent her off with strict instructions to go eat something before going back up.
Laura wasn't hungry, not at all - the thought of food alone made her stomach churn - but she knew she would have to at least pretend to take care of herself. She had some more soup and water at the bistro on the ground floor and realised she had no idea how long it had been since she had last eaten or since the police had called her and her entire world had collapsed. Now, her entire world consisted of that tiny little baby girl in the NICU who had no one else left in the world but Laura. For her, she would manage.
Grieving and Loving
In this timeline, Laura Roslin did not join Richard Adar's presidential campaign. Quite the opposite in fact.
She returned home after spending three days at the hospital only to find her living room cluttered with gifts from the baby shower and the mailbox stuffed with 'We're sorry for your loss' cards and the voice messages so numerous that too many hadn't been saved. Of course, at this point, everyone would know. The accident with the drunk driver had been all over the news - Laura had seen it in one of the newspapers in the shop downstairs. It was too late to keep her family's name out of the press, but she had called Richard to ask him if he could pull the press back, she didn't want to give a statement and wanted to grieve in privacy. She never once mentioned Helena and the press didn't know she had lived, it seemed, because there was no mention of her anywhere. For that, at least, Laura was grateful.
When she got home, she had taken one look at everything and then started to tidy up, her mind drifting while her hands went through the motions. Later that evening, one of the neighbors came by with a homemade dish - because surely, Laura wouldn't feel like cooking. She didn't feel like eating either, but she took the dish and put it in the fridge. There would be more tomorrow, when people heard that she had resurfaced - it had been the same when her mother died. Only this time, she was on her own and had no family to lean on, no real friends.
Once the mess in the living room was dealt with, Laura straightened up her bedroom and took a shower. Besides the nap in the nursery hours ago and when she had passed out, she hadn't slept since she left the house...how long ago had it been now? Two days, at least. She tried to go to bed, get some rest, but it didn't work. Her mind was still in overdrive, the grief too overwhelming and she ended up sorting through things, doing what needed to be done.
There was no family to contact. Her grandparents had all died years ago, so had her mother. Cheryl hadn't dated anyone since last summer and Peter had been raised by his late grandmother after both his parents were killed in the last days of the Cylon war. She did call Richard, though, and Wally who was one of her few close friends still, then a some old family friends and friends of both her sisters.
After that, there was the funeral home she had to make an appointment with, later in the afternoon, and sometime after that, she dozed off on the sofa in a restless, fitful sleep. Laura knew, when she woke up, that home wasn't home anymore. It had been home because it was filled with her sisters' laughter, the memories of growing up here, together. None of that would ever be again and when she realised that the mere thought of sleeping in her bed again made Laura want to throw up.
So, instead, she booked herself a hotel room just across the street from the hospital so she would never have to be too far from little Helena. She packed her bags and left, never once looking back.
The nurses at the NICUl made sure she ate and went home often enough and let her sleep by Helena's side whenever she drifted off into the blissful numbness sleep brought. People came by to see her, to offer their condolences, to check on her, to see if they could get the big scoop of seeing her break. She wanted to, but she couldn't.
The funerals happened, all four of them together because Laura wouldn't have been able to bear sitting through it more than once. Helena was still at the hospital and she found herself wishing that she was with her instead, to have someone to hold onto, to ground her and keep her from crumbling. But she didn't, so she did. She crumbled, standing there at their graves, all next to each other and next to her mother's, when they were lowered into the ground and her legs gave in, the grief and pain and loneliness suddenly overwhelming.
There were no strong arms to catch her this time because her beloved father was dead, and no one joining her on the cold ground either because her beloved sisters were both just as dead, and breathing, Laura thought, had never been harder and the urge to just join them never stronger. Her face was buried in her hands, the tears indistinguishable from the rain that so matched the hurt of her soul. She never wanted to get up, just sit there and the rain and wait until it was her time too, to join those she loved more than life itself. Even the thought of little Helena was not enough, and yet too much for she was all she had left of her sisters when all she wanted was have them back. And then, she loathed herself for wishing that innocent, innocent child ill for she had done nothing wrong and was just another lonely soul left behind in the wake of that heart wrenching pain that was tearing Laura apart. Yet she was no less a victim than Laura, only she not yet knew it. She would never know the sorrow and agony Laura knew and it was no fault of hers, yet not fair to anyone.
They shouldn't have died, she should have her parents to love her and raise her and because she couldn't bear to wish her innocent niece ill, Laura wondered if she couldn't have changed places with her sister instead, just Sandra so that she would know her daughter and her daughter would know her mother. Not just a poor substitute. Someone who not even had the strength to stand up on her own, her legs too weak to hold her up and her soul too hurt to force them to.
But then, there were strong arms that pulled her up and lifted her and it was Wally, who held her tight and just carried her away, her arms around his neck and her face buried in his coat, tears once again mixing with the raindrops rolling down the fabric. He took her home - to the hotel, because she had no home anymore - and held her, let her cry and cry until there were no tears left and her voice was hoarse and her face blotched and red.
The others, they had all told her that things would be fine, she would move on, but Wally never did. He knew she knew better. She already lost her mother, she knew that it would always hurt, just a little less every day. She didn't think this pain would ever fade. So he held her and rubbed her back and ran his hands through her tangled hair and was just there, a steady presence to lean on, a friend to stand by her side.
He came by diligently every day, like clockwork, to make sure she'd eat and get some rest. He even saw Helena sometimes, when she wasn't in her hotel room and the hour was growing late and he worried. The nurses knew him now too, were thankful that Laura had someone looking out for her now, even if he had not been there in the beginning.
She didn't let him hold Helena, though. She was growing stronger every day and now, she was almost always in Laura's arms when she was with her. How could she ever let her go, now that she was all that she had left?
Sometimes, Laura found the clarity of before returning and she could focus, get things done. She went alone when she sorted out Cheryl's little flat and then the big condo Sandra and Pete had just moved into, because of the baby, and her father's small flat that he had moved into to be close to the University where he had still been teaching. A few things, personal items, she kept. All of her mother's jewellery, the things her father would have wanted distributed between all of them when he was ready to let go. Her grandmother's bracelet, the one her mother wore every day until her last. Laura vowed to do the same now. Some of Sandra's things, mementos that perhaps, one day, Helena would like - things Sandra would have wanted her daughter to have. Then some of Cheryl's things, letters and her diaries. She kept her father's robe because it still smelled like him - comfort and home - and some of her sisters clothes; some she would wear, some she just wanted to keep because it had belonged to them.
She didn't like being back at her house, the house they had all grown up in, but she had to store everything somewhere and then, inevitably, she found herself staring in the bathroom mirror. A stranger was staring back. Who was that worn, haggard woman with the haunted look in her eyes? She had been good looking once, Laura knew, had been told so often enough, but she saw none of that left now. Even her hair that she had been so proud of for so long, it looked dull and frizzy, unkempt and matted. There was no hesitation when she reached for the shears and started chopping, cutting it all off, those long locks.
They fell on the floor, one by one, until there was a pile on the ground and loose hairs everywhere. With each strand that fell, new tears started flowing, each cut another memory that tore through her. Late nights braiding each other's hair, her mother helping her get ready for her graduation, little Cheryl's face hiding in it because she had a nightmare and their parents had gone out, Sandra teasing her how vain she was about her hair and her promise to always keep it long and red as it was because they all loved it so much, were reminded of their mother who had once worn it the same way. The promise was naught now, her sisters gone and the long hair just another reminder of what she had lost.
There was dye left, from the last time she helped Cheryl dye her hair after she had tried on her own and ended up green. It was a dark red, almost black really, and it had looked lovely with Cheryl's tanned skin. Laura, with her almost white complexion, it would make her look even paler, sadder. But that's who she was now, what she felt like anyway, why not show it to the world too?
Helena graduated to the nursery, deemed strong enough to stay for just a few more days and then go home. What home?
The nurses suggested Laura might want to talk to a grief counselor but she declined. What good would that do? They had all gone when their mother died and Laura remembered every one of his words. Talking to another would do no more good either.
Slowly, day for day, Laura clawed her way back out of that dark, silent, abysmally lonely hole of loss and grief. She wanted to stay there but she couldn't, for Helena. Sometimes, the thought of her was the only thing that could make her get up in the morning, get her to face reality.
There was one she couldn't run from. Richard had been good, patient, had not commented on her long leave of absence lasting for two months now, but she could no longer evade him. She handed in her resignation. He came to the hotel that night, wanted to talk, convince her to come back but she just shook her head. She couldn't.
'I can't stay here, Richard.' Laura's voice, unused for most of the day except when she was talking to the nurses, was raspy and rough. She was almost pleading with him, her green eyes wide and tearful as almost always were these days. 'In Caprica City. Everywhere I look, I see memories, I see...them and I wait for them to come around the next corner, walk into a room. I have to leave.'
'Is there anything I can do for you?'
'I need a job. Can you do that? I want to teach again.' Because teaching had always been a comfort; unsuspecting children with their honest hearts would not try to deceive her the way politics had. Her mind was still foggy when she woke up in the morning, clouded by the tears she cried every night to fall asleep, and she knew she would never be able to focus on the duplicity of politics like this.
He promised he would and he kept to it. There was a school in Delphi in need for a new deputy headmaster - headmistress - and someone who would teach some of the lower grades. Wally, through his contacts from the bank, found her a lovely little house there and Marcie, the only other friend who had truly shown she cared, despite being far away on Leonis, helped organise the move and the moving company and made sure the new house would be furnished and ready for them to move in.
Laura had always been adamant that it was important to stay and face whatever challenges life brought, but leaving Caprica City with the tiny baby in her arms, turning her back at the city she had spent her entire life in, made her breathe easier for the first time in months.
And Delphi was beautiful. It was by the sea and sunny and warm, the seasons more temperate than in Caprica City. It was not yet home, but the sun and the salty breeze from the water made a smile tuck on Laura's lips and she thought that yes, maybe this could become home.
Like all things that are worth it, it was not at all easy. It was hard, godsdamn hard, to be honest. Laura had to learn everything about childcare - being a teacher had not prepared her for being a mother. But a mother she was now, like she had promised Sandra on her deathbed. At first, thinking of Helena as her daughter had her tear up every time because she wasn't, she was her niece, Sandra's little girl but once in Delphi, where no one knew them or their tragic story, it was easier. It was a new beginning for both of them, and Laura was grateful for it.
Years had passed since she had last prayed but in Delphi, a city far more religious than modern Caprica City, she kept wandering into the small temple down the street. At first, she just sat there and thought, Helena bound tightly to her chest in a blue silk wrap, but then she kept coming back.
'Sometimes, the gods call us,' the Priestess, Elosha, told her. 'We don't realise it until something happens that shakes up all we know and then we hear them.'
'Everyone died,' Laura told her, her voice barely above a whisper. And then the whole story spilled out, all her hurt and pain and sorrow, her doubts and fears and worries. Elosha listened, held her, and listened, never interrupting her and never berating her for what she felt. It was good to talk to someone, someone who knew just the right thing to say. Because Elosha did.
'Without death, there would be no sense in living. If we could live forever, what meaning would it have? Grieving those that passed on is human, it is a fact of life that we all face one day. For some, it is easy to move past, for others it is not. But Laura, you are not alone and when you reach your breaking point, there will be someone there to help you up again.'
Laura thought of Wally, who had helped her, and Marcie, who had called as often as she could, time difference and everything, and the nurses who helped out where they could and now Elosha. She was right. There weren't many people she had left now, but they were enough.
She kept coming back, became a member of the congregation even though she still wasn't sure she truly believed in the gods. Elosha ever forced her to and just accepted her as she was. It was a good feeling. Helena grew up there as well, playing with the other children and knowing all her gods by heart.
Truly, she was the light of Laura's life. She was a very good child. When she was still an infant, Laura took her into school often, allowing her to sleep in her wrap while she taught her students or went through administrative paperwork. The children at Delphi Academy fell for Laura instantly, Ms Roslin immediately their new favourite teacher. Her colleagues thought her quite wonderful too, and Laura was thankful she had left politics to go back to her passion. She missed it a little, sometimes, the good she could have done if she'd joined Richard's campaign to become President and herself Secretary of Education, like he had been asking her for months, but it never lasted long. No, with her precious daughter to take care of, she would have loathed to stay in politics.
Helena was just as devoted to her mother as Laura was to her, they loved each other deeply and for the longest time, they were happy. Oh, they fought, they had their moments, but in the end, none of it ever really mattered.
Then, entirely unexpected, their little family of two grew to three. A new teacher had transferred in, taken the courage to ask Laura out. She didn't date. Rarely had before and never had now, not with Helena at home. A three year old at home didn't leave her much time for that and Laura had never had the desire to date in the first place. So, they became friends, then good friends - close friends - and then she realised that not only did he love her but she loved him too. Perhaps she was even in love with him.
In this timeline, Laura Roslin wasn't Secretary of Education. She never met Bill Adama. There was no decommissioning ceremony to turn Galactica into a museum.
In this timeline, Laura Roslin didn't die of cancer but had preventative surgery before she even got sick. After all, she had someone to live for.
In this timeline, Laura Roslin became Laura Thorley, was a teacher, wife and mother to three wonderful children she loved more than anything in the universe. She lost her family but she found a new one, created one for herself.
In this timeline, Laura Thorley died during the initial attacks on the twelve colonies, in the arms of her husband and her children, very much loved and happy. She found the family she lost once again when they made it to the Shore, carrying her youngest child on her hip and her arm around her Helena's shoulders, her husband's around her waist, and then went to hug her sisters and her parents to finally be reunited with them.
It wasn't a successful timeline, all things considered - without President Roslin, humanity never made it out of Caprican orbit, but it was the only timeline where, even just for a short time, Laura had a family again on Caprica. That, the gods decided, had to count for something.
Originially, I intended for this to end up as adorable spaceparents fluff. Only, I realised that a partner in the military, more absent than at home, was simply not what Laura needed there. In that moment, she needed something else and things with Bill would probably not have worked out if they'd met. And since it is entirely possible to love more than one person over the course of your life, I decided to go with that. After all, it's just one loop of many :)