"Departures" (BG miniseries)
by Grace O'Malley (graceomal@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG
Summary: The commander and the president agree to disagree.
Laura Roslin packed the few belongings she kept in her quarters on Galactica, and tried not to think or feel anything. There wasn't much packing to do, really. She only had her two suits, one of which she was wearing, plus a set of military fatigues Billy had scrounged for her. Other than that, her only possessions were a padded case containing vials of chemotherapy drugs, and stacks of computer printouts covering the top of her coffee table. She had a little time before Colonial One was scheduled to take off, so she removed her jacket, sat down on the sofa, put on her glasses, and set about a quick sort of the papers in preference to taking them all with her.
A knock at the door disrupted her concentration.
"Come in." She was hoping Billy had finished his own packing and had come to give her a hand with the papers. But it wasn't Billy at her door. "Commander Adama," she acknowledged his presence.
"President Roslin."
She didn't invite him to have a seat, but he came in and sat across from her anyway.
"I should be out of your way in less than an hour," she said in as neutral a tone as she could manage. "I hope that will be satisfactory."
He murmured assent using no intelligible words.
She saw Adama's glance take in the case of pharmaceuticals. Galactica's doctor had given her his entire stock of cancer chemotherapeutic agents along with instructions for continuing her treatment. The doctor's actions spoke louder than words that he didn't expect to be treating cancer where he was going, nor was he convinced Galactia would be returning from her mission.
"How are you feeling?" Adama's penetrating look made it clear the question wasn't an idle one calling for nothing more than a polite brush off. Apart from the doctor and Billy, Adama was the only one who knew about her cancer, and he understood the potential political ramifications as well as she did.
"Better, thank you. This round of chemo seems to actually be shrinking the tumors."
"Good." His question asked and answered, he made no move to leave.
She couldn't fathom why he had come to see her. He was getting his own way: taking Galactica to mount a surprise attack on a cylon basestar that Sharon Valerii had spotted on a routine reconnaissance mission. She'd have thought he had better things to do than gloat.
"We shouldn't be gone more than a few hours."
In theory, she was his commander-in-chief, and could order him to stay. In practice, she had no means of enforcing such an order, and they both knew it. So when sweet reason failed to persuade, as it had this time, she was left without recourse. She wondered if he'd come in hopes she'd cry or beg, or otherwise justify his disregard of her opinion and wishes.
Despite her lack of response, he continued, "We will never be truly safe until they are all destroyed."
If she though there was even a chance she could persuade him to give up this reckless scheme and keep Galactica with the fleet, she would happily have crawled across the floor and licked his boots. Surely he knew that.
"That basestar is hunting us, and they are way too close for comfort. We can keep an eye out for their patrols, and carry on running, but all they need is one lucky break. The fact that we know about them helps us, but it won't be enough if they jump into the middle of our fleet. On the other hand, if we surprise them, we can take them out without putting the civilians in harm's way."
His rationale was nothing she hadn't heard before, many times, in recent hours. She could not understand why he was bothering to repeat himself. He had chosen to dismiss her concerns that he might be heading into a trap; that Galactica could be destroyed, leaving the fleet helpless. There was no point in hashing it out all over again. Then it dawned on her: simply doing things his way wasn't enough for him. He wanted her doubts to be overwhelmed by his logic; he wanted to prevail.
He tried again. "One less basestar is one less thing we have to worry about."
"Commander...." She sighed in resignation, sat back into the sofa cushions, and pulled off her reading glasses. "We're on the same side. I sincerely hope your vision of how this action will play out is correct. But you and I will never see things in quite the same way. You look at your crew, and you see warriors. I look at them, and I see humanity's future. I know we both care for each and every one of them as individuals, but they are even more precious than that to our species. Each life contains a unique and irreplaceable fragment of our fragile gene pool. The loss of even a single life may have future costs you can't possibly anticipate."
Adama cleared his throat. "All the civilian ships have been programmed with jump coordinates for the primary and secondary rendezvous locations. If a Cylon patrol shows up here, the pilots know what to do."
She nodded understanding; this too was old ground.
"Emergency medical supplies have been distributed," he continued, "and flight crews have been issued small arms."
The last detail pulled her up short. He'd armed the pilots without bothering to run the idea through her first. Now that it was done, there was little point in her questioning the wisdom of such a move. And by telling her, even this late in the game, he'd deftly sidestepped any complaint she might make that he hadn't bothered to inform her.
"I think you missed your true calling, Commander," she said archly.
"Hmm?"
"You should have gone into politics."
She was certain his apparent confusion at her words was feigned.
Just about out of patience, she stood, hoping to give an unmistakable sign that it was time for him to go.
Still, he made no move.
"Well, I thank you for taking the time to come and see me, but I'm sure I've kept you from your duties too long."
Still, nothing.
"Was there something else, Commander?"
Finally, he stood, then cleared his throat again. "There's something I'd like you to have, Madam President."
She looked at him, completely at a loss to imagine what he meant.
To her astonishment, he unfastened his gun belt and held it out to her.
"A gun?"
The arm holding the unwanted object did not waver.
She opened her mouth, then shut it again to keep bitter words from pouring out. After a moment, she steeled herself to take it from him, but immediately set it down on the table amongst the scattered printouts. "Thank you," she tried to say with less disdain than she felt.
"Look, I know it won't be any use against Cylon nukes," he said as if responding to her unspoken rebuke. "But there may be other dangers--human malcontents, Cylon spies--"
"Cylon spies?" She sat down again. She'd known about Aaron Doral, though she had not been informed about his abandonment on Ragnar Station until after it was done and the fleet was far away. Another sore spot she didn't allow herself to pick at. "Are these spies hypothetical, or do you have something to tell me?"
He remained standing. "I had an anonymous tip stating that there are twelve models of Cylons. We know about two humanoid forms. While the crew of Galactica was tested, others might well be hiding amongst the civilian survivors."
"And you're telling me this now...?"
"Because now you need to know."
"I see." She could fill in the blanks: he wasn't really so sanguine as he pretended to be about Galactica's return.
"If they could call down the Cylon fleet on our heads, they would already have done so. So I wouldn't worry about that. But sabotage and assassination remain possibilities, and with the military personnel temporarily out of the way...some might see opportunities. I am truly not happy about leaving you unguarded, but I'm going to need all my people to pull off this raid."
Over the many months she'd known him, the commander had many times infuriated her to the point of losing her temper. In the interest of maintaining composure when faced with such provocation, she'd developed a habit of mentally reciting what were--in her view--his two most positive accomplishments. First, he'd stubbornly refused to allow Galactica's computer system to be networked, which had saved his ship from the initial Cylon attack. Second, he was Lee Adama's father. That act of paternity had to count for something. As far as she was concerned, Captain Apollo had saved humanity at a time when she had understood what needed to be done, but had neither the knowledge nor skill to accomplish it. Without the commander and his son, humanity would no longer exist. Every day, without fail, she thanked the Lords of Kobol for providing these two men when they were most needed.
Somewhat calmed, she managed to speak without shrieking. "Thank you for the gun and the information, but I think you should leave now."
Still, he did not turn to go. He let his gaze flick down at the gun, then back up to her face. "So you know how to use it?"
Totally beyond hiding her exasperation, she said, "No, of course I don't. I suppose you'd better show me. I gather it's not too hard?"
"No." He grinned at her. "The pilots manage." He came around to sit beside her on the sofa, and demonstrated how to load and unload the weapon. "It fires an explosive projectile that will permanently stop a human or a humanoid Cylon."
At his insistence, she practiced loading and unloading while he watched.
"Good," he said, evidently satisfied with her grasp of the basics. "Don't use it unless you intend to kill. But--" He took the gun from her and waited until she looked directly at him before continuing, "If the need arises, don't hesitate. It could mean your life."
Almost too horrified to pay attention, she did her best to take in the essentials.
"Now stand up and I'll show you how to use it."
She took the gun in her right hand, and stood.
He positioned himself to her right and slightly behind, turning her gently with a hand on her left shoulder so that they both faced the mirror over her chest of drawers.
"It's lightweight and has virtually no recoil. You won't have any trouble handling it."
For a crazy moment, she imagined pointing it at his head, demanding that he change his mind and keep Galactica with the fleet. But the thought was a ridiculous one, to be discarded before it was even fully formed. He must know a thousand ways to take the weapon from her before she could even pull the trigger--assuming she was even capable of such a thing, which he no doubt knew she wasn't.
His callused palm enclosed her hand, and he raised both their arms to aim at their mirror images. The rough fabric of his uniform scratched her arm, which was left bare by her sleeveless blouse.
"Don't get fancy," he directed. "Just aim for the center of the body, and squeeze the trigger. If you miss the first time, fire again."
Slowly, it began to dawn on her. He hadn't come to gloat, or to press for total victory over her thought processes. He couldn't care less what she thought of his decisions or his methods.
"A two handed grip will give you more stability, especially if you're nervous." He stepped further behind her, encircling her with both arms, and guiding her left hand to support her right. His head nearly rested on her right shoulder, and she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. The scent of plain soap rose off his skin.
She'd misread his purpose all along. He'd come for reassurance that their disagreements hadn't ruined a nascent personal rapport between them.
"I think you've got it," he said softly into her ear. "Keep it loaded, and keep it nearby at all times." Their arms lowered, he made no move to either step away or pull her closer.
For a long moment, they simply stood looking at their reflections.
Finally, he broke the silence. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I really have to go."
"Just..." With an effort of will she turned her head to look at him. "Make damn sure you come back."
He smiled at that. "Just be here when I do."
She gave a small, slow nod of consent, and by the time she could breathe normally again, he was gone.
~~The End~~
Laura Roslin packed the few belongings she kept in her quarters on Galactica, and tried not to think or feel anything. There wasn't much packing to do, really. She only had her two suits, one of which she was wearing, plus a set of military fatigues Billy had scrounged for her. Other than that, her only possessions were a padded case containing vials of chemotherapy drugs, and stacks of computer printouts covering the top of her coffee table. She had a little time before Colonial One was scheduled to take off, so she removed her jacket, sat down on the sofa, put on her glasses, and set about a quick sort of the papers in preference to taking them all with her.
A knock at the door disrupted her concentration.
"Come in." She was hoping Billy had finished his own packing and had come to give her a hand with the papers. But it wasn't Billy at her door. "Commander Adama," she acknowledged his presence.
"President Roslin."
She didn't invite him to have a seat, but he came in and sat across from her anyway.
"I should be out of your way in less than an hour," she said in as neutral a tone as she could manage. "I hope that will be satisfactory."
He murmured assent using no intelligible words.
She saw Adama's glance take in the case of pharmaceuticals. Galactica's doctor had given her his entire stock of cancer chemotherapeutic agents along with instructions for continuing her treatment. The doctor's actions spoke louder than words that he didn't expect to be treating cancer where he was going, nor was he convinced Galactia would be returning from her mission.
"How are you feeling?" Adama's penetrating look made it clear the question wasn't an idle one calling for nothing more than a polite brush off. Apart from the doctor and Billy, Adama was the only one who knew about her cancer, and he understood the potential political ramifications as well as she did.
"Better, thank you. This round of chemo seems to actually be shrinking the tumors."
"Good." His question asked and answered, he made no move to leave.
She couldn't fathom why he had come to see her. He was getting his own way: taking Galactica to mount a surprise attack on a cylon basestar that Sharon Valerii had spotted on a routine reconnaissance mission. She'd have thought he had better things to do than gloat.
"We shouldn't be gone more than a few hours."
In theory, she was his commander-in-chief, and could order him to stay. In practice, she had no means of enforcing such an order, and they both knew it. So when sweet reason failed to persuade, as it had this time, she was left without recourse. She wondered if he'd come in hopes she'd cry or beg, or otherwise justify his disregard of her opinion and wishes.
Despite her lack of response, he continued, "We will never be truly safe until they are all destroyed."
If she though there was even a chance she could persuade him to give up this reckless scheme and keep Galactica with the fleet, she would happily have crawled across the floor and licked his boots. Surely he knew that.
"That basestar is hunting us, and they are way too close for comfort. We can keep an eye out for their patrols, and carry on running, but all they need is one lucky break. The fact that we know about them helps us, but it won't be enough if they jump into the middle of our fleet. On the other hand, if we surprise them, we can take them out without putting the civilians in harm's way."
His rationale was nothing she hadn't heard before, many times, in recent hours. She could not understand why he was bothering to repeat himself. He had chosen to dismiss her concerns that he might be heading into a trap; that Galactica could be destroyed, leaving the fleet helpless. There was no point in hashing it out all over again. Then it dawned on her: simply doing things his way wasn't enough for him. He wanted her doubts to be overwhelmed by his logic; he wanted to prevail.
He tried again. "One less basestar is one less thing we have to worry about."
"Commander...." She sighed in resignation, sat back into the sofa cushions, and pulled off her reading glasses. "We're on the same side. I sincerely hope your vision of how this action will play out is correct. But you and I will never see things in quite the same way. You look at your crew, and you see warriors. I look at them, and I see humanity's future. I know we both care for each and every one of them as individuals, but they are even more precious than that to our species. Each life contains a unique and irreplaceable fragment of our fragile gene pool. The loss of even a single life may have future costs you can't possibly anticipate."
Adama cleared his throat. "All the civilian ships have been programmed with jump coordinates for the primary and secondary rendezvous locations. If a Cylon patrol shows up here, the pilots know what to do."
She nodded understanding; this too was old ground.
"Emergency medical supplies have been distributed," he continued, "and flight crews have been issued small arms."
The last detail pulled her up short. He'd armed the pilots without bothering to run the idea through her first. Now that it was done, there was little point in her questioning the wisdom of such a move. And by telling her, even this late in the game, he'd deftly sidestepped any complaint she might make that he hadn't bothered to inform her.
"I think you missed your true calling, Commander," she said archly.
"Hmm?"
"You should have gone into politics."
She was certain his apparent confusion at her words was feigned.
Just about out of patience, she stood, hoping to give an unmistakable sign that it was time for him to go.
Still, he made no move.
"Well, I thank you for taking the time to come and see me, but I'm sure I've kept you from your duties too long."
Still, nothing.
"Was there something else, Commander?"
Finally, he stood, then cleared his throat again. "There's something I'd like you to have, Madam President."
She looked at him, completely at a loss to imagine what he meant.
To her astonishment, he unfastened his gun belt and held it out to her.
"A gun?"
The arm holding the unwanted object did not waver.
She opened her mouth, then shut it again to keep bitter words from pouring out. After a moment, she steeled herself to take it from him, but immediately set it down on the table amongst the scattered printouts. "Thank you," she tried to say with less disdain than she felt.
"Look, I know it won't be any use against Cylon nukes," he said as if responding to her unspoken rebuke. "But there may be other dangers--human malcontents, Cylon spies--"
"Cylon spies?" She sat down again. She'd known about Aaron Doral, though she had not been informed about his abandonment on Ragnar Station until after it was done and the fleet was far away. Another sore spot she didn't allow herself to pick at. "Are these spies hypothetical, or do you have something to tell me?"
He remained standing. "I had an anonymous tip stating that there are twelve models of Cylons. We know about two humanoid forms. While the crew of Galactica was tested, others might well be hiding amongst the civilian survivors."
"And you're telling me this now...?"
"Because now you need to know."
"I see." She could fill in the blanks: he wasn't really so sanguine as he pretended to be about Galactica's return.
"If they could call down the Cylon fleet on our heads, they would already have done so. So I wouldn't worry about that. But sabotage and assassination remain possibilities, and with the military personnel temporarily out of the way...some might see opportunities. I am truly not happy about leaving you unguarded, but I'm going to need all my people to pull off this raid."
Over the many months she'd known him, the commander had many times infuriated her to the point of losing her temper. In the interest of maintaining composure when faced with such provocation, she'd developed a habit of mentally reciting what were--in her view--his two most positive accomplishments. First, he'd stubbornly refused to allow Galactica's computer system to be networked, which had saved his ship from the initial Cylon attack. Second, he was Lee Adama's father. That act of paternity had to count for something. As far as she was concerned, Captain Apollo had saved humanity at a time when she had understood what needed to be done, but had neither the knowledge nor skill to accomplish it. Without the commander and his son, humanity would no longer exist. Every day, without fail, she thanked the Lords of Kobol for providing these two men when they were most needed.
Somewhat calmed, she managed to speak without shrieking. "Thank you for the gun and the information, but I think you should leave now."
Still, he did not turn to go. He let his gaze flick down at the gun, then back up to her face. "So you know how to use it?"
Totally beyond hiding her exasperation, she said, "No, of course I don't. I suppose you'd better show me. I gather it's not too hard?"
"No." He grinned at her. "The pilots manage." He came around to sit beside her on the sofa, and demonstrated how to load and unload the weapon. "It fires an explosive projectile that will permanently stop a human or a humanoid Cylon."
At his insistence, she practiced loading and unloading while he watched.
"Good," he said, evidently satisfied with her grasp of the basics. "Don't use it unless you intend to kill. But--" He took the gun from her and waited until she looked directly at him before continuing, "If the need arises, don't hesitate. It could mean your life."
Almost too horrified to pay attention, she did her best to take in the essentials.
"Now stand up and I'll show you how to use it."
She took the gun in her right hand, and stood.
He positioned himself to her right and slightly behind, turning her gently with a hand on her left shoulder so that they both faced the mirror over her chest of drawers.
"It's lightweight and has virtually no recoil. You won't have any trouble handling it."
For a crazy moment, she imagined pointing it at his head, demanding that he change his mind and keep Galactica with the fleet. But the thought was a ridiculous one, to be discarded before it was even fully formed. He must know a thousand ways to take the weapon from her before she could even pull the trigger--assuming she was even capable of such a thing, which he no doubt knew she wasn't.
His callused palm enclosed her hand, and he raised both their arms to aim at their mirror images. The rough fabric of his uniform scratched her arm, which was left bare by her sleeveless blouse.
"Don't get fancy," he directed. "Just aim for the center of the body, and squeeze the trigger. If you miss the first time, fire again."
Slowly, it began to dawn on her. He hadn't come to gloat, or to press for total victory over her thought processes. He couldn't care less what she thought of his decisions or his methods.
"A two handed grip will give you more stability, especially if you're nervous." He stepped further behind her, encircling her with both arms, and guiding her left hand to support her right. His head nearly rested on her right shoulder, and she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. The scent of plain soap rose off his skin.
She'd misread his purpose all along. He'd come for reassurance that their disagreements hadn't ruined a nascent personal rapport between them.
"I think you've got it," he said softly into her ear. "Keep it loaded, and keep it nearby at all times." Their arms lowered, he made no move to either step away or pull her closer.
For a long moment, they simply stood looking at their reflections.
Finally, he broke the silence. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I really have to go."
"Just..." With an effort of will she turned her head to look at him. "Make damn sure you come back."
He smiled at that. "Just be here when I do."
She gave a small, slow nod of consent, and by the time she could breathe normally again, he was gone.
~~The End~~