Setting: One day after the events in "Bastille Day".
Spoilers: Up through episode 1.03.

--------------------------------------

Day 13

Major Cottle declined to clear me for flight status this morning, so I'm stuck on light duty for a couple more days, barring emergencies of course. He's concerned that I might have a minor concussion after the beating I took yesterday on the Astral Queen. I told him that I haven't experienced any dizziness or nausea, but unfortunately Kara caught me having another flashback and jumped to the wrong conclusion before ratting me out to the doctor. I guess I could have told them both the truth, but I'd rather let people think that I'm just recovering from a kick to the head instead of losing my sanity. Actually, the flashbacks have been getting more rare over the last couple days and aren't nearly as intense as they used to be. I certainly haven't forgotten the Olympic Carrier. I never will, but at least remembering doesn't knock the breath out of me anymore. Another few days and I think I'll be fine. Kara just has an uncanny sense of timing. Either that or my luck just sucks.

So, instead of flying, it's paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. And more paperwork. I never would have guessed that the job of CAG involved so much fraking paperwork. Managing people includes managing files about people, and unfortunately Capt. "Ripper" Spencer had a tendency to fall behind on his documentation. So, guess who gets to play catch up? I suppose I should be grateful to get a few mandatory days out of the cockpit. It gives me the opportunity to get everything organized and up-to-date. And I must admit, I am pretty damn sore today. I think even some of my bruises have bruises.

On the subject of being sore...

Dad's still giving me the cold shoulder today. He's acting like I insulted him by resolving the crisis on the Astral Queen without resorting to a bloodbath. Maybe Tom Zarek was looking forward to getting himself killed, but I wasn't. If Zarek had taken that sniper's bullet, the other hostages and I would have been the next to die. The prisoners had us surrounded and would have gunned us all down, point-blank, long before the marines could take control of the ship. Dad's master plan would have been a disaster... and he would still have needed to find 1000 men for the work detail on the ice moon. Instead, we not only avoided a senseless massacre, but we also have the labor needed to acquire the water for the fleet. The labor detail is exactly what Dad wanted from the prisoners in the first place. So why the heck does he have his nose out of joint now, after being given what he wanted? Does he feel threatened by anyone who doesn't instinctively cower to his authority... like Tom Zarek? Like President Roslin?

Like me?

Is it possible that Zeus simply isn't accustomed to being defied by anyone? Maybe he wants me to bow at his feet and proclaim, "By your command!" He certainly made it clear that he expects me to give him my full, undivided, unquestioned loyalty... and offer none to President Roslin. It's not like I've ever gone crawling to her feet either! In fact, they at first acted like they both wanted to disown me last night.

"He's your son."
"He's your advisor."

Yeah, whatever. Neither of them came up with a better solution to the crisis. So, get over it Old Man. At least the President already has. She isn't worried about my loyalties. So, why is he?

I know I'll just get more and more riled about Dad if I keep harping on about this. I'll never change him. So be it. Crisis resolved. Move on.

Something else happened last night too... and I've really debated whether I should make any mention of it here. President Roslin has entrusted me with a sensitive, personal issue and I promised her to keep it in confidence. I'm not really worried that any of my pilots will snake this journal and read it behind my back. I trust them... except maybe Kara. ;) Still, I feel the need to be very careful. When I think about what the President told me, it scares the heck out of me. I wish I could have said something to her last night... something profound and comforting... but I think she really just wanted me to listen. I'm not sure why she chose to tell me, except that maybe she needs someone else to know, so that she doesn't have to deal with it all alone. She trusts me. I won't betray that trust, and I'll do everything I can to help her, for whatever that may be worth. I hope that will be enough. Gods, I hope it will be enough. I hope that in seven months I really can cast my vote for President on her behalf. I can't even bear right now to consider the alternative.

Tom Zarek reminded me yesterday that Apollo was both the ancient god of the hunt and of healing. He said a mortal could only choose one side, and asked me if I had chosen. Well, there's no doubt in my mind which side I would chose now, if it could make any difference. Being a mortal, however, the fact is that all I can do is pray.