Hope's Edge Scene 2
With pleasure:
Hope's Edge
By: Little Bird
Disclaimer: I do not own that which does not belong to me, obviously. I'm just having fun, making no money. Please don't sue.
Scene 2
The dry movement of air over her acid-singed throat dragged Roslin to consciousness. Thunder murmured in her ears and her head hurt; someone had stuffed it full of feathers. Medical grade laundry detergent from the sheets around her joined the thundering feathers in her mind. Roslin could not reconcile this. After her eyes pried themselves open, they jerked sideways involuntarily and smeared her vision at first.
A crusty blink later, Roslin discovered she had a body and that it was intimately involved in her current predicament. The familiar monitor leads tugged slightly when she moved and the slimy, sticky, gel-like adhesive cooled her skin where it stuck. She found both hands inhibited. A glowing piece of plastic clamped its jaws around a finger on her right hand and the harsh, tape-covered IV buried itself into her left. From all of this, a thought solidified amid the discourteously loud feathers: Last time this happened, I woke up part Cylon.
Grey and blue feathers swirled around the monitor. Some accumulated on top of it while Roslin watched her vital statistics march across the black screen in sharp complexes. A slow sine wave which corresponded to her breathing undulated beneath her heart beats. The changing numbers and moving colors absorbed Roslin's attention for several minutes and the feathers piled up on the bed around her. Drool hit the pillow before the president slurped.
“Ah, you're awake.” Cottle appeared beside her; his words came slowly into her mind and she tried to focus on him. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Ssss. D'nno.” That slurring fizzle impersonated her voice.
“That's what I thought. I know the Diloxin causes nausea, but your 'lytes and glucose were indicative of more than just a few hour's neglect. You passed out from low blood sugar and earned a nice concussion for your trouble. Eh, the scan showed a minuscule bleed, but it was so small that it barely earned the name contusion. I scanned again an hour ago and it hadn't changed so you'll have a nasty headache for a while, but you'll be fine. The meds we have you on for pain can cause serious respiratory depression combined with the Chamalla in your system, so we've got you on the monitors. Oh, and that tube goes into your bladder because we're giving you diuretics just to be on the safe side. No bathroom privileges for a while.” Roslin's eyes widened and she shifted her legs, but he rushed on without her. “We've got you on TPN-that's the yellow stuff and the white stuff-” he pointed to her IV pole, “because you are probably too nauseated to eat anything. Brains do not do well without glucose and we need to correct your electrolyte imbalances. If all goes well, you can probably come off the drugs tomorrow morning and leave in the afternoon. Enjoy your vacation.”
“Thsssmmph.”
“Don't keep her up,” the president heard him say as he slid out of her view to be replaced by another familiar figure.
“How you feelin'?”
“I'v-bin-wrs.” Roslin picked up a feather from her bed and reveled in its softness. She drew its blade across her finger admiring its beauty.
Adama faltered in the process of positioning his chair next to her bed to give her a quizzical look. She took his small frown to mean she had drool on her face. The shoulder of her hospital gown made a convenient place to wipe it off. The admiral settled himself on the chair and he looked her in the eye before he offered his hand. She accepted his warm tether of skin. A sigh tumbled out of her and she lifted her eyebrows. Like a floating kite, she rocked on the wind. Her eyes lost focus. The president forgot about the bag of urine hanging off the bed.
“Glad yer here,” she mumbled.
“I overheard Cottle, Laura.” Even though Roslin felt foggier than Virgon's Hidden Coast, his reproach came through clearly. She met his gaze to find it conveyed concern along with his admonishment. “Low blood sugar. Colonial One does have enough algae rations. How can I help you?”
“Ya could've air-locked 'im for me.” Roslin brandished the feather at him and decided to take advantage of her medicinal excuse to tell Adama exactly what she thought of his recent behavior, slurred or not.
“There's always tomorrow.”
“Quit procrastinating.” Some of the feathers on the bed floated to the floor when she shifted her legs. Roslin exhaled and began to drift. She heard babbling coming from the general direction of her mouth, “The wind is so beautiful, blue and white. Feel it? I know it. It has a current. If I let go of you, I will blow away.” Her eyes rolled wantonly about and instead of the admiral, Roslin saw a sky, blue and white, far above an immense ocean. “I'm flying!”
“Laura-?”
She cut off his dubious question as she ran over the top of him, “Fly with me, I have wings enough for both of us. There,” she gestured with their hands in the direction of the landmass below her, “that will be our home. It's summer and the fields are gold. You will have to see them for me.” Roslin laughed in delight as the wind caressed her feathers, she had feathers. A wing beat later, the shining, bluish-green, glass city appeared from behind a cloud. She vanished into darkness.
With a gasp the president opened her eyes and stared into the incredulous face of the admiral. The wind was gone. “What'd I say?”
“I am not really sure, but I think you were hallucinating.”
“These are some drugs, you should try.”
A real chuckle from the admiral, “I should let you rest.” He squeezed her hand, “I'll come by in the morning and, if you're feeling up to it, fill you in.”
There were no feathers anywhere.
Hope's Edge
By: Little Bird
Disclaimer: I do not own that which does not belong to me, obviously. I'm just having fun, making no money. Please don't sue.
Scene 2
The dry movement of air over her acid-singed throat dragged Roslin to consciousness. Thunder murmured in her ears and her head hurt; someone had stuffed it full of feathers. Medical grade laundry detergent from the sheets around her joined the thundering feathers in her mind. Roslin could not reconcile this. After her eyes pried themselves open, they jerked sideways involuntarily and smeared her vision at first.
A crusty blink later, Roslin discovered she had a body and that it was intimately involved in her current predicament. The familiar monitor leads tugged slightly when she moved and the slimy, sticky, gel-like adhesive cooled her skin where it stuck. She found both hands inhibited. A glowing piece of plastic clamped its jaws around a finger on her right hand and the harsh, tape-covered IV buried itself into her left. From all of this, a thought solidified amid the discourteously loud feathers: Last time this happened, I woke up part Cylon.
Grey and blue feathers swirled around the monitor. Some accumulated on top of it while Roslin watched her vital statistics march across the black screen in sharp complexes. A slow sine wave which corresponded to her breathing undulated beneath her heart beats. The changing numbers and moving colors absorbed Roslin's attention for several minutes and the feathers piled up on the bed around her. Drool hit the pillow before the president slurped.
“Ah, you're awake.” Cottle appeared beside her; his words came slowly into her mind and she tried to focus on him. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Ssss. D'nno.” That slurring fizzle impersonated her voice.
“That's what I thought. I know the Diloxin causes nausea, but your 'lytes and glucose were indicative of more than just a few hour's neglect. You passed out from low blood sugar and earned a nice concussion for your trouble. Eh, the scan showed a minuscule bleed, but it was so small that it barely earned the name contusion. I scanned again an hour ago and it hadn't changed so you'll have a nasty headache for a while, but you'll be fine. The meds we have you on for pain can cause serious respiratory depression combined with the Chamalla in your system, so we've got you on the monitors. Oh, and that tube goes into your bladder because we're giving you diuretics just to be on the safe side. No bathroom privileges for a while.” Roslin's eyes widened and she shifted her legs, but he rushed on without her. “We've got you on TPN-that's the yellow stuff and the white stuff-” he pointed to her IV pole, “because you are probably too nauseated to eat anything. Brains do not do well without glucose and we need to correct your electrolyte imbalances. If all goes well, you can probably come off the drugs tomorrow morning and leave in the afternoon. Enjoy your vacation.”
“Thsssmmph.”
“Don't keep her up,” the president heard him say as he slid out of her view to be replaced by another familiar figure.
“How you feelin'?”
“I'v-bin-wrs.” Roslin picked up a feather from her bed and reveled in its softness. She drew its blade across her finger admiring its beauty.
Adama faltered in the process of positioning his chair next to her bed to give her a quizzical look. She took his small frown to mean she had drool on her face. The shoulder of her hospital gown made a convenient place to wipe it off. The admiral settled himself on the chair and he looked her in the eye before he offered his hand. She accepted his warm tether of skin. A sigh tumbled out of her and she lifted her eyebrows. Like a floating kite, she rocked on the wind. Her eyes lost focus. The president forgot about the bag of urine hanging off the bed.
“Glad yer here,” she mumbled.
“I overheard Cottle, Laura.” Even though Roslin felt foggier than Virgon's Hidden Coast, his reproach came through clearly. She met his gaze to find it conveyed concern along with his admonishment. “Low blood sugar. Colonial One does have enough algae rations. How can I help you?”
“Ya could've air-locked 'im for me.” Roslin brandished the feather at him and decided to take advantage of her medicinal excuse to tell Adama exactly what she thought of his recent behavior, slurred or not.
“There's always tomorrow.”
“Quit procrastinating.” Some of the feathers on the bed floated to the floor when she shifted her legs. Roslin exhaled and began to drift. She heard babbling coming from the general direction of her mouth, “The wind is so beautiful, blue and white. Feel it? I know it. It has a current. If I let go of you, I will blow away.” Her eyes rolled wantonly about and instead of the admiral, Roslin saw a sky, blue and white, far above an immense ocean. “I'm flying!”
“Laura-?”
She cut off his dubious question as she ran over the top of him, “Fly with me, I have wings enough for both of us. There,” she gestured with their hands in the direction of the landmass below her, “that will be our home. It's summer and the fields are gold. You will have to see them for me.” Roslin laughed in delight as the wind caressed her feathers, she had feathers. A wing beat later, the shining, bluish-green, glass city appeared from behind a cloud. She vanished into darkness.
With a gasp the president opened her eyes and stared into the incredulous face of the admiral. The wind was gone. “What'd I say?”
“I am not really sure, but I think you were hallucinating.”
“These are some drugs, you should try.”
A real chuckle from the admiral, “I should let you rest.” He squeezed her hand, “I'll come by in the morning and, if you're feeling up to it, fill you in.”
There were no feathers anywhere.