Adama_Roslin MoL Entry: Faith
Title: Losing Religion, Gaining Faith
Spoilers: Sometimes a Great Notion
MoL Prompt: Faith
Words: 504
Disclaimers: Obviously not mine. But it’s a great thought.
A/N: Sorry that it’s a little late in the day, and I’m know that it’s no longer the 10th on some parts of the planet, but it’s here.
Her faith was shattered. There, lying on the Battlestar floor in a million tiny little invisible pieces, was the only thing that had kept her going in between all the death and killing and fear and confusion.
The Prophets, the prophecy, the words all meant nothing now with the reality of a dead and useless ball of irradiated dirt below the ship. Four years of enduring pain and suffering because she thought that she could lead them to Earth and a new beginning.
It was strange to think that even having accomplished the first and possibly harder of those two tasks that she felt absolutely nothing inside of herself any longer. As if the cancer had eaten out a larger part of her insides than just her breast; it had left a gaping hole in her soul.
And as Bill left her sitting over the burning pages of the Prophecy, she felt like curling up in a ball and waiting for her cancer to finish eating her up.
If the belief that she was the dying leader no longer had any foundation, then what was left of her life could be lived for herself. She pursed her lips and rolled onto her back. Looking up at the nondescript ceiling of the bunk - something that she’d seen more of in the past few weeks than she wanted to admit - she thought about the solidity and reality of the man who’d given her this space.
Even before the Admiral had been the Admiral; before he’d been shot or even before he had had her arrested, there was a strength in him that she’d read as understanding of her and her dreams. He was the silent support that had held her up through occupation, desertion and desperation. He may not have believed himself, but he knew that the fleet’s safety and future were her highest priorities.
And he was still there for her; knowing everything about her and keeping her focused and safe.
Some smoke from the burning book wafted into her, catching in her nose and throat and sending her into a rack of coughing. One hand braced her against the floor and the other to her throat, holding, hoping that it wouldn’t keep going until she gagged. She didn’t have the strength to stop herself.
She woke up later in his bunk. Blinking blearily, she looked over to his carpet and saw that he’d cleaned up the ashes of the book, leaving nothing to mark the end of her faith in herself. For all the tears she had shed and all the beliefs that she had last, she felt oddly refreshed.
She’d told him to leave her alone; to leave her to face everything alone. She had thought he had left, but he had still been there for her. He had always been the one to start to pick up the pieces. Maybe a faith in the Prophecies wasn’t what she needed.
Maybe it was faith in something else.
Maybe it was faith in him.
Spoilers: Sometimes a Great Notion
MoL Prompt: Faith
Words: 504
Disclaimers: Obviously not mine. But it’s a great thought.
A/N: Sorry that it’s a little late in the day, and I’m know that it’s no longer the 10th on some parts of the planet, but it’s here.
Her faith was shattered. There, lying on the Battlestar floor in a million tiny little invisible pieces, was the only thing that had kept her going in between all the death and killing and fear and confusion.
The Prophets, the prophecy, the words all meant nothing now with the reality of a dead and useless ball of irradiated dirt below the ship. Four years of enduring pain and suffering because she thought that she could lead them to Earth and a new beginning.
It was strange to think that even having accomplished the first and possibly harder of those two tasks that she felt absolutely nothing inside of herself any longer. As if the cancer had eaten out a larger part of her insides than just her breast; it had left a gaping hole in her soul.
And as Bill left her sitting over the burning pages of the Prophecy, she felt like curling up in a ball and waiting for her cancer to finish eating her up.
If the belief that she was the dying leader no longer had any foundation, then what was left of her life could be lived for herself. She pursed her lips and rolled onto her back. Looking up at the nondescript ceiling of the bunk - something that she’d seen more of in the past few weeks than she wanted to admit - she thought about the solidity and reality of the man who’d given her this space.
Even before the Admiral had been the Admiral; before he’d been shot or even before he had had her arrested, there was a strength in him that she’d read as understanding of her and her dreams. He was the silent support that had held her up through occupation, desertion and desperation. He may not have believed himself, but he knew that the fleet’s safety and future were her highest priorities.
And he was still there for her; knowing everything about her and keeping her focused and safe.
Some smoke from the burning book wafted into her, catching in her nose and throat and sending her into a rack of coughing. One hand braced her against the floor and the other to her throat, holding, hoping that it wouldn’t keep going until she gagged. She didn’t have the strength to stop herself.
She woke up later in his bunk. Blinking blearily, she looked over to his carpet and saw that he’d cleaned up the ashes of the book, leaving nothing to mark the end of her faith in herself. For all the tears she had shed and all the beliefs that she had last, she felt oddly refreshed.
She’d told him to leave her alone; to leave her to face everything alone. She had thought he had left, but he had still been there for her. He had always been the one to start to pick up the pieces. Maybe a faith in the Prophecies wasn’t what she needed.
Maybe it was faith in something else.
Maybe it was faith in him.