They also serve who only stand and wait
For ar_drabbles challenge #70: withdrawal, written with shaking hands and hope that LJ is completely back.
Cottle had told him it was "a moment of euphoria," but he knew it for what it was: withdrawal.
Laura was an old hand at withdrawal. At the start of their journey, coming to terms with all the things and people she'd lost in the Fall while he was finally becoming the man he'd prepared his whole life to be. In the brig while he lay unconscious, both of them at the brink of death, both unaware of the world around them, but only her suffering his fault. On New Caprica, powerless, watching her people lose ground, lose time, lose faith.
He knew the price of withdrawal. But it also had rewards -- withdrawing after the Fall had saved all their lives, withdrawing from a lie had saved Laura's soul. Maybe this withdrawal would save something, too. He couldn't stop her anyway once she'd made up her mind.
All he could do was appeal to her delusions, to her destiny and her gods, to her love of a people who didn't love her back. He could appeal to their love, but he knew any argument he made would be rejected; better to let destiny, gods, and people be rejected than to face that risk alone.
Or he could wait.
She would come to him, sooner or later, if only to see why he hadn’t come to her, whether he, too, was abandoning the leader who neither died nor lead them to salvation. She might withdraw from power, from life, from hope, but she would never suffer herself withdrawal from him.
He could wait and worry. Something would happen. Something always did, a call of salvation at the last possible minute. The only way he could lose her would be to fight for her.
All he had to do was wait.
Cottle had told him it was "a moment of euphoria," but he knew it for what it was: withdrawal.
Laura was an old hand at withdrawal. At the start of their journey, coming to terms with all the things and people she'd lost in the Fall while he was finally becoming the man he'd prepared his whole life to be. In the brig while he lay unconscious, both of them at the brink of death, both unaware of the world around them, but only her suffering his fault. On New Caprica, powerless, watching her people lose ground, lose time, lose faith.
He knew the price of withdrawal. But it also had rewards -- withdrawing after the Fall had saved all their lives, withdrawing from a lie had saved Laura's soul. Maybe this withdrawal would save something, too. He couldn't stop her anyway once she'd made up her mind.
All he could do was appeal to her delusions, to her destiny and her gods, to her love of a people who didn't love her back. He could appeal to their love, but he knew any argument he made would be rejected; better to let destiny, gods, and people be rejected than to face that risk alone.
Or he could wait.
She would come to him, sooner or later, if only to see why he hadn’t come to her, whether he, too, was abandoning the leader who neither died nor lead them to salvation. She might withdraw from power, from life, from hope, but she would never suffer herself withdrawal from him.
He could wait and worry. Something would happen. Something always did, a call of salvation at the last possible minute. The only way he could lose her would be to fight for her.
All he had to do was wait.