The Quiet Moments (BSG)
Title: The Quiet Moments
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Roslin/Cottle
Written for flamingo55, who wanted Roslin/Cottle - her self-confessed Wrong!TP. This is my first foray into that sandbox, and really my first try at anything longer than drabble-length for BSG. I really enjoyed writing this; thank YOU for giving me the opportunity and the prompt. I hope you enjoy!
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It’s in the quiet moments that you realize that somehow, against all odds and logic, you have found a measure of peace. It shouldn’t be possible, amidst Cylon occupations and insurgent actions and every other manner of heartbreak this planet has wrought. And yet, it exists, and you find yourself reaping the benefits more and more as the occupation drags from days to weeks and then into months. This is a kind of peace you’re not sure you’ve ever known before.
It’s in the way he starts heating water in the morning, when you’ve elected to stay the night at his tent. His mind is already in the medical tent, trying to predict the problems this day will throw at him, but he never fails to make sure you have your first cup of hot tea. Most mornings you can’t even thank him for his thoughtfulness; any attempts at doing so, he’ll simply wave off, or mutter some doctorly wisdom about the health benefits of tea, or perhaps the perils of the cold walk to school. As if you didn’t already know these things.
It’s in the way he always looks so genuinely touched when he returns at the end of a long day to find you’ve made dinner. It’s all too often not as substantial as either of you would like, and the taste is certainly nothing to write home about. Regardless, he never has a bad word to say about anything you put together. He knows the options have become rather limited, and it’s clear that he simply appreciates that you care enough to even make the effort. It’s the least you can do for one who does so much - both for you and for the community.
It’s in the way he obligingly visits the school tent every so often to help teach the older kids basic lessons in first aid or anatomy. He’s the only truly qualified human doctor on New Caprica, and you know his schedule is far from lenient enough for him to take that kind of time out. But you also know, despite his grumbling and feigned impatience, he truly enjoys these afternoons with the children. And, of course, with you. There’s a lightness in his eyes at the end of each lesson that has become all too rare, and you’re proud to have had a hand in bringing it back. Even if it is temporary.
It’s in the way he often draws you just a touch closer when you’re walking through the settlement. Sometimes, it’s in response to a shiver; sometimes, it’s to provide stability when you lose footing in the muddy streets; most times, he simply wants to be that much closer to you, and far be it from you to deny such a simple pleasure. Truth be told, you enjoy the weight of his arm around your shoulders, like an anchor keeping you secure in a world gone mad.
It’s in the way he seems to instinctively search you out in the crowds that inevitably gather near the medical tent after any insurgent attack, worried eyes scanning to make sure you haven’t suffered any obvious injuries. He is only vaguely aware that you’re involved in the resistance, and he certainly doesn’t know to what extent. It’s a tacit understanding that it’s best he not know too many details about anything that’s going to happen. Even so, he can’t help being on edge until he can verify for himself that you’ve made it through. Ever since you first realized this, you’ve made a point of stopping by long enough to calm his nerves. It seems you’re even better for that than cigarettes, lately.
It’s in the way he gently cleans and bandages your wounds when you do finally find yourself on the harsh end of a Cylon interrogation. You’re lucky, and you both know this; you don’t suffer any permanent disfigurement, as Saul and so many others have. But broken fingers are sure to make teaching more difficult, and the deep lacerations on your arms, while superficial, are a clear warning to the rest of the populace. You find most are rather emboldened by what was done to you; he is the only one who takes the message to heart. It’s a heart that can’t handle that kind of fear again, he whispers when you return. You wish you could tell him it won’t have to, but you’ve never been one for empty promises.
It’s in the way he doesn’t need words to communicate with you, nor you with him. One smile, and he knows you had a breakthrough with one of the kids at school today; one sigh, and you know he lost a patient he’d worked so hard to save. And after these realizations, words are once again not needed to share either joy or comfort - sometimes both. Gentle hands and soft mouths take care of this, and you can both rest easier that night.
It’s in the way he somehow understands that this - whatever this may be - is perhaps a transient thing; that if and when Galactica rescues humanity, everything may change once again, and that this - beautiful and peaceful as it is - may be one of the things you must leave behind. This understanding doesn’t change the way things are now, though. You still find solace and peace with him, as you can only hope he finds with you. This is comfort, a light in the middle of the darkness, a way of grasping at hope from beneath the bell jar that descended with the Cylons. And sometimes, you muse as you settle back into his arms... sometimes, that is enough.
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Roslin/Cottle
Written for flamingo55, who wanted Roslin/Cottle - her self-confessed Wrong!TP. This is my first foray into that sandbox, and really my first try at anything longer than drabble-length for BSG. I really enjoyed writing this; thank YOU for giving me the opportunity and the prompt. I hope you enjoy!
-------------------
It’s in the quiet moments that you realize that somehow, against all odds and logic, you have found a measure of peace. It shouldn’t be possible, amidst Cylon occupations and insurgent actions and every other manner of heartbreak this planet has wrought. And yet, it exists, and you find yourself reaping the benefits more and more as the occupation drags from days to weeks and then into months. This is a kind of peace you’re not sure you’ve ever known before.
It’s in the way he starts heating water in the morning, when you’ve elected to stay the night at his tent. His mind is already in the medical tent, trying to predict the problems this day will throw at him, but he never fails to make sure you have your first cup of hot tea. Most mornings you can’t even thank him for his thoughtfulness; any attempts at doing so, he’ll simply wave off, or mutter some doctorly wisdom about the health benefits of tea, or perhaps the perils of the cold walk to school. As if you didn’t already know these things.
It’s in the way he always looks so genuinely touched when he returns at the end of a long day to find you’ve made dinner. It’s all too often not as substantial as either of you would like, and the taste is certainly nothing to write home about. Regardless, he never has a bad word to say about anything you put together. He knows the options have become rather limited, and it’s clear that he simply appreciates that you care enough to even make the effort. It’s the least you can do for one who does so much - both for you and for the community.
It’s in the way he obligingly visits the school tent every so often to help teach the older kids basic lessons in first aid or anatomy. He’s the only truly qualified human doctor on New Caprica, and you know his schedule is far from lenient enough for him to take that kind of time out. But you also know, despite his grumbling and feigned impatience, he truly enjoys these afternoons with the children. And, of course, with you. There’s a lightness in his eyes at the end of each lesson that has become all too rare, and you’re proud to have had a hand in bringing it back. Even if it is temporary.
It’s in the way he often draws you just a touch closer when you’re walking through the settlement. Sometimes, it’s in response to a shiver; sometimes, it’s to provide stability when you lose footing in the muddy streets; most times, he simply wants to be that much closer to you, and far be it from you to deny such a simple pleasure. Truth be told, you enjoy the weight of his arm around your shoulders, like an anchor keeping you secure in a world gone mad.
It’s in the way he seems to instinctively search you out in the crowds that inevitably gather near the medical tent after any insurgent attack, worried eyes scanning to make sure you haven’t suffered any obvious injuries. He is only vaguely aware that you’re involved in the resistance, and he certainly doesn’t know to what extent. It’s a tacit understanding that it’s best he not know too many details about anything that’s going to happen. Even so, he can’t help being on edge until he can verify for himself that you’ve made it through. Ever since you first realized this, you’ve made a point of stopping by long enough to calm his nerves. It seems you’re even better for that than cigarettes, lately.
It’s in the way he gently cleans and bandages your wounds when you do finally find yourself on the harsh end of a Cylon interrogation. You’re lucky, and you both know this; you don’t suffer any permanent disfigurement, as Saul and so many others have. But broken fingers are sure to make teaching more difficult, and the deep lacerations on your arms, while superficial, are a clear warning to the rest of the populace. You find most are rather emboldened by what was done to you; he is the only one who takes the message to heart. It’s a heart that can’t handle that kind of fear again, he whispers when you return. You wish you could tell him it won’t have to, but you’ve never been one for empty promises.
It’s in the way he doesn’t need words to communicate with you, nor you with him. One smile, and he knows you had a breakthrough with one of the kids at school today; one sigh, and you know he lost a patient he’d worked so hard to save. And after these realizations, words are once again not needed to share either joy or comfort - sometimes both. Gentle hands and soft mouths take care of this, and you can both rest easier that night.
It’s in the way he somehow understands that this - whatever this may be - is perhaps a transient thing; that if and when Galactica rescues humanity, everything may change once again, and that this - beautiful and peaceful as it is - may be one of the things you must leave behind. This understanding doesn’t change the way things are now, though. You still find solace and peace with him, as you can only hope he finds with you. This is comfort, a light in the middle of the darkness, a way of grasping at hope from beneath the bell jar that descended with the Cylons. And sometimes, you muse as you settle back into his arms... sometimes, that is enough.