Two Roads Diverged : Chapter 4
Title: Two Roads Diverged (4/10)
Author: icedteainthebag
Word Count: 34,420
Rating: MA
Pairings: John Cavil/Ellen Tigh, Ellen Tigh/Saul Tigh, Laura Roslin/Bill Adama
Warnings: Dubcon
Summary: Sometimes we make mistakes when we think we're doing the right thing.
Notes: See Chapter One, thank you to my frakking awesome betas. I owe you all drinks.
Artist: MrsDrJackson
Link to Art: banner can be found here.
x x x x
Ellen left the schoolhouse tent in a fury. She hadn't meant to walk in on Laura and berate her about Bill's lack of responsibility for the Fleet, but it had spilled out of her, tinged with the frustration over not knowing where the frak Saul was, if he was alive at all.
She'd seen Laura's tears and felt a pang of guilt. Laura was missing Bill, just like she was missing Saul. She had to be hurting. They both were, especially now.
Ellen walked toward her tent, then paused at the beginning of the long path that ran through the middle of the city. Every "road" in this city consisted entirely of dirt, which usually meant it consisted entirely of mud.
She looked to the detention center, a solid cement building in the distance. Even from afar it was intimidating, maybe because it was the only building in New Caprica City that was actually ever built.
She'd never felt more alone as she turned and began to tread the path, muck sticking to her boots.
Ellen held her breath as she approached the detention center gate. She hated Centurions, always had. When she was young she would watch them march around, that dull, artificial red blip of light shifting back and forth across their so-called faces.
She hated the way they sounded, the way they looked, the way they moved.
There were two that guarded the detention center constantly. She walked right up to them, her heartbeat racing, and looked upward. They towered over her and she took a steady breath, holding it in her chest until it burned.
She let it all out in one big rush of air. "Hi." She smiled at them.
Like it matters.
"I believe my husband, Saul Tigh, is detained here, and I'm sure that it was a mistake and that there are no reasons whatsoever for him to be in there. I'd like to see about getting him out. Who do I need to talk to?"
She knew they couldn't talk back, but at least an acknowledgement of her request would have done nicely. They stood motionless, except for those godsdamned red blips. Side, to side, to side. It was the most unsettling part of them, that constant motion that meant some part of them, deep inside, was alive.
"I'm not leaving," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm not leaving until I get to talk to someone about how to get Saul out of here."
She stood in front of them, waiting.
After several minutes of silence, she closed her eyes, turned around, and walked away.
She did this every morning for three straight days, staring at them, interrogating them. She watched the red blips go back and forth.
"I know you understand what I'm saying," she snapped on the third day. "I know he's in there, and I want to talk to whoever the frak's in charge around here so I can get him the frak out. I'll do anything it takes. I just want him out."
They stood motionless. She clenched the fabric of her pants in her fists, angry as hell.
"Go ahead and relay that message," she said, trying her best to sound defiant. "I'll be back tomorrow for my husband."
x x x x
The fourth day Ellen arrived at the front of the detention center, there was a man dressed in black waiting for her at the door. She recognized him as one of the skinjobs, and her heartbeat raced as he stood still in front of her. She wished she could look into eyes.
"You're here for Colonel Tigh." It was a statement, not a question, but there was something in his voice that made her feel uneasy.
"Yes," she said, straightening her shoulders.
"I'm Brother Cavil," he said. He extended his hand and she stared at it for a moment before accepting it. She was disturbed by how warm his palm felt as he shook her hand.
There’s nothing human about you.
"Come in," he said, stepping to the side and motioning to the door.
She looked at him, unmoving. She didn't want him to be able to tell whether or not she was afraid. She didn't want to be afraid of him, not of any of them.
Do this. Do this for him.
"Oh, what," he scoffed. "We don't want you. It's common courtesy to do business inside, not among"-he gave a wave of his arm-"the riffraff out here."
"I want my husband."
"I didn't think you were coming over for dinner." He motioned again toward the door. "Come on."
She felt a lump in her throat and took a deep breath to clear it, then walked past the Cylon's outstretched hand.
The door slammed shut behind them heavily and it rattled her even more. She took a sharp breath as the Cylon strode beside her, folding his sunglasses and tucking them into his pocket.
The hallway was dark and remarkably silent. The high ceiling made it seem cavernous and even more daunting as she walked alongside him. They obviously weren't in the holding area of the center-she didn't hear any signs of life. She'd expected screams and moans and felt thankful that, though unsettling, it was at least quiet.
He cast a glance at her and she could feel his eyes wander down her body. She felt goose bumps rise on her bare legs, her dress cut to a length just over her knee. She stood up a little straighter and ran her hand through her hair, pushing it behind her shoulder to expose her neck to him.
Can't hurt.
He stopped next to a metal door, then pulled out a key and jiggled it in the lock. "Frakkin' keys. I hate them. So antiquated. We're in the process of installing biometric identification systems."
"Fascinating," she said, a hint of sarcasm weaving through her voice.
He popped open the door. "Ladies first," he said, pushing it open.
Ellen cautiously looked inside. It appeared to be an apartment, a modestly appointed studio, with a couch and a desk and a kitchenette. She walked in, wringing her hands in front of her.
She heard the Cylon shut the door and she turned to face him, tucking her arms around her body. "Let's talk about my husband."
It was all she could muster, but she was shocked at how confident she sounded while she could feel herself shaking.
"Please, sit. I insist," he said curtly, motioning to the couch.
She smiled, feeling entirely insincere and hoping he couldn't see it in her eyes. She toed off her boots and walked barefooted over to the couch. Sitting down, her skirt slipped up a few inches, exposing more of her thigh. She let it.
Might help.
She fingered the hem of her dress-it was fraying, and she didn't know how to sew.
The Cylon sat down next to her, too close. She took a deep, even breath as she faced him.
"So," she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. She crossed her legs and noticed his eyes drawn to them, if only for a second.
Whatever it takes. You can give him a little show.
"Colonel Tigh is fine," he said. "He's been enjoying his accommodations as much as one could expect. Seems to hate sleeping on the concrete. Complains too loudly when he's getting…talked to by the guards. Gets really pissed when you tease him about there being poison in his rations. But these are typical inmate behaviors to be expected. We've done our research. Soon he'll start sympathizing with his captors. Maybe we'll even form a special kind of bond."
Ellen tried to contain her anger and disgust, smiling empathetically. "He's harmless, really. Unless you provoke him."
"It's intriguing, what people will do when provoked," the Cylon said, his voice reverting to a murmur. She kept staring into his eyes even as she felt her stomach twist. "Like form insurgencies. Create alliances. Blow shit up."
She lost her breath for a moment. "I don't know anything about that," she said, tilting her chin upward. "Neither does Saul."
The Cylon hummed, nodding his head.
"So you want him released?"
She felt the stinging threat of tears, but she kept smiling.
Keep smiling.
"Very much so."
The Cylon looked thoughtful as his eyes wandered over her body for what seemed like the tenth time. "Are you willing to make an exchange?" he asked, arching his eyebrow.
Ellen felt queasy at the tone of his voice. "Like…information? I…I don't know anything right now, but…"
His warm palm settled on her bare knee.
"You're beautiful," he said. "You're perfection, you know."
His fingers slid under the frayed hem of her dress.
She drew a breath through her gritted teeth and stared at the outline of his hand underneath the fabric.
"Am I?" she asked softly.
Did I ever tell you how glad I am I married you?
The Cylon leaned in, his palm flat against her bare upper thigh. His fingers nudged her legs apart and she uncrossed them. She refused to look down, instead focusing on his eyes. She felt a lump in her throat.
Not once.
"You are," he said. He leaned in and she could feel his hot breath across her neck. "So beautiful, Ellen."
I'll save it for a special occasion.
Ellen gasped, a gut reaction, as the Cylon's fingers brushed over the damp fabric between her thighs. She blushed furiously at what he'd found. It wasn't for him. None of it was for him.
His fingers stroked over her, pressing harder, and a pant escaped her lips before she regained her composure. "I want him out," she managed, swallowing hard.
His fingers nudged under the fabric and she bit her tongue, rage welling inside her.
Stay calm. You can do this.
"You'll get what you want."
His teeth grazed her jaw.
Do this for him.
"Call me John."
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
Author: icedteainthebag
Word Count: 34,420
Rating: MA
Pairings: John Cavil/Ellen Tigh, Ellen Tigh/Saul Tigh, Laura Roslin/Bill Adama
Warnings: Dubcon
Summary: Sometimes we make mistakes when we think we're doing the right thing.
Notes: See Chapter One, thank you to my frakking awesome betas. I owe you all drinks.
Artist: MrsDrJackson
Link to Art: banner can be found here.
x x x x
Ellen left the schoolhouse tent in a fury. She hadn't meant to walk in on Laura and berate her about Bill's lack of responsibility for the Fleet, but it had spilled out of her, tinged with the frustration over not knowing where the frak Saul was, if he was alive at all.
She'd seen Laura's tears and felt a pang of guilt. Laura was missing Bill, just like she was missing Saul. She had to be hurting. They both were, especially now.
Ellen walked toward her tent, then paused at the beginning of the long path that ran through the middle of the city. Every "road" in this city consisted entirely of dirt, which usually meant it consisted entirely of mud.
She looked to the detention center, a solid cement building in the distance. Even from afar it was intimidating, maybe because it was the only building in New Caprica City that was actually ever built.
She'd never felt more alone as she turned and began to tread the path, muck sticking to her boots.
Ellen held her breath as she approached the detention center gate. She hated Centurions, always had. When she was young she would watch them march around, that dull, artificial red blip of light shifting back and forth across their so-called faces.
She hated the way they sounded, the way they looked, the way they moved.
There were two that guarded the detention center constantly. She walked right up to them, her heartbeat racing, and looked upward. They towered over her and she took a steady breath, holding it in her chest until it burned.
She let it all out in one big rush of air. "Hi." She smiled at them.
Like it matters.
"I believe my husband, Saul Tigh, is detained here, and I'm sure that it was a mistake and that there are no reasons whatsoever for him to be in there. I'd like to see about getting him out. Who do I need to talk to?"
She knew they couldn't talk back, but at least an acknowledgement of her request would have done nicely. They stood motionless, except for those godsdamned red blips. Side, to side, to side. It was the most unsettling part of them, that constant motion that meant some part of them, deep inside, was alive.
"I'm not leaving," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm not leaving until I get to talk to someone about how to get Saul out of here."
She stood in front of them, waiting.
After several minutes of silence, she closed her eyes, turned around, and walked away.
She did this every morning for three straight days, staring at them, interrogating them. She watched the red blips go back and forth.
"I know you understand what I'm saying," she snapped on the third day. "I know he's in there, and I want to talk to whoever the frak's in charge around here so I can get him the frak out. I'll do anything it takes. I just want him out."
They stood motionless. She clenched the fabric of her pants in her fists, angry as hell.
"Go ahead and relay that message," she said, trying her best to sound defiant. "I'll be back tomorrow for my husband."
x x x x
The fourth day Ellen arrived at the front of the detention center, there was a man dressed in black waiting for her at the door. She recognized him as one of the skinjobs, and her heartbeat raced as he stood still in front of her. She wished she could look into eyes.
"You're here for Colonel Tigh." It was a statement, not a question, but there was something in his voice that made her feel uneasy.
"Yes," she said, straightening her shoulders.
"I'm Brother Cavil," he said. He extended his hand and she stared at it for a moment before accepting it. She was disturbed by how warm his palm felt as he shook her hand.
There’s nothing human about you.
"Come in," he said, stepping to the side and motioning to the door.
She looked at him, unmoving. She didn't want him to be able to tell whether or not she was afraid. She didn't want to be afraid of him, not of any of them.
Do this. Do this for him.
"Oh, what," he scoffed. "We don't want you. It's common courtesy to do business inside, not among"-he gave a wave of his arm-"the riffraff out here."
"I want my husband."
"I didn't think you were coming over for dinner." He motioned again toward the door. "Come on."
She felt a lump in her throat and took a deep breath to clear it, then walked past the Cylon's outstretched hand.
The door slammed shut behind them heavily and it rattled her even more. She took a sharp breath as the Cylon strode beside her, folding his sunglasses and tucking them into his pocket.
The hallway was dark and remarkably silent. The high ceiling made it seem cavernous and even more daunting as she walked alongside him. They obviously weren't in the holding area of the center-she didn't hear any signs of life. She'd expected screams and moans and felt thankful that, though unsettling, it was at least quiet.
He cast a glance at her and she could feel his eyes wander down her body. She felt goose bumps rise on her bare legs, her dress cut to a length just over her knee. She stood up a little straighter and ran her hand through her hair, pushing it behind her shoulder to expose her neck to him.
Can't hurt.
He stopped next to a metal door, then pulled out a key and jiggled it in the lock. "Frakkin' keys. I hate them. So antiquated. We're in the process of installing biometric identification systems."
"Fascinating," she said, a hint of sarcasm weaving through her voice.
He popped open the door. "Ladies first," he said, pushing it open.
Ellen cautiously looked inside. It appeared to be an apartment, a modestly appointed studio, with a couch and a desk and a kitchenette. She walked in, wringing her hands in front of her.
She heard the Cylon shut the door and she turned to face him, tucking her arms around her body. "Let's talk about my husband."
It was all she could muster, but she was shocked at how confident she sounded while she could feel herself shaking.
"Please, sit. I insist," he said curtly, motioning to the couch.
She smiled, feeling entirely insincere and hoping he couldn't see it in her eyes. She toed off her boots and walked barefooted over to the couch. Sitting down, her skirt slipped up a few inches, exposing more of her thigh. She let it.
Might help.
She fingered the hem of her dress-it was fraying, and she didn't know how to sew.
The Cylon sat down next to her, too close. She took a deep, even breath as she faced him.
"So," she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. She crossed her legs and noticed his eyes drawn to them, if only for a second.
Whatever it takes. You can give him a little show.
"Colonel Tigh is fine," he said. "He's been enjoying his accommodations as much as one could expect. Seems to hate sleeping on the concrete. Complains too loudly when he's getting…talked to by the guards. Gets really pissed when you tease him about there being poison in his rations. But these are typical inmate behaviors to be expected. We've done our research. Soon he'll start sympathizing with his captors. Maybe we'll even form a special kind of bond."
Ellen tried to contain her anger and disgust, smiling empathetically. "He's harmless, really. Unless you provoke him."
"It's intriguing, what people will do when provoked," the Cylon said, his voice reverting to a murmur. She kept staring into his eyes even as she felt her stomach twist. "Like form insurgencies. Create alliances. Blow shit up."
She lost her breath for a moment. "I don't know anything about that," she said, tilting her chin upward. "Neither does Saul."
The Cylon hummed, nodding his head.
"So you want him released?"
She felt the stinging threat of tears, but she kept smiling.
Keep smiling.
"Very much so."
The Cylon looked thoughtful as his eyes wandered over her body for what seemed like the tenth time. "Are you willing to make an exchange?" he asked, arching his eyebrow.
Ellen felt queasy at the tone of his voice. "Like…information? I…I don't know anything right now, but…"
His warm palm settled on her bare knee.
"You're beautiful," he said. "You're perfection, you know."
His fingers slid under the frayed hem of her dress.
She drew a breath through her gritted teeth and stared at the outline of his hand underneath the fabric.
"Am I?" she asked softly.
Did I ever tell you how glad I am I married you?
The Cylon leaned in, his palm flat against her bare upper thigh. His fingers nudged her legs apart and she uncrossed them. She refused to look down, instead focusing on his eyes. She felt a lump in her throat.
Not once.
"You are," he said. He leaned in and she could feel his hot breath across her neck. "So beautiful, Ellen."
I'll save it for a special occasion.
Ellen gasped, a gut reaction, as the Cylon's fingers brushed over the damp fabric between her thighs. She blushed furiously at what he'd found. It wasn't for him. None of it was for him.
His fingers stroked over her, pressing harder, and a pant escaped her lips before she regained her composure. "I want him out," she managed, swallowing hard.
His fingers nudged under the fabric and she bit her tongue, rage welling inside her.
Stay calm. You can do this.
"You'll get what you want."
His teeth grazed her jaw.
Do this for him.
"Call me John."
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10