TM 188 - Two Letters
Jul. 26th, 2007 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow_of_apollo188 - Write two letters: One to someone you hurt and the other to someone who hurt you.
Dear Laura,
Madame President,
I cannot begin to apologize for what happened in court during the trial of Gaius Baltar.
While I realize that I could hide very effectively behind my role as a defense attorney and as counsel for the accused, or even behind a desire to make the truth be known to public record, I don't want to stand behind a screen like that and allow you to believe that I have no remorse for what I've done.
I have always considered you to be a friend, Madame President, a sentiment that goes back all the way to our first meeting aboard the newly-christened Colonial One. And yes, I do remember "Captain Apollo". I remember that very, very well. In months when I needed very much to have a place in the world for myself that was not connected to my father, my role as "Captain Apollo", your military liaison, was that.
And as I watched the relationship between yourself and my father move from contention to respect, and then to a rapportand then to much more, don't think you're kidding any of us, I was very happy. You are one of the finest human beings I have ever met, and I believe the Fleet is more than fortunate to have you in charge.
When the moment came for your cross-examination during Baltar's trial, I volunteered to question you for the defense. Partly, as I'm sure you surmise, because I had been the one to suspect and then confirm the chamalla extract you were using in your tea. Mostly, though, I knew what was coming, and perhaps I felt that the great respect I had for you demanded that I stand face to face with you, look you in the eye and, as it were, pull the trigger.
The next moment, when you revealed the recurrence of your cancer, I want you to know that I would gladly have pulled a real trigger on myself.
I don't expect you to forgive what I did, Madame, President, but I hope you understand now just how greatly I regret it. I hope we can be friends someday again.
Regards,
Lee Adama
----------
Dear Mom,
I know you're dead and you'll never read this, but writing this letter isn't really meant to do you good so much as it's meant to do me good. Recently, I lost my best friend and one of the defining relationships of her life was the terrible one she had with her mother. So before I get too cynical about our relationship to remember anything but the bad things and before I get so far removed that I don't remember anything about it at all, I needed to get these things out.
Zak and I, we always heard you yelling. At first, it was you and Dad, shouting at each other over the dining room table or in the living room when we'd gone upstairs to bed and were supposed to be sleeping. Even if we had been, how could we ever have stayed that way with you two bellowing back and forth about who and what was more important than anything else, and how much time one of you spent and where you spent it.
For all that fighting and shouting, you two never really did learn how to talk, did you?
Later on, after Dad left us, you were still doing it, screaming at nothing and no one, or screaming at yourself when you thought no one was around. Your shouting was harsher, and a lot less coherent, but then again, I guess we know now that it was the ambrosia making it that way. I'm not totally sure, though, even now, what it was you were so angry at all the time.
Was it Dad? Was it Zak and me, for being his sons? Or maybe you were screaming at yourself, because you could feel things getting worse and worse in that house.
I get it, Mom. You got blindsided by everything that happened with Dad. The way he describes it, you two were it as soon as the second you met. All of a sudden, there were functions and parties, press meetings and conferences. Hell, I bet there were even parades.
But I think you knew, deep down, that it was a mistake. Bill Adama couldn't set down roots in one place any more than he could be Father of the Year. Not back then. And it wasn't any more than you could get the same award for motherhood. You wanted to get ahead and be the Admiral's Wife one day.
You don't know, but we heard. Zak and I heard.
And for the longest time, we paid for it by staying with you and not really meeting Dad until I was much, much older and it was too late for Zak.
I've gotten to know Dad pretty well these days, Mom. I wish you had loved him more.
Your son,
Lee
(831)
Madame President,
I cannot begin to apologize for what happened in court during the trial of Gaius Baltar.
While I realize that I could hide very effectively behind my role as a defense attorney and as counsel for the accused, or even behind a desire to make the truth be known to public record, I don't want to stand behind a screen like that and allow you to believe that I have no remorse for what I've done.
I have always considered you to be a friend, Madame President, a sentiment that goes back all the way to our first meeting aboard the newly-christened Colonial One. And yes, I do remember "Captain Apollo". I remember that very, very well. In months when I needed very much to have a place in the world for myself that was not connected to my father, my role as "Captain Apollo", your military liaison, was that.
And as I watched the relationship between yourself and my father move from contention to respect, and then to a rapport
When the moment came for your cross-examination during Baltar's trial, I volunteered to question you for the defense. Partly, as I'm sure you surmise, because I had been the one to suspect and then confirm the chamalla extract you were using in your tea. Mostly, though, I knew what was coming, and perhaps I felt that the great respect I had for you demanded that I stand face to face with you, look you in the eye and, as it were, pull the trigger.
The next moment, when you revealed the recurrence of your cancer, I want you to know that I would gladly have pulled a real trigger on myself.
I don't expect you to forgive what I did, Madame, President, but I hope you understand now just how greatly I regret it. I hope we can be friends someday again.
Regards,
Lee Adama
----------
Dear Mom,
I know you're dead and you'll never read this, but writing this letter isn't really meant to do you good so much as it's meant to do me good. Recently, I lost my best friend and one of the defining relationships of her life was the terrible one she had with her mother. So before I get too cynical about our relationship to remember anything but the bad things and before I get so far removed that I don't remember anything about it at all, I needed to get these things out.
Zak and I, we always heard you yelling. At first, it was you and Dad, shouting at each other over the dining room table or in the living room when we'd gone upstairs to bed and were supposed to be sleeping. Even if we had been, how could we ever have stayed that way with you two bellowing back and forth about who and what was more important than anything else, and how much time one of you spent and where you spent it.
For all that fighting and shouting, you two never really did learn how to talk, did you?
Later on, after Dad left us, you were still doing it, screaming at nothing and no one, or screaming at yourself when you thought no one was around. Your shouting was harsher, and a lot less coherent, but then again, I guess we know now that it was the ambrosia making it that way. I'm not totally sure, though, even now, what it was you were so angry at all the time.
Was it Dad? Was it Zak and me, for being his sons? Or maybe you were screaming at yourself, because you could feel things getting worse and worse in that house.
I get it, Mom. You got blindsided by everything that happened with Dad. The way he describes it, you two were it as soon as the second you met. All of a sudden, there were functions and parties, press meetings and conferences. Hell, I bet there were even parades.
But I think you knew, deep down, that it was a mistake. Bill Adama couldn't set down roots in one place any more than he could be Father of the Year. Not back then. And it wasn't any more than you could get the same award for motherhood. You wanted to get ahead and be the Admiral's Wife one day.
You don't know, but we heard. Zak and I heard.
And for the longest time, we paid for it by staying with you and not really meeting Dad until I was much, much older and it was too late for Zak.
I've gotten to know Dad pretty well these days, Mom. I wish you had loved him more.
Your son,
Lee
(831)
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Date: 2007-07-27 01:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-27 08:14 pm (UTC)