arrow_of_apollo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
arrow_of_apollo) wrote2009-04-15 10:29 am
arrow_of_apollo) wrote2009-04-15 10:29 am
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theatrical_muse] 278 - What are you wearing?
278 - What are you wearing?
A uniform. And trust me, I'm as surprised as anyone else to be wearing it again, but the face in the mirror is mine, and once upon a time, so was the uniform. Now, it's mine again, even if it's just for a little while.
When I volunteered for this mad, desperate rescue mission, I had no idea why, at least at first. I just knew that after looking up at Dad, standing on those stairs and listening to him speak, there was no way that I could have forgiven or lived with myself for standing on the wrong side of that line on the deck. No way.
It was a selfish decision, I've got no illusions about that. President Roslin was essentially on her deathbed, and the day-to-day business of governing the fleet had been my responsibility for some time. There were tens of thousands of people that needed good, fair and experienced leadership, and by all rights, that should have been me. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't be responsible this time. I couldn't keep my promise to Laura. I had to do what was right, not what was smart.
As soon as we knew who would be staying aboard Galactica and who would be coming with her on her last mission, the command structure fell into place out of habit, as if we had never taken a break. Admiral Adama and Colonel Tigh at the top, Helo at CAG. They needed someone between to see to the logistics and organization and to command the ground forces.
It was Kara's idea to dress. She's actually standing outside the hatch to my quarters, waiting for me to come out because we've got a briefing in five minutes with the other officers. I received Racetrack and Skulls' report on the Cylon Colony ten minutes ago, and just glancing at the stack of photos on the table makes my stomach lurch for a moment before I'm turning back to the mirror.
"Don't do it because it's expected, because it's a military operation," Kara had told me. "Do it because it's still a part of who you are. Because it always will be." I can't remember her ever being this... clear. No, that's not right. She was like this just before she died. It's a calm of knowing her purpose, and I could feel it infecting me.
So I put it on. It still fit, but that wasn't a surprise, since I was never going to let myself get soft again, civilian life or not. But it felt familiar. More than that, it felt right. Sure, my hair wasn't reg anymore, but nothing to do about that.
When I open the hatch, recon report under my arm, back as straight as a boot camp plebe, Kara grins at me, putting her hands on my shoulders.
"Welcome home, Apollo."
She's right. This is home. I'm still glad I had the courage to leave, but I'm also glad I came back.
It still fits.
(501)
A uniform. And trust me, I'm as surprised as anyone else to be wearing it again, but the face in the mirror is mine, and once upon a time, so was the uniform. Now, it's mine again, even if it's just for a little while.
When I volunteered for this mad, desperate rescue mission, I had no idea why, at least at first. I just knew that after looking up at Dad, standing on those stairs and listening to him speak, there was no way that I could have forgiven or lived with myself for standing on the wrong side of that line on the deck. No way.
It was a selfish decision, I've got no illusions about that. President Roslin was essentially on her deathbed, and the day-to-day business of governing the fleet had been my responsibility for some time. There were tens of thousands of people that needed good, fair and experienced leadership, and by all rights, that should have been me. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't be responsible this time. I couldn't keep my promise to Laura. I had to do what was right, not what was smart.
As soon as we knew who would be staying aboard Galactica and who would be coming with her on her last mission, the command structure fell into place out of habit, as if we had never taken a break. Admiral Adama and Colonel Tigh at the top, Helo at CAG. They needed someone between to see to the logistics and organization and to command the ground forces.
It was Kara's idea to dress. She's actually standing outside the hatch to my quarters, waiting for me to come out because we've got a briefing in five minutes with the other officers. I received Racetrack and Skulls' report on the Cylon Colony ten minutes ago, and just glancing at the stack of photos on the table makes my stomach lurch for a moment before I'm turning back to the mirror.
"Don't do it because it's expected, because it's a military operation," Kara had told me. "Do it because it's still a part of who you are. Because it always will be." I can't remember her ever being this... clear. No, that's not right. She was like this just before she died. It's a calm of knowing her purpose, and I could feel it infecting me.
So I put it on. It still fit, but that wasn't a surprise, since I was never going to let myself get soft again, civilian life or not. But it felt familiar. More than that, it felt right. Sure, my hair wasn't reg anymore, but nothing to do about that.
When I open the hatch, recon report under my arm, back as straight as a boot camp plebe, Kara grins at me, putting her hands on my shoulders.
"Welcome home, Apollo."
She's right. This is home. I'm still glad I had the courage to leave, but I'm also glad I came back.
It still fits.
(501)
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OOC