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theatrical_muse] 287 - Prison
Jun. 17th, 2009 10:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow_of_apollo287 - Prison
They won't let me wash the blood off my hands.
All right, they're not going to let me go to godsdamn sickbay so I can be there with my father while he's fighting for his frakking life. Tigh's being an ass and trying to be a commanding officer, and I should expect that from him. All right, they're going to throw me in hack, probably for the little time left on my misbegotten military career. I was expecting that after what I did for President Roslin.
But I've got my frakking father's blood on my hands. Frak, my arms are red almost to the godsdamn elbows and they still won't frakking let me wash it off!
It's not like I haven't seen the inside of a brig before. You're not friends with Kara Thrace and not occasionally get a remind what it's like behind bars. But it's different. Everything's smaller. Colder. Closer in. Somewhere on this tin can, my father is taking what might be his last breaths through lungs that might be shredded by some frakking toaster's bullets, and I can't even be there to watch him die.
President Roslin in the cell next door keeps wondering out loud how the Old Man is doing. She's worried, I can see it. More than that, I can hear it in her voice and I don't think I've ever heard Laura Roslin this shaken up.
And wouldn't you frakking know it, she can't stop staring at my hands.
Neither can I.
It's dry now, red turned almost black, flaking off at the edges. I have my father's blood on my hands, and all I'm thinking about are the things I can't tell him. I can't tell him how sorry I am that I had to disobey Tigh's orders, but that I'm not sorry I did. I can't tell him how much I've come to understand and appreciate the man he is and the person he was, and how grateful I am for the things that I think he was starting to understand about me.
I can't tell him I'd never leave, either.
Sitting down on the hard steel bench, I don't know what's going to happen next. All I can guess is that it's going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better.
(386)
They won't let me wash the blood off my hands.
All right, they're not going to let me go to godsdamn sickbay so I can be there with my father while he's fighting for his frakking life. Tigh's being an ass and trying to be a commanding officer, and I should expect that from him. All right, they're going to throw me in hack, probably for the little time left on my misbegotten military career. I was expecting that after what I did for President Roslin.
But I've got my frakking father's blood on my hands. Frak, my arms are red almost to the godsdamn elbows and they still won't frakking let me wash it off!
It's not like I haven't seen the inside of a brig before. You're not friends with Kara Thrace and not occasionally get a remind what it's like behind bars. But it's different. Everything's smaller. Colder. Closer in. Somewhere on this tin can, my father is taking what might be his last breaths through lungs that might be shredded by some frakking toaster's bullets, and I can't even be there to watch him die.
President Roslin in the cell next door keeps wondering out loud how the Old Man is doing. She's worried, I can see it. More than that, I can hear it in her voice and I don't think I've ever heard Laura Roslin this shaken up.
And wouldn't you frakking know it, she can't stop staring at my hands.
Neither can I.
It's dry now, red turned almost black, flaking off at the edges. I have my father's blood on my hands, and all I'm thinking about are the things I can't tell him. I can't tell him how sorry I am that I had to disobey Tigh's orders, but that I'm not sorry I did. I can't tell him how much I've come to understand and appreciate the man he is and the person he was, and how grateful I am for the things that I think he was starting to understand about me.
I can't tell him I'd never leave, either.
Sitting down on the hard steel bench, I don't know what's going to happen next. All I can guess is that it's going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better.
(386)
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Date: 2009-06-17 07:29 pm (UTC)I'm so sorry, Sir.
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Date: 2009-06-18 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-19 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-27 02:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-28 06:41 am (UTC)