Title: All God’s Creatures
Author’s Email: email@example.com
Pairing: Laura Roslin/Six
Summary: You see the face of God.
Spoilers (if any): up to and including “Lay Your Burdens Down, Part II”
Author's Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica, Laura Roslin and Six are not my creations. They are the property of Ron Moore, David Eick, R&D Productions and NBC/Universal.
Disclaimer: "Battlestar Galactica," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Ron Moore, David Eick, SciFi, R&D TV, Sky TV, and USA Cable Entertainment LLC. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Battlestar Galactica," SciFi, or any representatives of the actors whose characters are involved.
Author’s Notes: There’s no way to make this pairing fluffy. Thanks to pocketwitch for the beta.
You walk down one of the dirt paths that pass for roads in the human settlement. The wind picks up, you pull your jacket closer and walk a little faster. You know it is dangerous for a single Cylon to be walking alone through the humans’ tents, yet your model has always been attracted to them.****
You hear muffled cursing and pause, looking around warily. A group of three humans are coming towards you. One male, two females – two of them leaning on the dark, black-haired female. As they come closer, you see that the other two had been drinking. While the alcohol might make them bold, you know that their reaction time will be slowed. It will be easy to defend yourself.
You recognize the male. Samuel T. Anders, who killed you once on Caprica with an improvised bomb. But Caprica Six has told you that we are to live in peace with the humans, and you tramp down your impulse to kill him in return. You try to remember that as God’s child you have the gift of resurrection; he as a human gets only one life. You still do not know who the dark-haired woman is. You gasp as you recognize the other woman. It’s Laura Roslin, the former president, the woman who sends Cylons out the airlock without a thought.
Excitement and fear send shivers down your spine. You are strangely drawn toward the trio, even though you know you should stay away and return to your own people. As you come closer, you attract their attention.
You see anger and grief gather across Anders’ face. “Frakking Toaster!” he screams. “Where’s Kara? What have you done with her?”
The dark-haired female pulls him back, yelling, “Sam, no!” You know where this Kara is. Leoben has taken her. You frown. You do not approve of what he has done, but he tells you it is God’s will. Who are you to question His will?
While the other female is distracted with Anders, Roslin comes towards you. She spits on your feet. “Baltar’s whore!” she yells. You know it is the alcohol that allows her to do this. D’Anna told you of her consummate professionalism. You wonder what has driven her towards alcohol. Was it merely because your people had arrived or was it something deeper? “Tell Gaius Baltar that he is a traitor and a coward and that I will not rest until I see him dead!”
You remain silent. You are not Caprica; you do not love the human man. You wonder if Roslin could throw him out an airlock. Looking at her face, you decide that she could.
The dark-haired woman looks at Roslin, horrified. She rushes towards her, takes her arm and pulls her away from you. Her eyes plead with you not to hurt Roslin, as she whispers, “Come with me, Madam President.”
Madam President, you note. Roslin could still be dangerous.
“Tory,” Roslin hisses. “He was with that thing on Caprica. He allowed the destruction of the human race once and now he’s doing it again.”
“Yes,” the woman you now know as Tory replies. “But getting yourself killed doesn’t help anyone.”
Roslin looks at Tory and her shoulders slump. You wonder if the unflappable Roslin will cry in front of you. However, you see her back straighten. She lightly touches the other woman’s arm. “Let’s get Sam and get out of here. I have to teach tomorrow.”
Tory sighs, relieved. The two women turn toward where Anders is now seated, whispering his grief over Kara. They gather him up and walk past you.
Humans have always intrigued your model. This encounter makes you want to learn more about Laura Roslin. After all, she’s a threat to your people. But you know it is something more that draws you to her.
You spend the next few days gathering information about Laura Roslin. You observe her with her school children whenever they leave the sanctuary of the school tent. You watch her as she laughs and plays a game with the children that involves one person chasing the others until they touch one. This side of her is so different than the killer who Leoben and the Cavils told you about and the professional politician that D’Anna spoke of.
When it is your turn to patrol the marketplace, you listen to the conversation of those around you. Mostly there is grumbling about Baltar and fears about what your people will do to them. Every once in awhile, they speak of Roslin. They call her the President and sometimes they whisper that she is the Prophet.
You wonder how the humans with their false gods could have a prophet. You wonder if God works sometimes through unbelievers or if Roslin manipulated her false religion for political gain. Perhaps the woman herself does not even know.
However, if the humans still see her as both a political and religious leader, you know that she could be very dangerous. Yet you do not tell your people. You continue to gather information. You’ll tell them when you know more.****
A few days later, you find her in the river, washing her clothing. The humans have not figured out how to provide themselves with running water and any attempt by your people to help has been met with violence. You are cold in your jacket. She stands in the water, barefoot, pants rolled up past her knees, her shirtsleeves past her elbows. Her heavy coat lies abandoned on the shore as she scrubs a heavy sweater with some of the soap that is becoming a rarer and rarer commodity.
You are drawn towards her. “Hello, Laura Roslin.”
Startled, she drops the sweater and looks at you. You are used to seeing three emotions when humans look at you: fear, hatred and lust. It disgusts you sometimes, that they could lust after something that destroyed their race, but you know that is a weakness your model can exploit. However, Laura Roslin displays no emotion as she examines you. The consummate politician, you remember.
“Shouldn’t you be with Baltar?” she asks.
You shake your head. “That’s not me. That another one of us.” Instinctively, you know not to tell this woman that Caprica is a war hero or that Caprica is named after the planet she destroyed.
“What do you want?” Roslin asks, as she returns to her washing.
You yourself do not know, as you watch the motion of her arms. You ask the first question that comes to you. “Do you know the other humans call you ‘President Roslin’?”
She shrugs, setting the soap on the shore and moving to wash the soap out of the sweater. “I’m no longer their president. They elected Gaius Baltar. I’m a school teacher”
“Yet the people –“
“Are nostalgic and forget their decision of a year ago.” Was that a trace of bitterness you heard in her voice? She lays the sweater on the rock and looks directly at you. “I have no desire to be president.”
You are impressed by her ability to lie to your face. But then you remember she is human and deceit comes to her naturally. “Even to save your people?” you ask.
She looks away, grabbing a shirt from the pile of clothes, but not before you notice her sorrow. “A president can’t save us now,” she whispers. “Only the Gods can.”
Her blasphemy reminds you of another question. “Why do the people call you a prophet?”
She dunks the shirt in the water and reaches for the soap. “Because I proclaimed myself one.”
The movement of her hands mesmerizes you as she scrubs the shirt. “Why?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I need to assess whether it is safe for us to leave you free. False prophets are commanded by God to be put to death.”
She snorts. You are surprised by her making such an inelegant sound. “Your one, true god,” she says, placing the soap on the bank again. “The god that gave machines souls.”
You skin prickles with her heresy but you move closer to her, seating yourself on the bank of the river. “I have a soul, Laura Roslin, even if you don’t believe it. God loves all His creatures, even His flawed creations.”
She wrings water from the shirt. You wonder if she wishes that she could do that to your neck. “Oh, yes. The god that loved humanity so much that he ordered you to destroy all human life. That’s some love he’s shown us.”
“Sometimes, when His creatures do not listen to Him and love Him, He must punish them. But He does love you. He’s allowed humanity to survive and now it is His will that human and Cylon peacefully live together.”
She throws the shirt on the rocks. “Peacefully
live together!” she yells. “You’ve killed us, you’ve chased us and now you imprison us!” She grabs a pair of socks and the soap. “Your god has a strange way of showing love.”
You bristle. “Your gods seemed perfectly happy with allowing humanity to enslave us. Don’t speak to me about mercy.”
You and she stare at each other for a long time. Finally, you break the silence. “Why are you called a prophet?"
She returns to her washing, setting the soap down. “The model that calls herself Sharon Valerii once told me that the Cylons knew our Scriptures better than we humans did. Why do you think they call me a prophet?”
You think over all that you know about this woman: former Secretary of Education turned President, cold-blooded killer of Cylons, diagnosed with fatal breast cancer yet miraculously healed for unknown reasons. You stop. Cancer. “Pythia,” you whisper. “You believed yourself to be the Dying Leader that would lead humanity to Earth.”
She nods. “Impressive – got it in one.”
“But you lived. How?”
She sets the socks to dry on the rocks, grabbing another bulky sweater. “I guess god loves me.”
You miss her sarcasm and hand her the soap. “Truly, God loves you, Laura Roslin and has spared your life.”
You do not know that this is true. Yet you want it to be. You want this woman to be touched by God, to become His messenger to His unbelieving creatures. It would explain why you are drawn to her.
Who are you to question God’s will?
You step into the water and shiver as the cold soaks into your feet and legs. You walk towards her, and when you reach her, you take the soap from her hands. With a trembling hand, you cup her chin and pull her face upwards gently. God has created you for seduction, so that is what you do.
For the first time, you see one of the familiar human reactions towards your model. It is hidden behind surprise and confusion, but it is there. Lust. You grin. “You are one of God’s beloved children, Laura,” you say. You lower your face towards hers, lips touching hers. “You are alive,” you whisper and kiss her.
She responds to your kiss. Normally, you would be calculating your next move but you are overwhelmed by the sense of this woman. She places one hand on your hip as the other slides up your torso and cups your breast. You moan against her mouth.
You open your eyes.
You see the face of God.
You know madness.
For in an instant, she pushes you off balance and you fall into the river. Immediately, she’s on top of you, holding your head in the water.
“Did you really think I would believe that crap about your god and your soul? Did you really think you could seduce me? I am not Gaius Baltar!” she yells, the sound muted by the water around you and the lack of oxygen.
You know you should be able to throw this woman off of you easily. But you know her secret and for that you will die. God has decreed it.
“Frakking toaster!” are the last words you hear.****
You scream as the pain of resurrection fills every single nerve your new body possesses. As the pain subsides, you turn your head towards the hand that is caressing your face.
“We know Laura Roslin has done this to you. We’ve brought her into detention.”
“Don’t – don’t kill her.”
Caprica looks at you startled. “Why?”
“You’ll create a martyr for the humans; they see her as a prophet. Besides, it is God’s will that she lives.”
Caprica knows you are lying. She remains silent. She keeps your secrets; you keep hers.
“But she’ll have to suffer some punishment.”
“Have her tortured. But that is all. God punishes but spares those He loves.”
Caprica stands up, reaching out her hand to help you lever yourself out of the pool.
As you stand up, you close your eyes.
You see the face of God.