Title: There Will Be Time
Disclaimer: I don't own Laura, sadly. Not that anyone could own her anyway; she's pretty resilient.
A/N: This is Laura's thoughts during the early days after the attacks.
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the
faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder
And time for all the works and
days of hands
That lift and drop a question
on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred
And for a hundred visions and
- “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot
Laura Roslin’s post attacks life was something she still wasn’t used to. Even though she was always a very busy woman, particularly in the years since she entered politics, she always had weekends and evenings to look forward to. Time she’d spend at home, probably working, but she also was able to read or sip wine, have a pleasant meal. All of that was gone now.
Laura’s life revolved around her role as president. It took up all of her time, snuffing out Laura almost entirely. Her new life reminded her of a T.S. Eliot poem she’d read in school. She hadn’t read it in years; she didn’t particularly care for it at the time, but now it was ticking through her head incessantly. This fact didn’t please her, but there was nothing left but to accept it.
This was her life now. The good news was it wouldn’t last long. She’d be dead in a matter of months, and someone else--probably Commander Adama--would be left with the mess. In the meantime, she’d be the President. There was always time to be the President. She’d find time to prepare her mask to meet the people; she’d murder and create, make decisions, face indecisions, have her visions, and make constant revisions. There would be time for all of that. But for Laura, there would be no time.