Major "Doc" Cottle

In media res

2009-03-02T03:39:54Z

WARNING: contains SPOILERS for Battlestar Galactica episode "The Oath."

0936

Cottle strode over to the phone on the bulkhead. He grabbed it and punched in a number.

“CIC,” an unfamiliar voice answered.

“Who the frak are you?” Cottle growled. “Where’s Gaeta?”

“Spesh … Specialist Gates,” the voice stammered. “Gaeta’s busy.”

“Well, Specialist, get the Admiral on the horn. I’ve got a situation down here.”

“The Admiral is unavailable. Don’t call back.”

The line clicked off.

0857

Jack first realized something was wrong when he heard a noise from his childhood. He was at his desk, making notes on the night shift report. At the sound he laid his pen in the center of his desk and closed his eyes to listen more carefully.

There. Pinging. Like corn in a hot kettle.

A memory flashed across closed eyelids. A young man on another battlestar.

Bullets.

Cottle opened his eyes and reached into his bottom desk drawer. He drew out a black box and removed his service revolver from it. He stood slipping the weapon into his waistband, where the folds of his white coat would hide it. He checked to be sure the safety was on. No sense in shooting something off.

He headed out of his office and across the compartment to Sickbay’s main hatch. His steps faltered. Why the frak are the Marines inside? He hurried on toward them.

Ishay intercepted him just short of his goal. “Doc, I’ve got a patient you need to see.” She laid a hand on his arm, and pulled as he tried to move away.

Jack stabbed the young medic with a glare. He pulled his arm free. The crackle of gunfire flared at the edges of his hearing.

Ishay’s eyes flicked to Sickbay’s hatch. “You really need to see this patient. Now, sir.” She met his stare.

You heard it too.

0938

Cottle placed the phone in its cradle and rounded on Ishay. She returned his glare calmly. His eyes narrowed, then widened. You know exactly what is going on. “Gods Ishay, what have you done?”

She lifted her chin and held his eyes.

Jack sighed and dropped his gaze to the deck. Gritting his teeth he glared at her again. “No one with a weapon gets in without my say-so. And we take care of anyone who’s bleeding. No matter who or what they are.”

Ishay grinned. “Sure, Doc. Just like always.”

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 393

Lines in the sand, waiting in line, pickup lines ...

2009-01-04T02:03:21Z

Cleavage in the skin. Groove, sulcus, crease. Boundary.

Parallel.
Straight.
Curved. Curvilinear. Semicircular line of Douglas.

Relaxed.
Horizontal. Vertical, volar, dorsal.

Convex.
Concave.
Short.
Long.

Lines.

… of Tension.
Langer’s Lines.

Incisions.

Vertical. Transverse. Midline. Oblique. Semi-linear. Lazy S-curve.

Acute angle. Kocher's sub-costal.

Extensible.

Mayo-Robson
Rutherford-Morrison

Pararectus, paramedian, Pfannenstiel.
Lanz or Bikini.

Modification: Rooftop, Chevron, Mercedes Benz,

Bi-sub-costal, clamshell, hemi-clam shell,

Minimally invasive bridge technique.

Transverse Muscle dividing, Maylard muscle cutting -- McBurney’s Gridiron, Rockey-Davis, muscle splitting.

Flank – sub-costal -- transperitoneal -- retroperitoneal,

Mini-lap.

Keyhole/eyebrow/craniotomy. Zig-zag bicoronal/trans-septal/trans-sphenoidal/trepanation.

Intermastoid.

Abdominothoracic, Thoracoabdominal.

Axillary, Anterior, Mini, Posterolateral, Pancoast, Inlet

Thoracotomy.


	Cervic --
	Median Stern --
	Thoracostern --
	Mediastin --
	Lumb --

--otomy

Y.

V
Y
V-Y
W
H
Z
--plasty.
O to T
A to T
Triangle/pedicle/advancement/rotational/island.
Burow wedge.
Subcision.

Revision.

Hairline.
Jagged.
Crosshatched. Railroad tracks.

Dog-ear.

    
Atrophic
                 Depressed
                                       Webbed
                                                       Boxcar
                                                                        Pitted
                                                                                            Rolling
                                                                                                              Long
                                                                                                                           Pin cushioning 
                                                                                                              Wide 
                                                                                            Tramline 
                                                                       Trap-door 
                                                        Keloid
                                        Ice pick
                 Contracted
Elevated

Hypertrophic.

Scars.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS:163

The hardest thing in the world ...

2009-01-02T22:00:18Z

I don't understand:

Why a reasonably intelligent woman waits five years between breast exams,

Why it hurts when someone dies,

How two people so right for each other can be so blind,

That Love is deaf and dumb and stupid …

Why anyone would think compassion and sarcasm are mutually exclusive,

Why seeing Hera makes me feel so bad,

How they can say so much without words,

That at the end of everything some cannot let go of their petty prejudices and rivalries …

Why there are nights in space,

Why death and destruction brings out the heroic in some and the base in others,

How I can be so wrong,

That a man can go on – when everything he built his life on turns out to be a lie …

Why hurt has to come with any good,

Why smoking makes me feel so good when I know how bad it is,

How she does it,

That self-destruction is a viable life style …

Why seeing Athena makes my heart drop,

Why old memories hurt,

How a loaded weapon makes me feel safe,

That she can’t see what she’s doing to him,

Why someone dying still bothers me,

Why I miss you more every day,

How he does it,

That he can’t see what he’s doing to her,

Why Helo can get under my skin so easily,

Why some wounds never heal,

How I missed the signs and Cally died,

That the wounds you can’t see hurt more than any wound I’ve ever stitched,

How a machine becomes
a mother,
a wife,
a friend,
a warrior,
a colleague,

That some things never make sense,

Why I can’t let you go …

I don’t understand anything.

Anything at all.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 287

How would you go about scaring someone?

2008-11-30T06:14:30Z

Jack moved toward the door of the Surgical Suite. It was tucked into the rear of his and Meaghan’s cramped office on Drowned Horse Landing. Space came at a costly premium on the decrepit space station, and he and Meaghan treated everyone – knuckle dragger, flyboy, freight monkey, captain, crew, drunk, and sober – regardless of their ability to pay. Jack more so and much to Meaghan’s chagrin, as she kept the books and paid the bills; they often worked for free. So the Surgical Suite was claustrophobically small.

Meaghan stopped his progress toward the door with a gentle touch on his bicep. “Wash off the blood before you go out, Jack.” She smiled wearily.

He looked down at his hands and apron. The gore from the last few hours work slowly congealed on his gown, and had dripped and dried on his shoes and the legs of his surgical scrubs.

Oh, Meaghan. He stifled the urge to pull her into his arms. Just make a bigger mess. Jack settled for covering her small hand with his and leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I will, Ionúin.”

He washed and changed, and strode purposefully out to the waiting area – another nook in the small compartment. Anxious eyes greeted him. Hands reached to nearby ones and were tightly clasped. Lips thinned.

Jack tensed. “Operation’s over. She’s doing okay.” Jack laid a hand on the nearest shoulder. “You can see her in half an hour.”

“Will she be all right Doctor?”

How the hell should I know? I'm not psychic! Jack sighed. “We’ll have to wait and see, but so far, so good.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

How would you go about scaring someone?

By talking to them.

OCC Comment: Ionúin = Irish Gaelic for “beloved.”

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 282

What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done while sober?

2008-10-13T04:31:05Z

WARNING: contains SPOILERS for the Battlestar Galactica episode The Woman, King.

Glowering at Helo’s retreating form, Jack shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his white coat.

Godsdamn, idealistic … poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Doesn’t he know that’s why he’s in charge of Dogstown?

Jack sighed and picked up the chart Helo had been studying.

Autopsy report.

He tossed it back on his desk. Lighting a cigarette, he remained standing, inhaling calming smoke and staring at his desktop.

What if? Maybe.

Growling at his curiosity, and with a nagging discomfort lurking in the pit of his stomach, Jack strode across Sickbay, out the rear hatch, and down a short corridor into the Galactica’s morgue. He shed his coat and donned an apron and gloves. Jack made quick work of drawing the blood samples he needed from his most recent crop of corpses. After placing the bodies back in cold storage, he removed his apron and gloves, and returned to Sickbay with the test tubes safely tucked into the pockets of his white coat. He marched into the lab area and chased out the duty medic by snarling, “Get lost for an hour.”

Jack ran each sample carefully, and twice – to be sure there were no mistakes.

Godsdammit.

His face burned, and he knew his cheeks and ears were red.

Jack barreled out of Sickbay, and through the corridors of the Galactica. He skidded to a halt, breathless, at the hatch to Helo’s quarters. He pounded on it.

Athena opened the hatch. She stared wide-eyed at him.

“Where’s Helo?”

“Here.” She swung the hatch open and he stepped through. The interior lights were dimmed, as Hera slept in a nook to his left. Helo rose from his seat at the table in the center of the cabin, and moved quickly to stand beside his wife, between Jack and their sleeping offspring.

Jack met Helo’s eyes. “You were right. Call the Marines. I’ll go with you to Dogstown to confront Roberts.”

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 323

Would you make a good spy?

2008-09-28T17:16:54Z

WARNING: Contains a SPOILER for the Minseries of “Battlestar Galactica.”

“I can keep a secret. Can you?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cottle slowed as he approached the rear recess of the Galactica’s Sickbay. This was the quiet space. The place where the black tagged were placed. Out of the way.

To be comforted.

To quietly and comfortably breathe their last. Out of sight of those with a better chance. For morale purposes. But not out of mind.

Not forgotten.

He glided silently among the stretchers. The nearly still forms each received a glance; to ensure that pain was controlled, absent, that comfort was given, received, at an IV to be sure it still functioned, at a chest to assure it still rose and fell -- no matter how slowly, at eyes, glassy and unfocused, to ascertain they still saw. And if they did not, if the form was completely still, Cottle paused, made sure the soul had moved on to Elysium and pulled the standard issue grey wool blanket over the face after closing those eyes.

He made his rounds, as carefully here as in the rest of Sickbay. Perhaps more so. And more slowly.

Finished, Cottle turned from the nearly dead and made his way back to the center of Sickbay. He stood – as still as those he just left -- hands deep in the pockets of his white coat, craving a cigarette with the peace of nicotine, and watched his medics work.

“Where have you been?” Colonel Tigh shouted and thrust his face up to Cottle’s.

“Right here.” Cottle’s eyebrows rose. Tending the dead. “Dealing with this.” He waved a hand at the chaos flowing around them. Why are you here?

“The Old Man’s waiting for a casualty report.” Tigh took a step back and shook his head.

And so are you. Cottle nodded. You gave the order. “Let’s not keep the Commander waiting.”

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 304

First Memory

2008-08-31T17:42:45Z

Jack leaned away from his desk, his chair creaking as he pushed back and turned his gaze to the overhead.

Sickbay was still quiet, as it was not quite morning. Most of the day shift had not arrived and the night staff, their work completed, waited impatiently for their relief to appear.

Jack pulled cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. He lit one and blew a large cloud of grey smoke upwards. It hung over him, coiling slowly, not quite caught by the wheezing environmental systems of the aged battlestar. He stared up at the smoke, thoughts drifting with it.

His eyes slowly lost their focus, and saw …

Hazy light. Surroundings looming large.

Behind, dark straight sheer faceless cliffs rise to unseeable heights. Resolve to appear covered with regular shapes. Long thin green shapes nesting curving layers patterned large to small.

Leaves. Petals. Flowers. Roses. Wallpaper with a design of roses.

Ahead. Columns in sharp focus. Smooth and blonde. Close.

Bedrails.

Beyond. Far beyond – light twinkling, screen flickering. An island of bright floating in the dark.

Movement.

Dark shadow blocks the light. Moves closer. Bright tipped tentacles slide over columns. The shade shifts. Changes form. Grows smaller, larger. Closer. Enveloping.

Mother bending over to lift me from my crib.

Jack sat forward and placed both elbows on his desk. He snubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, and rested his chin on his steepled hands.

That was a long time ago.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 253

Write about a time that you were the bearer of bad news

2008-08-26T04:00:40Z

“Report to the Chief outside.” Jack waved the boy in front of his desk toward the hatch. “He'll take you below and process your release.”

“No.” The impossibly young man stood stiffly at attention. His eyes were fixed on the bulkhead behind Jack’s right shoulder. He shook his head. “No, sir. I joined up. I’m going to fly Vipers and kill toasters.”

Jack heaved a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. Why doesn’t anyone listen to me? “Recruit, you failed the physical. You aren’t qualified for Basic Flight Training.”

At Jack’s eye level, the man-child’s hands curled into tight fists. “No, sir.” He shook his head again. “That can’t be right. The recruiter promised … “

Frak this. Jack sprang out of his chair, knocking it clanging to the deck as he leaned over his desk. He brought his face level with and less than three inches from the recruit’s. “Listen up, frakhead!” he shouted. “Recruiters lie. Get your arse out of my office. Go be a ground pounder. Or a snipe. Or a console jockey. Even a knuckledragger. Anything. But, you sorry sack of shit, you aren’t ever going to be a pilot. You flunked the frakking physical.”

The kid took an involuntary step back. His lower lip trembled.

Gods, he’s going to cry. “Go. Now,” Jack roared.

The child ran, banging the hatch closed as he fled down the corridor.

Jack flopped into his chair, and dug a cigarette out of his pocket. After lighting one and taking several deep, calming drags, he signed the recruit’s file, making his findings official.

I hope he runs all the way home.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 273

Hair

2008-07-17T19:10:51Z

He had known from the moment they had met that he loved her. A glimpse of fiery curls flowing among rocks of brown in the river of students running out the classroom doors. A flicker behind library shelves. A crown of orange bent over a laboratory bench, scrunched over a microscope.

“Hey.” Sitting down next to her.

The flame bounces, flickers, and is replaced by cornflower blue – surprised and curious. “Hey.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

He had known from the moment he had seen her that he could love her. Auburn tresses spilling over the, as usual, inadequate pale gown. Running over shoulders, framing piercing gray eyes. Eyes that peered defiantly through dark rims. So different, yet so alike.

But he couldn’t.

She was “patient.”

He “doctor.”

And the memories of carrot frills and vacant blue eyes too new. The hurt, his wound, too raw.

He pulled the curtain aside. “Madame President.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

He had known from the moment she spoke that he would grow to love her. Nutty sugar sprinkled locks limp from days and nights sleeping – or not – upright. Wispy smoke strips escaping tightly coiled ropes. Drawing his eyes to a face that spoke of a life lived. Lively still under the harsh fluorescents of the ship. Golden russet orbs measuring. Meeting his. Mocking.

“See you later, Jack.”

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 220

What does respect mean to you?

2008-06-30T00:05:01Z

SPOILER WARNING:The following contains SPOILERS for the S4 episode “Revelations” of Battlestar Galactica

“Saul Tigh is a Cylon.”

Jack frowned and gazed around the Admiral’s quarters, taking in the destruction. “He attacked the Old Man?”

“No.” Lee shuffled his feet and put both hands in his pockets. “Tigh confessed. Told Dad he had been fooling him for months.” Lee’s head dropped and his eyes fixed on the deck. “Dad didn’t take it well.”

Jack grunted and scanned the cabin again. There were books and boxes, papers and chairs, and a liquor bottle littering the deck. “Where does your Dad keep his sidearm?”

“In the desk …” Lee gestured off to his right. “You don’t think …” His head snapped up and he stared wide-eyed at Jack.

“It’s been a long thirty years, but especially the last four. The divorce. Losing Zak. Not seeing you. The attack, running, getting shot. Kobol. Admiral Cain. New Caprica. Starbuck. Roslin. Her cancer.” Jack frowned. “And through all of that, your Dad had one person by his side. The only person he could always count on … Saul Tigh. Now he’s lost that too.” Jack groaned. “Gods, he must be going through hell.”

Lee’s hands clenched into fists beside his thighs and his back stiffened as he slowly drew himself to his full height. His face became a stony mask with his jaw clenched, his mouth set in a grim line and his blue eyes narrowed, changing from dark to cold blazing blue.

“I’ll take the weapon with me if I have to leave.”

“Good. I have work to do.” Lee turned and marched out of the Admiral’s quarters.

“You’re more like your Dad than you’ll ever know,” Jack murmured at Lee’s retreating back. He allowed a smile to creep across his mouth as he closed and locked the hatch. “Keep that up and you’ll make a fine President.”

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 300

Is there a situation where it's appropriate to be unkind?

2008-05-30T02:08:58Z

Lieutenant Jack Cottle put both hands on his hips and leaned back, easing tired stiff muscles. Fifteen hours. Thank the Gods for nicotine. He straightened as the medics laid another litter on the stands before him. “What’ve you got here?”

“We’ve caught up and re-triaged everybody.” He leaned closer to Jack and whispered. “He’s the only one in the dead pile that was still breathing, so we wanted to give him a shot.”

Jack frowned at the medic’s use of the term “dead pile,” but only nodded. He’s been through this a lot more than you Cottle. It may be his way if staying sane. Cottle waved the medic on his way and leaned over the litter.

A very pale baby faced Marine lay before Cottle. The man had large brown eyes that fixed themselves to Jack’s face. “Are you the Doc?”

“Yup.”

“Can you fix what’s wrong with me?”

Jack lifted the bloody woolen blanket. He gritted his teeth to keep from gasping. The Marine had been hit in the center of his body by something large, and traveling at high velocity. There was a huge gaping wound in his abdomen and Jack could see the litter the man was lying on through the hole.

“No.” Jack met the boy’s eyes. “No, son. I can’t.”

“Didn’t think so Doc.” A bloody hand grabbed Jack’s forearm. “Thanks.”

Jack looked at the hand on his arm, but said nothing. When he gazed back at the boy’s face, the brown eyes were staring ahead, sightless.

“You’re welcome.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Major Jack Cottle glanced up at Corporal Ishay. She had been hovering around his desk for nearly an hour. “Corporal. Sit.” He waved at a chair near the desk. “Out with it. What’s up?” He tossed his pen onto his pile of paperwork, and leaned back in his chair. He studied the young medic. Doctor soon. He hid his smile behind a cigarette. “Well?”

Layne shifted in her chair. “How do you do it, sir?”

Cottle tilted his head and blew a cloud of grey smoke. He raised an eyebrow.

“Tell people that they’re going to die.” She looked down at the deck, and crossed her arms, hugging herself.

“Straight out. Plain language. No sugar coating.”

“It seems so cruel.”

“No.” He took a long drag. “Trying to deceive them is cruel. Insulting. Disrespectful.”

They sat silently for a while. Cottle smoked his cigarette. Ishay stared at the deck.

“Does it ever get easier?”

“Nope.”

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 410

3AM

2008-05-02T21:05:54Z

3AM

A space linking damn late at night to godsdamn early in the morning.

Between.

I’ve seen plenty of those over the years. Sitting at a patient’s bedside. Standing beyond the clear curtains of Intensive Care. Wondering what I missed, what I did wrong, what I forgot. Asking what the hell had gone wrong, what the hell was happening.

Steeling myself against the inevitable.

You know, the most common time for a heart attack is in the early morning hours?

Because that’s when blood platelets are stickier …

0300

When it comes … break between patients, orders, operations. Peace in the midst of chaos.

Silence.

Wisdom stalks this pause and pounces on me unawares.

A sudden awareness of the almost end of something evolving into the near beginning of another.

Time to take a breath and see things interweaving among themselves. To stand beyond and look – dispassionately. To grow philosophical as events fall into place.

Oh - dark – hundred

Break for a cigarette and a cup of coffee.

I don’t miss the coffee anymore.

At least I still have the smokes.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 182

Without Words

2008-04-12T04:54:51Z

WARNING: SPOILERS for S2 episode "Flight of the Phoenix" and speculative spoilers for S3 and S4 of Battlestar Galactica.

"Do not the most moving moments of our lives find us without words?" -- Marcel Marceau.

He waited.

Jack had handed her the chart and she had opened it, spread the papers across the bed, and stared.

She looked up.

Jack tried to look sympathetic, and kind, but failed. It just wasn't in his nature, to be able to show those feelings on his face, in his eyes -- no matter how deeply he felt them. Disappointment. Sorrow. Derision. Those emotions were more his style, better suited to his crags and heavy features.

Her eyes grew wide and she fled. Not far, just beyond the heavy curtains. To silently pace and turn away. To slump. To bury her face in her hands. To stiffen, turn, and march back to stand before him.

"Will I be able to work?"

"Unless the cancer goes to your brain..." Jack hurried on, “That happens, you …”

Her eyes flew wide. She gasped, stepped back, and her eyes flashed a warning. She shook her head.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack had handed her the results and she had spread them across the bed. She stared.

Her small pale hand crawled across the blanket and was covered by a larger, darker, calloused one.

Two pairs of eyes looked up -- one the color of a summer rain, the other azure.

Jack met each pair in turn, not trying to give sympathy. He knew them well enough. Neither needed nor wanted it. In sympathy's place, he offered them determination.

Grey eyes flickered down in acquiescence. Blue orbs turned to her. Their gazes met and held, hands shifting to tightly entwine.

He waited.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 255

Mad

2008-04-01T05:17:55Z

Mad: enraged; greatly provoked or irritated; angry.

Jack stomped into his room and flung himself across his bed.

It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.

He flipped over.

“Frak!”

Mad: extremely foolish or unwise; imprudent; irrational.

Lieutenant Cottle took one step forward. “I’ll go, sir.”

Major Turcotte stared at him. “Cottle, you’ve been here a week. Are you that anxious to leave?”

“No, sir.” Jack stood even straighter and met the Major’s eyes. “My Da’s a Sergeant Major. I can handle Marines.”

“Okay, Cottle. It’s your funeral.”

Mad: wildly excited or confused; frantic.

Cottle hurried through the passageways of the small ship. Frak. He clambered up a ladder to the next deck. I turn my back for one second …

“Jack, Jack, where are you, Jack.”

He ran forward, following Meaghan’s singsong. He spotted her at the intersection of two corridors, turning slowly in a circle with her eyes closed.

“Jack, Jack, where are you, Jack.”

He skidded to a stop next to her. “Right here, Ionúin.”

Ionúin is Irish Gaelic for beloved.

Mad: overcome by desire, eagerness, enthusiasm; excessively or uncontrollably fond; infatuated.

He couldn’t get her out of his head. All during his rounds through the Fleet, he kept hearing her voice. Seeing her face in the crowd. Picturing her smile.

He thought of her and his lips curled up. So he kept a cigarette between his lips, to keep that curl from becoming a grin. He growled at his Raptor’s pilot, to keep from laughing when she invaded his mind.

He snapped at the civilians to hurry them along.

He couldn’t wait to see her again.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 271

Sleeping on the couch

2008-04-01T05:07:29Z

Jack flipped onto his stomach, pounded his pillow, and laid his head down. He raised his head again and scrunched the pillow under his chin. He closed his eyes. He sighed. Scant moments later, he flipped onto his back. He crooked his right arm over his eyes. He dozed for a moment, shifted onto his side, flung out his left arm and encountered … nothing.

His eyes popped pen and he frowned at the empty space and unmarred pillow next to him. Grumbling, he threw off his blankets, flipped out of bed and propelled himself across the small compartment into the head.

He ran the water cold and splashed it on his face. Looping the towel around his neck, he crossed into the adjoining compartment of the quarters he shared with Meaghan on Drowned Horse Landing. He stumbled over to the couch and stretched out upon it.

I hate it when she goes to visit her mother.

He stared, frowning at the overhead.

I hope she comes home soon.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 169

Headlines

2008-03-01T06:20:41Z

CYLON WAR OVER

Lieutenant Jack Cottle stared at the headline blazing from the front page of the Caprican Post. He leaned against his rack as the other junior officers slapped each other on the back, hugged and chattered, making their common quarters ring with sound.

I guess this makes it official.

There had been rumors for weeks of a truce with the Cylons. Jack had paid no attention to them, remaining busy in Sickbay dealing with the continuing carnage visited upon human by machine.

The rumors persisted. Jack began to wonder if there was any truth in them, when the time his battlestar spent at Condition One dropped precipitously and the flood of mangled, burnt, and dying slowed to a trickle.

It appeared the rumors were true.

He pushed away from his rack along the bulkhead, and sat on a bench at one of the tables that ran down the center of the compartment. He laid the newspaper on the table. Smoothing it flat with both hands, he traced a finger over the sub-headlines.

Armistice Signed

Line of Separation Established

The Fleet will need to patrol the Line.

Folding the paper under his arm, Jack slipped out of the still noisy bunkroom and headed down the corridor toward Sickbay.

There will be a drawdown. I might get a chance to go home.

The rhythm of his steps broke.

Home. I haven’t been home in …

He pictured his family’s home – standard military issue housing on a Marine base – with everyone laughing, fighting, arguing, crowded around the dinner table. The warm contentment that usually accompanied thoughts of home did not materialize. He stopped and laid a hand on the adjacent bulkhead. He felt the song of the battlestar, the music of the engines, the myriad electronic devices, Flight Deck operations, and even the footsteps of the crew.

Jack smiled, despite the cold creeping up his arm, and warmth diffused through his chest. The icy ball resting below his ribcage dissipated and he heaved a sigh – something that invariably accompanied this feeling of lightening.

I grew up on a battlestar.

He looked up and down the corridor, picking out the many familiar faces among the passing crew.

This is my family.

He sauntered on down the hallway. He dug a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag. Jack continued to smile around the butt of his smoke.

This is my home.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle 
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03 
WORDS: 407

From Admiral Adama ...

2008-02-12T21:08:24Z

who swiped it from Madam President ...

1 question.
1 chance.
1 honest answer.

A Ring and A Book

2008-02-10T21:47:37Z

That would certainly make things simpler, wouldn’t it?

Just open the dictionary, look up a word, and 'na dydy -- all explained.

You would have a field manual or even better, a textbook for every situation, every contingency in life. One you could check regularly for explanations and directions.

Have a problem? Look it up and it’s solved.

Look up Love and there’s the ring and your heart.

Defined. Ready to go.

You could look up --

Peace. Contentment. Happiness. Friendship.

Ah, but then you could also find --

War. Hate.

Deceit. Enmity.

Murder. Destruction.

Revenge.

Of course you could leave those words out of the book. Erase them. Then no one would know what those words meant, what those things were … perhaps they would disappear.

Or not.

You’d really just be hiding those ideas. Those words. Someone would eventually remember or discover them and apply them to the situation. Probably make it worse than if the words had been there all along.

That’s what the Cylons tried.

It worked well on New Caprica. Didn’t it?

OCC Comment:

'na dydy = Welsh for “There it is”

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 176

"To be great is to be misunderstood."

2008-01-26T23:29:54Z

Contains SPOILERS for Battlestar Galactica Season 3 episodes “Occupation” and “Precipice.”

“How many this time?”

“Twenty three. Four dead.”

“That many?”

“Yes. A bomb in the power station.”

Doctor Jack Cottle sighed. He turned his back to the Medical Tent as Brother Cavil moved inside. Cottle lit the cigarette between his lips and took a deep drag, exhaling a cloud of grey smoke that was quickly lost in the dark New Caprican sky.

It was cool outside the tent, and Cottle crossed his arms on his chest, hugging himself for warmth. He stood in the shadows just beyond the glare of the surgical lights. Curling into his ear from behind like smoke, he could hear snatches of conversation between his medics and Dr. Simon. New Caprica City lay dark and mostly silent before him. All he could see and hear from there were the rhythmic red eyes and metallic clank of patrolling centurions.

Cavil emerged from the tent and whipped the flap shut behind him. He stepped close to Cottle. “You saved them all.”

“Of course.”

“Simon took care of fourteen.”

“Euthanasia for convenience is immoral.”

“They are no longer suffering. They downloaded into a new life.”

“Oh, so your people enjoy dying?”

Cavil’s mouth formed a thin line and his jaw clenched. He looked Cottle up and down, and stared for some time into the doctor’s eyes.

Cottle returned the glare calmly, silently.

“No,” said Cavil.

“Neither do mine,” said Cottle. “And my job is to prevent it.” No matter who or what they are.

He turned back to his view of the tent city. In his peripheral vision he saw the cylon staring at him.

OCC Comment for your information

The sources of the quotation:

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day.— 'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.' —Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson Essay on “Self-Reliance”

and

"Dear Butterfly,
By the aid of a biographical dictionary, I made the discovery that there were once two painters, called Benjamin West and Paul Delaroche, who rashly lectured upon art. As of their works nothing at all remains, I conclude that they explained themselves away. Be warned in time, James, and remain, as I, do, incomprehensible: to be great is to be misunderstood.
Tout a vous,
Oscar Wilde"
A letter written to James McNeil Whistler as sympathy for the words of an art critic who disliked Whistler’s painting.

(emphasis added by me)

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 266

Crystal Ball

2008-01-07T04:19:52Z

The Oracle took the brightly wrapped package from Jack’s outstretched hands. She waved him and Meaghan toward a pile of cushions strewn on the floor before the flower bedecked altar. Jack sank to the floor and Meaghan settled next to him. The Oracle placed the box on a low shelf near the small statue of Hera, turned, and gracefully folded her legs beneath her as she sat opposite the anxious couple.

They had come to the Temple of Hera in preparation for their approaching wedding day. It was traditional – Meaghan had insisted upon it – to seek a vision of their life together. So Jack had carried the required gift of sweet caramels with them on the public transport and presented it to the Oracle.

The Oracle's eyes drifted closed. Jack saw the chamalla stains on her lips and fingers as she placed the leaves on her tongue. “The Goddess is pleased.” She rocked slowly as she chewed the chamalla. “She grants you a vision of the future.”

The Oracle turned to the altar. She selected a vine hung with bell-shaped clusters of pale pinkish yellow orange flowers and bright oval leaves. It wafted a sweet berry scent as she waved it through the air. “For both.” She laid the plant between Jack and Meaghan, and reached for their hands. She brought them together, and wound the vine around their wrists, binding them. “Together.”

Her eyes opened and fixed on Meaghan. She reached toward the altar and selected a small, pale blue, five petaled flower. Its central yellow stamen reminded Jack of an eye. The Oracle handed Meaghan the blossom’s straggly stem. “Alternative the gentleman, the lady. Borne away on the River Lethe.”

Meaghan took the floret and nodded. Her brow furrowed at the Oracle’s words but she remained silent.

The Oracle drew a larger bloom from the altar. It was bright orange yellow with long thin leaves that spiraled along its stem. Jack recognized it as a common plant. He had seen it in most of the open green spaces of the city throughout the year.

“The gentleman,” the Oracle said, handing Jack the flower. “Food of the seeking soul. In the darkness. Beyond.”

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about any one thing you wished ~ concerning yourself, your life, the future, or anything else ~ what would you want to know?”

Nothing. I’ve already been there.

I already know.

I still have that frakking marigold.

OCC Comment: The Oracle binds Jack's and Meaghan's wrists with Honeysuckle. In the Language of Flowers this represents the bond of love.

The flower given to Meaghan by the Oracle is a Forget Me Not. Legend says that this is what a knight in armor shouted to his lady as he was drowning, after he fell into a river while picking this flower for her.

The Calendula or Marigold represents grief, despair, and sorrow. These plants are also food for the larvae of some butterflies. In Greek mythology the butterfly was thought to carry a human soul.

For more information, look Here for "Flower Symbolism through the Ages."

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 380

Control

2007-12-04T06:27:02Z

How this could've happened, why it happened -- none of that matters right  now. All that does matter is that as of this moment we are at war.  

You'll get further updates as we get them. Thank you.

Major (Dr.) Jack Cottle looked around Galactica’s Sickbay. All his extremely young medics had paused in the midst of their duties when the announcement began. As the Commander’s speech ended, they were frozen in their places. The sound faded, but they remained suspended, their eyes fixed upward, looking toward the source of the sound.

Gods, they’re all children. They’ve never done this before.

“All right, you heard the Commander. I want this Sickbay ready for Condition One and prepared to receive multiple casualties.”

The medical staff remained frozen.

“Move!”

Silence was replaced by organized bedlam. The medics scrambled, following their training, reacting as they had during countless exercises.

Except this time it’s for real.

Cottle walked across Sickbay, heading toward his office. He paused here -- to point out a missing instrument, there – to draw attention to a problem. He clapped a hand on Kim’s shoulder as he passed. The young man was visibly shaking.

Steady on there lad.

He reached his office and pulled the hatch closed as he entered. Cottle took off his white coat and draped it over the back of his desk chair. After a deep sigh, he sat and leaned to his right to open the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled out a long flat black box.

Never thought I’d open this again.

He opened the box. Inside gleamed the dull matte metal finish of his service revolver from the First Cylon War.

I suppose that’s what they’ll call it now.

He picked up the weapon and the cloth that lay beneath it. Cottle spread the cloth on his desk and methodically disassembled the pistol.

Locking block and barrel. Slide. Recoil spring. Spring guide. Receiver assembly.

He put the pieces in order on the cloth. Next he picked each one up and after inspecting it closely, cleaned it with the supplies he had removed from a compartment in the black box. When he was satisfied that his weapon was clean and serviceable, he reassembled it.

Cottle reached back into the bottom drawer and brought out a magazine and carton of ammunition. He loaded the clip with fifteen bullets, picked up his pistol, and slid the magazine into its place in the grip. He pulled back the slide, loading a round into the firing chamber. He checked the safety, assuring himself the weapon was safe.

As safe as a loaded weapon can be.

Cottle placed the pistol in the center of his desk. He stowed the cloth and cleaning supplies in the box and put it back, along with the carton of ammunition, into the bottom drawer. He opened the long center drawer of the desk and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and book of matches from within it. He stood, the chair squeaking as it moved backwards on the deck.

Those kids out there have never done this before.

Cottle turned and retrieved his white coat from the back of the chair. After donning it, he put the cigarettes and matches in a pocket. He picked up the pistol and felt the cold weight of it in his hand.

But I have.

He put the weapon in the long drawer and slid it closed.

Now I’m ready.

He walked out of his office into the chaos of Sickbay.

OOC Comment: Commander Adama’s speech from the BSG miniseries is not included in the word count.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 546

Intrigue

2007-11-10T00:41:33Z

"You're going to need help," he rumbled. "I may know someone who can get the wheels moving, get you the resources and people you need. Start you in the right direction, at least."

"Who?"

He waved the question aside. "Let me check first ... see when she can meet with you. In the meantime, I have patients to deal with, and you two don't qualify as such." He made a shooing gesture with one hand.

I got up and obediently moved toward the exit with Dora, but I paused before rounding the screen. He glanced up from the notes he was making, and I tilted my head as I looked back.

"See you later, Jack."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Major (Dr.) Jack Cottle followed the crewman down the corridor to his Raptor. A smile kept tugging at his lips. He covered it by sticking an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and scowling at the ECO as he moved through the airlock. “Let’s get moving. I haven’t got all day.” The ECO, chastened, moved quickly to close the hatch and strap in.

Jack strapped himself into his seat in the back of the Raptor. He thought back over his encounters on the little transport. Kia Holtz. Very beguiling. He almost smiled, saw the ECO watching him, and caught himself in time. He lit his cigarette and blew smoke at the ECO, daring her to say anything. She blinked and turned back to her console.

Now convinced that he would have some time to himself, Jack leaned back in his seat and let his thoughts wander. Definitely a handsome woman, and a handful. He chuckled. I wonder if she’s attached … He ruthlessly squashed that train of thought. You’re way too busy and way too old to get involved with anyone. And there's Meaghan to consider. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, as he exhaled he watched the smoke make lazy curls toward the ventilation duct. But that doesn’t mean I can’t put Kia to work.

He continued through his rounds, and if any of his patients noticed that he was distracted, no one pointed it out to Cottle.

Later, as he flopped into his seat on board the Raptor, the pilot turned in his seat. “Back to the G, Major?”

“No, one more stop. Take me to Colonial One.”

“Yes, sir.” The pilot to his credit asked no questions. Rather he nodded and turned back to flying the small craft.

Jack settled in his seat, and devised his approach to the woman he had decided to see. The woman who he had told Kia could “get the wheels moving.”

Now let’s see if the schoolteacher has time for the children ….

OOC Comment: This entry will make more sense if you read When I woke up the next morning ... in Kia Holtz's journal. (From which the beginning is taken.) Those words are not mine and were not included in the word count.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica '03
WORDS:333

Waking up ...

2007-10-08T11:25:57Z

beep ... beep ... beep ... BEEP!

The sound finally penetrated into Doc Cottle's brain. He rolled over, glared blearily at his alarm, and slapped the off button. Heaving a sigh, Jack flipped back his blankets. Without turning on any lights, he stumbled, eyes nearly closed, into the head. Navigating by deeply ingrained memory he stopped in just the proper spot before the toilet and reached for his fly.

In the next picosecond, he came fully awake.

Holy Mother of Artemis! What the frak?

Savagely flipping on the light, he turned to the mirror over his sink. Instead of staring out of his seamed face with its rumpled white hair and morning stubble, his flared blue eyes stared at him from under a fringe of auburn hair streaked with gray; from a face that while it was lined with the marks of an eventful life, had never seen a morning stubble nor been touched by a straight razor.

Cottle stepped back and the image retreated as well, duplicating his open mouth and raised brows, mimicking his shock and horror.

That motion brought another – actually two other – objects to his attention. He reached for his faded tanks and jerked the neckband forward. Jack glanced down confirming his suspicion.

Not as nice as Kia's .....

That thought caused his knees to tremble and a frisson to ghost up his hamstrings. He leaned against the bulkhead and closed his eyes.

Kia. I'm supposed to meet her for breakfast. Frak.

He sighed heavily.

What in hades am I going to wear?

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica '03
WORDS: 253

What makes someone a hero?

2007-10-06T20:15:17Z

Thirteen pilots dead. Including one who made his 1000th landing. Seven injured and in Sickbay ...

Doc Cottle slouched against the combing of the hatch leading to his office. With each exhalation, smoke curled slowly over his head as he puffed on yet another cigarette.

Sickbay was quiet. Lights dimmed, bloody pools mopped away, shelves restocked from dwindling supplies, patients tucked into available beds. Exhausted medics slumped over desks, their heads pillowed on folded arms, snatching a few minutes of precious rest.

A movement caught Jack's peripheral vision. He turned his head slowly. An arm snaked out from under a blanket and reached toward the neighboring cot. It waved to attract the occupant's attention.

“Zipper. Zipper. Are you awake?”

“I'm right here Comet. How ya' doin'?”

“My arm and leg are gone, man.”

“Both legs for me. But I'm still here.”

“Flat Top didn't make it.”

“Yeah. But I got me a frakkin' medal.”

“Me too. We okay?”

“We stick together, like always. We're okay.”

Jack slipped back to his desk, where a message blinked at him from the screen of his laptop.

“What makes someone a hero?”

He slowly typed his answer.

Frak if I know.

MUSE: Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica '03
WORDS: 196

Fan Letter

2007-04-13T15:21:45Z

Hen bachgennes,

You are a treasure to watch. Every chance I get, I seek you out and note your movements, as you glide, battle, herd, and hustle through your day.

I crave your wisdom, but you’re reticent to share it. I need to attend you if I want to learn -- you don’t make it easy for me. That makes your lessons even more valuable.

You take care of me. You protect me.

You’re no longer young -- I’m not saying you’re old; you’ve just been around for a while, but you keep going and you never complain. Well, maybe you do – a little. Especially when I don’t pay enough attention to you.

You’re always there. Even when I abandoned you – you welcomed me back.

For as long as I can remember, you have been singing to me. All I need to do is listen. I can feel your song through the soles of my boots. I can hear it at my desk in a silent Sickbay as I sort through the piles of paperwork. I can tune in from my bunk by placing my hand on your bulkhead. Your song comforts me.

You’re a good ship, Galactica.

You’re the last of your kind. The sole surviving battlestar, but you’re not alone. You have all of Humanity in your care. You fulfill that purpose and duty well.

You will always have a singular place in my heart.

And I have some special procedures in Sickbay for anyone who dares call you, “The Bucket.”

Le gach dea-mhéin,

Doc Cottle

OOC Comment:

Inspired by the following:

“We travel together, passengers on a little space ship, dependent on its vulnerable reserves of air and soil; all committed for our safety to its security and peace; preserved from annihilation only by the care, the work, and, I will say, the love we give our fragile craft.”

ADLAI E. STEVENSON, U.S. ambassador to the United Nations, last major speech, to the Economic and Social Council of the United Nations, Geneva, Switzerland, July 9, 1965.—Adlai Stevenson of the United Nations, ed. Albert Roland, Richard Wilson, and Michael Rahill, p. 224 (1965).

Mr. Stevenson was talking about the planet Earth.

Le gach dea-mhéin = Irish Gaelic for “with kindest regards.”
hen bachgennes = Welsh for “old girl”

MUSE:  Major (Dr.) Cottle
FANDOM: Battlestar Galactica ‘03
WORDS: 259