Summary: Sometimes when you go to the chapel, it's the priest who needs to talk.
Date: PHD012
Related Logs: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank)

Kharon - Chapel

Roubani is sitting in the chapel, wearing his neatly pressed blues. Having just set a small cone of incense up on the altar by Apollo's feet, he's claimed a seat on a quiet bench in the middle of the room.

Cygnus quietly enters through the hatch to make his way down the center aisle of the chapel, making his way towards the altar. The wafting scent of incense draws his attention to the small figurine of Apollo, and he pauses to gently smooth the golden cloth in an almost medatative fashion. When he spots Roubani, it's fairly clear to Mac who's set the incense alight and he gives a small nod in the Ensign's direction not wishing to intrude upon his reflection. If he's needed, he's there to offer what assistance he can.

Roubani watches Cygnus fuss with the cloth. Possibly because he's the only thing moving in the room besides the smoke. His head makes a slight upwards motion, a reverse nod of sorts, then he looks back at the altar and scratches the back of his neck with his thumb.

From where he stands, Cygnus does his best to guage Roubani's mood. It's been quite a few days since he's had the opportunity to speak with the Ensign. There seems to be a pattern of sorts developing, and Mac quietly slides himself onto the bench in front of the young pilot, ready to lend a quiet and contemplative ear should Roubani need it. He doesn't speak, he won't go that far, at least not yet, though he does offer a ghost of a warm smile.

Roubani's mood is tough to tell just by how he looks. Unlike many, he doesn't walk around wearing any exhaustion or pain in his posture or in his eyes. He's just sort of there, contemplating the altar. When Cygnus gets close he seems to assess the man for a while in silence before talking. "Are you alright, sir?"

The ghost of a smile grows just a bit as Cygnus gazes at Roubani for a moment, "Irony. That's what I wanted to ask you." For his own part, Mac's been busy attending to those who've needed it as best he can. Who knows, perhaps he does indeed have a 'flock' as Yuuri once accused. "I'm alright. As good as can be expected, I'd suppose. What about you, Mister Roubani?"

"I'm fine, sir." Roubani replies. Polite niceties exchanged, he doesn't quite seem to know what else to say to the chaplain's aide. A slightly stilted half-smile, then he looks down idly at the beads in his hands.

'I'm glad to see you," Mac offers quietly, remembering full well that Roubani was one of the first people aboard to welcome him when he'd arrived. There's a definite soft spot there for the quiet and intellectual Ensign. "Have you still been busy with your tests?" There's perhaps a note of whistfulness in Cygnus' voice as he asks, with the world gone crazy finding time to head to the simulators himself has been fairly impossible.

"Tests?" Roubani's dark eyes come back up. "Oh. Well. I suppose some other things have taken priority since then, sir." End of the world and all.

Cygnus nods a bit at Roubani's words, "Understandable, I'd imagine." Like Roubani, Cygnus seems at a loss for a topic of discussion. Perhaps this wasn't his best idea to date, after all. "I suppose I'll leave you to your devotions then, Mister Roubani, I just wanted to make certain you were alright."

Roubani snorts quietly. It's not derision, just one of those sounds. "Why? Does the chaplain's office have a quota of people to ask that to each day?"

The words actually cause Cygnus' temper to flash hot for a moment, but this is definitely not the time or place. Somehow he manages to adopt an even tone as he replies, "This has nothing to do with my billet, Mr Roubani. I'm really starting to grow weary of everyone attributing everything that I do or say to my post. The Gods only know why I bother caring about anyone anymore with the treatment I sometime seem to get for it." There's a subtle hint of tension to his posture now, and the smile has transformed itself into a small, terse frown. There's an ironic note to his voice, "But that's right, the entire airwing - excepting Fen - is convinced that I'm nothing but a Chaplain's assistant who couldn't even begin to understand a thing about being a pilot."

Roubani exhales quietly. "I don't believe I've ever said a word to that effect, sir. But clearly you're upset and I'd rather you be now than explode down the line."

Cygnus's frown grows, not because of Roubani, but because of his own shortcomings. "I'm sorry, Mister Roubani. I was out of line," He admits ruefully. "I just… This isn't all that I am. It's not even what I am." A low sigh drifts out of him as one hand raises itself to scrub at his face. "I asked because I'm genuinely concerned. About you. Which has nothing to do with whatever position I'm assigned to on this ship."

"With all due respect, sir," Roubani answers, quietly. "You seem to have quite a bit deal with yourself, before you take on anything from someone else. Or you'll turn every comment into something about yourself, rather than see what they are for the one speaking." His voice is anything but accusative, explaining as though he had seen it many a time by now. "What isn't what you are, sir?"

"A priest," Mac answers simply, allowing a long pause drifting up between them after the words. "You're a wise man, Mister Roubani," He admits with an ironic smile. "There's been so much to deal with with others, I suppose I haven't had half a chance to sort through everything I'm feeling myself. It's a catch 22 I suppose, I guess I didn't realize it was starting to affect me. You didn't deserve that, and I'm very sincerely sorry that I leveled that at you."

"I don't need apologies, sir. You didn't hurt me." Roubani shrugs one shoulder, picking at the blue cloth covering his knee. "You're frustrated over not being able to fly?" His tone goes up only a little at the end, making that hover between statement and question.

"That's a lot of it, yes," Mac nods his head slightly in agreement. "It gets in your blood. In your soul. Getting your wings clipped isn't something to be wished on anyone, I'm thinking. My instinct is to want to help and protect the people I think of as my fellow pilots, whether they view me as one or not." There's no way he's going to touch the deeper issues at work, the breaking apart of friendships based on his current assignment, because he doesn't fully understand it all himself, yet. "What about you, do you think you'd miss flying if you lost the ability to do so?"

"Perhaps," Roubani replies, in a tone that seems neutral on purpose. "But I suspect it's not that simple with you. You say you wish to protect them, yet you're clearly angry at them. Is it more about the flying itself, or more that you feel you're on the outside of something?"

"Most of it is because of the loss of flying in general." One thing Cygnus is certain of, is that perhaps Roubani is almost too perceptive. "As for any of it being focused on anyone specific," His shoulders lift in a shrug, "That's limited to one person." He doesn't offer any further information than that. "It's difficult not to feel outside of something, when you're treated by some as if you are."

"One person?" Roubani raises an eyebrow. "You said 'the entire air wing, excepting Fen'."

"I spoke in anger, which I shouldn't have done," Cygnus replies simply, "Unfortunately, I'm not always sucessful in reigning in my temper." Human. Fallible. Thus, is Mac.

"You're a sensitive man, sir." Roubani says that as though he had a mixed opinion about the fact. He pauses, then offers softly, "I suppose it was Lieutenant Yuuri."

Nothing in Cygnus' posture or demeanor either confirms or denies the assessment. That's ground he doesn't really care to tread. "You're probably spot on, Mister Roubani. I would wager to guess I'm probably oversensitive at this point," A simple admission of truth.

"I suppose it works all ways." Roubani considers his hands. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

One of Mac's eyebrows quirks upwards, "Of course, Mister Roubani." In truth the outside perspective if more than welcome in Cygnus' book, and he finds himself quite interested in what the perceptive Ensign will offer next.

Roubani taps his thumb against the side of his folded index fingers. "Lieutenant…you may have been a pilot before. You may still be able to fly now. But the fact of the matter, sir, is that when we went up against those Raiders you weren't there. You didn't risk your life. You didn't feel that terror." He shakes his head slightly. "It isn't your fault…it's just a fact. You were no more there than any of us were on the ground shooting with the Marines." His dark eyes finally come up, looking at Cygnus'. "And if you do, if you really do understand about being a pilot, you would understand what it is to know that when those cylons catch up to us, we will be the likely ones to die, and not even get a proper funeral. You would understand that we do it because it's our duty and nothing will stray us…and you would understand what it sounds like for someone insist they're a pilot when they're not out there with us, facing what we face." He sighs quietly, looking back at his hands. "None of us are martyrs. Each of us has our own hell to face. I suppose what I'm saying is that if you really want to show your friend that you understand…then put yourself in his shoes just for a moment. And perhaps, say 'thank you'. Who knows, sir, maybe he'll understand to say it in return."

"What you say makes a lot of sense, Mister Roubani. Believe me," Cygnus's eyes settle somewhere near the floor, "I do understand more than you think, or more than I seem to be showing. I'm not a martyr myself, but I'd willing die along with rest of you. I just pray to Ares and all the Gods that it doesn't come to that. For /anyone/." Prayer, belief, hope, none of these things can ultimately prevent that actuality. "I am grateful for what each and every one of the pilots on this ship does to keep us safe." Mia drifts to his thoughts, "The marines too." Perhaps the real truth of Mac's issues are beginning to surface now, "It's just… frustrating to feel so… /useless/. But that's my problem, not anyone else's."

"I know you feel useless," Roubani says. His soft-spoken voice has never raised. "But the gods give us our reasons to be who we are. We have to accept that there are things we can do and thing we can't, and those things can change at any given moment. If we spend too much time contemplating what we can't do, we miss what we can. And then it really becomes everyone's problem, because we need each and every person here. I told a cook thank you this morning, because without him I wouldn't eat. Not everything has to be about the grand combat. Not right now, not with so few of us left."

Grand combat. It's not something Cygnus seeks, but neither, being pledged to Ares, is it something he seeks to avoid, either. "You're right," He tells Roubani. What more can say, after all? "Perhaps I should stop doubting Ares' will as much as I seem to be doing. You would think with my training, I'd know better than to question, but I think many of us are doing so right now, given what's happened." After a long pause he finally lifts his eyes to focus them on the Ensign, "Thank you, Mister Roubani. For listening. For understanding."

"There's nothing wrong with questioning. How else can we affirm faith but to test it?" Roubani's tone is gently rhetorical. "It isn't a sign of strength that we don't question. It's a sign of strength that we can question without it consuming us to where we can no longer see beyond ourselves." He looks at the side of Cygnus' face. "I think you'll be okay, sir. Just forgive yourself sometimes."

"That's sometimes the most diffuclt form of forgiveness to practice, isn't it?" To Mac it's always been easier to forgive others rather than himself. A small smile is offered in Roubani's direction, "If I am going to be okay, it's in large part due to you."

Roubani gives Cygnus a weak smile in return. "Please don't say that, sir. I'm far too much the coward for that kind of responsibility."

Cygnus's smile grows, "I'm not trying to pin any sort of responsibility on you, Mister Roubani. Merely, I appreciate your wisdom and perception." There's sincerity and warmth in his tone to indicate that the words are spoken earnestly.

"It's just babble, sir. If you've made any sense of it then it's you who's done the hard work." Roubani wraps his prayer beads around his wrist, tucking them into his sleeve as he stands up. "I hope you talk to your friend."

Willingness would be the key there, but Cygnus wisely keeps that thought to himself as he stands up himself, murmering again, "Thank you." Time now, to sort through the words to see how they might be applied into action. "And Mister Roubani? Good hunting out there."

Roubani sort-of-smiles at the Lieutenant. He raises salute, despite their surroundings, and then quietly heads for the hatch.

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