AR MOL post for svu_ada_love
Title: Between the lines
Author: svu_ada_love
Rating: Uh, it’s mild, so whatever rating means suitable for everyone, this is it.
Pairing: A/R, from Bill’s perspective
Spoilers: For the first few episodes of season four (not past Faith, though).
Thanks to: Babylon_whore, who, as always, made some insightful comments that helped me make the story a better one, and capricarose, my fabulous prompt partner, who pointed out my stupid Europeanisms and offered me many words of encouragement.
Notes: For the MOL V. The prompt was books. I can’t really think of how to summarise it - it’s a bit too short for that.
Searider Falcon was their book, a symbol of love unspoken, but no less strong. It was a beautiful, elegant book, with proud gold lettering, and love traced upon its pages.
The story itself was a message, of love that he couldn’t find the words to express. The hero was a traveler, an explorer, a lonely man with a stoic face, and a love feared lost, its heroine a spitfire of a woman, filled with life and fierce determination.
Bill had not read the ending; he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. The story mirrored their own, and an unhappy ending would be devastating. He couldn’t stand another blow to his hope, his desperate hope, that Laura wasn’t the dying leader, and that they could find Earth, and settle down and build a cabin there.
Inflections, pauses, emphasis. Every soft, tender word, every hesitation, every hitch in his breath told a story. If someone were listening, really listening, as the Admiral read to the President, as Bill read to Laura, they would hear what he was really saying. I love you. I need you. I can’t live without you.
When she had come to him, hands shaking, with a tremor in her voice, his heart had plummeted into his stomach. He had known before she sat down, head held high (she couldn’t break down, because she was the President, because she had a Fleet to lead and a trial to think about, and if she started, she might never stop). She had taken his hands across the table and said: “Bill, my cancer’s back.” Hearing the words had made it real, had made it true, and since then, his head had been filled with the single, traitorous thought: Is it going to be today?
Her death was inevitable, he knew, even if he fought it, even if he refused to admit it aloud (refused to give up hope, refused to let her give up hope); she was only fighting for Earth, for the Fleet, for him. So he sat by her side, held her hair back as she vomited, and whispered reassuring words that meant nothing and everything at the same time. He stayed with her every step of the way, Searider Falcon in hand, because there was nothing else that he could do, there was nowhere else that he could be but there.
He was hers, now; he belonged to her and he would not forsake her. Laura was as much a part of his life, his family, as his son. She was his life, his light, his reason for being. She was in his quarters, she was in his bed, she was in his every waking moment; she surrounded him.
The raft was not as seaworthy as I'd hoped. The waves repeatedly threatened to swamp it. I wasn't afraid to die. I was afraid of the emptiness that I felt inside. I couldn't feel anything. And that's what scared me. You came into my thoughts. I felt them. It felt good.
He would read to her, every time, for as long as it took, even though it took more out of him each time; even though every page turned was a page closer to the end. He would give her his strength, until he had no more left to give, and he would give her his heart to take with her when she left.
Author: svu_ada_love
Rating: Uh, it’s mild, so whatever rating means suitable for everyone, this is it.
Pairing: A/R, from Bill’s perspective
Spoilers: For the first few episodes of season four (not past Faith, though).
Thanks to: Babylon_whore, who, as always, made some insightful comments that helped me make the story a better one, and capricarose, my fabulous prompt partner, who pointed out my stupid Europeanisms and offered me many words of encouragement.
Notes: For the MOL V. The prompt was books. I can’t really think of how to summarise it - it’s a bit too short for that.
Searider Falcon was their book, a symbol of love unspoken, but no less strong. It was a beautiful, elegant book, with proud gold lettering, and love traced upon its pages.
The story itself was a message, of love that he couldn’t find the words to express. The hero was a traveler, an explorer, a lonely man with a stoic face, and a love feared lost, its heroine a spitfire of a woman, filled with life and fierce determination.
Bill had not read the ending; he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. The story mirrored their own, and an unhappy ending would be devastating. He couldn’t stand another blow to his hope, his desperate hope, that Laura wasn’t the dying leader, and that they could find Earth, and settle down and build a cabin there.
Inflections, pauses, emphasis. Every soft, tender word, every hesitation, every hitch in his breath told a story. If someone were listening, really listening, as the Admiral read to the President, as Bill read to Laura, they would hear what he was really saying. I love you. I need you. I can’t live without you.
When she had come to him, hands shaking, with a tremor in her voice, his heart had plummeted into his stomach. He had known before she sat down, head held high (she couldn’t break down, because she was the President, because she had a Fleet to lead and a trial to think about, and if she started, she might never stop). She had taken his hands across the table and said: “Bill, my cancer’s back.” Hearing the words had made it real, had made it true, and since then, his head had been filled with the single, traitorous thought: Is it going to be today?
Her death was inevitable, he knew, even if he fought it, even if he refused to admit it aloud (refused to give up hope, refused to let her give up hope); she was only fighting for Earth, for the Fleet, for him. So he sat by her side, held her hair back as she vomited, and whispered reassuring words that meant nothing and everything at the same time. He stayed with her every step of the way, Searider Falcon in hand, because there was nothing else that he could do, there was nowhere else that he could be but there.
He was hers, now; he belonged to her and he would not forsake her. Laura was as much a part of his life, his family, as his son. She was his life, his light, his reason for being. She was in his quarters, she was in his bed, she was in his every waking moment; she surrounded him.
The raft was not as seaworthy as I'd hoped. The waves repeatedly threatened to swamp it. I wasn't afraid to die. I was afraid of the emptiness that I felt inside. I couldn't feel anything. And that's what scared me. You came into my thoughts. I felt them. It felt good.
He would read to her, every time, for as long as it took, even though it took more out of him each time; even though every page turned was a page closer to the end. He would give her his strength, until he had no more left to give, and he would give her his heart to take with her when she left.