(92) Chosen
Title: Chosen
Author: afrakaday
Word count: 300
Rating: T
A/N: Thanks, nixmom!
I had been alone since the Fall. My family were all dead on Leonis. No significant other to mourn; I’d been too busy living the transient life of a political reporter.
An ambrosia-fueled night of abandon on Cloud Nine left me with an unexpected constant companion. Abortion was still legal then, but I had no inclination than to let nature take its course.
My baby would never see Leonis. To be born in space, she was already something else.
By the time I’d finally plotted out the words to tell her father, he and Cloud Nine were both gone.
The President and I sometimes ended up on the same shuttle from Colonial One to Galactica’s sickbay. She listened, counseled, encouraged; praised my decision to bring another baby into the Fleet. “Our numbers keep going down,” she lamented. I could tell she expected to be among the departed before long.
But she survived, and yet the President lost. I wasn't relishing the move to New Caprica at eight months pregnant. Laura-- "just Laura, now" -- arranged a place on Galactica for me so I could give birth in sickbay instead of a canvas tent with a dirt floor.
After, I had to go planetside like everyone else. The Admiral flew us himself, carrying her carefully down the Raptor’s wing and winning her first smile as he kissed her goodbye.
Now, I bundle her up and take her round the school to visit Laura, who unfailingly admires her perfect tiny fingernails and strokes her downy baby hair.
At night I rock her and tell her our story, showing her a photograph of the President and the Admiral dancing on that fateful Colonial Day. “Your daddy took this,” I inform her.
"This is the Pres--" I pause, considering. "These are your grandparents."
Author: afrakaday
Word count: 300
Rating: T
A/N: Thanks, nixmom!
I had been alone since the Fall. My family were all dead on Leonis. No significant other to mourn; I’d been too busy living the transient life of a political reporter.
An ambrosia-fueled night of abandon on Cloud Nine left me with an unexpected constant companion. Abortion was still legal then, but I had no inclination than to let nature take its course.
My baby would never see Leonis. To be born in space, she was already something else.
By the time I’d finally plotted out the words to tell her father, he and Cloud Nine were both gone.
The President and I sometimes ended up on the same shuttle from Colonial One to Galactica’s sickbay. She listened, counseled, encouraged; praised my decision to bring another baby into the Fleet. “Our numbers keep going down,” she lamented. I could tell she expected to be among the departed before long.
But she survived, and yet the President lost. I wasn't relishing the move to New Caprica at eight months pregnant. Laura-- "just Laura, now" -- arranged a place on Galactica for me so I could give birth in sickbay instead of a canvas tent with a dirt floor.
After, I had to go planetside like everyone else. The Admiral flew us himself, carrying her carefully down the Raptor’s wing and winning her first smile as he kissed her goodbye.
Now, I bundle her up and take her round the school to visit Laura, who unfailingly admires her perfect tiny fingernails and strokes her downy baby hair.
At night I rock her and tell her our story, showing her a photograph of the President and the Admiral dancing on that fateful Colonial Day. “Your daddy took this,” I inform her.
"This is the Pres--" I pause, considering. "These are your grandparents."