Happy birthday, Lack
Title: Reserved
Author: Aussie
(300) word drabble for lacklusterfic
Just a small idea I had that I quickly finished for Lack’s birthday.
Eloquence has escaped me.
Usually our weekly discussions involve Baltar’s regime and its inevitable fallout. Our current contingency is supplying stores to a series of underground bunkers. Bill’s transferred food rations and medical supplies, along with guns and explosives. I alternate between horrified and comforted by our plans.
Whoever we confer with stays in my tent after Bill’s departure, sneaking out later under the cover of darkness. Baltar’s new detention centre accommodates many ex-Galactica crew arrested on trumped-up charges.
This visit, however, Bill caught up with Sam at a public game of Pyramid.
I could ask after Lee, I suppose, but...
In the past, any awkward silences between Bill and I could be filled by discussing our shared passion for reading. (It’s our excuse, should Baltar check up on our regular meetings. Bill brings a new book each week.)
Bill looks more apprehensive now than he did when we reunited on Kobol. I giggle at the thought, and then we’re moving, closer and closer, until we’re kissing.
I know why I'm disinterested in initiating any deep debate about his family... Books... Anything.
Our lips and tongues, and now our hands -- gripping, stroking, holding tight -- are saying what we can’t seem to convey verbally. We’re telling each other how scared we are; he’s apologising for not letting me steal the election; I’m assuring him I am grateful and that we’ll always be on the same side.
Afterwards, tiredness mingles with contentment and I still don’t find the strength to speak.
His goodbye kiss, when it regretfully comes, is a sweet lingering promise that we’ll talk again soon.
When ‘soon’ stretches out before me like the barren desert near New Caprica’s equator, Bill’s persuasive articulation from that night becomes my secret weapon, lifting me to find my voice to fight once more.
Author: Aussie
(300) word drabble for lacklusterfic
Just a small idea I had that I quickly finished for Lack’s birthday.
Eloquence has escaped me.
Usually our weekly discussions involve Baltar’s regime and its inevitable fallout. Our current contingency is supplying stores to a series of underground bunkers. Bill’s transferred food rations and medical supplies, along with guns and explosives. I alternate between horrified and comforted by our plans.
Whoever we confer with stays in my tent after Bill’s departure, sneaking out later under the cover of darkness. Baltar’s new detention centre accommodates many ex-Galactica crew arrested on trumped-up charges.
This visit, however, Bill caught up with Sam at a public game of Pyramid.
I could ask after Lee, I suppose, but...
In the past, any awkward silences between Bill and I could be filled by discussing our shared passion for reading. (It’s our excuse, should Baltar check up on our regular meetings. Bill brings a new book each week.)
Bill looks more apprehensive now than he did when we reunited on Kobol. I giggle at the thought, and then we’re moving, closer and closer, until we’re kissing.
I know why I'm disinterested in initiating any deep debate about his family... Books... Anything.
Our lips and tongues, and now our hands -- gripping, stroking, holding tight -- are saying what we can’t seem to convey verbally. We’re telling each other how scared we are; he’s apologising for not letting me steal the election; I’m assuring him I am grateful and that we’ll always be on the same side.
Afterwards, tiredness mingles with contentment and I still don’t find the strength to speak.
His goodbye kiss, when it regretfully comes, is a sweet lingering promise that we’ll talk again soon.
When ‘soon’ stretches out before me like the barren desert near New Caprica’s equator, Bill’s persuasive articulation from that night becomes my secret weapon, lifting me to find my voice to fight once more.