"What Is Left" - Adama/Roslin Drabble
Title: What Is Left
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 200 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Thanks to nixmom and redrockcan for their beta.
He used to be a great Commander; the last Admiral of a Fleet of magnificent space ships. Thousands of lost souls followed him into the stars; he’d been their savior and their protector.
His title used to be met with respect and fear. He’d been a masterful tactician, a seasoned warrior, a fearless leader. He’d given his life to the pursuit of honor and duty; these virtues were what had made him a man.
She came along and turned his life upside down. Everything that was important became meaningless. She became his Commander, the leader of his heart.
She had taken over every space: his CIC, his quarters, his rack, his arms. She was in his blood, like cheap wine. Potent and bittersweet, cruel and unforgiving; there had never been enough of her to satisfy him.
He used to think that he couldn’t live without her. He was never so sorry to be wrong then on the day of her death, and each day afterwards.
Still she lingers, in the veins that pump blood to his old, broken heart.
He was just the lonely Old Man who lived in the mountain now.
The Admiral had gone down with his ship.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 200 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Thanks to nixmom and redrockcan for their beta.
He used to be a great Commander; the last Admiral of a Fleet of magnificent space ships. Thousands of lost souls followed him into the stars; he’d been their savior and their protector.
His title used to be met with respect and fear. He’d been a masterful tactician, a seasoned warrior, a fearless leader. He’d given his life to the pursuit of honor and duty; these virtues were what had made him a man.
She came along and turned his life upside down. Everything that was important became meaningless. She became his Commander, the leader of his heart.
She had taken over every space: his CIC, his quarters, his rack, his arms. She was in his blood, like cheap wine. Potent and bittersweet, cruel and unforgiving; there had never been enough of her to satisfy him.
He used to think that he couldn’t live without her. He was never so sorry to be wrong then on the day of her death, and each day afterwards.
Still she lingers, in the veins that pump blood to his old, broken heart.
He was just the lonely Old Man who lived in the mountain now.
The Admiral had gone down with his ship.