"Forgive Us, For Our Sins" - Adama/Roslin Drabble
Title: Forgive Us, For Our Sins (original fic: Misplaced Thanks )
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: R
Word Count: 300 words
Warnings: Alcohol
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
A/N: Thanks to redrockcan for her encouragement. Written for the "another chapter" prompt at ar_drabbles.
There are days that Bill is thankful that he drinks.
Booze has always done him more good than therapy; Carolanne used to tell him that.
When he asked Laura to move in with him he had done so on a foolish, romantic, whim. He had not thought about what the reality of living with her might entail.
She is dying; his quarters are filled with the evidence.
He hasn’t seen her naked since New Caprica; when he’d made love to her with the stars as their backdrop. He can still see how much weight she’s lost; her disease is eating her from the inside out and all he is drowning in his own. What a pair.
It hurts to look at her now. His heart wants to beat out of his chest each time he’s near her; it’s useless to him if it’s not with her.
He wants to gather her in his arms and kiss her like he used to; he wraps his lips around his flask instead and tries to forget her taste.
He sits next to her as Cottle works around them. He tries to ignore the drip drip drop of the doloxin as it invades her but the sound is magnified thanks to his sickening hangover.
He recites the words of poets and novelists who knew how to write I love you far more eloquently than he ever could.
He wants to wrap her in his arms, but he reeks of the drink.
He wants to consume her pain, but he’s already drowning in his own.
He wants so badly to go back to those precious nights under the stars, but they’re different people now then they were then.
There are days that Bill is thankful that he drinks.
But he always regrets it later.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: R
Word Count: 300 words
Warnings: Alcohol
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
A/N: Thanks to redrockcan for her encouragement. Written for the "another chapter" prompt at ar_drabbles.
There are days that Bill is thankful that he drinks.
Booze has always done him more good than therapy; Carolanne used to tell him that.
When he asked Laura to move in with him he had done so on a foolish, romantic, whim. He had not thought about what the reality of living with her might entail.
She is dying; his quarters are filled with the evidence.
He hasn’t seen her naked since New Caprica; when he’d made love to her with the stars as their backdrop. He can still see how much weight she’s lost; her disease is eating her from the inside out and all he is drowning in his own. What a pair.
It hurts to look at her now. His heart wants to beat out of his chest each time he’s near her; it’s useless to him if it’s not with her.
He wants to gather her in his arms and kiss her like he used to; he wraps his lips around his flask instead and tries to forget her taste.
He sits next to her as Cottle works around them. He tries to ignore the drip drip drop of the doloxin as it invades her but the sound is magnified thanks to his sickening hangover.
He recites the words of poets and novelists who knew how to write I love you far more eloquently than he ever could.
He wants to wrap her in his arms, but he reeks of the drink.
He wants to consume her pain, but he’s already drowning in his own.
He wants so badly to go back to those precious nights under the stars, but they’re different people now then they were then.
There are days that Bill is thankful that he drinks.
But he always regrets it later.