"The First Step" - Adama/Roslin Drabble
Title: The First Step
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: R
Word Count: 200 words
Warnings: alcohol
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
A/N: Written for the "problems" prompt at ar_drabbles.
Laura knew that Bill was drinking.
She knew all the signs. Her father had become an alcoholic after her mother died. He drained bottle after bottle, hoping to find a way to bring her mother back in the bottom of the glass containers.
He never did find a way to bring her back.
Laura and her sisters had tried to get him help. It was only years later that he finally admitted that he had a problem.
But he never named the drink; he said that his problem was that he couldn’t live without her mother.
Bill had said those words once to her; they came out as a slurred confession while he was passed out on his couch. She remembered her father in a similar position when he had made his confession.
Her stomach contracted in knots.
She remembered what her father had become. Fourteen years later, and she could still remember the crushing sense of relief that she had felt when she had realized he had not been the drunk driver.
A note lay next to her on the pillow. The ink on the crumpled paper was blotchy with dried tears.
You were right. Please don’t leave me.
I love you.
Bill
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: R
Word Count: 200 words
Warnings: alcohol
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
A/N: Written for the "problems" prompt at ar_drabbles.
Laura knew that Bill was drinking.
She knew all the signs. Her father had become an alcoholic after her mother died. He drained bottle after bottle, hoping to find a way to bring her mother back in the bottom of the glass containers.
He never did find a way to bring her back.
Laura and her sisters had tried to get him help. It was only years later that he finally admitted that he had a problem.
But he never named the drink; he said that his problem was that he couldn’t live without her mother.
Bill had said those words once to her; they came out as a slurred confession while he was passed out on his couch. She remembered her father in a similar position when he had made his confession.
Her stomach contracted in knots.
She remembered what her father had become. Fourteen years later, and she could still remember the crushing sense of relief that she had felt when she had realized he had not been the drunk driver.
A note lay next to her on the pillow. The ink on the crumpled paper was blotchy with dried tears.
You were right. Please don’t leave me.
I love you.
Bill