"Dark Lady" - Adama/Roslin Drabble
Title: Dark Lady
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 300 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Thanks to redrockcan for all her encouragement.
“Laura?” Adama stood in the doorway of the head.
“Frak, five minutes Bill, I promise,” Laura begged.
“Hey,” he said softly as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Everything okay?”
Laura tugged ineffectually at the wig on her head. Her face was hot with frustrated tears.
“I hate this thing,” she whispered.
Bill frowned. He knew that the wig was a source of constant discomfort for her, both emotionally and physically.
“It’s too dark,” Laura lamented.
“It’s the same colour your hair was when we first met,” he observed.
Laura shot him a dirty look.
“I hated that hair colour. My stylist frakked the colour up and I was supposed to see her again after I returned from Galactica so that she could fix it,” she informed him. “Thank the Gods that it washed out eventually.”
Bill nodded slowly. He had never, in his sixty years been able to understand the peculiar nuances of women’s hair, try as he might.
“Would you prefer your kerchief?” he asked, knowing that the texture was far more comfortable against her sensitive skin.
“No,” she snapped. “I would prefer my real hair back.” His hands fell away from her shoulders, defeated.
Fresh tears prickled at her eyes.
“Oh Bill, I’m sorry,” she turned and tentatively placed her hands on his chest.
He reached up and carefully straightened the wig, which she had left haphazardly on her head. She closed her eyes, relishing his gentle, precise movements.
“There,” he murmured once it was straight. She opened her eyes and found him looking at her with soft wonder.
“Beautiful.” He leaned in and kissed her just as gently, just as precisely. She was swept away suddenly by a rush of love and affection for the man in her arms.
It was almost enough to make her believe him.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 300 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Thanks to redrockcan for all her encouragement.
“Laura?” Adama stood in the doorway of the head.
“Frak, five minutes Bill, I promise,” Laura begged.
“Hey,” he said softly as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Everything okay?”
Laura tugged ineffectually at the wig on her head. Her face was hot with frustrated tears.
“I hate this thing,” she whispered.
Bill frowned. He knew that the wig was a source of constant discomfort for her, both emotionally and physically.
“It’s too dark,” Laura lamented.
“It’s the same colour your hair was when we first met,” he observed.
Laura shot him a dirty look.
“I hated that hair colour. My stylist frakked the colour up and I was supposed to see her again after I returned from Galactica so that she could fix it,” she informed him. “Thank the Gods that it washed out eventually.”
Bill nodded slowly. He had never, in his sixty years been able to understand the peculiar nuances of women’s hair, try as he might.
“Would you prefer your kerchief?” he asked, knowing that the texture was far more comfortable against her sensitive skin.
“No,” she snapped. “I would prefer my real hair back.” His hands fell away from her shoulders, defeated.
Fresh tears prickled at her eyes.
“Oh Bill, I’m sorry,” she turned and tentatively placed her hands on his chest.
He reached up and carefully straightened the wig, which she had left haphazardly on her head. She closed her eyes, relishing his gentle, precise movements.
“There,” he murmured once it was straight. She opened her eyes and found him looking at her with soft wonder.
“Beautiful.” He leaned in and kissed her just as gently, just as precisely. She was swept away suddenly by a rush of love and affection for the man in her arms.
It was almost enough to make her believe him.