"Objective Correlative" - Adama/Roslin Drabble
Title: Objective Correlative
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 200 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Written for the "guess what's coming to dinner?" prompt at ar_drabbles. The title is a literary term that was coined by T.S. Eliot. He is likely rolling over in his grave right now because I've used it for fanfic purposes.
Jump.
I feel the thrumming of the ship, so deceptively alive beneath the cold, aloofness of the metal. It’s heartbeat matches my own; frantic, irregular, volatile. I can almost taste the artificial blood being pumped through the Hybrid’s circuits and wiring.
Its ramblings are like poetry; I struggle to find the rhythm, to understand the metaphor.
Jump.
The tightness in my chest lessens. A sense of calm and purpose washes over me.
Jump.
I slip my hand into my pocket and grip my lucky charm. The ring is cool against my sweaty palm; my hand shakes as it burns the heaviness of my own guilt into my flesh.
Jump.
I didn’t tell him I was coming. I didn’t even say goodbye.
I just took off.
Strolled off of his ship with half of his pilots and his heart in my pocket, as if he were still the Commander and I the newly stated President with a million things to prove.
Jump.
I know he’ll rip the galaxies apart to find me. I know he’ll destroy anything and anyone who gets in his way.
Jump.
I know he won’t harbour any anger towards me.
It’s himself that he’ll never forgive.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 200 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Written for the "guess what's coming to dinner?" prompt at ar_drabbles. The title is a literary term that was coined by T.S. Eliot. He is likely rolling over in his grave right now because I've used it for fanfic purposes.
Jump.
I feel the thrumming of the ship, so deceptively alive beneath the cold, aloofness of the metal. It’s heartbeat matches my own; frantic, irregular, volatile. I can almost taste the artificial blood being pumped through the Hybrid’s circuits and wiring.
Its ramblings are like poetry; I struggle to find the rhythm, to understand the metaphor.
Jump.
The tightness in my chest lessens. A sense of calm and purpose washes over me.
Jump.
I slip my hand into my pocket and grip my lucky charm. The ring is cool against my sweaty palm; my hand shakes as it burns the heaviness of my own guilt into my flesh.
Jump.
I didn’t tell him I was coming. I didn’t even say goodbye.
I just took off.
Strolled off of his ship with half of his pilots and his heart in my pocket, as if he were still the Commander and I the newly stated President with a million things to prove.
Jump.
I know he’ll rip the galaxies apart to find me. I know he’ll destroy anything and anyone who gets in his way.
Jump.
I know he won’t harbour any anger towards me.
It’s himself that he’ll never forgive.