"The Loan" - Adama/Roslin Fic
Title: The Loan
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 1, 376 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Thanks to redrockcan for her beta.
It’s a gift; never lend books.
“You’re late,” she says with mock admonishment. Her eyes are twinkling and her hand is already connecting with his own. “I was staring to miss you,” she says sweetly.
He kisses her softly, letting his lips linger over hers longer than the duration of their kiss. He takes everything in; the feel of her lips against his as they begin to widen in a breathless giggle, her small, perfectly rounded nose as it nudges against his, her taste, so faint now, made bitter by the doloxin, but no less present.
He doesn’t know how many more kisses he will share with her. He does know that her lips will be the last that he will ever kiss.
“Are you going to read to me?” she whispers playfully against his mouth. He steals one more kiss from her, before opening the book with enough flourish to make her start laughing again.
“This is serious literature Roslin,” he says as he looks over the top of his glasses. “I will have you know that this was the first novel I read while I was in war college.”
“Really? I didn’t realize that your program would include the Colonies’ most famous bildungsroman on the syllabus?”
“It wasn’t,” he says. She quirks her eyebrow at him questioningly. “I wanted to get lost in something, to live through the eyes of another. This seemed like as good a novel as any.”
Laura gives his hand an affectionate squeeze. She understands the horrors of war all too well now, and pictures a younger William Adama sitting under a tree on campus, his stunning blue eyes glued to the pages of this novel.
“I’m ready,” she says softly. Ready to get lost in something. With him.
***
Well then, thank you for the gift.
She loves when he reads to her. Loves the way his gravelly voice caresses the words on the page, giving life to them, setting them free to dance in the space between them. When he reads to her, she lets everything go and allows him to wrap her in a blanket of his love.
She sighs contently when he shows her today’s selection.
“Oh, I’ve always loved this one,” she says, joy radiating from her smile. “I remember the first time that I read it, I was so young!”
Bill makes himself comfortable in the chair next to her bed. He’s already met her halfway for a series of delicate, chaste kisses. He spends his entire day in delightful anticipation of them. Unable to separate from her just yet, he brings her hand up to his lips, depositing profound admissions of love against each bruise, each needle mark.
“When you were in school?” he asks. He imagines her as a young woman, all fiery hair and beautifully optimistic.
“I had just graduated. It was the summer right before I started my dissertation for my doctorate. I had just broken up with my boyfriend at the time, I was rediscovering myself, understanding the sort of woman that I was becoming.”
He listens eagerly, hungrily. He wants to devour every memory that she shares with him, wants to consume it, etch it into the very tissue of his brain so that he will never, ever forget a thing that she has ever said.
“I re-read this after the attacks,” he says. “I must admit, while I was reading, I couldn’t help but associate the protagonist with you.”
“Really?” Laura grins.
“She’s so strong, accepts the role that her people nominate her for, without any thoughts of her own personal gain. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of you.”
“Mmm, then you must be the leader from the neighboring tribe. She couldn’t stand him at first, didn’t want to forge an alliance with him, but needed to in order for her people to survive the harsh winter.”
“Are you saying that you couldn’t stand me when we first met?” His question is full of warmth and humor. Their beginning was not a smooth one, but he’s come to love everything about her that he once hated.
“I’m saying that I foolishly fell in love with you, despite all of your obvious flaws,” she retorts impishly.
“Ouch. You wound my pride Roslin,” he pouts. She chuckles at his mock anguish.
“Get reading Adama,” she orders with a wink.
“For the record, he’s glad that the priestess agreed to forge an alliance with him.”
“Oh?” Laura asks.
“He was lonely. Despite being surrounded by his people, they were isolated, constricted to the area of the mountains. She came along and forced them to explore, forced the Old Chief to open up his heart again,” he says softly.
He cracks the spine of the novel which has spent the better half of a decade on the shelf of his quarters, waiting, hoping, for the perfect moment.
For the right time.
For the right partner to be shared with.
***
Don’t let the title fool you. It’s a pretty good mystery.
“So….beautiful,” she wheezes. His heart constricts with each ragged breath that she struggles to take.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he insists. Love is the greatest and most tragic beauty of all.
“Hmm,” she rolls her eyes at him lovingly. After all these years, the depth and purity of his love still amazes her.
“What’s…in there?” She nudges her head towards a crate next to them under their tarp.
“Our library,” he proclaims proudly. “Our cabin won’t be complete without a bookshelf after all.” His smile is forced, she can hear the cracks and splinters in the falsely hopeful tone of his voice.
“Love….you,” she sighs. “It will….be…a beautiful…cabin.”
“I’ll construct a window right next to the bookshelf, that way you can enjoy the natural light while you read,” he promises. “And when you get tired, I’ll carry you to bed, and continue reading to you.”
“Mmmm. And…when you….are tired…I’ll….read to you,” she promises.
“Whatever you want, however you want to spend our time together,” he avows.
***
And it’s not a loan, it’s a gift.
Summer has come and left; most of the harvest has been cultivated and stored in anticipation of winter. They don’t know how harsh or how mild this new world’s climate will be, but they prepare for the more pessimistic possibility; they have already lived through the absolute worst.
Saul helps with unearthing some of the crops in the garden, as well as insulating Bill’s humble cabin. He thinks of how delighted Laura would have been in his efforts, though he knows without a doubt that her gardening skills would have ensured a far more fruitful crop than his.
“Hey, Old Man, the frak is this crate doing over here?” Saul scratches his head and prods the crate in question. “Where the heck am I supposed to stack the grains?”
“Just put ‘em in the kitchen area. I’ll figure it out later,” Bill grumbles.
Only when Saul is out of the cabin collecting more supplies does Bill gingerly open the top of the crate.
It’s been months since he has dared to read. He finds that he can no longer do so without the warm weight of her body next to his, without the tender act of holding her hand as he narrates. The words are empty now; broken promises, bitter reminders of an act so loving and so pure, shared with her.
He brushes his hand over the novel on the top of the pile. Searider Falcon stares up at him, as eerie as a ghost. That’s when he notices it, a loose paper peaking out of the novel. Curious, he pulls it free.
Bill,
You were my greatest adventure. Our story is a journey that will not end in this lifetime, but continue on in the next. I love you more than I could possibly say, and I look forward to the day when we can pick up where we left off. Until then, don’t be afraid to explore without me. I’ll be waiting for you, no matter what.
All my love, always,
Laura
His smile is bittersweet. He knows that his journey in this life is coming to its end.
Soon, he’ll start his next great adventure; with her.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 1, 376 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Thanks to redrockcan for her beta.
It’s a gift; never lend books.
“You’re late,” she says with mock admonishment. Her eyes are twinkling and her hand is already connecting with his own. “I was staring to miss you,” she says sweetly.
He kisses her softly, letting his lips linger over hers longer than the duration of their kiss. He takes everything in; the feel of her lips against his as they begin to widen in a breathless giggle, her small, perfectly rounded nose as it nudges against his, her taste, so faint now, made bitter by the doloxin, but no less present.
He doesn’t know how many more kisses he will share with her. He does know that her lips will be the last that he will ever kiss.
“Are you going to read to me?” she whispers playfully against his mouth. He steals one more kiss from her, before opening the book with enough flourish to make her start laughing again.
“This is serious literature Roslin,” he says as he looks over the top of his glasses. “I will have you know that this was the first novel I read while I was in war college.”
“Really? I didn’t realize that your program would include the Colonies’ most famous bildungsroman on the syllabus?”
“It wasn’t,” he says. She quirks her eyebrow at him questioningly. “I wanted to get lost in something, to live through the eyes of another. This seemed like as good a novel as any.”
Laura gives his hand an affectionate squeeze. She understands the horrors of war all too well now, and pictures a younger William Adama sitting under a tree on campus, his stunning blue eyes glued to the pages of this novel.
“I’m ready,” she says softly. Ready to get lost in something. With him.
***
Well then, thank you for the gift.
She loves when he reads to her. Loves the way his gravelly voice caresses the words on the page, giving life to them, setting them free to dance in the space between them. When he reads to her, she lets everything go and allows him to wrap her in a blanket of his love.
She sighs contently when he shows her today’s selection.
“Oh, I’ve always loved this one,” she says, joy radiating from her smile. “I remember the first time that I read it, I was so young!”
Bill makes himself comfortable in the chair next to her bed. He’s already met her halfway for a series of delicate, chaste kisses. He spends his entire day in delightful anticipation of them. Unable to separate from her just yet, he brings her hand up to his lips, depositing profound admissions of love against each bruise, each needle mark.
“When you were in school?” he asks. He imagines her as a young woman, all fiery hair and beautifully optimistic.
“I had just graduated. It was the summer right before I started my dissertation for my doctorate. I had just broken up with my boyfriend at the time, I was rediscovering myself, understanding the sort of woman that I was becoming.”
He listens eagerly, hungrily. He wants to devour every memory that she shares with him, wants to consume it, etch it into the very tissue of his brain so that he will never, ever forget a thing that she has ever said.
“I re-read this after the attacks,” he says. “I must admit, while I was reading, I couldn’t help but associate the protagonist with you.”
“Really?” Laura grins.
“She’s so strong, accepts the role that her people nominate her for, without any thoughts of her own personal gain. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of you.”
“Mmm, then you must be the leader from the neighboring tribe. She couldn’t stand him at first, didn’t want to forge an alliance with him, but needed to in order for her people to survive the harsh winter.”
“Are you saying that you couldn’t stand me when we first met?” His question is full of warmth and humor. Their beginning was not a smooth one, but he’s come to love everything about her that he once hated.
“I’m saying that I foolishly fell in love with you, despite all of your obvious flaws,” she retorts impishly.
“Ouch. You wound my pride Roslin,” he pouts. She chuckles at his mock anguish.
“Get reading Adama,” she orders with a wink.
“For the record, he’s glad that the priestess agreed to forge an alliance with him.”
“Oh?” Laura asks.
“He was lonely. Despite being surrounded by his people, they were isolated, constricted to the area of the mountains. She came along and forced them to explore, forced the Old Chief to open up his heart again,” he says softly.
He cracks the spine of the novel which has spent the better half of a decade on the shelf of his quarters, waiting, hoping, for the perfect moment.
For the right time.
For the right partner to be shared with.
***
Don’t let the title fool you. It’s a pretty good mystery.
“So….beautiful,” she wheezes. His heart constricts with each ragged breath that she struggles to take.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he insists. Love is the greatest and most tragic beauty of all.
“Hmm,” she rolls her eyes at him lovingly. After all these years, the depth and purity of his love still amazes her.
“What’s…in there?” She nudges her head towards a crate next to them under their tarp.
“Our library,” he proclaims proudly. “Our cabin won’t be complete without a bookshelf after all.” His smile is forced, she can hear the cracks and splinters in the falsely hopeful tone of his voice.
“Love….you,” she sighs. “It will….be…a beautiful…cabin.”
“I’ll construct a window right next to the bookshelf, that way you can enjoy the natural light while you read,” he promises. “And when you get tired, I’ll carry you to bed, and continue reading to you.”
“Mmmm. And…when you….are tired…I’ll….read to you,” she promises.
“Whatever you want, however you want to spend our time together,” he avows.
***
And it’s not a loan, it’s a gift.
Summer has come and left; most of the harvest has been cultivated and stored in anticipation of winter. They don’t know how harsh or how mild this new world’s climate will be, but they prepare for the more pessimistic possibility; they have already lived through the absolute worst.
Saul helps with unearthing some of the crops in the garden, as well as insulating Bill’s humble cabin. He thinks of how delighted Laura would have been in his efforts, though he knows without a doubt that her gardening skills would have ensured a far more fruitful crop than his.
“Hey, Old Man, the frak is this crate doing over here?” Saul scratches his head and prods the crate in question. “Where the heck am I supposed to stack the grains?”
“Just put ‘em in the kitchen area. I’ll figure it out later,” Bill grumbles.
Only when Saul is out of the cabin collecting more supplies does Bill gingerly open the top of the crate.
It’s been months since he has dared to read. He finds that he can no longer do so without the warm weight of her body next to his, without the tender act of holding her hand as he narrates. The words are empty now; broken promises, bitter reminders of an act so loving and so pure, shared with her.
He brushes his hand over the novel on the top of the pile. Searider Falcon stares up at him, as eerie as a ghost. That’s when he notices it, a loose paper peaking out of the novel. Curious, he pulls it free.
Bill,
You were my greatest adventure. Our story is a journey that will not end in this lifetime, but continue on in the next. I love you more than I could possibly say, and I look forward to the day when we can pick up where we left off. Until then, don’t be afraid to explore without me. I’ll be waiting for you, no matter what.
All my love, always,
Laura
His smile is bittersweet. He knows that his journey in this life is coming to its end.
Soon, he’ll start his next great adventure; with her.