~BSG: Continuum, Part III: Time to Come
Title: Continuum, Part III: Time to Come
Author: kastari
Summary: Ya gotta hang on.
Characters: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 200
Author’s Note: Written for the 14th ar_drabbles challenge. Prompt: Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow
Disclaimer: I’m just playing in Universal’s sandbox.
Time to Come
One hundred steps to the temple; one hundred words to the prayer; one hundred deeds before manhood-counting was a Tauron thing.
William Adama would always be Tauron.
He contemplated one hundred places before deciding on the perfect spot.
He paced one hundred strides from the ledge before he gently laid her down.
He gathered one hundred stones, carefully covering her with a blanket of rock, sturdy and strong. It would protect her long after he was ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Even with no black gloves to wear, he honored her with one hundred days of mourning.
When darkness threatened his light, her voice whispered in the wind, forever reminding him that the sun also rises.
He started to build it one hundred times-her cabin with that easterly view. One day he would finish it.
He smoked the one hundred joints Cottle had rolled. Jack found an indigenous weed almost as good as New Caprican-how could he not help the good doctor with his medical experiment? She would have laughed and joined him.
Finally, he read to her-the last one hundred pages of Searider Falcon one evening in the twilight.
It was a good ending.
~finis~
Author: kastari
Summary: Ya gotta hang on.
Characters: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 200
Author’s Note: Written for the 14th ar_drabbles challenge. Prompt: Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow
Disclaimer: I’m just playing in Universal’s sandbox.
Time to Come
One hundred steps to the temple; one hundred words to the prayer; one hundred deeds before manhood-counting was a Tauron thing.
William Adama would always be Tauron.
He contemplated one hundred places before deciding on the perfect spot.
He paced one hundred strides from the ledge before he gently laid her down.
He gathered one hundred stones, carefully covering her with a blanket of rock, sturdy and strong. It would protect her long after he was ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Even with no black gloves to wear, he honored her with one hundred days of mourning.
When darkness threatened his light, her voice whispered in the wind, forever reminding him that the sun also rises.
He started to build it one hundred times-her cabin with that easterly view. One day he would finish it.
He smoked the one hundred joints Cottle had rolled. Jack found an indigenous weed almost as good as New Caprican-how could he not help the good doctor with his medical experiment? She would have laughed and joined him.
Finally, he read to her-the last one hundred pages of Searider Falcon one evening in the twilight.
It was a good ending.
~finis~