~BSG: Keepsake
Cottle had insisted she spend the night in sickbay.
Laura Roslin was losing the battle.
Bill sat down, the dark shroud of her illness wrapped tightly around him.
He knew it wouldn’t be much longer.
He wasn’t ready.
He would never be ready.
He sighed, took his glasses off, and tossed them haphazardly onto his desk. They hit the small, antique silver box with a ping.
A memento, she said. Something to remember her by.
He gently ran his hand over the distressed metal.
He opened the box.
His fingers dipped inside and brushed the single lock of auburn hair.
~finis~