Cottle's Cottage [Part One]
Title: Cottle’s Cottage [Part One]
Rating: K
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Word Count: 1,131
Author’s Note: I always told myself I wouldn’t do a WIP but I sat down to write for the Battleship and I just kept wanting to work on this little story I started months ago. Hopefully the Battle will keep me motivated to finish this quickly so no one is sitting around waiting for me to get with it! I know bookstore fic has been done before, but this is my take on an old plot device J Let me know if its worth it to continue!
Posted for the about_time Battleship Challenge: Team!Laura.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Ronald D. Moore. He’s a very lucky man.
Minimum wage wasn’t exactly fulfilling Laura’s lifelong dreams. Nor was it fulfilling her potential. But she couldn’t go back to the classroom and Marci’s offer of political intrigue wasn’t the kind of suspense she enjoyed.
Her little bookstore was the perfect hideaway. Mysteries for her to borrow when it was slow, children for her to cuddle when she was brave, and dust to keep her busy for days.
The owner was gaining in years, grouchy, and stubborn but he gave Laura space. He knew she was capable of more but never questioned why she chose to surround herself with fiction.
And though Laura knew she was being coddled, as long as he kept his ashtray out of her way, she couldn’t be bothered to give a damn.
What she did mind were snooty customers who thought she had a book catalogue in her head and aspiring authors who tried to use her as their personal researcher. The worst were the ones who came in with food and sat for hours collecting piles of books they didn’t buy and never put away.
So when a dark-skinned man in blue jeans and leather jacket, who looked liked he’d gone one too many rounds inside the ring, walked in with his thermos of coffee and worked his way to the back, Laura kept one eye trained on him over the picture book she was reading to a gaggle of attentive children. When she’d finally divested her lap of giggling kids, she made a beeline for the back, grabbing a pile of books on her way to cover her spying.
But her purposeful stride broke when she reached her favorite section and found the man, not with a pile of books at his feet or making rings on the shelves, but with her favorite mystery reverently clutched in his hands and his coffee secure in the crook of his arm.
Laura was caught staring when two deep blue eyes looked up from the page and lit up with a questioning smile that didn’t show on the stoic lines of his face. Without putting her books away, Laura quickly retreated to the front, to the desk and the children and the safety of eyes that didn’t look too deep.
ooOoo
Training Viper jocks was an exhausting job but Bill Adama was proud. His ex-wife may have gotten him back in the Fleet but it was his own leadership that earned him a Command position at the Academy.
Two months in and Bill finally had his first weekend of relative relaxation. His division of flight instructors was finally up to speed - up to his speed. They’d all been decent enough when he’d begun but Bill would settle for nothing less than the best. The best instructors, the best candidates, the best pilots. Period.
When Saturday morning rolled around, Bill didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d awoken at oh-five hundred only to realize he had nowhere to be and nothing to do. So he walked a few blocks to a farmers market he’d seen advertised on occasion and picked up fresh vegetables and a selection of Tuaron spices. Then to a grocery for other essentials. Back at home, he put his purchases away, straightened up his small one-bedroom condo, and worked out in the gym he’d put together on the back patio.
By mid-afternoon, Bill decided to grill some beef for a large helping of his Nona’s famous stew. If he cooked large today, he could eat well for a week. A tumbler of ambrosia and a pyramid match rounded out his first day off in years.
Sunday came as early as Saturday but Bill had run out of things to stay busy. He thought about calling one of his boys but Lee was still off world and he’d seen Zak at the Academy on Thursday and knew his youngest had an important flight test to study for.
So Bill found himself retracing his steps from the day before, past the grocery and the farmers market, to a small coffee house he’d noticed kiddy corner to an even smaller bookstore.
New coffee thermos in hand, Bill pushed open the scratched wood door of the bookstore and heard the soft ring of the bell announcing another customer. He didn’t see anyone behind the small desk that looked like it served as the cash but his sweeping gaze definitely noticed the green-eyed beauty sitting cross-legged on the floor amidst a crowd of eager listeners.
Bill wasn’t one to stare and he masked his interest by making steady progress across the front of the bookstore toward the rows of shelves in the back. The store was larger than it appeared from out front, stretching lengthwise much farther than its width and Bill was pleased to discover it had a larger than normal section of mysteries. They weren’t always the popular selection and he guessed someone involved with store operations had a soft spot for his favorite genre.
Browsing the shelves, looking for something worthy of a Sunday afternoon, Bill tucked his coffee in the crook of his arm, careful to make sure it was sealed tight. Used books or not, no one liked coffee stains on their treasures. He pulled out a novel and started reading. His rule of thumb: if a book gets you in the first ten pages, buy it. If not, move on.
He was on page fifteen when he noticed movement to his right and heard a barely there gasp. Bringing his eyes up, he couldn’t help the small smile in his gaze as he got his second look at the auburn-haired vixen from up front. And she was a vixen; Bill could tell. She had trouble written all over her. From her long, deep red skirt and matching wrap, to the annoyed yet despondent look in her eyes. Bill couldn’t tell if he was more moved to hug her or kiss her but either way, he wanted to know her.
Unfortunately, she was gone before he had a chance to say a word. Bill watched her practically run back up the aisle, shoving her unshelved books onto a rolling cart, and seating herself amidst the children as though she were putting up a rampart to defend herself from reality. Bill trailed her up the aisle but paid for his book with the weathered old man who’d appeared at the desk and stepped out into the sun without giving a second glance.
Bill didn’t know who she was or why she’d run but something told Bill his mystery woman wasn’t going to get very far. She belonged in that bookstore and now so did he. Maybe in time he’d get a chance to discover her secrets, but for now, he had a mystery to read.