FIC: Penumbra (1/1)
Title: Penumbra
Author: bugs
Word Count: 2,200
Rating: Light M
A/N: I really wanted to write nixmom a fun little smut biscuit which she could enjoy like some virtual bon-bons...And somehow it got away from me and became..This. *nervous smile*
May 12rd, '44:
First leave now that we've reached port in England. I'd promised myself a book-buying trip to London so took the morning train from Plymouth. Wartime London is like the Dickens London of my childhood reading; crumbling buildings, black streets and toxic smells. Rain, of course. Spent all day in the shops of Charing Cross Road and had to hurry for the last train. I was seeking Paddington station by some internal compass when I went off a broken curb. Trying to catch myself, I got an armful of woman instead.
Been too damn long was my first thought. The darkness became Hollywood Technicolor in a flash. Soft hips in my hands, a full bosom pressed to my chest, thick curls around my face, her low voice in my ear asking my pardon.
Yes, I pardoned her. And gave myself a talking to. Can't see my wedding ring in the dark, but that's no excuse. I lost my package in the street and she lost hers too. I managed to find them both and lead us into the station's cafe to straighten things out.
Even with nothing but one bare bulb to light the whole place, she was a doll. And another Yank--I was happy to hear a woman's voice in a familiar accent. English dames make me feel like I should be bowing all the time.
She accepted the coffee I offered, even though we both knew it would be awful. She turned out to be a rare woman--got right to the point in her story. She's the secretary to a diplomat. Didn't say what his job was, or ask mine. My uniform said all she needed to know.
We'd been to the same bookshops, but missed each other. She mentioned that surely she'd have noticed an American naval officer, and what a small place this war was making the world.
I offered to walk her to her lodgings, but she reminded me of my train and was gone before I could argue.
Back in my cabin on the Meredith, and I've decided her eyes are like that moon I'm waiting for; clear, pale, lighting the night.
Her name is Laura.
May 13th, '44:
Unwrapped my package, only to find it's a mystery, not my Farrell novel. I'll read anything, but Laura's got to want her book. I'd send it up to town, but I had not gotten her last name or even the diplomat she works for. I can only try to find her on my next leave if it comes before the full moon.
May 25th '44:
Knocking on doors in Whitehall found my Laura. She thanked me for returning her book by offering a cup of that awful coffee, this time made in her office.
I confessed I'd read her book. She'd tried my book too, but admitted she hadn't made it to the end. I know it's not a light read but it's America, that place I miss every day, even if dirty and dark-hearted. I don't explain that. She did tease that I would buy an American writer while in England. Better than reading about murder, I say. I'll be sick enough of dying soon enough.
She asked about my family. I told her about the boys, and Carolanne. Our house on the Jersey shore. That I sail a 16' slope when home. My library with as many books as some of the shops we'd visited.
She has no husband or fiance waiting back in the States but does have her family house that she's renting out while in London. When she's home, she goes to the museums every weekend, plays, concerts. She tried a Victory garden, but was no good at it. She's thinking about becoming a teacher when this war is over. It's time to do something in this life, she says.
Turns out she and that Adar will be going back to Washington as soon as the ball drops. She'd hoped to see a English summer before she left but the rain kept coming down. When the storm clouds clear and the moon comes out, we'll both be on the move it seems.
Her boss came by, I guess to sniff me over. I took that as my last call notice.
She thanked me for her book. I told her to keep mine too but she wouldn't hear of it.
I asked if she'd been to the seashore yet. When she said no, I found myself suggesting she come down to Plymouth and I'd show her around.
She had the good grace not to slap me right then.
It was a long train ride back to think about the sort of man I'd become. Maybe she'd been right about the world becoming a small place, but in other ways, it was easy to get lost.
June 4th, '44:
Full moon is tomorrow night. The weather's getting worse but the event could still happen. Saul wants us to go see some local girls in case it does. Thought I'd better take a raincheck on that. Guess I'm the only one paying attention in the VD films from the Red Cross.
I went for a walk instead. Raining on and off, just reminding me of the wait. My mind goes over the moon phases like some old farmer. Then I saw the red hair on the street. Decided I was imagining things I wanted to see. But the woman kept pushing through the uniforms and it was Laura standing before me.
Tried to ask what she was doing there. She just put her hands on my chest and said she wants to be an ordinary woman for a day, not part of this war. I can't think of anything but the coming battles. But she wants me to leave those behind.
She thought this was the right thing to do, for a man about to go into battle. I tried to talk her out of it, that we both had our duties, and one was my marriage. Carolanne would never give me a divorce.
Laura doesn't want marriage and told me I'd earned this one day with my loyalty. Seemed she's a woman who can win any argument. We were on the High Street. Crewmen from every battleship went by.
She told me which was her hotel and walked away. The choice was with me. Maybe I should have gone with Saul after all, or stayed in my bunk with a good book.
I found her waiting in the lobby.
She was right, of course. I left my good intentions toward my marriage aside for a few hours and was selfish. My only regret was the pain that must have caused her.
I was not her first, and I was angry, not with her, but the men who used her generous spirit and easy passion. And now I was one of them.
I'll write down every sensation to use as a talisman in the years to come, if I survive the next few days.
I think of her like jewels--my hidden treasure. Her skin had the sheen of a pearl in the dim room. The silver light in her eyes. And rubies, scattered on the bed--her mouth and tongue, her nipples, following the trail of blush down to the cavern of riches between her legs.
I knew just how much time I had, and like the bells ringing on my deck, I counted down every moment. She kept saying it was about my pleasure. Had to tell her, this was my pleasure. With everything I tried to give her, she gave me more. I'll hear her cries when I want music. I'll taste her skin and flesh when I'm hungry. When I have need, it'll be her hold on my cock that I remember, more than tissue and muscle, but her love.
She didn't say the words, but I knew they were there, no matter how crazy it should be. But I told her I loved her anyway. I've got nothing to lose.
The bells were all rung out. I can only come once, but I made damn sure she had three, so I could leave her close to sleep. After dressing, I wanted to kiss her again, but knew there'd be no leaving if I did. She thought she'd given me what I wanted and needed. I had to walk away, knowing I would never have this kind of joy again. My sons are worth more than my happiness but it still hurts.
I'll tell Saul to destroy this journal if I don't make it, just in case he gets the bright idea that the boys will want it someday, to see what a big hero their dad was. No matter how many battles I'm in, I've discovered I'm a coward.
June 12th, '44:
The Meredith's lost and I've been busier than if I were still in battle. Command won't let me take a new vessel. I've been writing up Action Reports and yakking at gold braid every since we got plunked out the drink when she finally broke up. First time I've had to write.
I've taken the time to read over this journal and don't know if it's something I want to carry around with me, or add to. Just be more of the same self-pity, I bet. So I'll call it a day, and put this away. I can't ever throw a book out but I'll start a rest of the story on fresh pages.
*William Adama
"That explains a thing or two," Kara said as she finished reading the last page over Lee's shoulder.
He slammed the tattered journal closed. "Yeah, why Mom felt the need to find a man who could truly love her."
"And waits until fifteen years later?" Kara stepped away. "So that's where you learned to hold a grudge," she sneered.
"You don't know what it was like to live in this family--"
Still clutching the worn relic, Lee moved to the box of war mementos which his father had been sorting through. Lee had asked his father, now what? Where will you go? As usual, his father didn't want to talk about his feelings. He finally just gave this journal to Lee, and went to sort through the garage.
"No, I only know that the harder Zac tried to make me happy, the harder I fought," the young woman said bitterly, moving toward the Adama home's open front door. Through the screen door, she could see the wind was picking up, causing whitecaps on the sea.
Then like a vision, a woman appeared in the doorway, her red hair blowing across her face.
She pulled the strands away and smiled tentatively at Kara through the screen. "I'm looking for Bill Adama," she said huskily.
Lee started to speak, but Kara put up her hand to silence him. "He's out back. Packing up his boat."
"Going for a sail?" The woman looked uncertain.
"No, he's moving out," Lee said tightly.
"Thank you...Lee," she said, still unsure.
"And you must be Laura," he said flatly.
"I'll go find Bill," she said, turning away. Like the wind was carrying her, it caught her hair and loose clamdigger slacks, and moved her away from the doorway.
Kara followed.
"Don't--" protested Lee, but he went after the young woman.
As though trying to shadow a suspect, Kara kept under the porch eaves and close to the warped shingles of the cottage's siding. She and Lee peered around the corner just in time to see Laura catch Bill's attention. He'd been loading boxes into his sailboat's cabin. He scrambled down off the small slope's deck to stand before her.
He did not take the last step, or drag the woman to him. The wind shifted and they only heard about time but couldn't tell which one had spoken.
Only then did Bill kiss the stranger, but it was just a brush of his lips on her temple. She sagged against him as though he'd crushed her to his chest. He turned, his heavy arm around her, keeping her slender body near.
Bill and Laura saw the young couple on the porch. Her smile impish, Laura raised her hand in a wave. Lee dropped his gaze, but Kara stared back frankly.
Tipping his head, Bill signaled their direction toward the water. ...Walk... was the only word that floated to them in the swirling breezes. Hand in hand, Bill and Laura passed between the dunes and out of sight. Lee watched until the last flick of red hair disappeared in the encroaching mist.
The fog came at this time every afternoon, melding the steely water to the sky. The sun glowed through as a white disk, the moon shining in the day.
"Kara, what do you think is going to happen?" Lee turned, but the girl was gone. He was alone on the porch of his family's home, the wind now swirling his hair before his eyes, leaving him blind.
~end
Author: bugs
Word Count: 2,200
Rating: Light M
A/N: I really wanted to write nixmom a fun little smut biscuit which she could enjoy like some virtual bon-bons...And somehow it got away from me and became..This. *nervous smile*
May 12rd, '44:
First leave now that we've reached port in England. I'd promised myself a book-buying trip to London so took the morning train from Plymouth. Wartime London is like the Dickens London of my childhood reading; crumbling buildings, black streets and toxic smells. Rain, of course. Spent all day in the shops of Charing Cross Road and had to hurry for the last train. I was seeking Paddington station by some internal compass when I went off a broken curb. Trying to catch myself, I got an armful of woman instead.
Been too damn long was my first thought. The darkness became Hollywood Technicolor in a flash. Soft hips in my hands, a full bosom pressed to my chest, thick curls around my face, her low voice in my ear asking my pardon.
Yes, I pardoned her. And gave myself a talking to. Can't see my wedding ring in the dark, but that's no excuse. I lost my package in the street and she lost hers too. I managed to find them both and lead us into the station's cafe to straighten things out.
Even with nothing but one bare bulb to light the whole place, she was a doll. And another Yank--I was happy to hear a woman's voice in a familiar accent. English dames make me feel like I should be bowing all the time.
She accepted the coffee I offered, even though we both knew it would be awful. She turned out to be a rare woman--got right to the point in her story. She's the secretary to a diplomat. Didn't say what his job was, or ask mine. My uniform said all she needed to know.
We'd been to the same bookshops, but missed each other. She mentioned that surely she'd have noticed an American naval officer, and what a small place this war was making the world.
I offered to walk her to her lodgings, but she reminded me of my train and was gone before I could argue.
Back in my cabin on the Meredith, and I've decided her eyes are like that moon I'm waiting for; clear, pale, lighting the night.
Her name is Laura.
May 13th, '44:
Unwrapped my package, only to find it's a mystery, not my Farrell novel. I'll read anything, but Laura's got to want her book. I'd send it up to town, but I had not gotten her last name or even the diplomat she works for. I can only try to find her on my next leave if it comes before the full moon.
May 25th '44:
Knocking on doors in Whitehall found my Laura. She thanked me for returning her book by offering a cup of that awful coffee, this time made in her office.
I confessed I'd read her book. She'd tried my book too, but admitted she hadn't made it to the end. I know it's not a light read but it's America, that place I miss every day, even if dirty and dark-hearted. I don't explain that. She did tease that I would buy an American writer while in England. Better than reading about murder, I say. I'll be sick enough of dying soon enough.
She asked about my family. I told her about the boys, and Carolanne. Our house on the Jersey shore. That I sail a 16' slope when home. My library with as many books as some of the shops we'd visited.
She has no husband or fiance waiting back in the States but does have her family house that she's renting out while in London. When she's home, she goes to the museums every weekend, plays, concerts. She tried a Victory garden, but was no good at it. She's thinking about becoming a teacher when this war is over. It's time to do something in this life, she says.
Turns out she and that Adar will be going back to Washington as soon as the ball drops. She'd hoped to see a English summer before she left but the rain kept coming down. When the storm clouds clear and the moon comes out, we'll both be on the move it seems.
Her boss came by, I guess to sniff me over. I took that as my last call notice.
She thanked me for her book. I told her to keep mine too but she wouldn't hear of it.
I asked if she'd been to the seashore yet. When she said no, I found myself suggesting she come down to Plymouth and I'd show her around.
She had the good grace not to slap me right then.
It was a long train ride back to think about the sort of man I'd become. Maybe she'd been right about the world becoming a small place, but in other ways, it was easy to get lost.
June 4th, '44:
Full moon is tomorrow night. The weather's getting worse but the event could still happen. Saul wants us to go see some local girls in case it does. Thought I'd better take a raincheck on that. Guess I'm the only one paying attention in the VD films from the Red Cross.
I went for a walk instead. Raining on and off, just reminding me of the wait. My mind goes over the moon phases like some old farmer. Then I saw the red hair on the street. Decided I was imagining things I wanted to see. But the woman kept pushing through the uniforms and it was Laura standing before me.
Tried to ask what she was doing there. She just put her hands on my chest and said she wants to be an ordinary woman for a day, not part of this war. I can't think of anything but the coming battles. But she wants me to leave those behind.
She thought this was the right thing to do, for a man about to go into battle. I tried to talk her out of it, that we both had our duties, and one was my marriage. Carolanne would never give me a divorce.
Laura doesn't want marriage and told me I'd earned this one day with my loyalty. Seemed she's a woman who can win any argument. We were on the High Street. Crewmen from every battleship went by.
She told me which was her hotel and walked away. The choice was with me. Maybe I should have gone with Saul after all, or stayed in my bunk with a good book.
I found her waiting in the lobby.
She was right, of course. I left my good intentions toward my marriage aside for a few hours and was selfish. My only regret was the pain that must have caused her.
I was not her first, and I was angry, not with her, but the men who used her generous spirit and easy passion. And now I was one of them.
I'll write down every sensation to use as a talisman in the years to come, if I survive the next few days.
I think of her like jewels--my hidden treasure. Her skin had the sheen of a pearl in the dim room. The silver light in her eyes. And rubies, scattered on the bed--her mouth and tongue, her nipples, following the trail of blush down to the cavern of riches between her legs.
I knew just how much time I had, and like the bells ringing on my deck, I counted down every moment. She kept saying it was about my pleasure. Had to tell her, this was my pleasure. With everything I tried to give her, she gave me more. I'll hear her cries when I want music. I'll taste her skin and flesh when I'm hungry. When I have need, it'll be her hold on my cock that I remember, more than tissue and muscle, but her love.
She didn't say the words, but I knew they were there, no matter how crazy it should be. But I told her I loved her anyway. I've got nothing to lose.
The bells were all rung out. I can only come once, but I made damn sure she had three, so I could leave her close to sleep. After dressing, I wanted to kiss her again, but knew there'd be no leaving if I did. She thought she'd given me what I wanted and needed. I had to walk away, knowing I would never have this kind of joy again. My sons are worth more than my happiness but it still hurts.
I'll tell Saul to destroy this journal if I don't make it, just in case he gets the bright idea that the boys will want it someday, to see what a big hero their dad was. No matter how many battles I'm in, I've discovered I'm a coward.
June 12th, '44:
The Meredith's lost and I've been busier than if I were still in battle. Command won't let me take a new vessel. I've been writing up Action Reports and yakking at gold braid every since we got plunked out the drink when she finally broke up. First time I've had to write.
I've taken the time to read over this journal and don't know if it's something I want to carry around with me, or add to. Just be more of the same self-pity, I bet. So I'll call it a day, and put this away. I can't ever throw a book out but I'll start a rest of the story on fresh pages.
*William Adama
"That explains a thing or two," Kara said as she finished reading the last page over Lee's shoulder.
He slammed the tattered journal closed. "Yeah, why Mom felt the need to find a man who could truly love her."
"And waits until fifteen years later?" Kara stepped away. "So that's where you learned to hold a grudge," she sneered.
"You don't know what it was like to live in this family--"
Still clutching the worn relic, Lee moved to the box of war mementos which his father had been sorting through. Lee had asked his father, now what? Where will you go? As usual, his father didn't want to talk about his feelings. He finally just gave this journal to Lee, and went to sort through the garage.
"No, I only know that the harder Zac tried to make me happy, the harder I fought," the young woman said bitterly, moving toward the Adama home's open front door. Through the screen door, she could see the wind was picking up, causing whitecaps on the sea.
Then like a vision, a woman appeared in the doorway, her red hair blowing across her face.
She pulled the strands away and smiled tentatively at Kara through the screen. "I'm looking for Bill Adama," she said huskily.
Lee started to speak, but Kara put up her hand to silence him. "He's out back. Packing up his boat."
"Going for a sail?" The woman looked uncertain.
"No, he's moving out," Lee said tightly.
"Thank you...Lee," she said, still unsure.
"And you must be Laura," he said flatly.
"I'll go find Bill," she said, turning away. Like the wind was carrying her, it caught her hair and loose clamdigger slacks, and moved her away from the doorway.
Kara followed.
"Don't--" protested Lee, but he went after the young woman.
As though trying to shadow a suspect, Kara kept under the porch eaves and close to the warped shingles of the cottage's siding. She and Lee peered around the corner just in time to see Laura catch Bill's attention. He'd been loading boxes into his sailboat's cabin. He scrambled down off the small slope's deck to stand before her.
He did not take the last step, or drag the woman to him. The wind shifted and they only heard about time but couldn't tell which one had spoken.
Only then did Bill kiss the stranger, but it was just a brush of his lips on her temple. She sagged against him as though he'd crushed her to his chest. He turned, his heavy arm around her, keeping her slender body near.
Bill and Laura saw the young couple on the porch. Her smile impish, Laura raised her hand in a wave. Lee dropped his gaze, but Kara stared back frankly.
Tipping his head, Bill signaled their direction toward the water. ...Walk... was the only word that floated to them in the swirling breezes. Hand in hand, Bill and Laura passed between the dunes and out of sight. Lee watched until the last flick of red hair disappeared in the encroaching mist.
The fog came at this time every afternoon, melding the steely water to the sky. The sun glowed through as a white disk, the moon shining in the day.
"Kara, what do you think is going to happen?" Lee turned, but the girl was gone. He was alone on the porch of his family's home, the wind now swirling his hair before his eyes, leaving him blind.
~end