"The Final Labor" - Adama/Roslin
Title: The Final Labor
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 300 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
The first time she came to him was a week after her own death.
He was sitting by her grave, telling her about the foundation of the cabin that he was building for her. He felt something in that moment. The slightest prickling of the hair on the back of his neck and the sudden warmth in his chest told him that he was not alone.
He caressed one of the rocks of her grave with a chuckle: “You’re right, enough chat. Back to work.”
The second time she came to him the cabin was nearly finished, but he was stuck inside the semi-built structure with a hacking cough and a burning fever.
I’m right here.
He felt the barest brush of her lips against his forehead before the sharp pain in his chest lessened and he was lulled, peacefully, to sleep.
Eleven months later he finally saw her.
The dawn broke through the humble curtains over his window. They were red; he had wanted to wake every morning and see something that reminded him of her.
It took him a minute to register that she was laying in bed with him, curled up against his body for the first time in over a year. Her lips caressed his neck; her hands traced the uneven skin of his scar. He used to love it when she did that.
He felt her fingertips scratch the overgrown beard on his face inquisitively. It had been far too painful for him to shave the last few weeks, his weakened heart would not allow him to complete even that mundane task.
The last words he heard were her own: I missed you.
He exhaled and closed his eyes.
He knew that when he opened them, he would see Laura standing right in front of him.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 300 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
The first time she came to him was a week after her own death.
He was sitting by her grave, telling her about the foundation of the cabin that he was building for her. He felt something in that moment. The slightest prickling of the hair on the back of his neck and the sudden warmth in his chest told him that he was not alone.
He caressed one of the rocks of her grave with a chuckle: “You’re right, enough chat. Back to work.”
The second time she came to him the cabin was nearly finished, but he was stuck inside the semi-built structure with a hacking cough and a burning fever.
I’m right here.
He felt the barest brush of her lips against his forehead before the sharp pain in his chest lessened and he was lulled, peacefully, to sleep.
Eleven months later he finally saw her.
The dawn broke through the humble curtains over his window. They were red; he had wanted to wake every morning and see something that reminded him of her.
It took him a minute to register that she was laying in bed with him, curled up against his body for the first time in over a year. Her lips caressed his neck; her hands traced the uneven skin of his scar. He used to love it when she did that.
He felt her fingertips scratch the overgrown beard on his face inquisitively. It had been far too painful for him to shave the last few weeks, his weakened heart would not allow him to complete even that mundane task.
The last words he heard were her own: I missed you.
He exhaled and closed his eyes.
He knew that when he opened them, he would see Laura standing right in front of him.