~BSG: Private, First Class
Title: Private, First Class
Author: kastari
Summary: You don’t raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they’ll turn out to be heroes, even if it’s just in your own eyes. ~Walter M. Schirra, Sr.
Characters: Adama/Roslin, Stewart Jaffee
Rating: T
Word Count: 300
Time Frame: Post ‘Blood On The Scales’
Author’s Note: Written for the 47th ar_drabbles challenge. Prompt: Feature a character that died during the show, but set drabble/ficlet during an episode AFTER that character died.
Thanks to redrockcan for the icon. And to frakcancer for her usual hand holding. I frantically whine at the last minute. A lot. It's my way...
Disclaimer: I’m just playing in Universal’s sandbox.
Private, First Class
Distracted, Bill kept glancing at the clock. She was running out of time. So was he. He needed to find Earth. For her…
Tigh watched his best friend. Although he’d never admit it, the Old Man was worried. About the aftermath of the mutiny. About crew morale. About the Cylon alliance. About finding a new home. About Galactica coming apart at the seams. About Roslin. Mostly about Roslin.
“Bill,” he called softly. “We need you up here.”
Bill met his XO’s steady gaze. Saul was right. He needed to stay focused-on duty for almost forty-eight hours, or not.
“I’ll go, sir,” Private Jaffee offered.
A sigh of relief escaped Bill. “Thank you, son.”
~*~
Her Marines snapped to attention. One man nodded as the other spun the hatch open.
Jaffee entered the admiral’s quarters.
She wasn’t on the couch or in the head. He set the coffee on the table. “Madame President?”
He found her in a heap on the floor of the admiral’s bedroom, tangled in the bedclothes.
“Madame President, are you all right?” He knelt beside her.
“Yes…I…I thought I heard Bill.”
“No, ma’am. He’s still in CIC. He’ll be home soon.”
He helped her sit up, tucked the brown robe snugly around her, picked up the green scarf caught in the blankets, and deftly re-tied it around her head.
“Let me get you settled on the couch.” He lifted her gently, steadied her walk, and guided her slowly to the living room.
She inhaled. “Is that real or algae?”
He wrapped a blanket around her. “Real. The last of my private stash.” He poured her a cup.
She sipped the coffee. “Thank you, Billy. It’s wonderful. Stay with me a while?”
He smiled. “I will.”
Stewart sat down beside her, honored to be her Billy.
~finis~
Author: kastari
Summary: You don’t raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they’ll turn out to be heroes, even if it’s just in your own eyes. ~Walter M. Schirra, Sr.
Characters: Adama/Roslin, Stewart Jaffee
Rating: T
Word Count: 300
Time Frame: Post ‘Blood On The Scales’
Author’s Note: Written for the 47th ar_drabbles challenge. Prompt: Feature a character that died during the show, but set drabble/ficlet during an episode AFTER that character died.
Thanks to redrockcan for the icon. And to frakcancer for her usual hand holding. I frantically whine at the last minute. A lot. It's my way...
Disclaimer: I’m just playing in Universal’s sandbox.
Private, First Class
Distracted, Bill kept glancing at the clock. She was running out of time. So was he. He needed to find Earth. For her…
Tigh watched his best friend. Although he’d never admit it, the Old Man was worried. About the aftermath of the mutiny. About crew morale. About the Cylon alliance. About finding a new home. About Galactica coming apart at the seams. About Roslin. Mostly about Roslin.
“Bill,” he called softly. “We need you up here.”
Bill met his XO’s steady gaze. Saul was right. He needed to stay focused-on duty for almost forty-eight hours, or not.
“I’ll go, sir,” Private Jaffee offered.
A sigh of relief escaped Bill. “Thank you, son.”
~*~
Her Marines snapped to attention. One man nodded as the other spun the hatch open.
Jaffee entered the admiral’s quarters.
She wasn’t on the couch or in the head. He set the coffee on the table. “Madame President?”
He found her in a heap on the floor of the admiral’s bedroom, tangled in the bedclothes.
“Madame President, are you all right?” He knelt beside her.
“Yes…I…I thought I heard Bill.”
“No, ma’am. He’s still in CIC. He’ll be home soon.”
He helped her sit up, tucked the brown robe snugly around her, picked up the green scarf caught in the blankets, and deftly re-tied it around her head.
“Let me get you settled on the couch.” He lifted her gently, steadied her walk, and guided her slowly to the living room.
She inhaled. “Is that real or algae?”
He wrapped a blanket around her. “Real. The last of my private stash.” He poured her a cup.
She sipped the coffee. “Thank you, Billy. It’s wonderful. Stay with me a while?”
He smiled. “I will.”
Stewart sat down beside her, honored to be her Billy.
~finis~