Fanfic - First of a Pair
Title: Standing on Deserted Ground
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Genre: Uhmmm...
Rating: K+/PG
Characters/Pairings: Bill and Laura, Adama/Roslin
Summary: Post "Six of One". A short piece in Bill's perspective. (*gasp*)
A/N: Obviously, I'm a bit surprised that I actually wrote this... As always, all mistakes are mine, and all feedback/critique is appreciated.
Standing on Deserted Ground
“I’m telling you that this isn’t good for him, to be so clingy.”
The little dark haired boy clung to his father’s neck. All around them, the feast day candles were lit, casting a golden glow among the walls and pillars of the temple, coloring the white and cream fabrics of the priests and priestesses, the clothing of almsgivers adding spots of modernity and color. Soft voices melded into a general rumbling that echoed through halls, alcoves, and large community prayer chambers
“Dear, he’s still little. It’s okay for him to want to stay with us. Trust me, you’ll wish he were still like this in a few more years.”
Joseph Adama smiled. “This little tyke? I don’t know about that.”
A nearby priestess, dressed in the robes and turban of the oracle, laughed. Her fingertips rubbed dried herbs into slender tapers, to be burned as incense or smoked. The hardened and wrinkled brown of her hands stood out against the pale light of her wrists and tangled fabric. “Your little boy will travel farther than you think, though you are right that he will always fear living alone.” She smiles a little at the young, sleeping child, dark eyes shimmering with a strange glint. “Though he never will. He’ll gather people to his breast as the hag’s crow gathers trinkets for light. He will guard them jealousy and sometimes, they will fall from the nest. Angry. He’ll be betrayed just as he learns his own ability to betray and learn slowly what it means to forgive.” With a last snort and hacking cough, she shooed both stunned adults off. “He’ll always fear it, until he chooses it of his own will.”
Joseph and Evelyn Adama stumbled off with the sound of her coughs continuing to chase them, her words falling by the wayside as they leave the shadows of the temple. On calming breaths, they expel short bursts of laughter. “That was interesting…”
Evelyn shot her husband with a knowing look. “Is the eager lawyer going to dissect every word she used, every possible interpretation of her sentences, intonation and gestures, and then proceed to argue that the art to prophesying is to be as vague as possible as well as psychologically heavy?”
“No.”
“Good, then proceed.”
“I was going to say that... the new frieze over the temple exit is quite interesting. I believe it is Kronus eating his children with Zeus coming from behind. Isn’t it blasphemy to show that the king of gods himself would slay someone like a coward?”
Evelyn laughed. “You’re a horrible yet imaginative liar for a lawyer.”
“And you are impossible.”
“You love me for it.”
XxX
It had been a while since Bill has felt his mouth and tongue quite so… furry. He couldn’t even maneuver it to curse as he stumbled into his quarters, eyes pained by the lamp that still shone brightly from the direction of his desk. Without looking in that direction, for fear of what (who) he may or may not see, and because his head throbbed even with the peripheral glances to the side, he marched into the head, scrubbing his face and rinsing his mouth before heading back out, undoing his uniform buttons clumsily. Maybe that last drink wasn’t such a hot idea. Then again, there are not many good ideas available nowadays anyway.
When he finally steadies himself to head toward his desk area, where he knows (believes - must believe) she still sits, he is preparing himself for another battle, another lashing. Then again, he winces remembering their last confrontation earlier in the evening. Words were always the most intrusive of weapons, without barrier they intrude into the mind and stab the heart, leaving the victim stunned by invisible blows.
When he turns the corner to the nook of his “study”, the first thing he sees is the pink, the pink blouse that fits her all too well. Showing him a broad expanse of back before her shoulders slump, shattering the illusion, shrinking into an all too small frame. So this is how giants are created - pink fitted blouses and good posture. She is already back in her heels, and he knows what it means before she even turns around.
He reads it in her eyes and plays along the well-choreographed dance. It has always been theirs ever since she stepped foot on his ship. “Admiral.”
“Laura.”
“I’ve left some of the files that you need to look over before tomorrow’s meeting in the top right drawer.”
“Thank you, I’ll look them over when I have the chance.”
Her eyes softens then. “Good night, Bill. Thank you for the use of your quarters today.”
And he cannot help but fall, wanting to clasp her close. Instead, his fingertips brush against the bandage on her right hand. His voice is a soft, uncomfortable rasp. You’re always welcome. “Do you need any help getting to your quarters?”
A quirk of the lip (and he knows it will be okay). “No, I’ll be fine. I know the way. Tory is already waiting for me, impatiently I may add.”
He nods his good night, and soon the hatch closes shut behind her. Even through the metal, he listens for the sound of her heels.
He stares for several moments at his immaculately clean desk.
She was impossible, always had been...
Frak. Starbuck. Pulling a hand tightly through his hair, he let out a long-held breath. She was going to be pissed at him tomorrow. Eying his room for any possible answers, he caught one of the titles on his shelves. His hand automatically pulled the volume out.
'It started like it always did. With a body. This one was in the river. I could tell she had once been beautiful, but this bullet and a fast current had taken away from her. All we are, all that we think we are, all that we are certain about, is taken away from us. When you’ve worked the streets and seen what I’ve seen, you become more and more convinced of it every day. Caprica City has been my teacher, my mistress.
From the moment I open my eyes, she’s in my blood, like cheap wine.
Bitter and sweet, tinged with regret.
I’ll never be free of her, nor do I want to be, for she is what I am. All that is, should always be…'
She was both right and wrong. He couldn’t possibly imagine how to let go.
Love is impossible, always was. He loves her anyway.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Genre: Uhmmm...
Rating: K+/PG
Characters/Pairings: Bill and Laura, Adama/Roslin
Summary: Post "Six of One". A short piece in Bill's perspective. (*gasp*)
A/N: Obviously, I'm a bit surprised that I actually wrote this... As always, all mistakes are mine, and all feedback/critique is appreciated.
Standing on Deserted Ground
“I’m telling you that this isn’t good for him, to be so clingy.”
The little dark haired boy clung to his father’s neck. All around them, the feast day candles were lit, casting a golden glow among the walls and pillars of the temple, coloring the white and cream fabrics of the priests and priestesses, the clothing of almsgivers adding spots of modernity and color. Soft voices melded into a general rumbling that echoed through halls, alcoves, and large community prayer chambers
“Dear, he’s still little. It’s okay for him to want to stay with us. Trust me, you’ll wish he were still like this in a few more years.”
Joseph Adama smiled. “This little tyke? I don’t know about that.”
A nearby priestess, dressed in the robes and turban of the oracle, laughed. Her fingertips rubbed dried herbs into slender tapers, to be burned as incense or smoked. The hardened and wrinkled brown of her hands stood out against the pale light of her wrists and tangled fabric. “Your little boy will travel farther than you think, though you are right that he will always fear living alone.” She smiles a little at the young, sleeping child, dark eyes shimmering with a strange glint. “Though he never will. He’ll gather people to his breast as the hag’s crow gathers trinkets for light. He will guard them jealousy and sometimes, they will fall from the nest. Angry. He’ll be betrayed just as he learns his own ability to betray and learn slowly what it means to forgive.” With a last snort and hacking cough, she shooed both stunned adults off. “He’ll always fear it, until he chooses it of his own will.”
Joseph and Evelyn Adama stumbled off with the sound of her coughs continuing to chase them, her words falling by the wayside as they leave the shadows of the temple. On calming breaths, they expel short bursts of laughter. “That was interesting…”
Evelyn shot her husband with a knowing look. “Is the eager lawyer going to dissect every word she used, every possible interpretation of her sentences, intonation and gestures, and then proceed to argue that the art to prophesying is to be as vague as possible as well as psychologically heavy?”
“No.”
“Good, then proceed.”
“I was going to say that... the new frieze over the temple exit is quite interesting. I believe it is Kronus eating his children with Zeus coming from behind. Isn’t it blasphemy to show that the king of gods himself would slay someone like a coward?”
Evelyn laughed. “You’re a horrible yet imaginative liar for a lawyer.”
“And you are impossible.”
“You love me for it.”
XxX
It had been a while since Bill has felt his mouth and tongue quite so… furry. He couldn’t even maneuver it to curse as he stumbled into his quarters, eyes pained by the lamp that still shone brightly from the direction of his desk. Without looking in that direction, for fear of what (who) he may or may not see, and because his head throbbed even with the peripheral glances to the side, he marched into the head, scrubbing his face and rinsing his mouth before heading back out, undoing his uniform buttons clumsily. Maybe that last drink wasn’t such a hot idea. Then again, there are not many good ideas available nowadays anyway.
When he finally steadies himself to head toward his desk area, where he knows (believes - must believe) she still sits, he is preparing himself for another battle, another lashing. Then again, he winces remembering their last confrontation earlier in the evening. Words were always the most intrusive of weapons, without barrier they intrude into the mind and stab the heart, leaving the victim stunned by invisible blows.
When he turns the corner to the nook of his “study”, the first thing he sees is the pink, the pink blouse that fits her all too well. Showing him a broad expanse of back before her shoulders slump, shattering the illusion, shrinking into an all too small frame. So this is how giants are created - pink fitted blouses and good posture. She is already back in her heels, and he knows what it means before she even turns around.
He reads it in her eyes and plays along the well-choreographed dance. It has always been theirs ever since she stepped foot on his ship. “Admiral.”
“Laura.”
“I’ve left some of the files that you need to look over before tomorrow’s meeting in the top right drawer.”
“Thank you, I’ll look them over when I have the chance.”
Her eyes softens then. “Good night, Bill. Thank you for the use of your quarters today.”
And he cannot help but fall, wanting to clasp her close. Instead, his fingertips brush against the bandage on her right hand. His voice is a soft, uncomfortable rasp. You’re always welcome. “Do you need any help getting to your quarters?”
A quirk of the lip (and he knows it will be okay). “No, I’ll be fine. I know the way. Tory is already waiting for me, impatiently I may add.”
He nods his good night, and soon the hatch closes shut behind her. Even through the metal, he listens for the sound of her heels.
He stares for several moments at his immaculately clean desk.
She was impossible, always had been...
Frak. Starbuck. Pulling a hand tightly through his hair, he let out a long-held breath. She was going to be pissed at him tomorrow. Eying his room for any possible answers, he caught one of the titles on his shelves. His hand automatically pulled the volume out.
'It started like it always did. With a body. This one was in the river. I could tell she had once been beautiful, but this bullet and a fast current had taken away from her. All we are, all that we think we are, all that we are certain about, is taken away from us. When you’ve worked the streets and seen what I’ve seen, you become more and more convinced of it every day. Caprica City has been my teacher, my mistress.
From the moment I open my eyes, she’s in my blood, like cheap wine.
Bitter and sweet, tinged with regret.
I’ll never be free of her, nor do I want to be, for she is what I am. All that is, should always be…'
She was both right and wrong. He couldn’t possibly imagine how to let go.
Love is impossible, always was. He loves her anyway.