Singing in the lifeboat
for ar_drabbles challenge 28, "Afterwards." A sequel to challenge 24's AU, Battlefield Cross.
"I wouldn't bother. It's missing the last chapter."
He turned away from the bookshelf, toward the woman who had addressed him.
"Mr. Adama? Laura Roslin, Social Services."
"I donated this book, ten years ago. To replace another copy someone'd ripped the last chapter out of."
"I thought your name sounded familiar."
Bill put on his glasses for a closer look. "Have we met?"
"I went with you to buy that book. My mother was here. How is your son?"
"Off exploring in Africa. Haven't heard from him in years." He waved off her sympathy before she could express it.
Laura shuffled through her papers. "And your other son was killed in a training accident. Which is why I'm here."
"Social Services -- "
"I'm a patient advocate, Mr. Adama. I'm substitute family for our patients who have none."
"You're not young enough to be my daughter."
"Hardly."
"So what -- you play my wife until my death do us part?"
She stared him down, giving as good as she was getting. Despite the cancer he was still a powerful-looking man, edged with something dangerous. "I'll coordinate your military and health benefits. Remind the doctors they're dealing with you, not just your cancer. Sit with you during treatments. Stay with you on nights the pain gets too bad."
"And if I don't want you? I'm not afraid to die alone."
"But do you want to live that way?"
Bill put the mutilated book back on the shelf. "So you never left the cancer ward."
"I wanted to help people like Mother. Like myself."
"And did you? Help yourself?"
"I'm still standing, Mr. Adama."
He had an absurd fantasy of his hospital room as a ballroom, of music and party lights. "So am I." If she wanted him to, he could dance.
"I wouldn't bother. It's missing the last chapter."
He turned away from the bookshelf, toward the woman who had addressed him.
"Mr. Adama? Laura Roslin, Social Services."
"I donated this book, ten years ago. To replace another copy someone'd ripped the last chapter out of."
"I thought your name sounded familiar."
Bill put on his glasses for a closer look. "Have we met?"
"I went with you to buy that book. My mother was here. How is your son?"
"Off exploring in Africa. Haven't heard from him in years." He waved off her sympathy before she could express it.
Laura shuffled through her papers. "And your other son was killed in a training accident. Which is why I'm here."
"Social Services -- "
"I'm a patient advocate, Mr. Adama. I'm substitute family for our patients who have none."
"You're not young enough to be my daughter."
"Hardly."
"So what -- you play my wife until my death do us part?"
She stared him down, giving as good as she was getting. Despite the cancer he was still a powerful-looking man, edged with something dangerous. "I'll coordinate your military and health benefits. Remind the doctors they're dealing with you, not just your cancer. Sit with you during treatments. Stay with you on nights the pain gets too bad."
"And if I don't want you? I'm not afraid to die alone."
"But do you want to live that way?"
Bill put the mutilated book back on the shelf. "So you never left the cancer ward."
"I wanted to help people like Mother. Like myself."
"And did you? Help yourself?"
"I'm still standing, Mr. Adama."
He had an absurd fantasy of his hospital room as a ballroom, of music and party lights. "So am I." If she wanted him to, he could dance.