Tying ribbons around grief
So, we're going to play it one happy, on sad, huh?
For sln1, who now needs to write up another of her drabble ideas for the ar_drabbles AU challenge.
It started like it always did. With a body. With three bodies, killed by a drunk driver.
Adama loved being a cop. Not for him the courtrooms reeking of his father. He served and protected, reunited children with their parents, saw women safely home after a hard night. He loved the Riverwalk beat: classy people, pretty lawns, smiling faces. Simple problems.
And then there were days like today.
He and Tigh rang the bell of a modest home. It was obvious that they'd woken the woman who opened the door. "Are you Laura Roslin?" He noticed Saul eyeing her unruly hair, her nightclothes, and as they walked inside, he elbowed his partner in the gut, just to remind him of the niceties.
She wouldn't look at them, played with her robe. Riverwalk residents weren't stupid; police, early morning, and the weekend were never a good combination. Bill edged a little closer in his seat as he went through his prepared speech -- sorry for your loss, terrible accident, your father and sisters…
He'd seen every reaction in his years on the force. Some fainted dead away. Some screamed. A few even hit him. Some asked questions that made no sense. Some turned practical. This one was different; she treated them like unwelcome guests at a party. "Thank you. Please show yourselves out."
"That's one cool customer. Maybe she paid the driver to do her family in. We should check the insurance."
"You're an idiot, Saul."
"Probably."
"Go on ahead. I'm taking lunch."
"It's 7:30 in the morning."
"Early lunch." Bill sat on the ledge of Roslin's walkway. "I want to make sure she's all right."
Ten minutes later Roslin emerged, in a daze, and Bill trailed behind. This was his beat; he always made sure his women got home safely.
For sln1, who now needs to write up another of her drabble ideas for the ar_drabbles AU challenge.
It started like it always did. With a body. With three bodies, killed by a drunk driver.
Adama loved being a cop. Not for him the courtrooms reeking of his father. He served and protected, reunited children with their parents, saw women safely home after a hard night. He loved the Riverwalk beat: classy people, pretty lawns, smiling faces. Simple problems.
And then there were days like today.
He and Tigh rang the bell of a modest home. It was obvious that they'd woken the woman who opened the door. "Are you Laura Roslin?" He noticed Saul eyeing her unruly hair, her nightclothes, and as they walked inside, he elbowed his partner in the gut, just to remind him of the niceties.
She wouldn't look at them, played with her robe. Riverwalk residents weren't stupid; police, early morning, and the weekend were never a good combination. Bill edged a little closer in his seat as he went through his prepared speech -- sorry for your loss, terrible accident, your father and sisters…
He'd seen every reaction in his years on the force. Some fainted dead away. Some screamed. A few even hit him. Some asked questions that made no sense. Some turned practical. This one was different; she treated them like unwelcome guests at a party. "Thank you. Please show yourselves out."
"That's one cool customer. Maybe she paid the driver to do her family in. We should check the insurance."
"You're an idiot, Saul."
"Probably."
"Go on ahead. I'm taking lunch."
"It's 7:30 in the morning."
"Early lunch." Bill sat on the ledge of Roslin's walkway. "I want to make sure she's all right."
Ten minutes later Roslin emerged, in a daze, and Bill trailed behind. This was his beat; he always made sure his women got home safely.