BSG fic: Brothers (PG)
Title: Brothers
Rating: PG?
Word count: ~600
Focus: Bill Adama
Spoilers: mild for the end of Exodus 2
Warnings: um, there may be fluff involved, sorry
Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit being made. Please, don’t sue.
Author’s note: Written as a result of the “tell me what to write” meme. Thanks, lyssie, for the quick beta. Thank you, too, to my other beta volunteers -- it was just too little to justify more than one, really. :)
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For so long, the old battlestar had been like a tomb that it seemed almost a mockery, that she should now be so filled with vitality. Everywhere he turned as he made his way through her corridors and causeways, Bill Adama saw people going on with the business of life. He was at turns appalled and elated that there were more people on board Galactica now than there had ever been, even at the height of her long and distinguished career.
And that was the problem. There were too many people. Too many civilians. Most simply wanted to live their lives in peace; certainly they didn’t want to cause trouble for the battlestar or her crew, but there were problems, all the same.
Too many civilians and not nearly enough space or resources to adequately take care of them all.
His reverie was broken when a red ball rolled out in front of him, quickly followed by a pair of children, each shouting for the other to stop the ball from getting away. As the ball rolled toward him with all the speed of a Viper in attack mode, Bill waited for his chance and stopped its headlong flight by the simple expedient of catching it under his boot.
The two boys skidded to a halt in front of him and looked up with wide eyes; they reminded him so much of another pair of boys, of another time, it made his chest ache.
“Thanks for catching our ball, mister,” the younger boy said.
The older of the two gave the other a little shove and then whispered into his ear, “That’s not a ‘mister,’ dummy, that’s Admiral Adama.” His powers of observation were admirable, but his volume control left a lot to be desired, since Bill had no trouble hearing him. He suppressed a smile.
With a quick movement of his foot, Bill flipped the ball up from the deck and flung it toward the boys. The elder caught it with a look of utter surprise.
“You two shouldn’t be here,” Bill observed. He waited as the boys exchanged a guilty look.
The one with the ball held it tighter to his chest and started to say something, stopped, and swallowed hard. He stood up straight and looked Bill in the eye. “No, sir, Admiral, sir.”
Bill raised a brow and looked at the boys, not saying anything until they began to fidget. When the younger boy slid a couple of steps closer and then stepped behind his brother, Bill said, “Do you know what we do with soldiers who go where they shouldn’t?”
“No, sir.” More of a whisper, this time, but still the boy stood tall, clearly taking responsibility for both himself and his brother, and again, Bill saw a bittersweet flash of his sons.
Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he intoned, “We lock them in the brig.”
Another swallow from the protector and a squeak from the little brother, hiding.
“You’d best get back to where you belong pretty quickly, hadn’t you, boys?” They didn’t move right away, so Bill added, “Before the Marines get here.”
He expected them to run, but the older one surprised him. As his brother scrambled down the corridor without a backward glance, he shifted the ball under one arm and lifted a hand in a damned good salute, for a boy who couldn’t be more than ten years old.
Bill returned the salute, the gesture heartfelt. The boy didn’t relax from his stance until Bill dropped his hand back to his side and when he did move, he proudly followed his brother’s path.
Bill smiled after him as elation won out.
Rating: PG?
Word count: ~600
Focus: Bill Adama
Spoilers: mild for the end of Exodus 2
Warnings: um, there may be fluff involved, sorry
Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit being made. Please, don’t sue.
Author’s note: Written as a result of the “tell me what to write” meme. Thanks, lyssie, for the quick beta. Thank you, too, to my other beta volunteers -- it was just too little to justify more than one, really. :)
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For so long, the old battlestar had been like a tomb that it seemed almost a mockery, that she should now be so filled with vitality. Everywhere he turned as he made his way through her corridors and causeways, Bill Adama saw people going on with the business of life. He was at turns appalled and elated that there were more people on board Galactica now than there had ever been, even at the height of her long and distinguished career.
And that was the problem. There were too many people. Too many civilians. Most simply wanted to live their lives in peace; certainly they didn’t want to cause trouble for the battlestar or her crew, but there were problems, all the same.
Too many civilians and not nearly enough space or resources to adequately take care of them all.
His reverie was broken when a red ball rolled out in front of him, quickly followed by a pair of children, each shouting for the other to stop the ball from getting away. As the ball rolled toward him with all the speed of a Viper in attack mode, Bill waited for his chance and stopped its headlong flight by the simple expedient of catching it under his boot.
The two boys skidded to a halt in front of him and looked up with wide eyes; they reminded him so much of another pair of boys, of another time, it made his chest ache.
“Thanks for catching our ball, mister,” the younger boy said.
The older of the two gave the other a little shove and then whispered into his ear, “That’s not a ‘mister,’ dummy, that’s Admiral Adama.” His powers of observation were admirable, but his volume control left a lot to be desired, since Bill had no trouble hearing him. He suppressed a smile.
With a quick movement of his foot, Bill flipped the ball up from the deck and flung it toward the boys. The elder caught it with a look of utter surprise.
“You two shouldn’t be here,” Bill observed. He waited as the boys exchanged a guilty look.
The one with the ball held it tighter to his chest and started to say something, stopped, and swallowed hard. He stood up straight and looked Bill in the eye. “No, sir, Admiral, sir.”
Bill raised a brow and looked at the boys, not saying anything until they began to fidget. When the younger boy slid a couple of steps closer and then stepped behind his brother, Bill said, “Do you know what we do with soldiers who go where they shouldn’t?”
“No, sir.” More of a whisper, this time, but still the boy stood tall, clearly taking responsibility for both himself and his brother, and again, Bill saw a bittersweet flash of his sons.
Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he intoned, “We lock them in the brig.”
Another swallow from the protector and a squeak from the little brother, hiding.
“You’d best get back to where you belong pretty quickly, hadn’t you, boys?” They didn’t move right away, so Bill added, “Before the Marines get here.”
He expected them to run, but the older one surprised him. As his brother scrambled down the corridor without a backward glance, he shifted the ball under one arm and lifted a hand in a damned good salute, for a boy who couldn’t be more than ten years old.
Bill returned the salute, the gesture heartfelt. The boy didn’t relax from his stance until Bill dropped his hand back to his side and when he did move, he proudly followed his brother’s path.
Bill smiled after him as elation won out.