Fic: A Thousand Words
Jan. 29th, 2008 02:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
andverygingerFic: A Thousand Words
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Author: Becca
Spoilers: S3. "Hero" and "Unfinished Business," specifically.
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words. (Adama/Roslin.)
Author's note: Inspired by this post on the Adama-Roslin comm, regarding a picture on the wall of Adama's quarters, and this follow-up comment by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
flamingo55.
ETA: Updated to link directly to the image of the two fearless leaders, hanging on the bulkhead of Adama's quarters: I still love that Armani suit
Posted unbeta'd as a one-off. (It was a boring afternoon at work. What can I say?) My apologies if it's not up to standards... I'm a tad rusty.
Laura Roslin grimaced as the admiral stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “I still wish you wouldn’t hang that in here. It’s horrible.” She pursed her lips, shifting to peer around his shoulder. “A little higher on the left.”
His back to her as he adjusted the frame on the wall, Admiral Bill Adama chuckled. “I thought you didn’t want it put up?” He was grinning as he turned to her.
“I don’t. But if you’re insisting on going through with it, you might as well get it right.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement, her expression neutral. She studied his profile intently as he lowered himself onto the overstuffed sofa beside her. “Why that one? We’ve had better press shots.”
“We have,” Adama conceded, “but you needed a hero. Against my better judgment – against my will – I let you pin a medal to my chest. So, the picture goes on the wall.”
“Against my will?”
“Against your will.” The ice in his water glass shifted as he downed the last drop, returning it to the coffeetable. “Turnabout is fair play, Madam President.”
The president forced a smile. Adama had accepted the medal as part of her drive to help boost the waning morale of the fleet; it was a need he understood, and was willing to help fill. Even more than that, however, the medal also served as something of a hair shirt – a way to remember his own human failings, of times when he fell short of his own ideals. His acceptance for that reason was a bit sadistic, she thought, but entirely characteristic of the man she’d come to know.
“It hardly seems fair,” she said slowly. "I got off easy."
“Maybe.” Looking to her, a warm, slight smile curved Adama’s lips. He reached for the pitcher of water, refilling his glass. “But I have better pictures...and better memories elsewhere.”
Laura nodded, her own gaze flitting toward the picture resting on his desk. An image of a younger Bill Adama smiled out of a tinted photo. He was clad in his flight suit, hands on the shoulders of his sons, Zak and Lee, as they stood before an older model Viper. They beamed, almost as happy as their father. Zak was gone now, and Lee – well, there was an increasing gulf between father and son. But there had been happier times, and the picture proved it. A rueful smile touched the corners of her lips. “Zak and Lee.”
“Zak and Lee,” Adama replied. “And you.”
“Me?” Laura couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “When did we have better –“
A wry grin twitched across the admiral’s lips. She watched as his gaze, eyes glinting with mischief, brushed across his cabin. He allowed it to rest for a significant amount of time on his nightstand before bringing his eyes to meet hers. “There have been better times, Laura.”
Furrowing her brow, the president rose from her seat, crossing into the dimly lit territory of his bedroom. In the few times she had been close to his bunk, she had never seen anything beyond t-shirts, razor, and socks – those things necessarily for daily function aboard Galactica. As she approached now it was clear a few things had been shifted. Socks, t-shirts, and razor had been moved, replaced now with a small, leather-bound book, and two miniature picture frames.
The creases in her brow disappeared as soon as she saw the image contained in the first. “Colonial Day.” Her voice was warm, reflecting her own memories of that night -- that moment. She and the admiral had been little more than strangers as they wove around the dance floor that night. They were strangers with a connection, however: the safety of the fleet – a connection that bound them with common cause. But beyond the stresses inherent with that connection, was also a need to reconnect with their humanity. A military commander, Adama inherently understood this. He reached out that night and, while they stood in the harbor of one another’s arms, each could simply be. It was a respite that had been far too short.
“I don’t even remember the photographer being there.” His breath brushed over her ear, fingers brushing hers as he reached to take the frame from her. A jolt of electricity washed over her at the touch. She was suddenly very aware of his closeness.
Laura cleared her throat. “And the second one?”
“The second,” he said, pausing as he reached to pick it up, “is from New Caprica.”
She knew without looking what moment had been captured. They had been sitting on the steps leading to the impromptu dance floor, sharing a rather large drink. She had worn the red skirt and jacket that day, and he – as always – wore his uniform. The sun shone brightly, and the wind stirred her hair in a wild display around her head...but at that exact moment she hadn’t cared. For that one moment, Bill Adama had smiled at her, and she could do nothing but smile back.
His voice brought her back to the present. “I remember thinking it was wonderful to see you so relaxed.”
“I was happy that day,” Laura replied. “Lousy place, lousy president, but good booze, and great company...” Her lips curved slightly into a lopsided grin. “It was simpler then.”
“It’s always simpler then.” Bill gently pulled the picture from her hand, returning it to the nightstand. He then turned to her, fingers tucking her hair behind an ear. His rough-hewn palm came to rest against her cheek. “We forget the complications, get lost in the moment.”
She made no effort to move away from his touch, instead allowing her eyelids to drop as she briefly savored the contact. “Until reality comes rushing back.” Her eyes opened and she looked to him. “This is too complicated, Bill.”
The admiral pursed his lips in a rueful smile and nodded. "It is." He paused. "Regret it?"
"Being human?" Adama nodded to her question. She shook her head in response. "I can't. There was no way to know we'd end up right back where we started."
His lips twitched. "Well, not quite where we started. I seem to recall an awkward handshake..."
Laura laughed, despite herself. "Okay, not quite where we started." Her laughter softened to a smile. "It was nice to shed the titles for a while, wasn't it?" She brought her hand to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat through his uniform shirt.
"No reason it has to stop." The admiral indicated his door with a slight incline of his head. "That hatch closes, there's not going to be a single crewman who is willing to risk his life to open the door without knocking."
"Tongues are already wagging, Admiral. I spend too much time here, and --"
"If they're already wagging, Laura, then why not live up to the gossip?"
She furrowed her brow at him. "Bill, you know what plausible deniability means to my office."
"But I know what just being Laura means to you." He brushed his hand across her cheek once more, gently, almost reverently. "I need you here."
A lump rose in her throat and she fought hard to swallow it back. Those were not words one heard often from the stoic Bill Adama. His eyes, always so expressive, mirrored the sentiment as she looked him in the eye. Opening her mouth to speak, she abruptly closed it, unable to find her voice. She knew she needed him, too -- a confession that had not come easily. But it had been a silent admission, personal. Somehow, voicing it aloud now would give it a new life, one she wasn't quite prepared for. Instead, she slowly nodded.
His voice was low, husky with emotion when he finally spoke. "Stay with me?"
Again, she nodded. "For a little while."
"I'll take what I can get." Adama leaned forward and gently brushed her lips with his own. "But the picture...is staying up."
Laura chuckled, smiling against his lips. "Damn." She was still smiling as he kissed her again.
***
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Author: Becca
Spoilers: S3. "Hero" and "Unfinished Business," specifically.
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words. (Adama/Roslin.)
Author's note: Inspired by this post on the Adama-Roslin comm, regarding a picture on the wall of Adama's quarters, and this follow-up comment by
flamingo55.ETA: Updated to link directly to the image of the two fearless leaders, hanging on the bulkhead of Adama's quarters: I still love that Armani suit
Posted unbeta'd as a one-off. (It was a boring afternoon at work. What can I say?) My apologies if it's not up to standards... I'm a tad rusty.
Laura Roslin grimaced as the admiral stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “I still wish you wouldn’t hang that in here. It’s horrible.” She pursed her lips, shifting to peer around his shoulder. “A little higher on the left.”
His back to her as he adjusted the frame on the wall, Admiral Bill Adama chuckled. “I thought you didn’t want it put up?” He was grinning as he turned to her.
“I don’t. But if you’re insisting on going through with it, you might as well get it right.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement, her expression neutral. She studied his profile intently as he lowered himself onto the overstuffed sofa beside her. “Why that one? We’ve had better press shots.”
“We have,” Adama conceded, “but you needed a hero. Against my better judgment – against my will – I let you pin a medal to my chest. So, the picture goes on the wall.”
“Against my will?”
“Against your will.” The ice in his water glass shifted as he downed the last drop, returning it to the coffeetable. “Turnabout is fair play, Madam President.”
The president forced a smile. Adama had accepted the medal as part of her drive to help boost the waning morale of the fleet; it was a need he understood, and was willing to help fill. Even more than that, however, the medal also served as something of a hair shirt – a way to remember his own human failings, of times when he fell short of his own ideals. His acceptance for that reason was a bit sadistic, she thought, but entirely characteristic of the man she’d come to know.
“It hardly seems fair,” she said slowly. "I got off easy."
“Maybe.” Looking to her, a warm, slight smile curved Adama’s lips. He reached for the pitcher of water, refilling his glass. “But I have better pictures...and better memories elsewhere.”
Laura nodded, her own gaze flitting toward the picture resting on his desk. An image of a younger Bill Adama smiled out of a tinted photo. He was clad in his flight suit, hands on the shoulders of his sons, Zak and Lee, as they stood before an older model Viper. They beamed, almost as happy as their father. Zak was gone now, and Lee – well, there was an increasing gulf between father and son. But there had been happier times, and the picture proved it. A rueful smile touched the corners of her lips. “Zak and Lee.”
“Zak and Lee,” Adama replied. “And you.”
“Me?” Laura couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “When did we have better –“
A wry grin twitched across the admiral’s lips. She watched as his gaze, eyes glinting with mischief, brushed across his cabin. He allowed it to rest for a significant amount of time on his nightstand before bringing his eyes to meet hers. “There have been better times, Laura.”
Furrowing her brow, the president rose from her seat, crossing into the dimly lit territory of his bedroom. In the few times she had been close to his bunk, she had never seen anything beyond t-shirts, razor, and socks – those things necessarily for daily function aboard Galactica. As she approached now it was clear a few things had been shifted. Socks, t-shirts, and razor had been moved, replaced now with a small, leather-bound book, and two miniature picture frames.
The creases in her brow disappeared as soon as she saw the image contained in the first. “Colonial Day.” Her voice was warm, reflecting her own memories of that night -- that moment. She and the admiral had been little more than strangers as they wove around the dance floor that night. They were strangers with a connection, however: the safety of the fleet – a connection that bound them with common cause. But beyond the stresses inherent with that connection, was also a need to reconnect with their humanity. A military commander, Adama inherently understood this. He reached out that night and, while they stood in the harbor of one another’s arms, each could simply be. It was a respite that had been far too short.
“I don’t even remember the photographer being there.” His breath brushed over her ear, fingers brushing hers as he reached to take the frame from her. A jolt of electricity washed over her at the touch. She was suddenly very aware of his closeness.
Laura cleared her throat. “And the second one?”
“The second,” he said, pausing as he reached to pick it up, “is from New Caprica.”
She knew without looking what moment had been captured. They had been sitting on the steps leading to the impromptu dance floor, sharing a rather large drink. She had worn the red skirt and jacket that day, and he – as always – wore his uniform. The sun shone brightly, and the wind stirred her hair in a wild display around her head...but at that exact moment she hadn’t cared. For that one moment, Bill Adama had smiled at her, and she could do nothing but smile back.
His voice brought her back to the present. “I remember thinking it was wonderful to see you so relaxed.”
“I was happy that day,” Laura replied. “Lousy place, lousy president, but good booze, and great company...” Her lips curved slightly into a lopsided grin. “It was simpler then.”
“It’s always simpler then.” Bill gently pulled the picture from her hand, returning it to the nightstand. He then turned to her, fingers tucking her hair behind an ear. His rough-hewn palm came to rest against her cheek. “We forget the complications, get lost in the moment.”
She made no effort to move away from his touch, instead allowing her eyelids to drop as she briefly savored the contact. “Until reality comes rushing back.” Her eyes opened and she looked to him. “This is too complicated, Bill.”
The admiral pursed his lips in a rueful smile and nodded. "It is." He paused. "Regret it?"
"Being human?" Adama nodded to her question. She shook her head in response. "I can't. There was no way to know we'd end up right back where we started."
His lips twitched. "Well, not quite where we started. I seem to recall an awkward handshake..."
Laura laughed, despite herself. "Okay, not quite where we started." Her laughter softened to a smile. "It was nice to shed the titles for a while, wasn't it?" She brought her hand to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat through his uniform shirt.
"No reason it has to stop." The admiral indicated his door with a slight incline of his head. "That hatch closes, there's not going to be a single crewman who is willing to risk his life to open the door without knocking."
"Tongues are already wagging, Admiral. I spend too much time here, and --"
"If they're already wagging, Laura, then why not live up to the gossip?"
She furrowed her brow at him. "Bill, you know what plausible deniability means to my office."
"But I know what just being Laura means to you." He brushed his hand across her cheek once more, gently, almost reverently. "I need you here."
A lump rose in her throat and she fought hard to swallow it back. Those were not words one heard often from the stoic Bill Adama. His eyes, always so expressive, mirrored the sentiment as she looked him in the eye. Opening her mouth to speak, she abruptly closed it, unable to find her voice. She knew she needed him, too -- a confession that had not come easily. But it had been a silent admission, personal. Somehow, voicing it aloud now would give it a new life, one she wasn't quite prepared for. Instead, she slowly nodded.
His voice was low, husky with emotion when he finally spoke. "Stay with me?"
Again, she nodded. "For a little while."
"I'll take what I can get." Adama leaned forward and gently brushed her lips with his own. "But the picture...is staying up."
Laura chuckled, smiling against his lips. "Damn." She was still smiling as he kissed her again.
***