Disclaimer: I do not own anything BSG, these aren't my characters (unfortunately), and I gain no profit whatsoever from writing this little ficlet.
Her Favorite Holiday
Colonial Day had not been her favorite holiday.
Laura Roslin had never disliked Colonial Day, but over the course of her life, it had become one of those celebratory days that almost passed by without a second thought. On Caprica, her thoughts on Colonial Day were only roused when she noticed those governmental officials (Adar included) with ties in Caprican colors, or when she was greeted in regards to the day, hearing the fireworks during the late hours of the night. Colonial Day had not mattered much to her, it was just another day, just another patriotic holiday, and she knew her spirit for it would die out the very next morning when she arose from bed.
This year's Colonial Day, however, had been quite unorthodox compared to those of her past. First, Laura Roslin was the President of the Twelve Colonies. Second, it was the apocalyptic holocaust. And third, she had been increasingly busy with the political affairs that occurred on this nationalistic holiday. In the past years, she had done absolutely nothing of purpose or mention within the hours of Colonial Day. Now, she had beaten Tom Zarek, evaded an assassination attempt, gained a Vice Pressident, and now, at this very moment, she was in the gentle arms of Commander Adama, dancing. Their hands were delicately meshed, rough colliding with smooth; his battle-worn hand rested so gentlemanly at the small of her back and her own hand rested (at first hesitantly) upon his shoulder before sinking into familiar comfort. Laura and Bill, the President and the Commander, did not speak, not one word touched their lips, but rather, they mutually and simultaneously curved into delighted smirks. This was a guilty pleasure that neither could or would admit to, their lighted faces spoke it though, as they turned away from one another, their faces creeping over the shoulder of their beautiful partner.
The tempo of the music did not matter; the music itself was an unimportant echo in her mind. Their rhythms were the same, their feet in perfect concordance, and their breath in synch as she silently wished for the embrace to never end. Her smile was constant, as was his, and the colors of dresses and lights about her were blurred and lost, like fading water color, now that she was usurped in this forbidden realm where the Commander had unknowingly taken her. It was preposterous. It was ecstasy.
And that night, long after thy had parted with bashful "thank you"s , she lie in her bed, unable to sleep, smiling at the new discovery that she had made after the course of their gentle dance.
It was absurd.
It was preposterous.
But Colonial Day, without a doubt, had become her most favorite holiday of all…
Fin