Title: Lucky
Author: Rina
Summary: As Laura steps over the threshold into the commander's living quarters for the first time, it strikes her just how damned lucky Adama is.
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica and its characters are property of Universal Studios and Ron D. Moore. This story is for entertainment purposes only. I make no profit from writing or sharing this.
A/N: Originally finished in 2012 and posted to bsg_epics for a friendly competition to see who could produce the most comment ficlets for their pairing(s).
As Laura steps over the threshold into the commander's living quarters for the first time, it strikes her just how damned lucky Adama is.
His quarters are at least three times the size of the visitor's quarters she was offered prior to the decommissioning ceremony. In fact, she lived in a few apartments that were smaller than this when she first got out of college.
Her gaze sweeps across the room as she sits down on his sofa, one that was clearly not military issue. In fact, none of the furniture or fixtures seem to be military, she notes. It's a surprisingly homey living space, warm with natural tones rather than the cold, sterile gray she expected of him.
The rooms are perhaps a bit disheveled at the moment, an organized sort of chaos, but then he clearly had been packing for his retirement, of course. She suspects that if she'd seen this room under different circumstances, it would not have been anything less than immaculate. There are decorative knickknacks throughout the room, a painting by an artist that's familiar (she's sure she'd remember his name if she didn't have so much else on her mind), and she spies bookshelves in the back of the room along the piles before him that he's now unpacking. She doubts he actually has enough shelving to store all of them and she almost smiles at that.
It's the photographs she sees all around the room that that make her chest constrict a little bit. She thinks of the photos of family and friends that were once scattered throughout the surfaces of her own home. They're all lost to her now and she regrets that she stopped carrying photos in her wallet a few years ago, though she had her reasons to stop doing so at the time.
She wonders when memory alone will no longer be enough to recall their faces.
It suddenly occurs to her how little she has left, how little almost any survivors outside the bulkheads of this particular ship have now.
He has all the comforts of home. This is a home. She doesn't even have a corner on Colonial One yet that she can really call her own nor anything to fill such a space with other than the contents of her luggage. What might she have packed if she'd any inkling that she would never see her home and belongings ever again?
More important than worldly belongings, though, William Adama has people. He still has his son, his own flesh and blood. He has a crew that admires and respects him. Those familial bonds were apparent from the moment she stepped aboard the Galactica.
Laura hopes the commander realizes how blessed he is.