Title: Gift of
the Gods
Category: Supernatural
much…and some Romance
Pairing: Roslin/Adama, W.
Spoilers: This is so non sequitur that it barely takes place in the series.
Summary: Inspired by ST:TNG episode The Child. The
Gods have a gift for their prophet. It’s the last thing she’d ever
expect.
Author’s
Notes: I know this is out there, seeing as the lovely Mary McDonnell is *cough*fifty-*cough*
- three six*cough*, but the way I see it, if a 66-year old can have twins,
our president can have one measly kid.
~~~
She
slept only fitfully tonight. She turned over onto her stomach, guarding herself
against her most recent hallucinogenic adversaries. Sweat drenched her brow and
her hair stuck determinedly to the back of her neck. Her white nightgown clung
to her doggedly. She kicked of f her covers and sighed as the stale, but cool
air touched her salt damp skin.
She
wrapped her arms around the pillow, crushing it against her chest and hiding her face behind it. Frustrated, she knocked it from the bed and rolled onto her back, throwing her arm over her eyes to keep
away the twilight. It was hotter than she could ever remember it being on the
hottest day on Caprica. The humidity was unbearable.
At
the end of her rope, she struggled out of her sodden clothing and flung it across her cabin.
It made a dull *squish* as it hit the nearest wall. Finally nude, she
felt a modicum of relief. Where is the air conditioning?!
A
sudden rush of air from a nearby vent incited laughter to bloom from deep within her.
She bit her fist to keep from giggling immaturely. Oh, Gods, am I sleep
deprived, or what?
In
mute answer to her query, she was struck with an uproarious yawn that she hurried to cover out of habit. She supposed that she was indeed tired. However, despite her
best efforts, sleep was not forthcoming. She was restless.
So,
restless in fact, that she did not feel the stirring of the bed covers around her feet.
What she did feel was something touching, almost caressing the sensitive skin of her ankles. Her eyes snapped to that end of the bed only to see nothing even as the sensation persisted.
Next,
she began to feel hands sliding languidly up each of her arms, starting just inside her wrists. It was naturally frightening, but not painful or hurtful, simply odd.
There
were hands moving across her body lightly, purposefully and to one end. She wasn’t
awake to see that purpose met as the tender strokes lulled her into a near unconscious state.
Even as she slept, the unseen hands continued their work.
Moments
later, she cried out in her sleep and was left alone. Their work was done. Hers would begin next.
Next Part
