|memeotron-(Drabble) Last Dance (Adama/Adama's Moustache)
||[Mar. 11th, 2010|03:52 pm]
'You and me, we've gone around and around.' Bill Adama wanted to sit down, wanted, just for a moment, to take the weight he'd shouldered all those years and cast it aside. He never had. He never would. The good soldier.
'There have been indulgences, matters overlooked. We've been in the hole for a while, and down here, certain allowances have to be made.' He placed his hands behind his back, parade rest, head high, the good soldier.
'Not any more. We're going back, without you. I know you understand.' Silently, he picked up the razor. His moustache said nothing.