Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Notes/Disclaimers/Pairings: Nope. I do not own Lee Adama, William Adama, or Kara Thrace(more's the pity). No money being made off this, please don't sue. Er…this is really just mostly about Lee. I suppose there's some Lee/Kara there if you really wanna see it, but this is just pretty much a one-shot character piece.
When Lee Adama was six, his father took him for a rare outing to the local botanical gardens. He saw the greenhouse filled with living, breathing plants, some of which were taller than he was, and a small explosion quietly went off in his brain.
He went home, a tiny potted fern held close to his chest, and the smell of growing things and good, damp earth in his nose. His father asked what he was thinking about and Lee solemnly announced that he'd decided not to be a viper pilot. He wanted to be a gardener when he grew up.
William Adama nodded, calmly accepting this declaration without a hint of laughter or mockery, as he usually accepted his son's serious pronouncements. Two days later, Lee woke to find a large bag of potting soil, seedlings, and a book on gardening in the kitchen. Two days after that, he and his father had the beginnings of a small vegetable garden planted out back.
He managed to keep it alive and flourishing for the next seven years until they moved to an apartment.
Lee periodically kept small plants in his quarters. Sometimes another fern, sometimes something else. The only real requirements were that it be low-maintenance, green, and alive. He liked to think of it as extension of his vegetable garden, which was still his even if he didn't live there or take care of it or even know if it still existed anymore.
One of those plants came along with him aboard the Galactica, more for sentiment's sake than for anything else. He carefully placed it in an out-of-the-way corner, watered it, and sometimes talked to it softly when he was absolutely certain that no one could hear him.
The world ended, and he was now fairly certain that his garden was gone, but he still had his plant, this time a hardy ivy-like one that he had to trim carefully to keep from overgrowing its pot and taking over the tiny space in the corner of his rack where he kept it.
Kara caught him murmuring encouragingly to it one day when he'd thought he was alone and he was immediately certain that he was going to be mocked about this for possibly the rest of his natural life. She eyed him for a moment, then looked at the plant and almost hesitantly brushed her fingers over a heart-shaped, vivid green leaf.
He found a tiny, battered clip-on reading lamp scrounged from who-knew-where on his rack shortly afterwards. There was a hastily-scrawled note attached.
"These frakking things need LIGHT, you know."
He attached the lamp just over the plant and they never said anything about it again. But sometimes he'd find her staring at it when she thought no one was looking, a faintly yearning expression on her face. And the little plant flourished.
At night, the faint smell of growing things and good, damp earth reached him even in his sleep, gently soothing away his nightmares and giving him dreams of the smell of freshly-turned soil, whitish-pink earthworms shocking against the darkness of it as they wriggled away from view, and vegetables growing in small, neat rows.
Sometimes, Lee Adama thinks he still wants to be a gardener when he grows up.