Headaches, by whatever_lj
Title: Headaches
remix author: whatever_lj
Characters: Roslin, Baltar, Head Adama, Head Six
Rating: K
Warnings: None
Summary:
Summary: Constant companionship can actually make you feel terribly alone.
Beta Thanks: Thanks to Tom for all his support.
Title, Author and URL of original story: This is a remix of two of Nnaylime’s stories, Chasing Shadows (http://www.mujaji.net/adamaroslin/viewstory.php?sid=1582) and Mother May I? (http://www.mujaji.net/adamaroslin/viewstory.php?sid=816)
Author Notes: AU
He came to her often now, and she was no longer surprised by his sudden appearances. She was no longer delighted by them either.
She would catch him skulking in the corners of Quorum meetings, or sitting next to her as she shuttled between Galactica and Colonial One, or reading her book over her shoulder in bed at night. She noticed that he no longer needed his glasses; it irked her.
At first she had welcomed the miracle of his appearances with awed veneration and desperate adoration, grateful that death had not parted them fully. But lately her attitude about his apparitions has soured. What were those classic stages of grief? Certainly at first she was officially mired in Denial. But lately she thought she had passed into something else. Was there some stage of grief that described the feelings of resentment at being the survivor, of frustration at having a companion that she alone could see, of crushing responsibility for guiding a rag-tag fleet being hounded across the stars, of aggravation at having to work with a greasy little frakker who probably caused this mess in the first place? That was the stage of grief Laura Roslin found herself wallowing in these days.
So when one day Adama remarked, “You’re right, of course; the little frak-weasel gave up those codes,” she was in the mood for a little confrontation.
“You know that for a fact?” she asked. She understood that he had ways of knowing things now. That also irked her.
“I know it for a fact.”
“Then I’m going to get him to admit it."
II
“She wants me for a private meeting,” Baltar smugged to the blond cylon. “Adama’s dead and she wants me. Says she needs me.”
The blonde merely smiled. “She needs something, Gaius, but I highly doubt it’s you.”
“Remember how you once told me that I wanted to kill Adama, my father figure, so I could mate with Roslin, my mother figure? Well, perhaps you haven’t noticed, but my father figure is dead.”
II
Roslin had taken over Adama’s quarters. When he had first died, she had found comfort in having his things nearby. His model ship. His books. She had liked to put her glasses down next to his on the coffee table, see them nestled together. Now she regarded those frakkin’ glasses, the ones he no longer needed. How dare he leave her to do all this heavy lifting? Everybody knew that she was supposed to be the dying leader.
She was dressed in Bill’s ratty old robe when Baltar arrived, nursing a glass of ambrosia and considering a plan of seduction.
“Madam President, you summoned me?” he asked.
“I did, Dr. Baltar,” she said. “Please sit down.” She gestured to the spot next to her on the leather couch, and he perched beside her.
Laura was naked under Bill’s robe, and she felt trickles of perspiration under her arms. Bill, sitting at his desk, murmured a little critically, “You look nervous, Laura. You don’t need to be nervous. Nothing’s going to really happen.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” she muttered back.
Baltar answered, “Done what, Madame President?”
She turned her attention from Bill back to Gaius, “Talked to a man in my bathrobe.”
“That’s clearly not your robe, Madame President,” he observed of the oversized wrap.
“That reminds me of a joke I heard a long time ago. ‘This morning I shot a cylon in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I will never know.’” Gaius snorted out a short chuckle. Laura's laugh was high-pitched, edged with hysteria.
“Get a grip on yourself, Laura,” Bill said.
“Oh, go frak yourself,” she giggled.
“Uh…Madame President?” Baltar said, tentatively, baffled by her attitude, her laugher, and her comment about frakking himself. “Are you feeling alright?"
Laura abruptly stopped laughing, her eyes narrowed and she laid her cards on the table. “Well, Gaius, would you like to find out how I feel?” she asked. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Bill roll his eyes at this hokey line, so transparent and flimsy.
But it was likewise clear that Gaius was willing to buying what she was peddling and he reached eager fingers into her robe.
The blonde tut-tutted. “Taking advantage of the bereaved, Gaius?”
Bill turned away in disgust, “Far enough, Laura. Abort the mission.”
“Far enough?” she breathed. “I’ve only begun.”
“Tell him to take his frakkin’ hand off your breast,” Bill gritted.
“It feels surprisingly good,” Laura taunted Bill, as Baltar fondled the warm roundness. Gaius's hand was soft and warm and delicate, so different from Bill's large, calloused paws. And it was clear the doctor had a level of experience and expertise at the business of teasing a breast.
The blonde looked dubious.
“Careful Gaius, don’t lose your head. She wants something.”
“And I’m happy to oblige,” Gaius said, arrogant in his ability to please any woman.
Bill leaned in to Laura’s left ear, “Get to the point, Madame President. How far are you gonna go with this?”
“You know I’ll go to any lengths,” she said to Bill. She realized, though, that she didn't want to have sex with Gaius Baltar. But she wanted -- something. To break something or kick something or screw something.
“And speaking of lengths…” Gaius leered, and he took her hand and rested it on the bulge in his pants.
Laura arched her eyebrows, surprised.
Bill harrumphed. “He calls that a length?”
“Actually, it is quite impressive,” Laura said.
Gaius continued to caress her breast and then almost whispered, “There’s nothing like real skin…”
“I know…” Laura sighed.
“Wait,” Gaius said, jolted. “What do you mean?”
She startled and looked at him keenly.
“What did you mean?”
Suddenly Adama was demanding sharply, “Get him out of here.”
The cylon hissed in Baltar’s ear, “Get out of here.”
Roslin’s voice was intense, but surprisingly soft, “Gaius, what did you mean by ‘real skin’?”
His hand lay still on her breast, his face inches from hers. He looked deep into the gray depths of her eyes and he whispered, “I see dead people, Madame President. At least I see one dead person.”
The blonde was suddenly apoplectic. He had never known her to be so emotional. In fact, he had never seen her show any emotion at all. But now she was practically sobbing in anger, “No, Gaius! Don’t tell…”
But Gaius didn’t take his eyes from Laura’s. And she smiled at him slightly, a small, sad, relieved smile. “I see one, too, Gaius.”
Adama exploded in anger and cursed a filthy word, the word a man never, ever calls a woman. But Roslin didn't even turned her head.
Gaius took his hand slowly from her robe and laid it carefully on her hand instead. She withdrew her hand from his lap.
“It’s awful,” he whispered, his face close to hers. She’s always there, always bossing me, always thinking she knows better than I.”
Roslin nodded, “At first, it was wonderful. I felt like I wasn’t alone. But lately…”
“I hate it when she’s there, yet when she’s gone I’m lost.”
“At first I thought I was just crazy from grief….”
“I thought it was a cylon trick. Or a chip in my head.”
The cylon lay down on the rack, staring at the ceiling, pounding a pillow in aggravation. Adama had his fists balled in his pockets, and he was impotently pacing, agitated as a caged lion.
"Why?" Laura asked. "Why do they come to us? Do you know?"
Baltar signed. "I honestly don’t know, Laura. But I don’t think I’ll ever be free of her."
II
Hours and abrosias later, they lay on Bill's rack in the in the darkened room, side by side. Laura was exhausted, but more at peace. She wondered if she had passed into that last stage of grief, Acceptance. The burdens of her life suddenly seemed more acceptable to her now; and she felt quieter inside, less resentful.
"It's good to have someone to talk to," he whispered to her.
"I've always respected your intellect, Gaius."
"And I've always thought you were utterly beautiful, Laura."
Gaius felt such contentment, he was surprised. He had desired her for so long, and now he felt such… peace…just to lie with her and talk. There would be no sex tonight, and he was perfectly fine with that.
"Is he still here?" Gaius asked her. Laura peered around the room and nodded, noting that Bill was sitting near the model ship, glaring at it as if contemplating smashing it.
"What about her?" she asked, and Baltar nodded, seeing the blonde curled on the sofa staring at them, her eyes glowing like a feline's in the semi-gloom.
Baltar thought he might have dozed off for a moment. Through his haze of sleepiness and alcohol and contentment, he heard Roslin's voice float over him. "Did you give up the codes to the cylons? On Caprica?"
Her voice was so soothing. In that moment, he heard a mother, his mother, his understanding mother, a mother who would forgive the window he smashed with a wild pyramid throw, a mother who would kiss his scraped knee and make it all better.
"Yes," he breathed. And then, “But I am so, so, so very sorry.” The blonde's gleaming eyes turned away from him.
Laura did not look in Bill's direction. In the dark, she reached for Gaius's hand and they both felt it: acceptance.
remix author: whatever_lj
Characters: Roslin, Baltar, Head Adama, Head Six
Rating: K
Warnings: None
Summary:
Summary: Constant companionship can actually make you feel terribly alone.
Beta Thanks: Thanks to Tom for all his support.
Title, Author and URL of original story: This is a remix of two of Nnaylime’s stories, Chasing Shadows (http://www.mujaji.net/adamaroslin/viewstory.php?sid=1582) and Mother May I? (http://www.mujaji.net/adamaroslin/viewstory.php?sid=816)
Author Notes: AU
He came to her often now, and she was no longer surprised by his sudden appearances. She was no longer delighted by them either.
She would catch him skulking in the corners of Quorum meetings, or sitting next to her as she shuttled between Galactica and Colonial One, or reading her book over her shoulder in bed at night. She noticed that he no longer needed his glasses; it irked her.
At first she had welcomed the miracle of his appearances with awed veneration and desperate adoration, grateful that death had not parted them fully. But lately her attitude about his apparitions has soured. What were those classic stages of grief? Certainly at first she was officially mired in Denial. But lately she thought she had passed into something else. Was there some stage of grief that described the feelings of resentment at being the survivor, of frustration at having a companion that she alone could see, of crushing responsibility for guiding a rag-tag fleet being hounded across the stars, of aggravation at having to work with a greasy little frakker who probably caused this mess in the first place? That was the stage of grief Laura Roslin found herself wallowing in these days.
So when one day Adama remarked, “You’re right, of course; the little frak-weasel gave up those codes,” she was in the mood for a little confrontation.
“You know that for a fact?” she asked. She understood that he had ways of knowing things now. That also irked her.
“I know it for a fact.”
“Then I’m going to get him to admit it."
II
“She wants me for a private meeting,” Baltar smugged to the blond cylon. “Adama’s dead and she wants me. Says she needs me.”
The blonde merely smiled. “She needs something, Gaius, but I highly doubt it’s you.”
“Remember how you once told me that I wanted to kill Adama, my father figure, so I could mate with Roslin, my mother figure? Well, perhaps you haven’t noticed, but my father figure is dead.”
II
Roslin had taken over Adama’s quarters. When he had first died, she had found comfort in having his things nearby. His model ship. His books. She had liked to put her glasses down next to his on the coffee table, see them nestled together. Now she regarded those frakkin’ glasses, the ones he no longer needed. How dare he leave her to do all this heavy lifting? Everybody knew that she was supposed to be the dying leader.
She was dressed in Bill’s ratty old robe when Baltar arrived, nursing a glass of ambrosia and considering a plan of seduction.
“Madam President, you summoned me?” he asked.
“I did, Dr. Baltar,” she said. “Please sit down.” She gestured to the spot next to her on the leather couch, and he perched beside her.
Laura was naked under Bill’s robe, and she felt trickles of perspiration under her arms. Bill, sitting at his desk, murmured a little critically, “You look nervous, Laura. You don’t need to be nervous. Nothing’s going to really happen.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” she muttered back.
Baltar answered, “Done what, Madame President?”
She turned her attention from Bill back to Gaius, “Talked to a man in my bathrobe.”
“That’s clearly not your robe, Madame President,” he observed of the oversized wrap.
“That reminds me of a joke I heard a long time ago. ‘This morning I shot a cylon in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I will never know.’” Gaius snorted out a short chuckle. Laura's laugh was high-pitched, edged with hysteria.
“Get a grip on yourself, Laura,” Bill said.
“Oh, go frak yourself,” she giggled.
“Uh…Madame President?” Baltar said, tentatively, baffled by her attitude, her laugher, and her comment about frakking himself. “Are you feeling alright?"
Laura abruptly stopped laughing, her eyes narrowed and she laid her cards on the table. “Well, Gaius, would you like to find out how I feel?” she asked. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Bill roll his eyes at this hokey line, so transparent and flimsy.
But it was likewise clear that Gaius was willing to buying what she was peddling and he reached eager fingers into her robe.
The blonde tut-tutted. “Taking advantage of the bereaved, Gaius?”
Bill turned away in disgust, “Far enough, Laura. Abort the mission.”
“Far enough?” she breathed. “I’ve only begun.”
“Tell him to take his frakkin’ hand off your breast,” Bill gritted.
“It feels surprisingly good,” Laura taunted Bill, as Baltar fondled the warm roundness. Gaius's hand was soft and warm and delicate, so different from Bill's large, calloused paws. And it was clear the doctor had a level of experience and expertise at the business of teasing a breast.
The blonde looked dubious.
“Careful Gaius, don’t lose your head. She wants something.”
“And I’m happy to oblige,” Gaius said, arrogant in his ability to please any woman.
Bill leaned in to Laura’s left ear, “Get to the point, Madame President. How far are you gonna go with this?”
“You know I’ll go to any lengths,” she said to Bill. She realized, though, that she didn't want to have sex with Gaius Baltar. But she wanted -- something. To break something or kick something or screw something.
“And speaking of lengths…” Gaius leered, and he took her hand and rested it on the bulge in his pants.
Laura arched her eyebrows, surprised.
Bill harrumphed. “He calls that a length?”
“Actually, it is quite impressive,” Laura said.
Gaius continued to caress her breast and then almost whispered, “There’s nothing like real skin…”
“I know…” Laura sighed.
“Wait,” Gaius said, jolted. “What do you mean?”
She startled and looked at him keenly.
“What did you mean?”
Suddenly Adama was demanding sharply, “Get him out of here.”
The cylon hissed in Baltar’s ear, “Get out of here.”
Roslin’s voice was intense, but surprisingly soft, “Gaius, what did you mean by ‘real skin’?”
His hand lay still on her breast, his face inches from hers. He looked deep into the gray depths of her eyes and he whispered, “I see dead people, Madame President. At least I see one dead person.”
The blonde was suddenly apoplectic. He had never known her to be so emotional. In fact, he had never seen her show any emotion at all. But now she was practically sobbing in anger, “No, Gaius! Don’t tell…”
But Gaius didn’t take his eyes from Laura’s. And she smiled at him slightly, a small, sad, relieved smile. “I see one, too, Gaius.”
Adama exploded in anger and cursed a filthy word, the word a man never, ever calls a woman. But Roslin didn't even turned her head.
Gaius took his hand slowly from her robe and laid it carefully on her hand instead. She withdrew her hand from his lap.
“It’s awful,” he whispered, his face close to hers. She’s always there, always bossing me, always thinking she knows better than I.”
Roslin nodded, “At first, it was wonderful. I felt like I wasn’t alone. But lately…”
“I hate it when she’s there, yet when she’s gone I’m lost.”
“At first I thought I was just crazy from grief….”
“I thought it was a cylon trick. Or a chip in my head.”
The cylon lay down on the rack, staring at the ceiling, pounding a pillow in aggravation. Adama had his fists balled in his pockets, and he was impotently pacing, agitated as a caged lion.
"Why?" Laura asked. "Why do they come to us? Do you know?"
Baltar signed. "I honestly don’t know, Laura. But I don’t think I’ll ever be free of her."
II
Hours and abrosias later, they lay on Bill's rack in the in the darkened room, side by side. Laura was exhausted, but more at peace. She wondered if she had passed into that last stage of grief, Acceptance. The burdens of her life suddenly seemed more acceptable to her now; and she felt quieter inside, less resentful.
"It's good to have someone to talk to," he whispered to her.
"I've always respected your intellect, Gaius."
"And I've always thought you were utterly beautiful, Laura."
Gaius felt such contentment, he was surprised. He had desired her for so long, and now he felt such… peace…just to lie with her and talk. There would be no sex tonight, and he was perfectly fine with that.
"Is he still here?" Gaius asked her. Laura peered around the room and nodded, noting that Bill was sitting near the model ship, glaring at it as if contemplating smashing it.
"What about her?" she asked, and Baltar nodded, seeing the blonde curled on the sofa staring at them, her eyes glowing like a feline's in the semi-gloom.
Baltar thought he might have dozed off for a moment. Through his haze of sleepiness and alcohol and contentment, he heard Roslin's voice float over him. "Did you give up the codes to the cylons? On Caprica?"
Her voice was so soothing. In that moment, he heard a mother, his mother, his understanding mother, a mother who would forgive the window he smashed with a wild pyramid throw, a mother who would kiss his scraped knee and make it all better.
"Yes," he breathed. And then, “But I am so, so, so very sorry.” The blonde's gleaming eyes turned away from him.
Laura did not look in Bill's direction. In the dark, she reached for Gaius's hand and they both felt it: acceptance.