FIC: On the Ropes (4/4)
Chapter Four:
Bill’s Raptor had crapped out on landing and he’d been forced to stay the night on New Caprica. Chief could look at it in the morning but he didn’t pull double-shifts anymore.
Bill and Laura enjoyed a solitary meal; he’d turned down several invitations from old crew members--even Kara had offered to make dinner, but that had felt more like a threat than an opportunity for fine dining.
“What was in that sausage?” he asked Laura, carefully picking his teeth with his knife.
“Don’t ask,” she suggested, clearing the few pieces of cutlery.
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pursue the topic. He listened to the rabble of Laura’s neighbors. “Is it always this loud?” he said.
She glanced at her watch. “Yeah, about the time everyone has dinner the noise really picks up. They finally settle down by bedtime.”
“Good,” he said, glancing at her narrow cot, trying to decide if that was worth the attempt or if they should just keep it on the floor.
She followed his gaze. “After that, every little sound carries for yards,” she said pointedly.
“Oh,” he said, disappointed. There was a reason that they kept their activities on Galactica--privacy.
Picking up a folded blanket from the foot of her cot, she said brightly, “How about an after dinner stroll? This is the first day that it hasn’t rained in weeks.”
His grin slowly grew under his mustache. “Work off our dinner?”
She turned to go, her hand outstretched back to him. “Something like that,” she murmured, peeking back at him over her shoulder.
He jumped to his feet, but she kept him at arm’s length as they hurriedly walked out of the tent village. The nebula illuminated their path through the shrubbery, lighting the sand blue.
She’d tugged his arm around her shoulders as soon as they’d cleared the lights of town. “Oh good,” she said, looking up to the dark sky, his forearm supporting her neck. “The clouds are gone; we can see the stars.”
“You need stars?” he asked, nuzzling her ear so that they ended up aimlessly wandering.
“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to make love under the stars,” she said, breathless, pulling free to toss the blanket open.
“I thought we checked that off your to do list in the Raptor,” he reminded her, his grin glowing in the darkness at her. White skin lit the shadows as her clothes slid free--he heard rather than saw their removal, a provocative sound of rustling fabric.
Her hands were at his tunic buttons. “Yes, true. But there was no fresh air--“ His palms found her pebbled nipples and he could see the advantages of an outdoor locale. “And you weren’t naked in the Raptor.”
“Oh, now you want me naked?” he said, goosebumps rising all along his back as she tugged his tanks off.
Lying down on the blanket, arms reaching up to him, she said, “I want a lot of things.”
He stood over her, kicking free his boots, tugging off his pants, his toes curling in the alluvial deposits again.
Sinking down beside her, letting her push his boxers off, he said, “I want so many things with you too, Laura.”
Her pale eyes shimmered like moonlit pools; he swore he could see the reflection of the nebula move across them. She said, “We can’t--“
“Don’t say can’t right before making love with an old man,” he said quickly, defusing.
“I’ll put you in your grave tonight, old man,” she promised, and he had to kiss that threat from her taunting lips even as he gasped when her still cold hand found its target.
It had been their only lovemaking on the surface; perhaps that’s why he thought of it often. He’d had to wait until he’d returned to Galactica to make the hashmark on his headboard table.
He’d never told Laura about the marks, although she suspected. Tracing them with her lazy finger above her tousled hair one night, she said, “What an odd pattern,” while looking at him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t remember it before.”
He knew how it looked, but it wasn’t some trophy record. It had been a countdown; even then he had known that they only had a finite time together.
Hunched on the edge of his rack, his fumbling fingers traced the marks as Cottle said, “Have him take one now,” to Laura holding up the bottle before setting it down beside Adama.
The doctor added, “Let him have another one in the night if he can’t sleep, but otherwise, one in the morning before work. He’s going to feel as though a Raptor fell on him by dawn.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Laura said, keeping her eyes on Cottle and nowhere near Adama.
“Thanks, Doc,” mumbled Bill.
His curious gaze darting back and forth between the two of them, Cottle said, “Yeah, well, I gotta get back and see if those damn kids have killed each other yet.” Valiantly, he added, “I still think you should go to the Life Station for some precautionary x-rays.”
Both shook their heads, so he shrugged and leaded towards the hatch, muttering under his breath.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Laura said, watching Cottle’s retreating back.
“You don’t--“
She ignored him, getting a glass of water so that he could take the first pill. Tugging him to his feet, she said, “Come on. To the head.”
He walked slowly, each step heavier than the last.
“Sit,” she commanded, flipping the lid down, and then pushing him onto the toilet. His shaking legs gave out part way down and he fell with a thump.
She found small scissors and cut through the necklines of his tanks, then tore them open. “Sorry,” she said, tossing them aside. “But I’m guessing you can’t lift your arms above your head right now.”
He shook his head. She leaned in and peered at his torso. “Maybe Doc Cottle was right about those x-rays. Those bruises are coming up fast.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” she said, turning the taps of the sink on. She pulled out every towel he had. “Get out of your pants,” was her next order.
He staggered upright, barely holding himself on the vanity. She was able to quickly yank down his pants and boxers before he flopped back to the toilet. She tugged them off after pulling his boots free. Taking his robe from the back of the door, she draped it over him.
When he started to shiver anyway, she punched the heat control on the wall and shucked off her blazer. Rolling up her sleeves, she dampened a hand towel with lukewarm water and dabbed it on his face. Some cuts began to bleed again, and she cursed.
Opening his medical kit, she found some butterfly bandages and stopped the bleeding.
“Hands,” she said crisply. “Might as well see what sort of mess we have under there.”
He tried again. Around swelling gums, he said, “You don’t have to do this--“
“Shut up,” she said sharply, a crack in the armor, but carefully unwrapped first one hand, then the other. “They look better than I expected. You’ve got knuckles like rocks, though.”
He sighed, the pain pill sliding up through his bloodstream, lightening his heavy limbs and thumping head.
“Better?” she murmured and he nodded.
She swabbed off his shoulders, lifting each slack arm to clean out his armpits, running the cloth across his pectorals.
He looked down at the top of her head. She was on her knees now, shoes kicked off. She hadn’t met his eyes once since they’d entered his quarters.
“Laura--“
“Now let’s see what’s going on with these ribs,” she said, still ignoring his every entreaty.
Folding the robe down, she wiped the damp cloth over his purpling skin, pushing gently here and there, gaining faint groans, but not the hiss of air that would show breaks.
“You truly are one tough old bird,” she said, standing.
She found a compression bandage and said with no sympathy, “This is going to hurt.”
He lifted his arms automatically and had to rest his throbbing hands on her shoulders as she pulled the wrap snugly around his torso.
Draping the robe around his shoulders, she rung out the washcloth, wetting it again with warmer water now that she was moving below the waist. She washed his genitals with the disinterest of a nurse in a care facility. Finally she wiped down his legs and feet, and briskly dried him.
“Stay,” she said, going out to retrieve a fresh pair of boxers.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, listening for the pad of her bare feet.
Looking at his slumping figure, she said, “This is going to be tricky.”
“I got ‘em,” he mumbled, humiliation seeping out like sweat.
“No, you don’t,” she told him. “Lift your foot.” She got both of his feet through the legs of the boxers, and said, “Stand,” pulling them up in place as he stood.
He wavered, clutching her shoulder, even though he couldn’t imagine her holding his weight if he did start to fall.
Re-securing his robe around his shoulders, she led him out to his rack. He was so weak from exhaustion and the drugs that she had to lift his legs and slide them under the covers.
She pushed her hair off her damp forehead. “Should I put another pill here?” she asked, patting the headboard table.
“Thanks,” he said.
She refilled his glass of water and shook another pill from the bottle to lie beside it. Pulling the covers up under his chin, she smoothed the blanket and looked down at him, finally meeting his bleary eyes.
She said, “You’ve talked yourself out tonight--“ He nodded, staring up at her like a child tucked into his bed, yearning, not wanting the bedtime story to end. With no conviction, she finished, “So we’ll talk later.”
He could barely nod again. She kissed him good night, her lips gentle whispers on his bruised mouth. A tiny cut opened at the crease of his lip, bleeding, and she leaned in again to kiss the blood away.
He watched her rippling silhouette rocking away from his rack. He called after her, barely able to rasp it out, “I love you, Laura.”
If she replied in kind, he probably would cave, lie to himself and accept the small corner of love they had. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder, so lovely in the gesture, shook her head as though he were a silly boy, and said, “It looks like that pill has kicked in.”
She snapped the light off, and left him in darkness.
The end
Bill’s Raptor had crapped out on landing and he’d been forced to stay the night on New Caprica. Chief could look at it in the morning but he didn’t pull double-shifts anymore.
Bill and Laura enjoyed a solitary meal; he’d turned down several invitations from old crew members--even Kara had offered to make dinner, but that had felt more like a threat than an opportunity for fine dining.
“What was in that sausage?” he asked Laura, carefully picking his teeth with his knife.
“Don’t ask,” she suggested, clearing the few pieces of cutlery.
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pursue the topic. He listened to the rabble of Laura’s neighbors. “Is it always this loud?” he said.
She glanced at her watch. “Yeah, about the time everyone has dinner the noise really picks up. They finally settle down by bedtime.”
“Good,” he said, glancing at her narrow cot, trying to decide if that was worth the attempt or if they should just keep it on the floor.
She followed his gaze. “After that, every little sound carries for yards,” she said pointedly.
“Oh,” he said, disappointed. There was a reason that they kept their activities on Galactica--privacy.
Picking up a folded blanket from the foot of her cot, she said brightly, “How about an after dinner stroll? This is the first day that it hasn’t rained in weeks.”
His grin slowly grew under his mustache. “Work off our dinner?”
She turned to go, her hand outstretched back to him. “Something like that,” she murmured, peeking back at him over her shoulder.
He jumped to his feet, but she kept him at arm’s length as they hurriedly walked out of the tent village. The nebula illuminated their path through the shrubbery, lighting the sand blue.
She’d tugged his arm around her shoulders as soon as they’d cleared the lights of town. “Oh good,” she said, looking up to the dark sky, his forearm supporting her neck. “The clouds are gone; we can see the stars.”
“You need stars?” he asked, nuzzling her ear so that they ended up aimlessly wandering.
“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to make love under the stars,” she said, breathless, pulling free to toss the blanket open.
“I thought we checked that off your to do list in the Raptor,” he reminded her, his grin glowing in the darkness at her. White skin lit the shadows as her clothes slid free--he heard rather than saw their removal, a provocative sound of rustling fabric.
Her hands were at his tunic buttons. “Yes, true. But there was no fresh air--“ His palms found her pebbled nipples and he could see the advantages of an outdoor locale. “And you weren’t naked in the Raptor.”
“Oh, now you want me naked?” he said, goosebumps rising all along his back as she tugged his tanks off.
Lying down on the blanket, arms reaching up to him, she said, “I want a lot of things.”
He stood over her, kicking free his boots, tugging off his pants, his toes curling in the alluvial deposits again.
Sinking down beside her, letting her push his boxers off, he said, “I want so many things with you too, Laura.”
Her pale eyes shimmered like moonlit pools; he swore he could see the reflection of the nebula move across them. She said, “We can’t--“
“Don’t say can’t right before making love with an old man,” he said quickly, defusing.
“I’ll put you in your grave tonight, old man,” she promised, and he had to kiss that threat from her taunting lips even as he gasped when her still cold hand found its target.
It had been their only lovemaking on the surface; perhaps that’s why he thought of it often. He’d had to wait until he’d returned to Galactica to make the hashmark on his headboard table.
He’d never told Laura about the marks, although she suspected. Tracing them with her lazy finger above her tousled hair one night, she said, “What an odd pattern,” while looking at him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t remember it before.”
He knew how it looked, but it wasn’t some trophy record. It had been a countdown; even then he had known that they only had a finite time together.
Hunched on the edge of his rack, his fumbling fingers traced the marks as Cottle said, “Have him take one now,” to Laura holding up the bottle before setting it down beside Adama.
The doctor added, “Let him have another one in the night if he can’t sleep, but otherwise, one in the morning before work. He’s going to feel as though a Raptor fell on him by dawn.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Laura said, keeping her eyes on Cottle and nowhere near Adama.
“Thanks, Doc,” mumbled Bill.
His curious gaze darting back and forth between the two of them, Cottle said, “Yeah, well, I gotta get back and see if those damn kids have killed each other yet.” Valiantly, he added, “I still think you should go to the Life Station for some precautionary x-rays.”
Both shook their heads, so he shrugged and leaded towards the hatch, muttering under his breath.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Laura said, watching Cottle’s retreating back.
“You don’t--“
She ignored him, getting a glass of water so that he could take the first pill. Tugging him to his feet, she said, “Come on. To the head.”
He walked slowly, each step heavier than the last.
“Sit,” she commanded, flipping the lid down, and then pushing him onto the toilet. His shaking legs gave out part way down and he fell with a thump.
She found small scissors and cut through the necklines of his tanks, then tore them open. “Sorry,” she said, tossing them aside. “But I’m guessing you can’t lift your arms above your head right now.”
He shook his head. She leaned in and peered at his torso. “Maybe Doc Cottle was right about those x-rays. Those bruises are coming up fast.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” she said, turning the taps of the sink on. She pulled out every towel he had. “Get out of your pants,” was her next order.
He staggered upright, barely holding himself on the vanity. She was able to quickly yank down his pants and boxers before he flopped back to the toilet. She tugged them off after pulling his boots free. Taking his robe from the back of the door, she draped it over him.
When he started to shiver anyway, she punched the heat control on the wall and shucked off her blazer. Rolling up her sleeves, she dampened a hand towel with lukewarm water and dabbed it on his face. Some cuts began to bleed again, and she cursed.
Opening his medical kit, she found some butterfly bandages and stopped the bleeding.
“Hands,” she said crisply. “Might as well see what sort of mess we have under there.”
He tried again. Around swelling gums, he said, “You don’t have to do this--“
“Shut up,” she said sharply, a crack in the armor, but carefully unwrapped first one hand, then the other. “They look better than I expected. You’ve got knuckles like rocks, though.”
He sighed, the pain pill sliding up through his bloodstream, lightening his heavy limbs and thumping head.
“Better?” she murmured and he nodded.
She swabbed off his shoulders, lifting each slack arm to clean out his armpits, running the cloth across his pectorals.
He looked down at the top of her head. She was on her knees now, shoes kicked off. She hadn’t met his eyes once since they’d entered his quarters.
“Laura--“
“Now let’s see what’s going on with these ribs,” she said, still ignoring his every entreaty.
Folding the robe down, she wiped the damp cloth over his purpling skin, pushing gently here and there, gaining faint groans, but not the hiss of air that would show breaks.
“You truly are one tough old bird,” she said, standing.
She found a compression bandage and said with no sympathy, “This is going to hurt.”
He lifted his arms automatically and had to rest his throbbing hands on her shoulders as she pulled the wrap snugly around his torso.
Draping the robe around his shoulders, she rung out the washcloth, wetting it again with warmer water now that she was moving below the waist. She washed his genitals with the disinterest of a nurse in a care facility. Finally she wiped down his legs and feet, and briskly dried him.
“Stay,” she said, going out to retrieve a fresh pair of boxers.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, listening for the pad of her bare feet.
Looking at his slumping figure, she said, “This is going to be tricky.”
“I got ‘em,” he mumbled, humiliation seeping out like sweat.
“No, you don’t,” she told him. “Lift your foot.” She got both of his feet through the legs of the boxers, and said, “Stand,” pulling them up in place as he stood.
He wavered, clutching her shoulder, even though he couldn’t imagine her holding his weight if he did start to fall.
Re-securing his robe around his shoulders, she led him out to his rack. He was so weak from exhaustion and the drugs that she had to lift his legs and slide them under the covers.
She pushed her hair off her damp forehead. “Should I put another pill here?” she asked, patting the headboard table.
“Thanks,” he said.
She refilled his glass of water and shook another pill from the bottle to lie beside it. Pulling the covers up under his chin, she smoothed the blanket and looked down at him, finally meeting his bleary eyes.
She said, “You’ve talked yourself out tonight--“ He nodded, staring up at her like a child tucked into his bed, yearning, not wanting the bedtime story to end. With no conviction, she finished, “So we’ll talk later.”
He could barely nod again. She kissed him good night, her lips gentle whispers on his bruised mouth. A tiny cut opened at the crease of his lip, bleeding, and she leaned in again to kiss the blood away.
He watched her rippling silhouette rocking away from his rack. He called after her, barely able to rasp it out, “I love you, Laura.”
If she replied in kind, he probably would cave, lie to himself and accept the small corner of love they had. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder, so lovely in the gesture, shook her head as though he were a silly boy, and said, “It looks like that pill has kicked in.”
She snapped the light off, and left him in darkness.
The end