FIC: Turn the Page ~ Chapter Twenty-five

[bugsfic]

Title: Turn the Page ~ Chapter Twenty-five
Author: bugs
Genre: AU, Romance, Drama
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,800
A/N: For those overfed and bored before the flat screen souls, a little Christmas present. Love yah! *awkward sideways hug*


Chapter 25:
Laura accepted the glass of champagne from the flight attendant, despite finding the entire situation surreal. The pretty young woman leaned over Laura to offer her tray, as well as the view down the cleavage of her tight blouse, to Bill.

"For you, Mr Adama," she purred.

Askance, Laura's mouth fell open. The few times she'd traveled by airplane, the attendants had been businesslike and no nonsense. But she'd never traveled in first class before.

Bill barely glanced at the young woman and accepted the glass absentmindedly. He was reading the in-flight magazine even before the take-off. Laura had noticed this about him; he had to read all written materials around him.

The last stragglers filed down the aisle, looking Laura and Bill over as they passed. This was something else making her uncomfortable. Every passenger walking down the aisle had gawked at Laura, almost as though they were evaluating her worth to be sitting up front.

When she'd challenged Bill as to why they were in first class, he'd blithely claimed they were the only seats left when he booked the flight, but considering how comfortable he'd seemed from the moment he'd sank into the wide leather seat, she sensed that he often traveled at the premium rates.

She nervously toyed with her hair. He'd picked her up straight from school, her suitcase already in the Citroen's trunk, but after the long day teaching, she felt crumbled and droopy.

When the young woman returned with a dish of nuts, Laura gave her a steely gaze. "No thank you," she said firmly.

"And the gentleman?" The attendant didn't even look at Laura as she went to lean over her again.

"He doesn't need any nuts," Laura said sharply.

"Huh?" Bill blinked at her over his glasses. Then his gaze shifted to the young woman. "Uh, no. I'm fine. Thank you."

When the attendant huffily retreated, Bill removed his glasses and looked at Laura questioningly.

"You weren't hungry, were you?" Laura asked innocently.

He took her hand and squeezed it. "I'm looking forward to a delicious dinner. I'll save the room." He patted his stomach with his free hand.

She smoothed the back of his broad hand with her nervous fingers. "That sounds good," she said fretfully.

In the little cocoon of their Oakland neighborhood, she hadn't really thought of Bill as a famous, successful writer. And what it would mean to be his escort outside their comfortable world. For some reason, Laura found herself resenting his position and what that would mean for her, changes she may have to make to herself and her appearance. A former nun and her wardrobe would not do to be seen with William Adama, author.

She shot him an irritated look, but now he was engrossed in the emergency landing card even as his thumb lazily caressed her palm. Pulling her hand away, she became angry with herself for being so silly, and folded her arms tightly.

"We're preparing for take-off," announced the attendant. "Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened." She looked down significantly to Bill's lap and Laura considered tripping the young woman as she passed.

The plane traveled down the runway and took off.

"Anything exciting at work today?" Bill asked as they were pressed back against their seats while the plane climbed. He tucked away his reading materials and gave her his full attention.

Laura peered over him out the window to see the San Francisco Bay stretched out beneath the plane. She really hadn't been on many trips.
"No," she said slowly. She decided not to tell him about her encounter with Doctor Baltar. She sensed that he may try to pressure her to leave her job. She'd simply skirt the issue by not bringing it up.

The scientist had come on Laura in the teachers' lounge. She'd never seen him there before, but he made a beeline for the hot water kettle with his tea cup in his hand.

Rather than leaving, he lingered by the table where she sat. "How are you, Ms. Roslin?" he asked.

She shifted her tablet away so he couldn't read her journal entry. The last thing she wanted him reading was about her sexual escapades.

"I'm well. How are you?" she said distantly, trying to convey her lack of real interest.

He sank into a chair beside her and gave a pained smile. "Working very hard."

She hadn't replied.

"My project is very stressful," he continued.

"I imagine," she said shortly. Hairs stood up on the back of her neck as he stared at her intently.

He suddenly switched topics. "Are you settling into secular life?"

Despite what he'd witnessed outside the school, she didn't think that was any of his business. She raised an eyebrow and remained silent.

His smile twitched. "Must be quite a change."

"That's why it's called change, I suppose," she said crushingly.

He clutched his cup tightly. “I can understand when change can be difficult. I, for example, had never thought I would want a child, and then there was Daniel--”

Laura had had no intention of engaging the scientist, but his shocking statement infuriated her. “A machine is not a child--”

Baltar darted in with his quick words: “What is a child, but the combination of the parents' cells, and what you would call the soul.”

“Cells, Doctor. Not circuitry. A machine will never be a human.”

He gave her a patronizing smile. “I use the word cell as I would any material obtained from the parents to create the child. Artificial limbs are circuitry. We're making advances every day to replace defective human parts and cells with artificial materials. When will that human cease to be human in your eyes? Shouldn't it be as long as they have the soul?”

She stared back at him. “You cannot create a soul in computer coding,” she stated.

Waving his hand, he nodded vigorously. “Of course not. That's why I'm seeking one for Daniel.”

She glanced at the clock. Thankfully, it was time for class. She stood. “I must go.”

He half-stood, hunched over in some approximation of chivalry. “Have a nice day.”

The encounter had been nothing really. If she conveyed it to Bill, though, he'd make something of it. Since leaving the convent, she'd been unable to evaluate her emotions. Her relationship with Bill seemed to have blown away the ability to trust her responses. Everything felt immense and intense, often sending shivers down her spine. So if she didn't know what she felt about Bill, how could she weigh her reaction to Doctor Baltar's plans?

Bill watched the warring emotions cross Laura's face. He loved that she couldn't lie, but he hated that she tried. He wasn't going to challenge her though. After all, he didn't want her to find out how far he was going to assure her safety just yet.

He'd returned from walking to her school to find Kara reading a book that he'd left on her bedside. Saul had arrived a few minutes later just as Bill had the young woman situated in the kitchen, ready for breakfast. His friend was willing to accept a meal as well, so Bill heated up the cast iron skillet to make bacon and eggs.

Saul began his report as he waited for the meal. “This John Cavil was a professor at Berkeley; Gauis Baltar's professor, to be exact.”

“Is he still working there?” asked Bill as he cracked the eggs over the hot pan.

“Nope. Got tossed out a couple of years ago,” said Saul. "About the same time this Baltar started making headlines for his inventions."

Bill pulled opened the bacon package, thoughtful. “That's pretty unusual. These tenured academics need to sacrifice a goat on the lectern to get fired.”

“They gotta screw that goat,” expanded Saul.

“Were you able to find out what happened?”

"He was accused of stealing the work of his former student--Gauis Baltar."

Bill raised his eyebrows. "Then why is he the one jumping the doctor?"

"Yep," said Saul, stealing a piece of crinkling bacon from the pan. "His defense was this Baltar was the one stealing his work, but there were papers, records, a little girl research assistant, all that backed Baltar."

"What was the work?" asked Kara.

Bill loaded up plates and put them on the table. "Let me guess. Artificial intelligence."

"There's a lot of scientists working on that," said Saul. "Our docs are trying to take it a step further. Create new life. A sentient being," he said, wrapping his tongue around the unfamiliar term.

Kara whistled. "That's a big brass ring. Whoever could create disposable but free-thinking beings--think of the applications." She looked ruefully at her bandaged leg. "I'd be out of a job, for one."

"We've got plenty of disposable beings right now," grumbled Bill, "but I see your point."

Saul stuck his fork into his eggs' yolks, sending a yellow flood across his plate. "This Baltar has Moneybags Zarek backing him, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Bill.

"That kind of money could buy a lot of lies if they needed it," noted Saul.

"Baltar steals his mentor's work, and when this Cavil notices, frames him as the thief," suggested Kara.

"And they thought he'd go away," mused Bill, chewing slowly on his toast. "But that crazy little shit has started coming around, making physical threats."

"Folks don't like their life work stolen," pointed out Saul.

"I don't give damn." Bill's face darkened. "But I won't have Laura caught in the cross-fire."

Saul shrugged. "Just tell her to quit her job."

Kara and Bill exchanged bemused looks.

"I don't trust those men in black to save anyone but that little weasel Baltar," said Bill, bypassing his friend's suggestion.

"Zarek and Baltar didn't file charges against Cavil?" Kara asked Saul.

He barked a laugh. "I couldn't even get either of them to admit Cavil had been at the party, let alone that there'd been an assault."

Kara squinted. "But if he shows up again and tries something before a witness--"

"What are you thinking?" asked Bill, leaning forward.

"I'm on medical leave for at least a couple of months," she grumbled. "Gotta rehab this knee before I can get back on the street. But I can sit in a car across from the school just as easily as sitting around here."

"In a car," snorted Saul. "You've be spotted in five minutes. There's pros watching Baltar, remember?"

She grimaced. "Okay, okay...Let me think..."

"I don't want you to put yourself in danger--" protested Bill.

She ignored him. "I could do a setup as a homeless woman, in a wheelchair, bumming change--"

Saul sneered. "I knew Pepper Anderson, girlie, and you're no Angie Dickinson."

She sneered right back. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Okay, stop it," said Bill, standing.

"It'll work, boss," promised Kara.

Bill pursed his lips, thinking. "I suppose it can't hurt for you to stake out for a day or so, see what you can observe--"

She grinned; knowing she'd won.

"Just be careful, Starbuck," Bill said.

"Huh?" Kara looked at him in confusion.

He nodded toward the book she'd been reading earlier, now lying beside her on the table. "Moby Dick," he noted.

"I'm only reading it because there's no James Patterson in the house," she said with a sniff.

"Not even a William Adama reader," Bill said mournfully, carrying his plate to the sink and followed by a chorus of laughter from Saul and Kara.

Kara hadn't spotted Cavil before Bill and Laura left for their weekend, but it gave Bill more time to investigate the backstory of Cavil's dismissal from the university. He didn't like what he'd learned at all. On Monday, he would be having a little talk with Tom Zarek.

"Did you get a lot written this week?" asked Laura.

Bill smiled and took her hand again. "Yes. Without you around to make love to."

She looked around quickly to see if anyone heard. "Bill--"

Her embarrassment remind him of Saul's teasing once Kara had gone to shower.

Saul sipped his coffee. "How's it going with this schoolteacher? Now that she's tossed aside the wimple," he said with a leer.

"It's going well," Bill said noncommittally. "Very well."

His friend didn't get a hint. "Even if she was a nun, she's at her sexual peak. She's gonna break your dick off."

Bill grinned as he refilled his coffee mug. "But what a way to go."

Saul wheezed a laugh, then became philosophical. "Jeez, all the times I was trying to fix you up with strippers to get your nut off, you were lusting after what's under the habit. Clean as a whistle, tight as a nun's twa--"

Bill's grin disappeared but Saul was too caught up in the irony in the phrase to do more than just shut up. He shook his head.

"It's not about sex, dammit," grumbled Bill. "Not that you'd get it, but she has a brain. We talk."

Sure enough, Saul looked outraged. "Talking! That's what bros are for," he growled.

His friend looked the taller man over. "I don't know about you, but there's some lengthy silences between hard-ons these days, Saul. Gotta have something to talk about."

Saul shrugged. "That's when you sleep. Or go watch the game."

Bill refrained from saying, 'and that's when your wife leaves you.'

"Speakin' of which, I suppose you won't be interested in going to any Raiders games this year," said Saul.

"She hasn't got me on a leash," insisted Bill.

Saul hooted. "What about this weekend then?"

Hunching his shoulders, Bill evaded his gaze. "I've got plans."

Saul's laughter had been full of derision.

"We're here already," Laura said, the excitement and wonder in her voice as the plane began to descend.

Pressing his lips to her cheek, Bill decided giving her these sorts of moments was much more rewarding than going to a football game with his old friend.

In the rental car parking lot, Laura stared at the car that Bill was loading their luggage into. It was a low-slung red convertible with a crouching cat on the end of the hood.

"This is the sort of car I expected you to be driving when I met you," she mentioned.

He held up the door for her and she sank onto the buttery leather seats. "What do you mean?" he asked as he came around to the driver's side.

"You know, middle-aged man symbol," she said impishly.

He frowned and turned the powerful engine over. "I like to have the right car for the conditions. These winding roads, the views; this car is the right choice."

"And here I expected you to tell me that it was the only car available at the last minute," she said dryly, holding her hair down as it whipped around in the wind.

He pulled over outside the parking lot. "Here," he said fussily, unwinding his cashmere scarf. He tied it around her head. "This will do for now. We'll get you a proper silk scarf tomorrow."

As she thanked him, she was reminded again that she wasn't prepared for exciting getaways.

He moved smoothly onto a freeway with a view of the Monterey Bay which was cast in the pink early evening light and wreathed with fog.

Laura got in another dig. "The turn-off for the Motel 6 was right there," she said.

He just smiled and took the next exit with the sign pointing toward Pacific Grove. She soon saw what he meant about twisting road as he swooped along the turns among a pine-filled forest.

She expected to be cold, but heat came from the seat as well as the vents, keeping her cozy in the cool air. She could only shake her head at the luxury.

The road descended toward the sea. Bill seemed to know exactly where he was going.

"A favorite hotel?" she called over to him.

"I come here to write sometimes," he said.

Under a grove of pines which reminded Laura of Doctor Seuss trees--tall and skinny with their foliage clumped at the top--there was a grouping of grey shingle-sided cottages. Bill stopped before the one with an 'Office' sign.

She remained in the car while Bill went inside for the key. With a shiver, she decided there would be no point is hearing just how much such a place cost per night.

He drove the dozen yards to their cottage.

"The honeymoon cottage," he said, making Laura gulp. This was going to be one of those weekends.

She trailed after him into the small cottage. It was one large room, with a king size bed covered in a thick white duvet on one wall and a fireplace on another. But what really surprised her was a sunken bath tub tucked in a corner on raised platform.

"That's not very practical," she pointed out. "To bathe in the living space."

"I don't think people are just bathing," Bill said, placing their suitcases on the low bureau.

"Oh," she said slowly, confused. Then understanding dawned. "Oh!"

Blushing, she covered by peeking in the bathroom at the facilities.

"Much more utilitarian?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," she said quickly.

"Did you want to change before dinner?" he asked, unzipping his suitcase.

"Yes, thanks," she said stiffly. This wasn't his large home, easy for her to find a comfortable corner for her own needs. She shimmied past him to open her suitcase.

"Do we have reservations?" she asked as she pawed through her clothes. What to wear...What to wear....

"No, it's not that sort of place," he said and her shoulders relaxed.

After choosing a loose skirt and light sweater, she looked around. Finally deciding to be the prude, she slipped into the bathroom to change.

She expected to dine at a fine restaurant with candles on the table and an ocean view. There were candles on the table, but the view was of the Chinese buffet across the busy city street. As Bill held out the chair for her, she looked around at the decor. It was early seaside shanty.

Unsure, Bill explained, "The food's really good."

She smiled across the table. "I can't wait."

He led her way through the menu of simple, rustic local food, influenced by Italian cuisine, from the roasted artichoke drenched in olive oil and garlic, to the creamy clam chowder, to a pasta dish filled with seafood, ending with a shared large bowl of tiramisu, all accompanied by local wine.

"Oh dear," Laura said faintly as she pushed back her coffee cup. "I can't...Even breathe."

Bill shifted in his chair. "Yeah," he agreed. "We're gonna need to work this meal off." He raised his eyebrows at her knowingly.

"A stroll on the beach?" she suggested, evading his obvious hint.

With a pained groan, he pushed up from the table and reached for the bill on the edge.

She snatched it away and opened her purse.

"Laura," he said.

"Bill," she said with a no argument tone. She slapped her debit card into the folder and the waiter swooped in to take it away.

He shrugged. She sensed he'd give in this one time. Their dinner tab wasn't that high, considering what he'd spent already on the weekend.

She added a large tip and signed the receipt with a flourish while Bill waited to hold out the chair for her.

"That didn't hurt your male pride?" she asked as they walked to the car.

"Why would it?"

"A woman paying for your meal; what would the waiter think?" she asked tartly.

"That you are my wife and keep the purse strings," he said, rendering her speechless.

He drove them back to the cottage. "There's beach access," he explained after locking her purse inside the cottage.

They strolled under the dark trees, passing between two high sand dunes to come out on the windswept beach.

He took her hand. "You won't be cold?"

"No," she said, snuggling into his bulk. She was chilled, but she wanted the bracing cool air right now; she needed to clear her thoughts.

He took a cigarillo case from his jacket pocket and lit one before wrapping his arm around her waist.

After inhaling deeply, he offered the cigarillo to her.

"No thank you," she said. "I only smoke when I'm nervous."

"You were nervous that night?" He flicked ashes into the wind, carrying the bright sparks away from them.

She laughed, pressing her face into his shoulder. "Yes," she said.

"You looked so pretty in that dress," he said warmly.

"You looked pretty that night too," she said, with another giggle.

He made a pleased grumble in the back of his throat.

Slipping her hand inside his leather jacket, she squeezed him under his ribcage. "Feeling less full?"

"Hmmm?" His tone sounded more alert.

But she didn't respond. It was dark on the beach; she had to sense more than see the scene. Her nose filled with the smells of salt and seaweed. The waves murmured close by. Fog had settled over the whole bay, but offshore, fishing boats moved through it, their softly glowing lights bobbing. An odd barking sound drifting toward them.

"What's that?" she whispered.

"Seals. They're out on the rocks offshore."

She hummed back and put both arms around his middle to hold him close.

"You're cold."

"It's okay," she said against his neck.

His fingers crept under the hem of her sweater and ghosted across her chilled stomach. "Feel cold," he repeated.

His pulse sped up under her lips. She glanced around at the sand. "In the movies..." she suggested, feeling daring.

His laughter shook them. "Always looks great in the movies. But sand in places it takes days to get it out of, bad on the back..."

"Now who's practical?" she scolded.

"A roaring fire, that soft comforter..." he murmured in her ear.

With one last yearning look at the beach, she turned back to the dunes, ready to retrace their steps to their cottage.

End ~ Chapter 25