Fic: Children of Gods: Interlude, Part Five
Title: Children of Gods: Interlude, Part Five
Author: miabicicletta and olga_theodora
Summary: “No kiss on the cheek? And here I sent flowers.”
Characters/Pairing: Bill/Laura, Zak, Lee, Billy, Cottle, Zarek
Rating: M
Wordcount: ~4400
Disclaimer: Not ours!
Author's Notes: And so, dear readers, we come to the end. Kind of. ***Warning: This chapter contains allusions to non-con***
Interlude: Part One
Interlude: Part Two
Interlude: Part Three
Interlude: Part Four
---
Laura had not ascribed any other title to Sherman Cottle than “friend,” but from the first moment Bill set eyes on the man, he knew he was meeting, for all intents and purposes, his future father-in-law.
He would have appreciated a bit of warning. Judging by the mischievous look on Billy’s face, the boy had understood the import of this meeting far more than he had let on.
“You might have said something,” Bill murmured to Billy, raising an brow at the boy’s innocent expression.
“About Uncle Jack?” Billy said with a wide-eyed look, looking as pure as freshly fallen snow. “He is a bit grumpy, I suppose.”
The kid had a great career ahead of him, but Bill went back and forth between “emperor of all creation” and “criminal mastermind.” It could go either way, and no doubt Zak would be tagging along just behind him. Lee, at least, he could count on to be somewhat rational about his future life-plans.
Sherman Cottle did, indeed, present a rather sour face to the world, and the cigarette he held in his hands looked to be an object of such familiarity that he barely paid attention to it. “Billy,” the man rasped, “you’re falling behind on your internship.”
The boy did not appear stymied by this unorthodox greeting. “I’m not even eight, yet,” he argued rationally. “I could hardly be a medical intern.”
“With an attitude like that you’ll never get a raise.” Cottle’s gaze turned to Bill. “So you’re the Peacekeeper.” His gaze swept impersonally over Bill, and Bill felt that somehow he had been found lacking. “Most of Laura’s money is bound up in Billy’s trust,” he said sternly, his gaze fixed on Bill’s face. “Maybe you have a taste for ambrosia, or something a bit wilder?”
Bill was fairly sure that this was a line of questioning Cottle never would have attempted if Laura had been in the room. The implication that he was after Laura for her money stung, quite frankly, but Billy was observing the conversation with such an intensity that Bill did not dare do much more than reply, in the mildest tone he could manage, “I have no need of Laura’s winnings, and I certainly have no intention of depriving such a bright boy of the funds earmarked for his future education.”
Cottle glared at him for a moment more. It was obvious that he had a great deal that he wished to say- most likely referring to Laura’s youth and the age difference, and perhaps other, more earthy reasons Bill was interested in Laura- but Billy’s presence forestalled him from picking up that thread of conversation. “Good,” he finally said, “because that boy will make a fine doctor some day, provided he ever shows up for work.”
Bill doubted Billy would ever pick up a scalpel, but this was obviously an old, fond argument.
Zak and Lee waited nearby, Lee appearing reticent and Zak appearing very interested in Cottle’s cigarette. Cottle’s gaze alighted on them with a slightly fonder aspect. “Perhaps I see two other possible interns? Billy, what do you think?”
“Zak,” Billy answered promptly. “He likes to know how things work.”
Zak nodded, bouncing with his usual excitement.
“And you’re the watcher, then?” Cottle asked Lee, who opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Billy.
“He likes talking too much,” Billy said in a matter-of-fact tone, then narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Usually.”
Any reply Lee might have made to this statement was lost when Laura appeared. She paused at the gate, appearing surprised to see Cottle standing in her front yard. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a faintly accusing tone, dropping her bag of books onto the grass. “Are your students proving too troublesome?”
He shrugged, toying with his cigarette. “I decided small-town patients couldn’t possibly be as annoying as the miscreants that flocked to my classes. And since I already have an intern in Qualai-”
Billy rolled his eyes, looking quite put-upon.
“-I thought, what the hell?” Cottle considered Laura’s glare for a moment. “Dammit, Laura, profanity is a fact of life, you might as well teach them now.”
Laura crossed her arms, looking displeased. “Honestly, Jack.” She collected her books and moved into the house, shaking her head as she did so. “Boys, you have homework, I believe.”
At the door she looked back. “It’s good to see you, Jack,” she admitted quietly. “Stay for dinner.”
As the door shut behind her, Cottle turned his gaze back to Bill. “If I ever find out that you laid one finger wrong on her, I know several ways to kill you that won’t show up on an autopsy.”
“Quite frankly, sir,” Bill replied, “I think Laura is quite capable of ending my life without your help.”
Cottle snorted, amused. “Keep remembering that, and one day you might finally be worthy of her.”
---
Laura woke up the morning of her wedding convinced that she had no idea what she was doing. Sitting at her kitchen table in a robe, she brooded over her first cup of coffee until the half-filled cup grew cold.
Billy- a more conscientious child there never was, she reflected absently- neatly consigned his breakfast dishes to the sink before glancing conspicuously at the clock. “It’s nearly nine,” he said accusingly, stationing himself next to her elbow.
She leveled a considering glance at him. “This is crazy,” she stated plainly, trying to remember when she had started treating her seven year old like a trusted aide. “I think we should call it off.”
He crossed his arms, his expression serious. “It’s okay to be scared, Mom, but it’s stupid to let scary things stop you from doing good things.”
Ancient wisdom spoken by someone not even off the playground. Laura couldn’t help but be a bit irritated at how right he was. “You just want to have Zak around twenty-four/seven,” she grumbled, placing her mug roughly on the counter and stalking toward the stairs. He followed closely at her heels, perhaps afraid that she would barricade herself in her bedroom and refuse to come out.
“I like Lee,” he protested, and she turned halfway up the steps to consider him. He bore a mischievous expression, and added, “Most of the time.”
She snorted and turned away to resume ascending the stairs. Undaunted, he tugged at her sleeve. “I want Bill to be my dad,” he said more seriously, his expression no longer light-hearted. “Please?”
Godsdammit. “Billy, you know I have enemies, right?”
He raised a brow, his expression uncannily like the “no shit” expression she occasionally saw on her own face.
“They might try to hurt people I love,” she continued, sitting on the top step. “I worry enough about you; I’m not sure about adding three more people to that list.”
He crossed his arms defiantly. “Sissy.”
A grave insult on the playground, no doubt. Despite the fact that the pejorative was mild, she found herself offended. Laura Roslin, Victor of the Games, a sissy? Not a chance in hell.
“You think I’m a sissy?”
He pursed his lips, a pint-sized picture of arrogance. “Maybe.”
Intolerable child.
“Well,” she said with a sigh, “I suppose I should get ready, if you intend to shame me into marriage.”
“No locking the doors!”
A tyrant in miniature, really.
A half hour later she stood in front of a mirror, wet, tangled hair dotting her ivory slip with stray drops of water.
“Frightful,” she decided aloud, tugging a comb through her hair. “Absolutely ridiculous.”
“I’ll kill him for you, if you like,” came Jack’s voice from beyond the closed door.
She tugged her robe back on and swung the door open sharply. “Did Billy call you?”
“He thought he might need reinforcements. But like I said, I’m willing to take out this soldier of yours if you’ve changed your mind.”
“Don’t touch a hair on his head, you old reprobate,” she replied with sudden good humor, finding herself inexplicably cheered. “I don’t care what Billy told you, I intend on dragging that man in front of a priestess. By force, if necessary.” She resumed trying to restore order to her hair, though she feared it was a futile task.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, considering her silently. Finally he spoke, quickly and decisively. “Laura, you’re doing the right thing.” He pulled the door shut before she could reply. She spent several moments gazing at the closed door thoughtfully, long after his footsteps down the stairs had faded.
Turning back to her mirror, she attacked her hair with renewed vigor. Gods help them all. She was getting married.
---
Sherman Cottle appeared on his doorstep at the crack of dawn, looking as if he wished to make a hundred objections and had not yet settled on the most valid. This did tamp down some of Bill’s enthusiasm for the day- not the greater part of his joy, but enough to keep him from irritating Cottle unnecessarily.
While he was fairly sure that even Cottle couldn’t get Laura to change her mind the morning of (Bill was fairly certain that the only person who might be able to accomplish that task wore viper pyjamas to bed), he was not intending to take any chances.
Bill was expecting another conversation about trust funds and ambiguous death threats, but Cottle surprised him by offering a handful of photos and a- dare he say it- somewhat pleased grunt.
He was less surprised by the subject of the pictures.
“Three bars in Qualai,” Cottle said conversationally. “Three bars, and I struck a deal with each bartender. I rather expected you to make the circuit.”
“Wouldn’t have gone to one at all,” Bill replied, smirking slightly as he found a picture of Juan gesticulating wildly (and somewhat obscenely), completely oblivious to the amused look that had been captured on Bill’s face. “Juan insisted.”
In truth, Bill had accepted the offer of a drink- one drink, a stipulation he had made quite clear- in order to placate Juan, who had been hoping for a night of strippers and hard liquor (Juan, needless to say, was not well enough acquainted with Laura to understand the dangers inherent in this plan).
“Well, Sal certainly had a great deal to say about him,” Cottle said with a snort. “You, on the other hand, apparently had one drink and went home at a decent hour.” A thump overhead signaled the imminent arrival of at least one small boy, possibly two. “They’re good kids,” he said begrudgingly, glancing up toward the ceiling. “Good for Billy to have brothers. And Zak’s going to make a great intern, one day.”
There was something in his words that made Bill think he might actually be serious. “Zak?” he asked in slight disbelief.
Cottle lifted his hands with a slight shrug. “He’s got the hands of a surgeon. Or a lockpick. You’ll have to be careful with that one.” He sauntered down the steps, pulling a cigarette from his pocket (Bill had yet to determine how, exactly, Cottle managed to source so much nicotine under the current rationing scheme). He waved absently, striking out in the direction of Laura’s house.
The boys’ footsteps echoed noisily down the stairs- stairs that were, for once, empty of spare shoes and books and sweaters. Most of the house was just as bare, with nearly everything already ensconced in Laura’s home across town. There had been a certain satisfaction in shelving his books neatly with Laura’s- the inevitable duplicates tucked snugly side by side, the quiet delight of finding new books in her collection that he had not read, the promise of quiet winter nights in front of the fireplace with a good book in hand (or as quiet as any night with three children ever was). There had even been volumes of works that were clearly from elsewhere in the Colonies, though he had refrained from commenting on them when a quick check of the publication dates revealed that they were all published during or prior to Laura’s Victory Tour. Though the rest of Laura’s library was conscientiously arranged by author, these books were tucked in a dark, out of the way corner.
Bill had left them in their shadowy hiding space after a moment of reflection on the broken spines and battered covers, the cut corners feathery soft, as if restless fingers had obsessively worn away the crisp edges.
She might tell him, some day. She might not.
---
The wedding went off without a hitch. In retrospect, that should have been their first warning that trouble was imminent.
“You’re a vision in white, Laura,” the newly inaugurated Vice President of the Colonies drawled.
A look of sheer panic erased the dreamy smile from Laura’s face; Bill could feel her nails digging into his shoulder through the thick material of his dress grays.
“Unexpected, though I should have anticipated you’d...buck tradition.”
Laura turned in Bill’s arms, steeling her expression but keeping pressed close to his side. “Hello, Tom.”
“I don’t suppose there’s room on your dance card for me,” he smirked.
Laura met his gaze, eyes narrowed. “You’d be right for a change.”
“A shame,” Zarek said with air of regret. “I came all this way in the hopes of congratulating you. And, perhaps, having a last turn on the dance floor. I’m so disappointed.”
“I’ll live.”
“Mom!” Zak and Billy tore across the yard. Their ties were loosened and the white shirts each sported had both seen better days before the occasion, but now looked like they might be reconciled to the rag bin after today. “Look!” Zak gestured. “We caught a firefly! It’s for you!”
“Oh, thank you,” Laura said, bending to look in the jar Zak brandished. “It’s beautiful. Why don’t you set it on the table over there. That’s very thoughtful.”
“Dad, Dad,” Billy asked, “can we let Jake out now? He’s been good all day.”
“You can let him out, but keep him on the leash, okay?”
“‘kay, thanks, Dad!” Billy replied, taking off with Zak toward the shed where Jake had been cooped up. He hadn’t missed the way Tom’s eyes darkened at the way Billy had addressed him.
As soon as the boys had run out of earshot, Laura snarled, “I want you gone. Now.”
“No kiss on the cheek? And here I sent flowers.”
To Bill’s infinite surprise, she crossed the distance between them and leaned in close. But instead of pressing her lips to his cheek, she said something low in Zarek’s ear before joining Lee at one of the garden tables.
Bill looked the man over. Knowing what he did about their history, he’d have liked nothing more than to put a bullet between the Vice President’s slow-blinking eyes. As far as Bill was concerned, it would have made the day that much more worthy of celebration.
He stepped closer. “Look,” he growled. “I’m not going to pretend that there aren’t a dozen or more bodyguards all over this property, or that dropping your ass right here, right now wouldn’t end with me in a jail cell. But if you come near my wife or my family ever again, it won’t be good for you.”
“Is that a threat, Commander?” Zarek replied, amused.
“You bet your ass it’s a threat.”
“I could have you tried for treason for that alone,” Zarek countered, but was met with Bill’s stony silence. The bastard seemed content to have the final word, however, and with a final lecherous grin toward Laura, receded into the crowd.
Bill found his wife at a table, her back to him, knuckles pressed hard against the abrasive iron-wrought surface. Peeling her hands back, he kissed the red, imprinted flesh above each finger in her tightly clenched fists. He could feel her heart pounding wildly, though her expression was hard.
She said plainly, “I hate him.”
“He’s gone,” Bill replied. “He won’t trouble us again.”
The unspoken reply hung between them. Laura squeezed his hand, her expression shifting to fond and sad exasperation. You don’t believe that, do you?
He turned to the lawn, where Lee and Zak and Billy were each, in turn, being affectionately mauled by Jake. No. Of course not.
“Hey,” Laura said, nudging his shoulder. “Wanna know something?”
“What?”
“That scar on his face? That was me,” she said, chin held proudly.
Bill didn’t quite smile, but he did tug her back to her feet and into his arms on the grassy dance floor. “That’s my girl.”
---
The cabin was situated on a lake in the mountains three hours or so outside of Caprica City. He’d chosen it for their honeymoon based on something Laura had said once, making an offhand comment about a house of sunlight and red wood, near a lake or a bay, with water clear as glass. It had seemed idyllic, and he’d had a hard time getting the idea out of his mind.
Bill listened with amusement as Laura darted around the property, extolling its many virtues. She was delighting in the light from the west-facing windows and the fireplace, with its spacious hearth and luxurious rug. Bill appreciated the room for its own potential, and dropped one of their bags as he removed his jacket, wondering how soon they could take advantage of the setting.
“That spray is lovely. Who are the flowers from?” Laura asked, wandering into the kitchen, where she began appraising the collection of local wines that had been stocked.
Curious, Bill reached for the envelope. He’d only told Cottle about his plans ahead of time and aside from the doctor, only sweet Mrs. Hassan knew where they were...and he’d only given her the address (with strict instructions not to call unless the boys were in peril of losing life or limb) this morning before they’d left Qualai.
Opening the crisp linen paper, he pulled out the note.
To the happy couple -- May you find great pleasure in your new marriage.
I think you’ll enjoy her, Commander.
Thomas Zarek
Vice President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol
Bill’s blood rose to a boil; for a brief moment, he indulged in the fantasy of kicking the shit out of the piece of political scum who, for some twisted reason, seemed hell-bent on torturing his wife.
Gathering a handful of kindling, he made a small pile of torn paper and twigs. Once lit, the words vanished as the flames licked at the small page, vanishing in a blur of smoke and char.
Footsteps behind him.
“Come on, soldier,” Laura’s honeyed voice said low in his ear, her arm wrapping around his shoulders. “We have but a week without children, and I intend of making every second of those days count.”
---
Of all the slightly surprising things he learned about Laura once beyond the reach of propriety, the most surprising quality of hers was not her sense of adventure (literal and otherwise), nor the practiced way she rolled a joint. It was, Bill mused, how loud she could be.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you scream like that,” he said, nipping at the slick, salty skin around her collarbone.
Laura purred as he trailed his tongue higher, finding the groove between tendons that never failed to make her gasp. “Mmm, I don’t think you’ve ever made me scream that loud before,” she said, impishly, before turning her head and giggling at she leaned against his temple. “Oh, gods be good, I’m still so frakking hi-i-igh,” she laughed.
“Won’t the good Dr. Cottle be proud,” he teased, running his hand down the curve of her spine.
“Frak that,” Laura drawled, and he snorted at how the frequency of her cursing was directly proportionate to how much weed she’d smoked. “Seeing as he was the one who prescribed it in the first place.”
“Somehow I don’t this was what he had in mind,” he growled playfully, nuzzling her nose.
Laura flashed a smile in reply, and, using her leg as leverage, forced them over. She tossed her hair triumphantly over her shoulder, grinning victoriously at him.
“No, I don’t imagine this was quite what he meant by ‘anxiety spells.’” Leaning over him, palms pressed against his, he met her in a slow, tangle of lips and tongue. She hummed against him, flexing her hips against his belly. Reaching up, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her down, drawing her against him. “But it is fun, isn’t it? Pretending we’re both the kind of carefree, reckless people who’d frak each other silly while drunk and high?”
“Personally, I think that this was a perfectly good use for the champagne,” he teased, brushing her errant curls behind her ear. “But yeah. It’s nice for once to just...”
“...let down all our burdens,” she sighed and slid alongside him. A twist of hips and repositioning of arms and he was over her, kissing the tip of her nose, her cheek, along the smile of her lips as they found a slow, languid rhythm.
After, when the sweetness of the weed and champagne had faded, the familiar sense of longing pulled them together still.
“I wish...” he started to say, and slid his palm over her stomach.
Laura sniffled, turning her head to rest against his shoulder. “I know. Me too.”
He adjusted his arms, pulling her tighter to him, their heads so close that his lips were at her ear. “I had this dream once. You pushing me around, saying we had to start making babies.”
Laura scoffed. “I never did that.”
“You did. You sat with me and told me I was wrong.”
She snickered, her voice lighter. “Well that I’ve done.”
“I know. It’s my favorite mood.”
“What? Pushy?”
“Yes,” he replied, nipping at her collarbone and eliciting a giggly yelp. “I like a lady in charge.”
He could discern the curve of her grin in the last of the candlelight, and kept its joyful geometry in his mind as he breathed slow and even, comforted by the soft, warm weight of Laura (his wife) in his arms. Bill fell asleep content, though if his thoughts and dreams strayed to might-have-beens, who could have blamed him?
---
Year 45 of the United Era
He never saw her coming.
Careening around the corner of the school building, she practically ran him over in her haste to exit the school grounds. Tumbled into the dust, Lee Adama turned to watch her go in muddled confusion.
She glanced back at him for the space of a second, her half-mischievous, half-chagrined expression framed by cropped blonde hair.
Later he would teach her to play pyramid, later still rue the day he did so, and over the years there would be a multitude of arguments and fights, but at that moment Lee Adama fell a little bit in love.
He just didn’t know it yet.
---
It was easy to fall into a kind of willful blindness concerning the worlds. Laura considered herself a living example of how bad things did not always happen to ‘other people’, but even she felt somewhat blindsided when she first woke up that spring morning.
Today was Lee’s first Reaping, and suddenly nearly five years of clandestine work felt small and ridiculous. She had thought herself knowledgeable about the horrors of the arena and the basic facts of the world they lived in, but she still found herself standing listlessly in the kitchen before dawn, staring blankly at the coffee pot as if she had forgotten its use. Today her first son would stand amongst the potential Tributes, and would do so every year for the next six.
In two years, Billy and Zak would join him.
Her underground movement was hampered by the need for secrecy and the damnably extensive security measures of the Cylon regime. It would be five, six, possibly seven years before they were in a position to affect the current system. She had known from the beginning that they could not possibly take down a government quickly, but what had been simple fact every year before- that the Reaping would continue as planned, that twenty four children would shortly be no more, and there was nothing the resistance could do, short of inglorious, ineffective martyrdom- was suddenly fresh horror.
Laura was no stranger to thinking over all the small and large horrors that could be visited on her family, and this was yet one more, albeit one still fresh enough to shock.
Bill’s hand landed lightly on her shoulder. He was testing the waters, she knew, for there were still times when old nightmares surfaced quickly at an unexpected touch. When she leaned back slightly he slid his arms around his waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “One day at a time, Laura,” he murmured against her neck.
Her eyelids fluttered shut and she allowed herself a quiet handful of minutes in his arms as the sun began its creep over the horizon, attempting to slow her breathing and calm her mind. Above their heads the first thump sounded as the boys began to wake up: Zak, most likely, jumping from the upper bunk with his typical exuberance.
So ended their early morning calm. Within minutes the kitchen was filled with boyish chatter and Jake’s hopeful, begging whine. Laura brushed Lee’s hair out of his eyes. “Tonight I’ll trim it for you,” she said in a deceptively idle tone, veiling the half-prayer, half-promise lying beneath the words. She casually placed a jar of his favorite jam on his end of the table. Little things, she knew, but speeches were beyond her and out of place at the breakfast table.
She walked with the boys to school, Billy and Zak running ahead wildly, powered by some mysterious energy source. Lee stayed close to her side, uncharacteristically quiet. Before they left the relative privacy of their street, she felt his hand grab her own with an almost desperate squeeze. Just as quickly his touch was gone, and he half smiled at her before running ahead to join his brothers.
One day at a time, she reminded herself, stricken.
Gods, she needed so many more days.
END INTERLUDE
---
And so we come to the end of our Intermission story. A year ago olga_theodora started writing this story and though our progress has slowed (distractions like work, grad school and fictional babies) we have not given up. We still have tens of thousands of words already written and a lot more to go. The journey is not over. So stayed tuned, Faithful Reader: The odds seem ever in your favor...
Author: miabicicletta and olga_theodora
Summary: “No kiss on the cheek? And here I sent flowers.”
Characters/Pairing: Bill/Laura, Zak, Lee, Billy, Cottle, Zarek
Rating: M
Wordcount: ~4400
Disclaimer: Not ours!
Author's Notes: And so, dear readers, we come to the end. Kind of. ***Warning: This chapter contains allusions to non-con***
Interlude: Part One
Interlude: Part Two
Interlude: Part Three
Interlude: Part Four
---
Laura had not ascribed any other title to Sherman Cottle than “friend,” but from the first moment Bill set eyes on the man, he knew he was meeting, for all intents and purposes, his future father-in-law.
He would have appreciated a bit of warning. Judging by the mischievous look on Billy’s face, the boy had understood the import of this meeting far more than he had let on.
“You might have said something,” Bill murmured to Billy, raising an brow at the boy’s innocent expression.
“About Uncle Jack?” Billy said with a wide-eyed look, looking as pure as freshly fallen snow. “He is a bit grumpy, I suppose.”
The kid had a great career ahead of him, but Bill went back and forth between “emperor of all creation” and “criminal mastermind.” It could go either way, and no doubt Zak would be tagging along just behind him. Lee, at least, he could count on to be somewhat rational about his future life-plans.
Sherman Cottle did, indeed, present a rather sour face to the world, and the cigarette he held in his hands looked to be an object of such familiarity that he barely paid attention to it. “Billy,” the man rasped, “you’re falling behind on your internship.”
The boy did not appear stymied by this unorthodox greeting. “I’m not even eight, yet,” he argued rationally. “I could hardly be a medical intern.”
“With an attitude like that you’ll never get a raise.” Cottle’s gaze turned to Bill. “So you’re the Peacekeeper.” His gaze swept impersonally over Bill, and Bill felt that somehow he had been found lacking. “Most of Laura’s money is bound up in Billy’s trust,” he said sternly, his gaze fixed on Bill’s face. “Maybe you have a taste for ambrosia, or something a bit wilder?”
Bill was fairly sure that this was a line of questioning Cottle never would have attempted if Laura had been in the room. The implication that he was after Laura for her money stung, quite frankly, but Billy was observing the conversation with such an intensity that Bill did not dare do much more than reply, in the mildest tone he could manage, “I have no need of Laura’s winnings, and I certainly have no intention of depriving such a bright boy of the funds earmarked for his future education.”
Cottle glared at him for a moment more. It was obvious that he had a great deal that he wished to say- most likely referring to Laura’s youth and the age difference, and perhaps other, more earthy reasons Bill was interested in Laura- but Billy’s presence forestalled him from picking up that thread of conversation. “Good,” he finally said, “because that boy will make a fine doctor some day, provided he ever shows up for work.”
Bill doubted Billy would ever pick up a scalpel, but this was obviously an old, fond argument.
Zak and Lee waited nearby, Lee appearing reticent and Zak appearing very interested in Cottle’s cigarette. Cottle’s gaze alighted on them with a slightly fonder aspect. “Perhaps I see two other possible interns? Billy, what do you think?”
“Zak,” Billy answered promptly. “He likes to know how things work.”
Zak nodded, bouncing with his usual excitement.
“And you’re the watcher, then?” Cottle asked Lee, who opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Billy.
“He likes talking too much,” Billy said in a matter-of-fact tone, then narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Usually.”
Any reply Lee might have made to this statement was lost when Laura appeared. She paused at the gate, appearing surprised to see Cottle standing in her front yard. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a faintly accusing tone, dropping her bag of books onto the grass. “Are your students proving too troublesome?”
He shrugged, toying with his cigarette. “I decided small-town patients couldn’t possibly be as annoying as the miscreants that flocked to my classes. And since I already have an intern in Qualai-”
Billy rolled his eyes, looking quite put-upon.
“-I thought, what the hell?” Cottle considered Laura’s glare for a moment. “Dammit, Laura, profanity is a fact of life, you might as well teach them now.”
Laura crossed her arms, looking displeased. “Honestly, Jack.” She collected her books and moved into the house, shaking her head as she did so. “Boys, you have homework, I believe.”
At the door she looked back. “It’s good to see you, Jack,” she admitted quietly. “Stay for dinner.”
As the door shut behind her, Cottle turned his gaze back to Bill. “If I ever find out that you laid one finger wrong on her, I know several ways to kill you that won’t show up on an autopsy.”
“Quite frankly, sir,” Bill replied, “I think Laura is quite capable of ending my life without your help.”
Cottle snorted, amused. “Keep remembering that, and one day you might finally be worthy of her.”
---
Laura woke up the morning of her wedding convinced that she had no idea what she was doing. Sitting at her kitchen table in a robe, she brooded over her first cup of coffee until the half-filled cup grew cold.
Billy- a more conscientious child there never was, she reflected absently- neatly consigned his breakfast dishes to the sink before glancing conspicuously at the clock. “It’s nearly nine,” he said accusingly, stationing himself next to her elbow.
She leveled a considering glance at him. “This is crazy,” she stated plainly, trying to remember when she had started treating her seven year old like a trusted aide. “I think we should call it off.”
He crossed his arms, his expression serious. “It’s okay to be scared, Mom, but it’s stupid to let scary things stop you from doing good things.”
Ancient wisdom spoken by someone not even off the playground. Laura couldn’t help but be a bit irritated at how right he was. “You just want to have Zak around twenty-four/seven,” she grumbled, placing her mug roughly on the counter and stalking toward the stairs. He followed closely at her heels, perhaps afraid that she would barricade herself in her bedroom and refuse to come out.
“I like Lee,” he protested, and she turned halfway up the steps to consider him. He bore a mischievous expression, and added, “Most of the time.”
She snorted and turned away to resume ascending the stairs. Undaunted, he tugged at her sleeve. “I want Bill to be my dad,” he said more seriously, his expression no longer light-hearted. “Please?”
Godsdammit. “Billy, you know I have enemies, right?”
He raised a brow, his expression uncannily like the “no shit” expression she occasionally saw on her own face.
“They might try to hurt people I love,” she continued, sitting on the top step. “I worry enough about you; I’m not sure about adding three more people to that list.”
He crossed his arms defiantly. “Sissy.”
A grave insult on the playground, no doubt. Despite the fact that the pejorative was mild, she found herself offended. Laura Roslin, Victor of the Games, a sissy? Not a chance in hell.
“You think I’m a sissy?”
He pursed his lips, a pint-sized picture of arrogance. “Maybe.”
Intolerable child.
“Well,” she said with a sigh, “I suppose I should get ready, if you intend to shame me into marriage.”
“No locking the doors!”
A tyrant in miniature, really.
A half hour later she stood in front of a mirror, wet, tangled hair dotting her ivory slip with stray drops of water.
“Frightful,” she decided aloud, tugging a comb through her hair. “Absolutely ridiculous.”
“I’ll kill him for you, if you like,” came Jack’s voice from beyond the closed door.
She tugged her robe back on and swung the door open sharply. “Did Billy call you?”
“He thought he might need reinforcements. But like I said, I’m willing to take out this soldier of yours if you’ve changed your mind.”
“Don’t touch a hair on his head, you old reprobate,” she replied with sudden good humor, finding herself inexplicably cheered. “I don’t care what Billy told you, I intend on dragging that man in front of a priestess. By force, if necessary.” She resumed trying to restore order to her hair, though she feared it was a futile task.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, considering her silently. Finally he spoke, quickly and decisively. “Laura, you’re doing the right thing.” He pulled the door shut before she could reply. She spent several moments gazing at the closed door thoughtfully, long after his footsteps down the stairs had faded.
Turning back to her mirror, she attacked her hair with renewed vigor. Gods help them all. She was getting married.
---
Sherman Cottle appeared on his doorstep at the crack of dawn, looking as if he wished to make a hundred objections and had not yet settled on the most valid. This did tamp down some of Bill’s enthusiasm for the day- not the greater part of his joy, but enough to keep him from irritating Cottle unnecessarily.
While he was fairly sure that even Cottle couldn’t get Laura to change her mind the morning of (Bill was fairly certain that the only person who might be able to accomplish that task wore viper pyjamas to bed), he was not intending to take any chances.
Bill was expecting another conversation about trust funds and ambiguous death threats, but Cottle surprised him by offering a handful of photos and a- dare he say it- somewhat pleased grunt.
He was less surprised by the subject of the pictures.
“Three bars in Qualai,” Cottle said conversationally. “Three bars, and I struck a deal with each bartender. I rather expected you to make the circuit.”
“Wouldn’t have gone to one at all,” Bill replied, smirking slightly as he found a picture of Juan gesticulating wildly (and somewhat obscenely), completely oblivious to the amused look that had been captured on Bill’s face. “Juan insisted.”
In truth, Bill had accepted the offer of a drink- one drink, a stipulation he had made quite clear- in order to placate Juan, who had been hoping for a night of strippers and hard liquor (Juan, needless to say, was not well enough acquainted with Laura to understand the dangers inherent in this plan).
“Well, Sal certainly had a great deal to say about him,” Cottle said with a snort. “You, on the other hand, apparently had one drink and went home at a decent hour.” A thump overhead signaled the imminent arrival of at least one small boy, possibly two. “They’re good kids,” he said begrudgingly, glancing up toward the ceiling. “Good for Billy to have brothers. And Zak’s going to make a great intern, one day.”
There was something in his words that made Bill think he might actually be serious. “Zak?” he asked in slight disbelief.
Cottle lifted his hands with a slight shrug. “He’s got the hands of a surgeon. Or a lockpick. You’ll have to be careful with that one.” He sauntered down the steps, pulling a cigarette from his pocket (Bill had yet to determine how, exactly, Cottle managed to source so much nicotine under the current rationing scheme). He waved absently, striking out in the direction of Laura’s house.
The boys’ footsteps echoed noisily down the stairs- stairs that were, for once, empty of spare shoes and books and sweaters. Most of the house was just as bare, with nearly everything already ensconced in Laura’s home across town. There had been a certain satisfaction in shelving his books neatly with Laura’s- the inevitable duplicates tucked snugly side by side, the quiet delight of finding new books in her collection that he had not read, the promise of quiet winter nights in front of the fireplace with a good book in hand (or as quiet as any night with three children ever was). There had even been volumes of works that were clearly from elsewhere in the Colonies, though he had refrained from commenting on them when a quick check of the publication dates revealed that they were all published during or prior to Laura’s Victory Tour. Though the rest of Laura’s library was conscientiously arranged by author, these books were tucked in a dark, out of the way corner.
Bill had left them in their shadowy hiding space after a moment of reflection on the broken spines and battered covers, the cut corners feathery soft, as if restless fingers had obsessively worn away the crisp edges.
She might tell him, some day. She might not.
---
The wedding went off without a hitch. In retrospect, that should have been their first warning that trouble was imminent.
“You’re a vision in white, Laura,” the newly inaugurated Vice President of the Colonies drawled.
A look of sheer panic erased the dreamy smile from Laura’s face; Bill could feel her nails digging into his shoulder through the thick material of his dress grays.
“Unexpected, though I should have anticipated you’d...buck tradition.”
Laura turned in Bill’s arms, steeling her expression but keeping pressed close to his side. “Hello, Tom.”
“I don’t suppose there’s room on your dance card for me,” he smirked.
Laura met his gaze, eyes narrowed. “You’d be right for a change.”
“A shame,” Zarek said with air of regret. “I came all this way in the hopes of congratulating you. And, perhaps, having a last turn on the dance floor. I’m so disappointed.”
“I’ll live.”
“Mom!” Zak and Billy tore across the yard. Their ties were loosened and the white shirts each sported had both seen better days before the occasion, but now looked like they might be reconciled to the rag bin after today. “Look!” Zak gestured. “We caught a firefly! It’s for you!”
“Oh, thank you,” Laura said, bending to look in the jar Zak brandished. “It’s beautiful. Why don’t you set it on the table over there. That’s very thoughtful.”
“Dad, Dad,” Billy asked, “can we let Jake out now? He’s been good all day.”
“You can let him out, but keep him on the leash, okay?”
“‘kay, thanks, Dad!” Billy replied, taking off with Zak toward the shed where Jake had been cooped up. He hadn’t missed the way Tom’s eyes darkened at the way Billy had addressed him.
As soon as the boys had run out of earshot, Laura snarled, “I want you gone. Now.”
“No kiss on the cheek? And here I sent flowers.”
To Bill’s infinite surprise, she crossed the distance between them and leaned in close. But instead of pressing her lips to his cheek, she said something low in Zarek’s ear before joining Lee at one of the garden tables.
Bill looked the man over. Knowing what he did about their history, he’d have liked nothing more than to put a bullet between the Vice President’s slow-blinking eyes. As far as Bill was concerned, it would have made the day that much more worthy of celebration.
He stepped closer. “Look,” he growled. “I’m not going to pretend that there aren’t a dozen or more bodyguards all over this property, or that dropping your ass right here, right now wouldn’t end with me in a jail cell. But if you come near my wife or my family ever again, it won’t be good for you.”
“Is that a threat, Commander?” Zarek replied, amused.
“You bet your ass it’s a threat.”
“I could have you tried for treason for that alone,” Zarek countered, but was met with Bill’s stony silence. The bastard seemed content to have the final word, however, and with a final lecherous grin toward Laura, receded into the crowd.
Bill found his wife at a table, her back to him, knuckles pressed hard against the abrasive iron-wrought surface. Peeling her hands back, he kissed the red, imprinted flesh above each finger in her tightly clenched fists. He could feel her heart pounding wildly, though her expression was hard.
She said plainly, “I hate him.”
“He’s gone,” Bill replied. “He won’t trouble us again.”
The unspoken reply hung between them. Laura squeezed his hand, her expression shifting to fond and sad exasperation. You don’t believe that, do you?
He turned to the lawn, where Lee and Zak and Billy were each, in turn, being affectionately mauled by Jake. No. Of course not.
“Hey,” Laura said, nudging his shoulder. “Wanna know something?”
“What?”
“That scar on his face? That was me,” she said, chin held proudly.
Bill didn’t quite smile, but he did tug her back to her feet and into his arms on the grassy dance floor. “That’s my girl.”
---
The cabin was situated on a lake in the mountains three hours or so outside of Caprica City. He’d chosen it for their honeymoon based on something Laura had said once, making an offhand comment about a house of sunlight and red wood, near a lake or a bay, with water clear as glass. It had seemed idyllic, and he’d had a hard time getting the idea out of his mind.
Bill listened with amusement as Laura darted around the property, extolling its many virtues. She was delighting in the light from the west-facing windows and the fireplace, with its spacious hearth and luxurious rug. Bill appreciated the room for its own potential, and dropped one of their bags as he removed his jacket, wondering how soon they could take advantage of the setting.
“That spray is lovely. Who are the flowers from?” Laura asked, wandering into the kitchen, where she began appraising the collection of local wines that had been stocked.
Curious, Bill reached for the envelope. He’d only told Cottle about his plans ahead of time and aside from the doctor, only sweet Mrs. Hassan knew where they were...and he’d only given her the address (with strict instructions not to call unless the boys were in peril of losing life or limb) this morning before they’d left Qualai.
Opening the crisp linen paper, he pulled out the note.
To the happy couple -- May you find great pleasure in your new marriage.
I think you’ll enjoy her, Commander.
Thomas Zarek
Vice President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol
Bill’s blood rose to a boil; for a brief moment, he indulged in the fantasy of kicking the shit out of the piece of political scum who, for some twisted reason, seemed hell-bent on torturing his wife.
Gathering a handful of kindling, he made a small pile of torn paper and twigs. Once lit, the words vanished as the flames licked at the small page, vanishing in a blur of smoke and char.
Footsteps behind him.
“Come on, soldier,” Laura’s honeyed voice said low in his ear, her arm wrapping around his shoulders. “We have but a week without children, and I intend of making every second of those days count.”
---
Of all the slightly surprising things he learned about Laura once beyond the reach of propriety, the most surprising quality of hers was not her sense of adventure (literal and otherwise), nor the practiced way she rolled a joint. It was, Bill mused, how loud she could be.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you scream like that,” he said, nipping at the slick, salty skin around her collarbone.
Laura purred as he trailed his tongue higher, finding the groove between tendons that never failed to make her gasp. “Mmm, I don’t think you’ve ever made me scream that loud before,” she said, impishly, before turning her head and giggling at she leaned against his temple. “Oh, gods be good, I’m still so frakking hi-i-igh,” she laughed.
“Won’t the good Dr. Cottle be proud,” he teased, running his hand down the curve of her spine.
“Frak that,” Laura drawled, and he snorted at how the frequency of her cursing was directly proportionate to how much weed she’d smoked. “Seeing as he was the one who prescribed it in the first place.”
“Somehow I don’t this was what he had in mind,” he growled playfully, nuzzling her nose.
Laura flashed a smile in reply, and, using her leg as leverage, forced them over. She tossed her hair triumphantly over her shoulder, grinning victoriously at him.
“No, I don’t imagine this was quite what he meant by ‘anxiety spells.’” Leaning over him, palms pressed against his, he met her in a slow, tangle of lips and tongue. She hummed against him, flexing her hips against his belly. Reaching up, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her down, drawing her against him. “But it is fun, isn’t it? Pretending we’re both the kind of carefree, reckless people who’d frak each other silly while drunk and high?”
“Personally, I think that this was a perfectly good use for the champagne,” he teased, brushing her errant curls behind her ear. “But yeah. It’s nice for once to just...”
“...let down all our burdens,” she sighed and slid alongside him. A twist of hips and repositioning of arms and he was over her, kissing the tip of her nose, her cheek, along the smile of her lips as they found a slow, languid rhythm.
After, when the sweetness of the weed and champagne had faded, the familiar sense of longing pulled them together still.
“I wish...” he started to say, and slid his palm over her stomach.
Laura sniffled, turning her head to rest against his shoulder. “I know. Me too.”
He adjusted his arms, pulling her tighter to him, their heads so close that his lips were at her ear. “I had this dream once. You pushing me around, saying we had to start making babies.”
Laura scoffed. “I never did that.”
“You did. You sat with me and told me I was wrong.”
She snickered, her voice lighter. “Well that I’ve done.”
“I know. It’s my favorite mood.”
“What? Pushy?”
“Yes,” he replied, nipping at her collarbone and eliciting a giggly yelp. “I like a lady in charge.”
He could discern the curve of her grin in the last of the candlelight, and kept its joyful geometry in his mind as he breathed slow and even, comforted by the soft, warm weight of Laura (his wife) in his arms. Bill fell asleep content, though if his thoughts and dreams strayed to might-have-beens, who could have blamed him?
---
Year 45 of the United Era
He never saw her coming.
Careening around the corner of the school building, she practically ran him over in her haste to exit the school grounds. Tumbled into the dust, Lee Adama turned to watch her go in muddled confusion.
She glanced back at him for the space of a second, her half-mischievous, half-chagrined expression framed by cropped blonde hair.
Later he would teach her to play pyramid, later still rue the day he did so, and over the years there would be a multitude of arguments and fights, but at that moment Lee Adama fell a little bit in love.
He just didn’t know it yet.
---
It was easy to fall into a kind of willful blindness concerning the worlds. Laura considered herself a living example of how bad things did not always happen to ‘other people’, but even she felt somewhat blindsided when she first woke up that spring morning.
Today was Lee’s first Reaping, and suddenly nearly five years of clandestine work felt small and ridiculous. She had thought herself knowledgeable about the horrors of the arena and the basic facts of the world they lived in, but she still found herself standing listlessly in the kitchen before dawn, staring blankly at the coffee pot as if she had forgotten its use. Today her first son would stand amongst the potential Tributes, and would do so every year for the next six.
In two years, Billy and Zak would join him.
Her underground movement was hampered by the need for secrecy and the damnably extensive security measures of the Cylon regime. It would be five, six, possibly seven years before they were in a position to affect the current system. She had known from the beginning that they could not possibly take down a government quickly, but what had been simple fact every year before- that the Reaping would continue as planned, that twenty four children would shortly be no more, and there was nothing the resistance could do, short of inglorious, ineffective martyrdom- was suddenly fresh horror.
Laura was no stranger to thinking over all the small and large horrors that could be visited on her family, and this was yet one more, albeit one still fresh enough to shock.
Bill’s hand landed lightly on her shoulder. He was testing the waters, she knew, for there were still times when old nightmares surfaced quickly at an unexpected touch. When she leaned back slightly he slid his arms around his waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “One day at a time, Laura,” he murmured against her neck.
Her eyelids fluttered shut and she allowed herself a quiet handful of minutes in his arms as the sun began its creep over the horizon, attempting to slow her breathing and calm her mind. Above their heads the first thump sounded as the boys began to wake up: Zak, most likely, jumping from the upper bunk with his typical exuberance.
So ended their early morning calm. Within minutes the kitchen was filled with boyish chatter and Jake’s hopeful, begging whine. Laura brushed Lee’s hair out of his eyes. “Tonight I’ll trim it for you,” she said in a deceptively idle tone, veiling the half-prayer, half-promise lying beneath the words. She casually placed a jar of his favorite jam on his end of the table. Little things, she knew, but speeches were beyond her and out of place at the breakfast table.
She walked with the boys to school, Billy and Zak running ahead wildly, powered by some mysterious energy source. Lee stayed close to her side, uncharacteristically quiet. Before they left the relative privacy of their street, she felt his hand grab her own with an almost desperate squeeze. Just as quickly his touch was gone, and he half smiled at her before running ahead to join his brothers.
One day at a time, she reminded herself, stricken.
Gods, she needed so many more days.
END INTERLUDE
---
And so we come to the end of our Intermission story. A year ago olga_theodora started writing this story and though our progress has slowed (distractions like work, grad school and fictional babies) we have not given up. We still have tens of thousands of words already written and a lot more to go. The journey is not over. So stayed tuned, Faithful Reader: The odds seem ever in your favor...