Fanfic: Debriefing Part 1
Title: Debriefing
Rating: T (for now)
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Summary: It's the middle of the night, and Laura is at the end of her rope. She finds Bill asleep on the couch. Takes place between 4x08 and 4x09 (so spoilers up to this point)
Words: 2099 in part One.
This story contains a gift. I was relating part of the idea for this fic over the phone with my friend tjonesy. She responded with "I started writing that a long time ago. Do you want what I've got?". She assured me it would remain lost on her HD if I didn't use it, and if you've read her stuff, you know what a shame this would be. If you haven't read her stuff, go now. So, I happily accepted and set about writing another 17 pages or so to finish the fic. This is the result.
Huge thanks to TJ for the little gift and to her and Innealta for beta work. Your help was invaluable.
Thanks also to Flamingo55 and KappaOmega for notes and encouragement.
Debriefing
by: larsfarm77
For the Cylons, each moment was no more significant than any other, time being essentially infinite for each individual soul. It was not until the loss of the Resurrection Hub that each machine began to realize the perception of time and it’s passing. Each moment became precious now that it could be lost. Forever. And what became most important of all was making those moments as significant, as meaningful, as one could before the end.
“Mortality is the one thing that makes you whole.”
--Natalie
***
Laura woke to aching muscles and a chill that had raised gooseflesh along her chest and arms where the blanket had slipped down. The silk scarf that kept her head warm had slipped over her eyes. She pushed it back and ran her tongue along her lower lip. The skin was uneven and cracked; her tongue felt thick and sticky against the inside of her mouth.
Coughing quietly, she raised up onto an elbow and tried to scan the dim room for the glass of water that she’d left on the desk. She could see just enough to tell that it was gone and smiled ruefully. Bill. He was almost compulsive when it came to neatness, which she had quickly attributed to his military training. It was nice, really, except for moments such as this.
Feeling along the cool metal frame of the chair that sat near the rack, she sighed quietly when she failed to come up with her dressing gown. The last evening had been difficult; she’d been feverish, sweaty, and sick to her stomach, and somewhere between the head and Bill’s rack she must have forgotten it. He hadn’t been there, his shift had been a late one, so it hadn’t mattered.
When she sat up, the blanket fell to her lap, and she rubbed her hands over her arms to try to warm them. Throwing her legs over the edge of the rack, she found the deck plating cold under her bare feet. Get a glass of water, get back. What are you waiting for? It’s not some kind of mission requiring recon and tactics.
She stood and crossed the room to the head, the chill that ran over her bare skin under the nightgown bringing with it a memory of her first morning here.
“Bill, you have to get out.”
His answer was muffled. “What?”
Somehow she’d managed to miss a step when setting her alarm. She’d woken in a panic, grabbing for her robe, trying not to trip on it on her way to the still closed door of the head.
“I’m going to be late,” she didn’t even think before adding, “You just need to let me in the shower.”
“Okay, hang on a minute.” She heard a few bumps and the sound of a towel wrenched from a metal bar. When he finally slid open the door, she actually took a step back. The warmth hit her first, the heavy, humid air welcome against her skin. His skin and hair were still wet. His skin. A thick grey towel sat about his waist, nothing else. Shaving cream adorned the left side of his stubble-covered chin. She was quite literally caught; she had no time left, she shouldn’t be staring, and yet she couldn’t make her legs move. Legs she was pretty sure he was staring at.
She wasn’t sure if she was more embarrassed by the situation or by how much it was turning her on. He recovered first, probably because she was mostly covered, and said … something … before moving out of her way, a warm, slick hand resting ever so briefly on her shoulder, pushing her gently forward.
“Um … just give me a minute to get in, and you can finish,” she managed, her face uncomfortably warm. She felt somewhere between awkward and aroused when he shut the door, and she slipped out of robe and nightgown, leaving them in a heap on the deck. Eying the door, she started the shower, letting the water run over her hand until she found a comfortable temperature, before pulling back the curtain.
“Okay?” he said.
His voice startled her, and she quickly stepped in and drew the curtain. “Yes, you can come in.”
The sound of the door sliding open was obvious, and she cringed. It was one thing to do this with someone that you’d been intimate with, someone you had an established relationship with, but this … this was … uncomfortable.
She began to soap her skin. No matter how many times she went over her schedule in her head, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was out there, a single towel the only piece of clothing between them. It awakened a need in her that a well-worn duty uniform had kept at bay, or at least, made easier to ignore.
At least he didn’t try to talk to her. That would have been … unbearable.
She rinsed her hair, resigned to the fact that it would still be wet when she finally got to her meeting. Shutting the taps off, she drew her hair over her shoulder and twisted it to work the water out. Blindly, she reached back for the towel she usually left over the shower rod.
Frak.
She put a hand flat against the cool tile in front of her and dropped her head, shaking it at her own stupidity. The water had begun to cool on her bare skin, sending a slight chill through her.
Frak.
“Bill?” Her first attempt was pitiful. When he didn’t respond, she drew back the curtain just slightly, to see if he was still there.
He had finished shaving and was drying his face …
With the towel that had been around his waist.
It made complete sense, he had only two, and the length of the towel did cover most of the front of him.
Most.
Her eyes traced the muscular line of his hip, his buttock, his thigh, his …oh my Gods, is that? … she quickly let go of the curtain. She glanced down at her body’s reaction, flushed skin and rigid nipples embarrassingly obvious, and took a frustrated breath.
“Bill?” This time the word was loud and clear, though she didn’t feel any less mortified. A residual warm drip from the showerhead hit her hand and only accentuated how frakking cold she was getting.
“Yeah?” His answer sounded garbled.
“You decent?” A little late, Laura.
“… Yeah.”
She peered around the edge of the curtain, holding the rest tightly closed. He was brushing his teeth, towel once again secure, thank the gods. “I forgot a towel. Do you mind--” She stuck out a hand.
He didn’t even break rhythm with the toothbrush when he reached back, grabbed the remaining towel from the rack and placed it in her open hand. It was so easy, so comfortable a gesture for him, that she actually felt a flash of anger. How could he be so relaxed when she …? The answer came quickly enough. He’d had a wife, a family, of course he was used to this, had probably missed it.
“Thanks,” she said, pulling the towel in with her. The sound of his spitting was unmistakeable.
“Welcome. I’ll get out of your way, Laura.”
“Sorry.” It was lame, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“We’ll work things out.”
And they had. That, at least, had been easy.
Laura smiled at the memory, as she stood at the threshold of the head. Finding her robe hanging neatly on a hook beside his, she looked at the two garments pressed together along the wall, before collecting hers and putting it on. So many little things. Was it unseemly that she knew he always put his uniform pants on before his tanks? That he didn’t use a glass to rinse his teeth, but instead put his head under the tap?
It was an intimacy that intrigued and frightened her at the same time, especially considering how much she had started to enjoy knowing these small things about him, about how he lived. Yet, when the laundry bag had come back with both their things intermingled, she had begun to think of asking Bill for guest quarters.
She just didn’t do this.
It was all so much simpler when it had been Richard, when she never had to consider his underwear except to enjoy taking them off, had never felt any pressure to be there in the morning. Quite the opposite, actually.
And at least he had frakked her.
Sure, he hadn’t wanted to know about whatever test her mother had had that week, or how her mother’s slow decline made her feel, but he did allow her to find comfort in his body. She had relished the opportunity to finally get out of her head and simply lose herself in him, in the sex. It may have been somewhat soulless, but it satisfied.
Now that she thought about it, she envied him. He’d held the highest position in the Colonies but was not subject to the bitter loneliness that she had endured over the past four years. Despite the isolation that was a necessary consequence of their clandestine affair, she was never left wanting for long. To have gone more than three years without …
And just what were your options, Laura?
Too many insincere, ass kissing flunkies, a boy who was far too young and innocent, a terrorist she wouldn’t trust with her laundry, much less her body, and one man who’d pissed her off so much early on that she’d never thought it would come to this. But it had.
Ever since Cottle had looked at her with such sadness in his eyes, revealing what he had to say without uttering a word, since Cally’s death, since Emily’s, she felt herself craving something normal, something more than she could provide for herself. After everything, she felt like the end of a frayed, sparking wire … raw and random and seeking a path to ground.
Back when Bill had made the offer of his quarters, she’d actually felt hope that he’d gotten over himself, and they could finally have what they obviously both desired.
So they’d lived together, yet he hadn’t touched her, not in the way she wanted, and now she realized she had been foolish to expect. Men like Bill didn’t change easily or quickly.
Though it wasn’t as if he didn’t notice her. Not at all.
She pulled the blouse over her head, and when she surfaced from under the silky material, she found Bill leaning against the frame of the door to the head. He was staring.
“You look like you’ve never seen a woman dress herself before.” She quipped, still trying to arrange the panels so they sat properly across her breasts.
“I … um …” It wasn’t until she had finished arranging, that he finished his thought. “You just pull it over your head? I thought it would be a whole lot more complicated.”
The wonder in his voice was actually a little adorable, but she threw back: “And you need to know this why?”
Probably for the same reason I enjoy watching you get dressed in the morning.
His olive skin hid the blush well. “Because,” he answered with a note of finality, as if that explained everything, including why he was standing with his hands clasped together in front of his crotch.
“Because?”
He crossed the room and began gathering files. “Emergency preparedness.”
She glanced pointedly at his crotch. “Is that what the military’s calling it now?”
She had laughed all the way to her first meeting of the day.
She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as the memory faded, and she walked into the front area of his quarters.
A light was still on, and she moved to turn it off when she realized Bill was fast asleep on the couch, a book resting on his chest. His blanket lay in a pool on the floor.
She moved around to the front of the couch and picked the blanket up, intending to cover him, but paused. She so rarely got a chance to observe him in an unguarded moment, and the temptation was just too great.
She knelt on the floor beside him, letting the blanket slip from her hands.
***
continued in Part 2
Rating: T (for now)
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Summary: It's the middle of the night, and Laura is at the end of her rope. She finds Bill asleep on the couch. Takes place between 4x08 and 4x09 (so spoilers up to this point)
Words: 2099 in part One.
This story contains a gift. I was relating part of the idea for this fic over the phone with my friend tjonesy. She responded with "I started writing that a long time ago. Do you want what I've got?". She assured me it would remain lost on her HD if I didn't use it, and if you've read her stuff, you know what a shame this would be. If you haven't read her stuff, go now. So, I happily accepted and set about writing another 17 pages or so to finish the fic. This is the result.
Huge thanks to TJ for the little gift and to her and Innealta for beta work. Your help was invaluable.
Thanks also to Flamingo55 and KappaOmega for notes and encouragement.
Debriefing
by: larsfarm77
For the Cylons, each moment was no more significant than any other, time being essentially infinite for each individual soul. It was not until the loss of the Resurrection Hub that each machine began to realize the perception of time and it’s passing. Each moment became precious now that it could be lost. Forever. And what became most important of all was making those moments as significant, as meaningful, as one could before the end.
“Mortality is the one thing that makes you whole.”
--Natalie
***
Laura woke to aching muscles and a chill that had raised gooseflesh along her chest and arms where the blanket had slipped down. The silk scarf that kept her head warm had slipped over her eyes. She pushed it back and ran her tongue along her lower lip. The skin was uneven and cracked; her tongue felt thick and sticky against the inside of her mouth.
Coughing quietly, she raised up onto an elbow and tried to scan the dim room for the glass of water that she’d left on the desk. She could see just enough to tell that it was gone and smiled ruefully. Bill. He was almost compulsive when it came to neatness, which she had quickly attributed to his military training. It was nice, really, except for moments such as this.
Feeling along the cool metal frame of the chair that sat near the rack, she sighed quietly when she failed to come up with her dressing gown. The last evening had been difficult; she’d been feverish, sweaty, and sick to her stomach, and somewhere between the head and Bill’s rack she must have forgotten it. He hadn’t been there, his shift had been a late one, so it hadn’t mattered.
When she sat up, the blanket fell to her lap, and she rubbed her hands over her arms to try to warm them. Throwing her legs over the edge of the rack, she found the deck plating cold under her bare feet. Get a glass of water, get back. What are you waiting for? It’s not some kind of mission requiring recon and tactics.
She stood and crossed the room to the head, the chill that ran over her bare skin under the nightgown bringing with it a memory of her first morning here.
“Bill, you have to get out.”
His answer was muffled. “What?”
Somehow she’d managed to miss a step when setting her alarm. She’d woken in a panic, grabbing for her robe, trying not to trip on it on her way to the still closed door of the head.
“I’m going to be late,” she didn’t even think before adding, “You just need to let me in the shower.”
“Okay, hang on a minute.” She heard a few bumps and the sound of a towel wrenched from a metal bar. When he finally slid open the door, she actually took a step back. The warmth hit her first, the heavy, humid air welcome against her skin. His skin and hair were still wet. His skin. A thick grey towel sat about his waist, nothing else. Shaving cream adorned the left side of his stubble-covered chin. She was quite literally caught; she had no time left, she shouldn’t be staring, and yet she couldn’t make her legs move. Legs she was pretty sure he was staring at.
She wasn’t sure if she was more embarrassed by the situation or by how much it was turning her on. He recovered first, probably because she was mostly covered, and said … something … before moving out of her way, a warm, slick hand resting ever so briefly on her shoulder, pushing her gently forward.
“Um … just give me a minute to get in, and you can finish,” she managed, her face uncomfortably warm. She felt somewhere between awkward and aroused when he shut the door, and she slipped out of robe and nightgown, leaving them in a heap on the deck. Eying the door, she started the shower, letting the water run over her hand until she found a comfortable temperature, before pulling back the curtain.
“Okay?” he said.
His voice startled her, and she quickly stepped in and drew the curtain. “Yes, you can come in.”
The sound of the door sliding open was obvious, and she cringed. It was one thing to do this with someone that you’d been intimate with, someone you had an established relationship with, but this … this was … uncomfortable.
She began to soap her skin. No matter how many times she went over her schedule in her head, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was out there, a single towel the only piece of clothing between them. It awakened a need in her that a well-worn duty uniform had kept at bay, or at least, made easier to ignore.
At least he didn’t try to talk to her. That would have been … unbearable.
She rinsed her hair, resigned to the fact that it would still be wet when she finally got to her meeting. Shutting the taps off, she drew her hair over her shoulder and twisted it to work the water out. Blindly, she reached back for the towel she usually left over the shower rod.
Frak.
She put a hand flat against the cool tile in front of her and dropped her head, shaking it at her own stupidity. The water had begun to cool on her bare skin, sending a slight chill through her.
Frak.
“Bill?” Her first attempt was pitiful. When he didn’t respond, she drew back the curtain just slightly, to see if he was still there.
He had finished shaving and was drying his face …
With the towel that had been around his waist.
It made complete sense, he had only two, and the length of the towel did cover most of the front of him.
Most.
Her eyes traced the muscular line of his hip, his buttock, his thigh, his …oh my Gods, is that? … she quickly let go of the curtain. She glanced down at her body’s reaction, flushed skin and rigid nipples embarrassingly obvious, and took a frustrated breath.
“Bill?” This time the word was loud and clear, though she didn’t feel any less mortified. A residual warm drip from the showerhead hit her hand and only accentuated how frakking cold she was getting.
“Yeah?” His answer sounded garbled.
“You decent?” A little late, Laura.
“… Yeah.”
She peered around the edge of the curtain, holding the rest tightly closed. He was brushing his teeth, towel once again secure, thank the gods. “I forgot a towel. Do you mind--” She stuck out a hand.
He didn’t even break rhythm with the toothbrush when he reached back, grabbed the remaining towel from the rack and placed it in her open hand. It was so easy, so comfortable a gesture for him, that she actually felt a flash of anger. How could he be so relaxed when she …? The answer came quickly enough. He’d had a wife, a family, of course he was used to this, had probably missed it.
“Thanks,” she said, pulling the towel in with her. The sound of his spitting was unmistakeable.
“Welcome. I’ll get out of your way, Laura.”
“Sorry.” It was lame, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“We’ll work things out.”
And they had. That, at least, had been easy.
Laura smiled at the memory, as she stood at the threshold of the head. Finding her robe hanging neatly on a hook beside his, she looked at the two garments pressed together along the wall, before collecting hers and putting it on. So many little things. Was it unseemly that she knew he always put his uniform pants on before his tanks? That he didn’t use a glass to rinse his teeth, but instead put his head under the tap?
It was an intimacy that intrigued and frightened her at the same time, especially considering how much she had started to enjoy knowing these small things about him, about how he lived. Yet, when the laundry bag had come back with both their things intermingled, she had begun to think of asking Bill for guest quarters.
She just didn’t do this.
It was all so much simpler when it had been Richard, when she never had to consider his underwear except to enjoy taking them off, had never felt any pressure to be there in the morning. Quite the opposite, actually.
And at least he had frakked her.
Sure, he hadn’t wanted to know about whatever test her mother had had that week, or how her mother’s slow decline made her feel, but he did allow her to find comfort in his body. She had relished the opportunity to finally get out of her head and simply lose herself in him, in the sex. It may have been somewhat soulless, but it satisfied.
Now that she thought about it, she envied him. He’d held the highest position in the Colonies but was not subject to the bitter loneliness that she had endured over the past four years. Despite the isolation that was a necessary consequence of their clandestine affair, she was never left wanting for long. To have gone more than three years without …
And just what were your options, Laura?
Too many insincere, ass kissing flunkies, a boy who was far too young and innocent, a terrorist she wouldn’t trust with her laundry, much less her body, and one man who’d pissed her off so much early on that she’d never thought it would come to this. But it had.
Ever since Cottle had looked at her with such sadness in his eyes, revealing what he had to say without uttering a word, since Cally’s death, since Emily’s, she felt herself craving something normal, something more than she could provide for herself. After everything, she felt like the end of a frayed, sparking wire … raw and random and seeking a path to ground.
Back when Bill had made the offer of his quarters, she’d actually felt hope that he’d gotten over himself, and they could finally have what they obviously both desired.
So they’d lived together, yet he hadn’t touched her, not in the way she wanted, and now she realized she had been foolish to expect. Men like Bill didn’t change easily or quickly.
Though it wasn’t as if he didn’t notice her. Not at all.
She pulled the blouse over her head, and when she surfaced from under the silky material, she found Bill leaning against the frame of the door to the head. He was staring.
“You look like you’ve never seen a woman dress herself before.” She quipped, still trying to arrange the panels so they sat properly across her breasts.
“I … um …” It wasn’t until she had finished arranging, that he finished his thought. “You just pull it over your head? I thought it would be a whole lot more complicated.”
The wonder in his voice was actually a little adorable, but she threw back: “And you need to know this why?”
Probably for the same reason I enjoy watching you get dressed in the morning.
His olive skin hid the blush well. “Because,” he answered with a note of finality, as if that explained everything, including why he was standing with his hands clasped together in front of his crotch.
“Because?”
He crossed the room and began gathering files. “Emergency preparedness.”
She glanced pointedly at his crotch. “Is that what the military’s calling it now?”
She had laughed all the way to her first meeting of the day.
She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as the memory faded, and she walked into the front area of his quarters.
A light was still on, and she moved to turn it off when she realized Bill was fast asleep on the couch, a book resting on his chest. His blanket lay in a pool on the floor.
She moved around to the front of the couch and picked the blanket up, intending to cover him, but paused. She so rarely got a chance to observe him in an unguarded moment, and the temptation was just too great.
She knelt on the floor beside him, letting the blanket slip from her hands.
***
continued in Part 2