Common Ground, an SS fic for nnaylime
Title: Common Ground
Author: larsfarm77
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: MA
nnaylime's prompt: Fic - something set on Kobol - Bill & Laura discuss her cancer and deal with her keeping it from him. Make-up sex would be lovely but not mandetory.
Words: 9834
Much love and thanks to my betas, tjonesy, icedteainthebag and somadanne, for such wonderful help.
Common Ground
If he didn’t move, he didn’t feel quite so sick to his stomach. The alcohol didn’t help.
Adama sat in his best friend’s oldest chair, his body feeling heavier than it should, a dull, medicated ache pulsing along with his heart. His hand was splayed over his chest. It was unsettling, but he felt the need for solidity there, that without the support his swollen organs might find a way past Cottle’s neat row of tiny black stitches.
Saul could hardly meet his eye.
Everything was always more dire than it actually was, according to his XO; the man practically made an art form out of navel gazing. Whatever was bugging him, they would make it right. They always did.
“Never had much use for people who second-guessed my decisions, especially if they’ve never held a command. They don’t understand the pressure. You make a call. It affects the lives of thousands. And you have no one to turn to for backup.”
“Well, you make it look easy,” Saul said.
Adama smiled wryly. “Well, you know that’s a lie now.” He took a swallow of ambrosia, the liquid running along his chin. He wiped at it with the back of his hand.
“A lot of pieces to pick up.”
“Then we’ll pick ‘em up together. Where’s my son?”
Saul’s eyes widened a fraction before he busied himself with pouring more ambrosia. He sat, clasping his hands around his glass and lowering his head.
“Just say it, Saul. Stop acting like it’s a godsdamned confessional in here. I make a shitty priest.”
Saul’s back stiffened, his tone taking on a bitter edge. “It’s worse than usual.” He took a long drink, upending the glass. “This. Us.” He waved the hand carrying his empty glass as if to encompass the entire ship. “Supposed to be you and me together. Side by side. That was the deal.”
“I know.”
“The Civilian Fleet didn’t take well to our decision to incarcerate Roslin. Ships began refusing to resupply Galactica.”
“What did you do?” Besides avoid my question?
“What could I do? The Quorum was whining like a pack of spoiled kids, riots were breaking out all over the Fleet.” He took a long sip. “We needed order; I didn’t see another choice.”
“Martial law.”
“Yeah.” Saul watched his glass as he swirled the green liquid. “Frakking brilliant. I sent troops to the Gideon. Four civvies dead, eight wounded, all in a matter of hours, all on me.”
Bill blew out a long stream of air. “You made a bad call, and you’ll have to live with that. People don’t understand what that does to a man.”
Were you sober, Saul?
“I never wanted a command.”
“But you weren’t afraid to be decisive when you were given one. Now, where’s my son?”
Saul had a good poker face, but Adama could see right through it, always had. Right now he was looking as if the prized fish he’d been asked to take care of were all floating belly up in the tank.
“He’s gone. They both are, Lee and Roslin.”
“Excuse me?” Whatever he was expecting, this wasn’t it. They were in the brig, for frak’s sake.
“She had help: Lee for sure, and that Raptor was on some bullshit medical mission. If we look deep enough, there’ll be off-log calls, too.” Saul slammed his glass back on the table. “It all happened right under my frakkin’ nose. Scuttlebutt is Zarek’s involved; they could be anywhere in the Fleet by now. I’ve got people lookin’ for ‘em.”
Damn it, Lee.
Adama took a mouthful of ambrosia, his grip so tight on the glass that it shook. He couldn’t find any words.
Saul’s eyes narrowed, his mouth turned down. “This’d be a helluva lot easier if you were well enough to insult my judgement and the advice of my wife. Then I’d have to hit you, and we could have it out and done with right here.”
Adama would’ve thrown the glass, but he didn’t have the strength for the gesture to be at all satisfying. “I wouldn’t count me out,” he replied through clenched teeth, the alcohol souring in his stomach.
“That’s not even everything.”
“It’s enough for now.” Bill ran his hand up and down over his chest, trying to soothe the ache. It did nothing for the rage that was swelling in him. “I don’t give a shit if she’s frakking that terrorist for the use of an empty cell, this little stunt’s not gonna get her anything.”
She wouldn’t frak my son …
He tasted bile in the back of his throat.
“You’re not worried she’ll divide loyalties in the Fleet? We had a shitload of trouble with the civvies while she was in the brig. Now-”
“No one’s gonna listen to her. She’s got nothing compelling to offer.”
He barely got the words out; the room was getting too warm and his head was swimming. He needed to stand, needed to leave before he embarrassed himself. Bracing his hands on the table in front of him, he felt Saul’s hand under his arm. He was barely standing when Saul added, “She’s dying.”
“What?” He couldn’t have heard that correctly; the meds and the ambrosia had obviously gone straight to his head.
“I dunno, cancer or something. Claims there’s a prophecy, that she’s some sorta dying leader who’s gonna show us all the way to the promised land.” He snorted. “Sure got the Quorum all riled up. That Gemenese woman looked like she’d seen Aphrodite herself.”
“Frak it. No one believes that religious crap. And if what you’re saying is correct, then the problem will solve itself.”
It’s probably bullshit anyway; she doesn’t even look sick.
“You’ve got a point there, Bill.”
Adama’s knees gave. He winced in pain. Between Saul and the bulkhead he kept from going down. “Let’s get you back to bed,” Saul muttered, taking more of the Commander’s weight.
“Saul?”
“Yeah?”
“Tomorrow we choose a new CAG.”
“Yes, Sir.”
***
It usually calmed him, the smell of the glue, the painstaking, intricate work of assembling the great ship. She was a lady, built strong and reliable, a hard deck under your feet, full sails above. Needing something mundane to take his mind off his recent conversation with Saul, he’d decided to try working on the model. He wasn’t sure if the glue was making him nauseous or the painkillers. Glaring at the half-empty bottle sitting on the desk, he held his chest as his stomach roiled. He tasted ambrosia in the back of his throat.
There is no Earth. You understand that.
Heat radiated along his chest and up his neck. He fumbled with his uniform jacket; his hands were tingling and it was difficult to work the buttons. The garment was barely thrown back over the chair before his abdomen contracted so hard that he actually cried out.
Congratulations to both of you. You carried out a very difficult and dangerous mission.
It was almost as though he could feel the bullets tear through his flesh, hear the report of the gun. He looked down only to find that his knees had hit the deck, two jarring thuds that resonated through his body. His hands hit the floor. The brush he was holding skittered across the deck.
I should have flunked him, but I didn’t. The bottom line is that your son didn’t have the chops to fly a Viper … and it killed him.
There was glue dripping on the floor, trailing through the brush and scattered pieces of the model. Adama shuffled forward, barely grabbing the wastebasket in time. It was agony. The retching strained the stitches. The pain was blinding and he swayed, on the verge of passing out. He hadn’t eaten enough to throw up much, foam and bile tinged with the bright green of Saul’s ambrosia sat at the bottom of the wastebasket. Gingerly he sat back against the bulkhead, the metal cool against his back and the back of his head.
She wasn’t scheduled for a jump test. Where the hell did she go?
Home.
It was too much effort to undress, to make it to the rack. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
She’s dying.
***
“I can’t take these.” Adama set the pill bottle on top of the filing cabinet in front of Cottle. “All I did last night was puke.”
Cottle eyed the bottle, turning it and running his finger over the label. “Do not consume with alcohol. Do not operate vehicles or heavy machinery. Something tells me it wasn’t the machinery.”
“I don’t care what you think, just get me something that works.”
Cottle used the back of his hand to slide the bottle toward Adama. “This is it.”
It was only pills, but anger swelled as he looked at the doctor’s indifferent face. Cottle turned from him, his hands pawing through a stack of unruly files, his head surrounded by a miasma of smoke.
You let her go.
“What were you thinking?” Adama’s knuckles cracked, his hands were so tightly fisted.
How could you do this to me?
Cottle raised an eyebrow and replied dryly, “About what?”
Adama put his body between Cottle and the files, so close that he felt a burning in his eyes from the smoke. “Maybe Dee buys that little fiction about my son holding a gun to your head and coercing you to order that Raptor, but we’ve known each other far too long.”
Adama kept his voice low; his anger was barely in check. “You let them go. Because of you, I have to watch my new CAG fail to have the coordination to wipe his own ass. I’ve lost ships and supplies critical to the survival of this Fleet. I wanna know, what the frak you were thinking?”
When Cottle took a drag of his cigarette, Adama pulled his fist back a fraction. It took all of his will power not to put it through the doctor’s face.
What am I doing?
Adama forced himself to take a step back. “Why aren’t you in the brig?”
“That’s the question isn’t it?” Cottle faced him, his arms folded across his chest. “What I did was illegal, and a breach of my oath as an officer. Yet I’m still here. I assume Colonel Tigh briefed you on the incident with the Gideon. He sent Marines onto a civilian vessel. People died. Yet he is still the XO of this ship.”
“He made a bad call. I don’t expect you to understand the pressures of command.”
“You’re godsdamned right I don’t understand. The President made a bad call, too.”
“Don’t,” Adama snapped through clenched teeth.
“I’ll tell you what I do understand. Two days ago, I spent six hours trying to piece together the shredded mess of a young father’s intestinal tract, because someone didn’t get their morning coffee. I’ve been on those ships, seen what passes for family and home. People are scared, worried about water and toilet paper and what they’re going to eat tomorrow.
“You want to know why I helped her?” Cottle continued, gathering steam. “Because she might be the only person in this entire Fleet thinking past just staying alive, the only one moving forward. And the most frakked up thing about it is that she’s looking to a future she’s not even gonna have.”
“You don’t seriously believe that religious crap.”
Cottle turned and walked to a different stack of files, slipping free the second from the top. He slammed it down onto the top of the filing cabinet in front of Adama.
“You want facts? Go ahead. Look.”
When he saw the name on the file, Adama nearly brushed it onto the floor, would have if not for the challenge in Cottle’s eyes. Adama opened the file and spread the pile of papers and scans across the surface of the long metal cabinet. Looking from one sheet to the next, he finally admitted, “I don’t know what I’m looking at.”
Cottle took a film from the pile and clipped it to a lighted panel. He pointed to an uneven, bright white shape. Thin white spines protruded from the mass, making it look like a small star.
“You’re looking at advanced breast cancer. It has spread to the chest wall and surrounding lymph nodes. There are also multiple lesions on the distal liver.”
“Let’s cut to it.”
“Your son committed us to holding elections at the end of what was President Adar’s term. At that time, Baltar will be the incumbent.”
“Down to months then.”
“It’s not an exact science.”
“How long have you known?” Adama asked, as Cottle returned the film to the file.
“She was diagnosed on Caprica, the morning of the attacks. She came to see me a few weeks later.”
“Allergies my ass,” Adama said under his breath. He shook his head. “The President was compromised from the moment she stepped onto this ship. When, exactly, were you going to file a report?”
Cottle looked indignant. “At no time did I feel that the President was unfit or unable to exercise the authority of her office. Nothing was compromised.”
“I beg to differ,” Adama said bitterly. He gestured toward the open file. “Maybe this is enough to stir the sympathies of one old physician, but none of this justifies what she’s done to this Fleet.”
Cottle waved his hand in dismissal. “When are you going to get your godsdamned head out of your ass? You’re so focussed on what everyone has done that you’re not taking the time to ask yourself why.”
“That’s bullshit,” Adama hissed, slapping the file shut and pushing it toward Cottle. “We’re done here.”
“As you wish. Seems I was talking mostly to myself anyway.”
Adama was already headed toward the hatch. He hadn’t taken three steps when he turned back and snatched the pill bottle from Cottle’s outstretched hand.
***
In the end it was Dee who saw through it all. He’d just wanted to talk at someone who wouldn’t challenge him, who’d keep him company, maybe sympathize with his feelings of betrayal. She’d seen all that he had given for this Fleet, even his own blood.
She’d surprised him.
You let us down. You let us down. You made a promise to all of us … to find Earth, to find us a home. Together. It doesn’t matter what the President did or even what Lee did, because every day that we remain apart is a day that you’ve broken your promise. The people aboard those ships made their own decision.
***
Roslin’s aide was standing nervously a few steps into Adama’s quarters. His suit was rumpled and there were heavy bags under his eyes. Bill gestured toward the table and chairs.
“Billy, thank you for coming. Have a seat.” Adama finished pouring a glass of water.
Billy hesitated and Adama wondered if he was simply used to standing on the sidelines. Finally, he loped toward the nearest chair and settled into it. Even sitting, he was tall. As jittery as he seemed physically, his gaze didn’t waver when they made eye contact.
It was then that Bill noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and his skin was rough with an unusual dusting of stubble. Bill reached for another glass and the ambrosia bottle, pouring out a finger.
“You look about how I feel,” Adama said as he set the glasses on the table and took a chair opposite. He was careful to lower himself slowly, a hand braced on his chest.
The boy fingered the glass, turning it. “The President has nightmares. Sometimes, she doesn’t sleep at all. I … um … I’m used to hearing her,” he admitted softly, but with an underlying strength to his voice. “I guess that sounds pretty stupid.”
Adama clasped his hands on the table and leaned toward the boy. “It isn’t stupid when we care about someone.”
Billy nodded, his eyes opening a little wider at the choice of pronoun, before he recomposed his features. His tone was guarded. “I’m not sure why I’m here, Sir.”
Adama took a slow, deliberate mouthful of water. The cool liquid felt good along the inside of his chest. “I was about to ask you the same question. Why are you here? Why didn’t you follow her?”
“Do you want what I told her or what I believe? Because I’ve realized these last few days that they’re not the same thing.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I knew her actions would split the Fleet, and that I didn’t want any part of that. We’ve worked so hard. I didn’t want to just throw it all away.”
“So you don’t believe in the prophecies?”
Billy sat up a little straighter. Adama sensed his conflict as he searched for words.
I must seem like the enemy to you. How did we let it come to this?
“Personally,” Adama continued, letting the boy off the hook, “I think it’s a load of crap.” He took another soothing gulp. “But it doesn’t matter what I think.”
“I’m an atheist,” Billy blurted out. It looked like a weight had just been lifted from his chest.
“Something tells me you haven’t told her,” Adama replied, unable to keep from smiling at the revelation.
The aide shook his head. “I didn’t know how. I just knew that I couldn’t follow what I didn’t believe. It felt wrong, like my presence would be mocking in some way.”
The way the boy shifted in his chair, Bill sensed there was more to the story, but knew he’d pressed as hard as he dared. He wanted to build a rapport, not make the young man think he was betraying his boss.
“You took a stand. I’m sure she respected that,” Adama said. Billy shrugged and Adama waited until the boy met his eyes again. “The question we have to ask ourselves is this: do we believe in her? Not the prophecies, not Pythia … her.”
Billy’s face actually brightened, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. It was endearing. Bill could see why Laura was so drawn to him.
“Early on,” Adama continued, shaking his head, “I was overconfident, sure I could push her around, that a government was the last thing we needed to be thinking about in the wake of the attacks.” His voice softened. “But she stood her ground, and she saved my life. She saved my son’s life, and that of everyone on this ship. That’s fact.”
“I believe in her too.” Billy finally looked at peace. “I think that maybe, I can do both.”
“I need you to tell her that yourself.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t help you return her to the brig.” The boy was charming and quick, a dangerous combination.
“You have my word as an officer that that is not my intention. We need to put this Fleet back together. Now, I’m no politician, and what we need here is a little diplomacy. She trusts you. She’ll listen to you.”
“I’m not sure she’ll want to see me. I wasn’t exactly supportive.”
Adama chuckled. “Compared to how I’m sure she feels about seeing me, you’ll come off like Hermes himself.”
Billy smiled and finally took his glass in hand, taking a long drink. His ears turned a little pink, and he gave a slight cough. He stood up and ran a hand along the length of his tie, straightening it, before reaching across the table.
Bill braced his hands on the wood surface and stood. He took the offered hand; the aide’s grip was firm when they shook.
“Hangar bay, 0400 hrs. Don’t wear a tie.”
“I’ll be there, Sir,” Billy confirmed hoarsely.
***
Adama stood in front of his storage locker, an open bag on the deck at his feet. He’d already had four offers to carry it for him, and it irked him that he knew he would have to accept.
It was the middle of ship’s night. He had never been able to sleep before a mission. When he was younger, he would pace the hangar deck, running a hand along the smooth lines of his Viper, his father’s lighter clutched in the other palm, visualizing formations and flight manoeuvres, playing out each detail of the mission in his mind’s eye. Now a commanding officer, he would pace his ship, talk to what department heads were also awake, and simply keep a watchful eye on the mission prep. It wasn’t about trust. Odds were there would be difficult calls to make, and it settled his mind to see that his ship and his men were prepared for them.
Tonight he was stuck in his quarters. Cottle had reluctantly green-lighted him for the mission to Kobol on the strict condition that he rest in the hours beforehand. Instead, he’d paced his cabin, talked on the wireless until he feared becoming a nuisance to his own men, and tried to pack.
They would be searching a rocky ravine in the midst of an unknown number of hostiles. He would make an easy target in his duty blues, and he wasn’t sure he wanted Roslin reminded of how she’d last seen him, standing insufferably smug and indignant in front of her cell, claiming victory.
Maybe it was over-thinking, but he dug back in his storage locker and pulled out his field camos. He hadn’t worn them in years, though he’d never forgotten the shore leave he and Saul had gotten on Picon after their wilderness recertification. They’d gotten shitfaced drunk and somehow found themselves in a threesome that Saul was convinced would never have gone down had they been in their regulation uniforms. His XO’d carried an extra set of camos in his bag every day since. Adama seriously doubted the uniform would have any such effect on Roslin, but he needed every advantage, however slight.
Gods, I’m such a frakking idiot. She’d stay the hell on Kobol if she knew what I was thinking about now.
Already showered and shaved, he pulled on the camos anyway.
He was also considering a peace offering, that was until he realized he didn’t have a frakking clue what she liked. Her party had to have been eating rations for days, so he could maybe offer her something to eat, but who knew how long it would take to find them. A hell of a lot of good spoiled food was going to do him.
Considering possibilities helped to keep his mind off his worries. Lee was a good soldier, a reasonable tactician, but he was down there with a terrorist and a bunch of untrained civilians and thugs. If there were Cylons down there, if they were attacked …
And Zeus warned the leaders of the twelve tribes that any return to Kobol would exact a price in blood.
He shuddered. He’d only nodded off for a few minutes all night, but the dream he’d had was still vivid in his mind. He’d woken up on the deck, his back against the bulkhead, clutching at his chest and neck.
He walked into a clearing. The sun on Kobol was pale, its rays gave the foliage a yellow tinge, a brightness that reflected from the dew-heavy growth. He saw nothing but bodies. Burly prisoners lay in bright orange coveralls riddled with bullet holes, their faces crawling with blood-swollen scavengers.
Somehow he forced himself to walk through them, to search the faces until he found the empty pale blue eyes of his son, his body half lying over that of the former President, her suit jacket and white blouse soaked through with blood.
He’d knelt down to them, when the distinct sound of a gun cocking broke the heavy silence. He stood slowly to find Boomer before him in her flight suit. Her face was sweaty and there was a bloody rent in her cheek, her teeth horrifically visible between the jagged lines of torn skin.
A second gun cocked, and he turned his head to find the Sharon he’d loved. Her hair was in a pony tail, her duty blues neat and clean, her dark, puppy dog eyes meeting his over the barrel of her gun.
“And you ask why,” the Cylons said together, in an eerie harmony.
The deafening sound of gunfire reverberated in his head.
Roslin’s gonna have to live long enough to fulfill that bullshit prophecy, so calm down.
He pulled everything out of the bag and started repacking, focussing on each item in turn, keeping only what was essential to keep the bag light. In the end, he added two extra pairs of socks. He needed every advantage he could get.
***
Kobol.
Her hands were trembling. It was cold enough out on the bare ground, despite the thin tarp, but it wasn’t the temperature that was making her shake. Everything on the ancient planet was overgrown; long, gnarled stems twisted through patches of bright green moss, yet did little to cushion the uneven, rocky ground underneath. Her skin was too sensitive; her muscles and bones ached from the exertion and from the cold, water-heavy air. She should have been exhausted, but the chamalla was running fresh through her veins now, taken with a sip of lukewarm water from a large, plastic-smelling canteen. She could still taste its bitterness in the back of her throat.
Camp was quiet, yet even the smallest noises reached her in a way that she could almost feel: the sound of the wind cutting through the trees, the constant tapping of rain on the tarp above her head, the snaps and clicks of the weaponry of those standing watch. Kara’s half-guarded whispering was interspersed with Lee’s more controlled, quieter tones and Billy’s nervous laughter.
To say she had been surprised to see her young aide was an understatement, the fact that she’d talked civilly to the Commander at length in the waning hours of the day was nothing short of a miracle.
Bill was snoring now. He was laid out on his back beside her, an arm braced across his chest, his breathing frustratingly uneven. She used to be a world-class sleeper. It had never taken longer than five minutes for her to nod off. She missed those days.
She clasped her hands to try to stop their shaking, but there was something under the skin, an anxiety that flowed with her blood and wouldn’t be calmed. Thoughts came and went in a rush. When it happened on Colonial One she paced, burying herself in numbers and reports. When morning came she always let Billy think she’d only been up for an hour.
Here she could walk.
Easing herself up slowly, she was careful not to wake him.
She never went far, an unspoken agreement with those in charge of protecting their small group. She needed to move, to feel the ache of strained muscles and chafed skin, and the pressure of the damp air in her lungs. Sleeping felt a little too close to dying, and she needed to stay on this journey until its end.
She ran her fingers through the long grass as she walked. There was life here. It was old and tired, heavy with the trials of countless souls gone before. She could feel their pull on her, growing stronger as she weakened, and it only served to quicken her pace.
There was a dull, grey half-light that was suggestive of morning, but the moons still hung low in the sky, scarred and pock marked, looking as weary with travel as she felt.
“Laura?” She didn’t hear Adama until he was practically on top of her and she couldn’t help her surprised gasp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She didn’t want his courtesy any more than she did his forgiveness. This was the time when she could be alone, when no one came to ask her opinion or seek her advice, religious or otherwise. At night, she was used to just letting herself feel, weary of the image, and the expectations, she lived up to during the day.
I’m fine. Go back to sleep.
“It’s all right. I was distracted.” She resisted the urge to fumble in her pocket for her glasses, wanting even that small barrier between them, despite the darkness. She could almost feel his disappointment. On a planet likely crawling with Cylons, she didn’t even have the wherewithal to listen properly when she was alone. Would it be a reminder or a reprimand? She waited.
“I couldn’t sleep anymore,” he offered instead.
“So you’ve come to join the club.” There was a hint of genuine humour in her voice.
“I dunno. There isn’t some complicated initiation ritual, is there? ‘Cause I’m not sure I’m quite up to that.”
The chirping of nocturnal insects becomes the regular beep of the heart monitor. All she can see is his olive-skinned chest, bisected by a raw, bloodied line of stitches.
“Are you sure you’re well enough at all?” It was out of her mouth before she’d really thought about it. He was just trying to lighten the mood, but all she could think of was that she didn’t need another burden out here.
“Are you?” he retorted sharply.
She wrapped her arms around her chest, the movement causing her arm to brush against his. He was warm. “Guess I deserved that.”
“How long, Laura?”
“It’s hard to say.” She leaned heavily against the peeling bark beside her. “I’m hoping that Sharon will know more when we reach the crest of the ravine. There are no good footholds anywhere; most of the time it feels like we’re slipping back as much as we’re moving forward. But, I don’t know.” She lifted her chin, taking in the bright patterns of the stars overhead. “This feels … right.”
“Not the journey,” he said, patiently. Her eyes snapped to his. His features were blurred, soft, a faint hint of purple at the edges that she was beginning to identify solely with him. “How long do you have?”
She turned, taking a few steps away. She hadn’t thought in terms of weeks or months since she got here; it was enough to fight through each day.
“I couldn’t tell you about my illness,” she replied, answering the question she knew he’d rather ask. “I like to think you understand why, so I hope you didn’t come looking for another apology.”
“That’s unfair.”
“I know … I know …” She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to keep from shaking. It was hard to stand still. “I’m just …”
“Tired of trying to make it seem like everything’s okay.”
His quiet observation was so right that she felt tears pricking at the edges of her vision. A lump formed in her throat. He simply wasn’t this perceptive, and she wasn’t drawn to him like this. His voice, his warmth-she was aware of him in a way she’d never been before. It shouldn’t have been so comfortable.
I don’t know you at all anymore, do I? Maybe I never did.
“I never wanted any of this,” she confessed quietly. “You’ve trained your whole life to wear that uniform, that rank. I never once looked at Richard Adar and coveted his job. Even during the good times.”
“What would you have done?”
It’s cool in the room and smells of chalk and the sealant they put over the flooring in the summer. So many faces. To some it’s just another hour to get through; they fidget behind their desks, watching the floor or their friends, anyone but her, but they’re listening, she can tell. Andrew in the middle row skipped his lunch to play pyramid in the gym; he thinks she doesn’t notice him leaned over, sipping a juice under the cover of his desk. Corina has moved her chair as far from him as she can, her nose wrinkled. Others’ attention she doesn’t have to work for, some follow too eagerly, a rare few stop to question where she’s leading. She lives for that exchange: energy, ideas, that moment when understanding crosses young features, when a single unanticipated question broadens her own. Nathan copies from Lily beside him; he needs glasses, but he won’t ask to be moved.
“Laura?”
Night fell around her again.
“It doesn’t matter. There are no school boards, no colleagues, no friends, and I’m suddenly the most experienced politician left. I’ll be President for the rest of my life. Everything changed for me the day of the attacks.”
“It changed for everyone.”
“You know that’s not true. You still had your family, your ship, every last knick-knack in your home.”
He was silent.
***
Laura Roslin had a suitcase. In it was everything she had left from her former life. He’d seen only three suits, and he had a favourite, or at least one that he found the least intimidating. No one had travelled with her save a newly-hired aide and a small collection of reporters and hangers-on. Had she left family behind? A husband? A lover?
“I didn’t come here to compare losses with you.”
She sighed. “I don’t want that either, Bill.”
What he had in comparison seemed obscene, and he’d been willing to throw it all away, would have, if not for her.
“You’re saying that we couldn’t find common ground then, because we weren’t on it,” he said finally. He felt her relax.
“But now we’ve both been torn down,” she said quietly, without malice or superiority.
He felt a flare of that rage that had been burning brightly since he’d opened his eyes in the recovery room. With each betrayal, a part of his life had been torn away, and that had hurt far more than either of the wounds in his chest. He wasn’t sure he knew how to let that rage go.
“And we’ve only just started putting ourselves back together,” she continued. “Despite everything, there’s only one soul in this Fleet who can understand my life now, and that’s you.”
Laura was never afraid to face things exactly as they were. He could barely make out her profile. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle. It was almost as if she were holding herself, and he suspected she’d been doing that for a long time.
“That’s a place to start,” he replied, his voice huskier than he’d intended.
“It is.”
“Before, when you mentioned your life on Caprica, you never mentioned family.”
She was quiet then, her body gently rocking beside his. He didn’t think she knew she was doing it.
“You should know that, whatever happens, you have one now.”
Reaching out, he put an arm around her and took some of her weight. She surprised him when she turned into him, letting his other arm curl across her back. Her arms came around him and he wasn’t prepared for how small she felt. It was such a contrast to the size of her presence there with him.
Even through all her layers and his, he could feel the press of her breasts against his chest. He imagined he felt the tumour that was taking her life. Pulling back, he found himself curious, not really understanding why he wanted to know.
“Which one is it?”
“What?”
Gods, he didn’t actually say that out loud. It wasn’t fair to ask her that. In fact, it was totally unacceptable. What if he’d had testicular cancer? Would he want her asking him ‘which one’?
So frakking stupid.
“I’m sorry, I never should have …” He started to pull away, when her hand came around his wrist. He wasn’t sure why she wanted to keep him there, the complete ass that he was.
Her fingers were cold when she took his hand and brought it toward her. His breath caught when he realized what she was about to do. The cotton of her coat was heavy with water, as was the material of her suit jacket underneath. He could feel the damp heat of her body as she pushed his hand past the silk of her blouse and the frayed edge of her bra. Her gently-rounded flesh was smooth, soft under his fingers. It was too dark to really see, but he could feel her watching him, feel her trying to keep her breathing even, waiting to gauge his reaction as she pressed his hand firmly against the inner curve of her breast.
He wasn’t sure how much had been real to him in the wake of his surgery. He had listened to every report, but his focus had been on his own pain, both real and imagined, and on his own betrayal.
The irregular mass under his fingers was real. It was hard. Its surface was rough and pebbled under the warm softness of her skin. She hummed in pain, dropping her hand away from his when he pressed against the tumour, traced its contours, seeing in his mind the area Cottle had indicated on her scan, a shocking white against a veined circle of grey.
He closed his eyes. He’d seen enough death in the last two years, had caused it with his own hands. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been to the morgue to mourn his former pilot. He could almost feel Sharon’s cold shoulder against his forehead. Enough was enough.
His chest ached constantly, muted and heavy, the edge taken off by the painkillers he kept in the left pocket of his coat.
She’s hurting too.
His heart pounded loudly as he relaxed his hand, his fingers resting barely there against her skin. He remembered the solid feel of his son in his arms that morning, the comfort it brought him. He’d watched Laura, her eyes wide and wet with unshed tears, when she saw Billy. Billy’s hands had opened, and Adama could tell that the boy wanted to touch her, hug her maybe, but didn’t seem to know how to go about it. Maybe it was fear. She now carried two titles, either one enough to make a person larger than life, unattainable, untouchable.
I’m not afraid, Laura.
But he felt reckless, knowing how what he was thinking of doing would tax his arteries and veins, the barely healed rents in his chest, but nothing in the last few months had been about playing it safe. He didn’t really know her or how she would respond, all he knew was what he felt. They’d both endured enough pain.
Easing his hand lower, he watched her intently, her face a shadowed outline in the grey light of the moons. He brushed his thumb lightly over her nipple. The night seemed so silent and time seemed to linger, making him wait, suddenly nervous as if she were the first girl he’d ever been with.
You always push too far. The last thing she needs right now is the attentions of an old warhorse like you.
Then he heard her sharp intake of breath, and the long, slow release, a soft note carried on the air. He slid his fingers under to cup her, his thumb still rubbing the slowly hardening peak. Her hand ran over the outside of his arm, and he wondered if she was going to pull his hand away, but she lingered, just rubbing back and forth along his biceps as he touched her. He wasn’t sure, but he thought her eyes were closed.
***
There was a light, buzzing sensation under her skin. She could still feel the pain where he’d pressed against her tumour, but his touch was light now and she hadn’t anticipated the intensity of the sensation. She could feel his fingers as they brushed through the light dusting of tiny hairs that covered her, experiencing each one as it was disturbed, feeling her skin pucker in response.
The only person who’d touched her since her diagnosis had been Cottle. His hands were always warm, but they moved quickly, clinically, pressing where she’d rather he not, pain always the result. Maybe it was just late enough, and she was just worn down enough, but she didn’t want Adama to stop.
He didn’t.
Instead, his thumb slid over the aching tip of her breast. She’d almost cried out, probably would have if she were more comfortable with her surroundings and the man in front of her. Pleasure curled behind the swelling peak, a heat that spread over her chest and belly, tiny, swirling currents that seemed to converge into a heavy ache between her legs.
In the few, quiet moments before she responded to him consciously, she realized that time had slowed, and the constant rush of anxious thought that she’d been living with since her diagnosis began to lose momentum.
She didn’t trust him, didn’t trust deathbed epiphanies. It never took long before people fell into the old habits and patterns that got them into trouble in the first place. Yet her body was overriding her mind, craving the quiet that was settling in her head, the sensations that felt electric against her skin.
A light rain was falling. The drops were cool against the flushed skin of her face when she reached for him. She rubbed a hand over his arm, trying to find her equilibrium, before she cupped his neck and leaned forward to press her lips to his.
She felt the muscles of his neck relax, and he held her breast, kneading softly as he got a taste of her, their lips moving slowly. She wondered if he could taste the chamalla. Pressing him closer, urging with her tongue, she breathed deeply with and around him, her mind suddenly, completely still.
More.
She dug a hand up under his camo jacket and sweater, craving the feel of his skin from the one place she could access it. His belly was warm and unexpectedly smooth under her hand. She let her fingers wander as she enjoyed the taste of his mouth, the silky feel of his tongue against hers. Then she felt his scar. It was ridged and jagged, hotter than the skin around it. She broke the kiss.
“You can’t do this,” she said with a defeated sigh.
He slid his hand up from her breast, bringing his palm over her neck to rest against her cheek. “I can’t do this how I want to,” he corrected softly, around his ragged breathing. “But I won’t stop unless that’s what you want.”
She kissed him again. It had always been easier like this, to trust a man with her body while her heart remained guarded and safe.
I’ll never have to deal with this.
He shrugged off his jacket and helped her out of hers. He spread them both out on the bare, partially dry ground under the canopy of trees, before urging her down with him. Settling her on her side, he stretched out behind her, curling his arm around her waist to press her snugly against his chest.
***
The firm line of her back gave the illusion of support against his chest. It hurt, but he was sufficiently distracted when she pressed her ass back against him, rubbing over his partial erection. He knew that, before the surgery, he’d have been rock hard from the moment she’d accepted his touch on her breast, but was relieved that he’d responded at all. Maybe it was just that the painkillers were wearing off.
Stop worrying, you idiot. Try to enjoy this. It’s not like you’ll be getting another chance.
Her body shook a little when he undid the button and zipper on her pants, spreading the fabric as wide as it would go. He kissed the edge of her ear as he returned her gesture of earlier, slipping his hand under her blouse. Pushing her bra up over the swells of her breasts, he traced long, smooth paths over her skin, pausing to caress a breast, a hip, to feel the heat of her in the humid space between her underwear and pants.
His heart was thudding rapidly. She arched against him, her small, breathless noises causing blood to pool heavily in his groin. He could feel the weight of it, the way it stretched the skin of his penis, the slight discomfort resulting from its awkward angle beneath his zipper. The urge to thrust was nearly overwhelming, and he curled a hand around her hip, rocking gently against her.
He felt her hook her thumbs into her waistband, felt his mouth drop open stupidly as she shoved pants and underwear from her hips. Her pale skin was such a contrast to the enveloping dark, the rounded curve of her ass the most tempting thing he’d seen in a long time. She nudged his hand where it had stilled against her stomach.
“You too,” came her husky alto. It sent a pulse of desire through his cock. Gods, he wanted her. He hadn’t realized how much as, not so long ago, he’d been distracted by the notion that strangling her might have been pleasure enough.
He fumbled with his belt and zipper, biting back a grunt of pain as he shifted enough to work his pants and thermals down his thighs. She reacted to the noise and the way his muscles tightened, trying to turn toward him.
“I’m all right,” he said, hoping he sounded reassuring. He relaxed when she settled back against him again.
In truth the pain was starting to interfere with his arousal. He needed to be inside her soon, but knew that, once there, he could never last long enough to give her the release she deserved.
He ran two fingers lightly over her abdomen. “I want to touch you.”
He felt her shift with a low hum, her legs parting enough to grant him access. Her sparse curls against his palm, he traced the bare, closed line of her sex with the pads of his fingers. She gasped, her ass pressing hard back into him. The motion hurt, and the pain was probably the only thing that kept him from taking her then and there.
Trying to calm his breathing, he gently exposed her to the night air, tracing over her folds before slipping inside, learning the lines and textures of her tender skin.
***
It was easier to just let this happen when she didn’t have to face him. Laura blinked, spreading her legs a little further as her head fell back, upturned to the sky.
The stars above her seemed to shift, forming intricate patterns in the darkness, teasing her mind to sort them.
Adama’s touch was slow, but not tentative; he traced deliberate paths along her labia, and despite the fact that he had yet to even brush her clit, she was wet and aching, nearly ready to come apart against him. It had been such a long time.
At night, her mind would not rest. The pain was the worst and paradoxically the effects of the chamalla the strongest. She had vivid, chilling nightmares, but also some dreams that would have made her look sideways at every priest and oracle who’d ever taken the stuff. They were highly erotic, so sensual that she could often still feel the caresses against her skin as she went through her morning routine. More than once she’d woken in the throes of an orgasm she’d done nothing to initiate.
He isn’t a dream this time.
Turning her head, she pressed her lips against the warmth of his neck, tasting the slight sheen of sweat on his skin and inhaling deeply. She reached behind her and ran her hand over his thigh, tracing her nails through the coarse hair that covered the thick muscles. She wanted him inside her. Not so long ago it hadn’t even been a possibility, but now she found herself desperate to intensify the connection between them, to ground herself in it.
His thumb circled her clit.
She gasped, arching back, and the thick length of him pressed hotly into the curve of her ass. She felt rather than heard his soft moan. His chest was warm against her back, his thighs supporting hers, skin on skin. His fingers swept in a lazy circle, before he pressed two fingers inside, until his palm rested flush against her aching flesh. He held there a moment, caressing gently. It seemed more like wonder than ownership, and she couldn’t help but smile to think that here they were, half-naked on the ground in the middle of nowhere, likely to be discovered, and yet he simply wanted the moment to last. Conscious thought began to slip away as he drew his fingers out slowly and began to rub the slick digits with deliberate pressure over her clit.
She began to tremble, thighs pressing on either side of his hand, but he didn’t falter in pressure or rhythm. She kissed his neck with hot, rough sweeps of her lips, tongue and teeth. She felt her release building, her body and mind for once, finally, in synch. She muffled her cry into his neck, one hand clutching at his hip and the other tangled in the material of his coat beneath her. Pleasure gripped her lower body, a sweet rush that broke over her abdomen and swept upward in waves until her breasts swelled with heat, her nipples achingly hard. Every inch of her skin, already slick and sweaty and warm, tingled as she began to come down.
The sky was light, the patterns of stars fading, and she looked down through the trees and rocky landscape to see the lights of the ancient city in the distance. The dome of the temple shone a bright white, the spoke-like paths that led from it teeming with people. The majestic lines of the Opera House rose a short distance away, and from it she heard the sound of a child laughing, tiny rushed breaths and running feet. Someone was shouting.
“So good, Laura, so beautiful.”
“Hera …”
She became aware of a hand resting over sensitive flesh and soft kisses along the line of her jaw. The urgency of the moment began to fade, and she was left as if she’d woken from a dream she couldn’t remember, the source of the panic and loss she was feeling slipping out of reach.
***
He wished he could see her, wished he could have seen her face as she came.
It was crazy, but he almost wanted someone to find them. Just that the moment could exist outside his own experience, that someone would know that they had meant something to each other, even if she was taking no more than comfort from him.
Her sex was hot and slick under his hand, and he wouldn’t soon forget the feel of her undulating against and around him. He felt not a small measure of pride in being able to give that to her, that she had let him.
“So good, Laura, so beautiful.”
His cock ached as he waited for her to come down. Her body actually tensed against him and he began to kiss along the line of her chin, trying to soothe her. She pushed away from him slightly, causing a brief flash of panic before he realized she was only making room for her hand between their bodies.
She stroked along his length with a light touch. He was painfully hard and the contact had his hips thrusting against her. She circled her thumb over the soft skin at the tip before taking him in hand.
“Now.” It was partly a command, partly a plea, uttered as she guided him close. He could feel the wet heat of her even before she pressed the head of his penis to her slick flesh, and waited.
He buried his face in the hair at the nape of her neck. Stroking a hand along her thigh, he pushed it forward, breaching her slowly, sliding up to grasp her hip to still her body as she pushed back.
Her orgasm had left her almost uncomfortably hot, yet he had to clench his teeth she felt so good, so tight around him. When he was fully seated, he felt her arm come around him, her fingers pressing into the curve of his ass, holding him there inside her, much as he’d done with her earlier, a soft sigh breaking the silence around them.
Adama closed his eyes. So much that was written about Kobol was portents and warnings of impending loss. The ancient planet was weighed down by human weakness and failure, and yet, somehow, still allowed them this small moment. It wasn’t going to have him going to temple anytime soon, but it was a start.
He was jolted out of his reverie when Laura clenched her inner muscles around him, her hand sliding from his ass to his thigh. He pulled back slowly, his head dropping back at the sensation as he slid out and then back in. The pleasure overwhelmed the growing ache in his chest.
“Oh frak, Laura, I’m not gonna last,” he warned, already feeling a tightening in his groin. He couldn’t help but wish there could be another chance to do this properly.
“Then don’t,” she replied simply, taking his hand from her hip and guiding it up under her blouse. She covered her bare breast with his hand and he shuddered at the feel of her nipple, slick and hard against his palm. He let go of the breath he’d been holding.
He slid his other hand underneath her, gripping her hip and using it to pull her back toward him repeatedly. His thrusts were shallow and jerky, but it didn’t matter, he was already too far gone. He clutched her breast, struggling to keep control of his voice as he emptied himself into her, his heart pounding dangerously loud in his chest with each pulse of his release.
Afterwards, they lay quietly. His limbs were heavy and relaxed, yet his chest throbbed with his heartbeat, a slight wave of nausea washing over him at the sharpness of the pain. He was still inside her and as their bodies cooled, he grew more and more uneasy. She deserved so much more than an awkward frak on the cold ground. As if she hadn’t been uncomfortable enough, having to sleep each night in damp, muddied clothing, he couldn’t even save her the discomfort of their aftermath.
“We can’t stay out here,” she said finally, but made no effort to move, not even the hand that was resting over his on her stomach.
That had been far from his best effort. He wasn’t likely to get the chance to do this again, and he didn’t want her thinking he was a lousy lay.
“I know.” He planted a soft kiss in her hair. “Look, I don’t usually-”
“Don’t think for a minute that you didn’t give me exactly what I needed.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but he felt the conviction in it. She eased away from him and his cock slipped free. She shifted awkwardly, her hand failing to grip the edge of her pants.
He pushed her hand away, warmth settling in his heart as she lifted her hips, letting him right her clothing. It almost felt more intimate drawing her zipper closed and fixing her button than it was when he was inside her.
But not quite.
They didn’t say anything more as he righted his own clothing and they stood to pull on their coats. Even then, she did not move away from him. They walked back toward camp, her arm brushing constantly against his, as if she were afraid to lose the connection they’d found.
The tarp on the ground was cold and damp.
“How do you usually sleep?” she asked, quietly. When he’d gone to find her, he didn’t think he’d rest again that night, now he was almost too exhausted to answer her question.
“I have to stay on my back right now,” he whispered. Any other position gave the distinct impression that his insides were likely to stain the ground as he slept.
Don’t mention that.
“Okay.” She didn’t move and he took that to mean she was waiting for him to get settled. The ground seemed to have shifted between them, and she didn’t seem any more comfortable than he was. Emotionally they’d been so much more in tune.
He lay on his back on the tarp, looking up into the half darkness, their makeshift lean-to blocking his view of the stars.
She turned from him and lay on her side. She shifted until the line of her back rested against his arm. To anyone looking, the scene would appear simple and innocent. He found himself lying awake to listen as her breathing evened out. He reached into his pocket for his pills, quietly snapping off the lid and taking two dry, not wanting to wake her.
His heart was full as he settled back against her. He wanted so much in that moment, to know what she liked, what she didn’t, how she would taste, what it would be like to sleep with her in his arms, how her skin would feel against his.
He always pushed; he always wanted too much.
***
Billy shifted uncomfortably. He’d drunk way too much water the night before. He’d been nervous talking to Lee and Kara, totally out of his element, and when he was nervous, he tended to need his hands occupied. He’d swallowed half the contents of his canteen in a series of nervous gulps, before he’d realized what he was doing and put the container out of reach.
There was enough light to make out the other sleeping forms around him, and he felt relatively confident he remembered the way to the spot Lee had shown him earlier. He couldn’t wait any longer.
Trying to fold his lanky frame enough to stand without disturbing anyone was a challenge, but he managed. He walked as softly and quickly as he could. The pressure was worse on standing and it was a fight to resist the urge to hold himself.
He hadn’t noticed a thing; he’d been so intent on his destination. Now feeling much more relaxed, he stopped on the return trip when he saw the Commander and the President.
Adama lay on his back. He was snoring. The President was curled away from him, her back against his side. Billy didn’t want to linger, but he wasn’t sure he’d imagined that Adama’s hand was underneath her, flush against her hip.
Had they been able to work out a truce? Was this ancient planet somehow common ground for them? He didn’t know. He only knew that what he saw now was something he hadn’t seen since he’d met Laura Roslin. It made him smile.
She was relaxed and sound asleep.
***
Fin.
Author: larsfarm77
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: MA
nnaylime's prompt: Fic - something set on Kobol - Bill & Laura discuss her cancer and deal with her keeping it from him. Make-up sex would be lovely but not mandetory.
Words: 9834
Much love and thanks to my betas, tjonesy, icedteainthebag and somadanne, for such wonderful help.
Common Ground
If he didn’t move, he didn’t feel quite so sick to his stomach. The alcohol didn’t help.
Adama sat in his best friend’s oldest chair, his body feeling heavier than it should, a dull, medicated ache pulsing along with his heart. His hand was splayed over his chest. It was unsettling, but he felt the need for solidity there, that without the support his swollen organs might find a way past Cottle’s neat row of tiny black stitches.
Saul could hardly meet his eye.
Everything was always more dire than it actually was, according to his XO; the man practically made an art form out of navel gazing. Whatever was bugging him, they would make it right. They always did.
“Never had much use for people who second-guessed my decisions, especially if they’ve never held a command. They don’t understand the pressure. You make a call. It affects the lives of thousands. And you have no one to turn to for backup.”
“Well, you make it look easy,” Saul said.
Adama smiled wryly. “Well, you know that’s a lie now.” He took a swallow of ambrosia, the liquid running along his chin. He wiped at it with the back of his hand.
“A lot of pieces to pick up.”
“Then we’ll pick ‘em up together. Where’s my son?”
Saul’s eyes widened a fraction before he busied himself with pouring more ambrosia. He sat, clasping his hands around his glass and lowering his head.
“Just say it, Saul. Stop acting like it’s a godsdamned confessional in here. I make a shitty priest.”
Saul’s back stiffened, his tone taking on a bitter edge. “It’s worse than usual.” He took a long drink, upending the glass. “This. Us.” He waved the hand carrying his empty glass as if to encompass the entire ship. “Supposed to be you and me together. Side by side. That was the deal.”
“I know.”
“The Civilian Fleet didn’t take well to our decision to incarcerate Roslin. Ships began refusing to resupply Galactica.”
“What did you do?” Besides avoid my question?
“What could I do? The Quorum was whining like a pack of spoiled kids, riots were breaking out all over the Fleet.” He took a long sip. “We needed order; I didn’t see another choice.”
“Martial law.”
“Yeah.” Saul watched his glass as he swirled the green liquid. “Frakking brilliant. I sent troops to the Gideon. Four civvies dead, eight wounded, all in a matter of hours, all on me.”
Bill blew out a long stream of air. “You made a bad call, and you’ll have to live with that. People don’t understand what that does to a man.”
Were you sober, Saul?
“I never wanted a command.”
“But you weren’t afraid to be decisive when you were given one. Now, where’s my son?”
Saul had a good poker face, but Adama could see right through it, always had. Right now he was looking as if the prized fish he’d been asked to take care of were all floating belly up in the tank.
“He’s gone. They both are, Lee and Roslin.”
“Excuse me?” Whatever he was expecting, this wasn’t it. They were in the brig, for frak’s sake.
“She had help: Lee for sure, and that Raptor was on some bullshit medical mission. If we look deep enough, there’ll be off-log calls, too.” Saul slammed his glass back on the table. “It all happened right under my frakkin’ nose. Scuttlebutt is Zarek’s involved; they could be anywhere in the Fleet by now. I’ve got people lookin’ for ‘em.”
Damn it, Lee.
Adama took a mouthful of ambrosia, his grip so tight on the glass that it shook. He couldn’t find any words.
Saul’s eyes narrowed, his mouth turned down. “This’d be a helluva lot easier if you were well enough to insult my judgement and the advice of my wife. Then I’d have to hit you, and we could have it out and done with right here.”
Adama would’ve thrown the glass, but he didn’t have the strength for the gesture to be at all satisfying. “I wouldn’t count me out,” he replied through clenched teeth, the alcohol souring in his stomach.
“That’s not even everything.”
“It’s enough for now.” Bill ran his hand up and down over his chest, trying to soothe the ache. It did nothing for the rage that was swelling in him. “I don’t give a shit if she’s frakking that terrorist for the use of an empty cell, this little stunt’s not gonna get her anything.”
She wouldn’t frak my son …
He tasted bile in the back of his throat.
“You’re not worried she’ll divide loyalties in the Fleet? We had a shitload of trouble with the civvies while she was in the brig. Now-”
“No one’s gonna listen to her. She’s got nothing compelling to offer.”
He barely got the words out; the room was getting too warm and his head was swimming. He needed to stand, needed to leave before he embarrassed himself. Bracing his hands on the table in front of him, he felt Saul’s hand under his arm. He was barely standing when Saul added, “She’s dying.”
“What?” He couldn’t have heard that correctly; the meds and the ambrosia had obviously gone straight to his head.
“I dunno, cancer or something. Claims there’s a prophecy, that she’s some sorta dying leader who’s gonna show us all the way to the promised land.” He snorted. “Sure got the Quorum all riled up. That Gemenese woman looked like she’d seen Aphrodite herself.”
“Frak it. No one believes that religious crap. And if what you’re saying is correct, then the problem will solve itself.”
It’s probably bullshit anyway; she doesn’t even look sick.
“You’ve got a point there, Bill.”
Adama’s knees gave. He winced in pain. Between Saul and the bulkhead he kept from going down. “Let’s get you back to bed,” Saul muttered, taking more of the Commander’s weight.
“Saul?”
“Yeah?”
“Tomorrow we choose a new CAG.”
“Yes, Sir.”
***
It usually calmed him, the smell of the glue, the painstaking, intricate work of assembling the great ship. She was a lady, built strong and reliable, a hard deck under your feet, full sails above. Needing something mundane to take his mind off his recent conversation with Saul, he’d decided to try working on the model. He wasn’t sure if the glue was making him nauseous or the painkillers. Glaring at the half-empty bottle sitting on the desk, he held his chest as his stomach roiled. He tasted ambrosia in the back of his throat.
There is no Earth. You understand that.
Heat radiated along his chest and up his neck. He fumbled with his uniform jacket; his hands were tingling and it was difficult to work the buttons. The garment was barely thrown back over the chair before his abdomen contracted so hard that he actually cried out.
Congratulations to both of you. You carried out a very difficult and dangerous mission.
It was almost as though he could feel the bullets tear through his flesh, hear the report of the gun. He looked down only to find that his knees had hit the deck, two jarring thuds that resonated through his body. His hands hit the floor. The brush he was holding skittered across the deck.
I should have flunked him, but I didn’t. The bottom line is that your son didn’t have the chops to fly a Viper … and it killed him.
There was glue dripping on the floor, trailing through the brush and scattered pieces of the model. Adama shuffled forward, barely grabbing the wastebasket in time. It was agony. The retching strained the stitches. The pain was blinding and he swayed, on the verge of passing out. He hadn’t eaten enough to throw up much, foam and bile tinged with the bright green of Saul’s ambrosia sat at the bottom of the wastebasket. Gingerly he sat back against the bulkhead, the metal cool against his back and the back of his head.
She wasn’t scheduled for a jump test. Where the hell did she go?
Home.
It was too much effort to undress, to make it to the rack. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
She’s dying.
***
“I can’t take these.” Adama set the pill bottle on top of the filing cabinet in front of Cottle. “All I did last night was puke.”
Cottle eyed the bottle, turning it and running his finger over the label. “Do not consume with alcohol. Do not operate vehicles or heavy machinery. Something tells me it wasn’t the machinery.”
“I don’t care what you think, just get me something that works.”
Cottle used the back of his hand to slide the bottle toward Adama. “This is it.”
It was only pills, but anger swelled as he looked at the doctor’s indifferent face. Cottle turned from him, his hands pawing through a stack of unruly files, his head surrounded by a miasma of smoke.
You let her go.
“What were you thinking?” Adama’s knuckles cracked, his hands were so tightly fisted.
How could you do this to me?
Cottle raised an eyebrow and replied dryly, “About what?”
Adama put his body between Cottle and the files, so close that he felt a burning in his eyes from the smoke. “Maybe Dee buys that little fiction about my son holding a gun to your head and coercing you to order that Raptor, but we’ve known each other far too long.”
Adama kept his voice low; his anger was barely in check. “You let them go. Because of you, I have to watch my new CAG fail to have the coordination to wipe his own ass. I’ve lost ships and supplies critical to the survival of this Fleet. I wanna know, what the frak you were thinking?”
When Cottle took a drag of his cigarette, Adama pulled his fist back a fraction. It took all of his will power not to put it through the doctor’s face.
What am I doing?
Adama forced himself to take a step back. “Why aren’t you in the brig?”
“That’s the question isn’t it?” Cottle faced him, his arms folded across his chest. “What I did was illegal, and a breach of my oath as an officer. Yet I’m still here. I assume Colonel Tigh briefed you on the incident with the Gideon. He sent Marines onto a civilian vessel. People died. Yet he is still the XO of this ship.”
“He made a bad call. I don’t expect you to understand the pressures of command.”
“You’re godsdamned right I don’t understand. The President made a bad call, too.”
“Don’t,” Adama snapped through clenched teeth.
“I’ll tell you what I do understand. Two days ago, I spent six hours trying to piece together the shredded mess of a young father’s intestinal tract, because someone didn’t get their morning coffee. I’ve been on those ships, seen what passes for family and home. People are scared, worried about water and toilet paper and what they’re going to eat tomorrow.
“You want to know why I helped her?” Cottle continued, gathering steam. “Because she might be the only person in this entire Fleet thinking past just staying alive, the only one moving forward. And the most frakked up thing about it is that she’s looking to a future she’s not even gonna have.”
“You don’t seriously believe that religious crap.”
Cottle turned and walked to a different stack of files, slipping free the second from the top. He slammed it down onto the top of the filing cabinet in front of Adama.
“You want facts? Go ahead. Look.”
When he saw the name on the file, Adama nearly brushed it onto the floor, would have if not for the challenge in Cottle’s eyes. Adama opened the file and spread the pile of papers and scans across the surface of the long metal cabinet. Looking from one sheet to the next, he finally admitted, “I don’t know what I’m looking at.”
Cottle took a film from the pile and clipped it to a lighted panel. He pointed to an uneven, bright white shape. Thin white spines protruded from the mass, making it look like a small star.
“You’re looking at advanced breast cancer. It has spread to the chest wall and surrounding lymph nodes. There are also multiple lesions on the distal liver.”
“Let’s cut to it.”
“Your son committed us to holding elections at the end of what was President Adar’s term. At that time, Baltar will be the incumbent.”
“Down to months then.”
“It’s not an exact science.”
“How long have you known?” Adama asked, as Cottle returned the film to the file.
“She was diagnosed on Caprica, the morning of the attacks. She came to see me a few weeks later.”
“Allergies my ass,” Adama said under his breath. He shook his head. “The President was compromised from the moment she stepped onto this ship. When, exactly, were you going to file a report?”
Cottle looked indignant. “At no time did I feel that the President was unfit or unable to exercise the authority of her office. Nothing was compromised.”
“I beg to differ,” Adama said bitterly. He gestured toward the open file. “Maybe this is enough to stir the sympathies of one old physician, but none of this justifies what she’s done to this Fleet.”
Cottle waved his hand in dismissal. “When are you going to get your godsdamned head out of your ass? You’re so focussed on what everyone has done that you’re not taking the time to ask yourself why.”
“That’s bullshit,” Adama hissed, slapping the file shut and pushing it toward Cottle. “We’re done here.”
“As you wish. Seems I was talking mostly to myself anyway.”
Adama was already headed toward the hatch. He hadn’t taken three steps when he turned back and snatched the pill bottle from Cottle’s outstretched hand.
***
In the end it was Dee who saw through it all. He’d just wanted to talk at someone who wouldn’t challenge him, who’d keep him company, maybe sympathize with his feelings of betrayal. She’d seen all that he had given for this Fleet, even his own blood.
She’d surprised him.
You let us down. You let us down. You made a promise to all of us … to find Earth, to find us a home. Together. It doesn’t matter what the President did or even what Lee did, because every day that we remain apart is a day that you’ve broken your promise. The people aboard those ships made their own decision.
***
Roslin’s aide was standing nervously a few steps into Adama’s quarters. His suit was rumpled and there were heavy bags under his eyes. Bill gestured toward the table and chairs.
“Billy, thank you for coming. Have a seat.” Adama finished pouring a glass of water.
Billy hesitated and Adama wondered if he was simply used to standing on the sidelines. Finally, he loped toward the nearest chair and settled into it. Even sitting, he was tall. As jittery as he seemed physically, his gaze didn’t waver when they made eye contact.
It was then that Bill noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and his skin was rough with an unusual dusting of stubble. Bill reached for another glass and the ambrosia bottle, pouring out a finger.
“You look about how I feel,” Adama said as he set the glasses on the table and took a chair opposite. He was careful to lower himself slowly, a hand braced on his chest.
The boy fingered the glass, turning it. “The President has nightmares. Sometimes, she doesn’t sleep at all. I … um … I’m used to hearing her,” he admitted softly, but with an underlying strength to his voice. “I guess that sounds pretty stupid.”
Adama clasped his hands on the table and leaned toward the boy. “It isn’t stupid when we care about someone.”
Billy nodded, his eyes opening a little wider at the choice of pronoun, before he recomposed his features. His tone was guarded. “I’m not sure why I’m here, Sir.”
Adama took a slow, deliberate mouthful of water. The cool liquid felt good along the inside of his chest. “I was about to ask you the same question. Why are you here? Why didn’t you follow her?”
“Do you want what I told her or what I believe? Because I’ve realized these last few days that they’re not the same thing.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I knew her actions would split the Fleet, and that I didn’t want any part of that. We’ve worked so hard. I didn’t want to just throw it all away.”
“So you don’t believe in the prophecies?”
Billy sat up a little straighter. Adama sensed his conflict as he searched for words.
I must seem like the enemy to you. How did we let it come to this?
“Personally,” Adama continued, letting the boy off the hook, “I think it’s a load of crap.” He took another soothing gulp. “But it doesn’t matter what I think.”
“I’m an atheist,” Billy blurted out. It looked like a weight had just been lifted from his chest.
“Something tells me you haven’t told her,” Adama replied, unable to keep from smiling at the revelation.
The aide shook his head. “I didn’t know how. I just knew that I couldn’t follow what I didn’t believe. It felt wrong, like my presence would be mocking in some way.”
The way the boy shifted in his chair, Bill sensed there was more to the story, but knew he’d pressed as hard as he dared. He wanted to build a rapport, not make the young man think he was betraying his boss.
“You took a stand. I’m sure she respected that,” Adama said. Billy shrugged and Adama waited until the boy met his eyes again. “The question we have to ask ourselves is this: do we believe in her? Not the prophecies, not Pythia … her.”
Billy’s face actually brightened, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. It was endearing. Bill could see why Laura was so drawn to him.
“Early on,” Adama continued, shaking his head, “I was overconfident, sure I could push her around, that a government was the last thing we needed to be thinking about in the wake of the attacks.” His voice softened. “But she stood her ground, and she saved my life. She saved my son’s life, and that of everyone on this ship. That’s fact.”
“I believe in her too.” Billy finally looked at peace. “I think that maybe, I can do both.”
“I need you to tell her that yourself.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t help you return her to the brig.” The boy was charming and quick, a dangerous combination.
“You have my word as an officer that that is not my intention. We need to put this Fleet back together. Now, I’m no politician, and what we need here is a little diplomacy. She trusts you. She’ll listen to you.”
“I’m not sure she’ll want to see me. I wasn’t exactly supportive.”
Adama chuckled. “Compared to how I’m sure she feels about seeing me, you’ll come off like Hermes himself.”
Billy smiled and finally took his glass in hand, taking a long drink. His ears turned a little pink, and he gave a slight cough. He stood up and ran a hand along the length of his tie, straightening it, before reaching across the table.
Bill braced his hands on the wood surface and stood. He took the offered hand; the aide’s grip was firm when they shook.
“Hangar bay, 0400 hrs. Don’t wear a tie.”
“I’ll be there, Sir,” Billy confirmed hoarsely.
***
Adama stood in front of his storage locker, an open bag on the deck at his feet. He’d already had four offers to carry it for him, and it irked him that he knew he would have to accept.
It was the middle of ship’s night. He had never been able to sleep before a mission. When he was younger, he would pace the hangar deck, running a hand along the smooth lines of his Viper, his father’s lighter clutched in the other palm, visualizing formations and flight manoeuvres, playing out each detail of the mission in his mind’s eye. Now a commanding officer, he would pace his ship, talk to what department heads were also awake, and simply keep a watchful eye on the mission prep. It wasn’t about trust. Odds were there would be difficult calls to make, and it settled his mind to see that his ship and his men were prepared for them.
Tonight he was stuck in his quarters. Cottle had reluctantly green-lighted him for the mission to Kobol on the strict condition that he rest in the hours beforehand. Instead, he’d paced his cabin, talked on the wireless until he feared becoming a nuisance to his own men, and tried to pack.
They would be searching a rocky ravine in the midst of an unknown number of hostiles. He would make an easy target in his duty blues, and he wasn’t sure he wanted Roslin reminded of how she’d last seen him, standing insufferably smug and indignant in front of her cell, claiming victory.
Maybe it was over-thinking, but he dug back in his storage locker and pulled out his field camos. He hadn’t worn them in years, though he’d never forgotten the shore leave he and Saul had gotten on Picon after their wilderness recertification. They’d gotten shitfaced drunk and somehow found themselves in a threesome that Saul was convinced would never have gone down had they been in their regulation uniforms. His XO’d carried an extra set of camos in his bag every day since. Adama seriously doubted the uniform would have any such effect on Roslin, but he needed every advantage, however slight.
Gods, I’m such a frakking idiot. She’d stay the hell on Kobol if she knew what I was thinking about now.
Already showered and shaved, he pulled on the camos anyway.
He was also considering a peace offering, that was until he realized he didn’t have a frakking clue what she liked. Her party had to have been eating rations for days, so he could maybe offer her something to eat, but who knew how long it would take to find them. A hell of a lot of good spoiled food was going to do him.
Considering possibilities helped to keep his mind off his worries. Lee was a good soldier, a reasonable tactician, but he was down there with a terrorist and a bunch of untrained civilians and thugs. If there were Cylons down there, if they were attacked …
And Zeus warned the leaders of the twelve tribes that any return to Kobol would exact a price in blood.
He shuddered. He’d only nodded off for a few minutes all night, but the dream he’d had was still vivid in his mind. He’d woken up on the deck, his back against the bulkhead, clutching at his chest and neck.
He walked into a clearing. The sun on Kobol was pale, its rays gave the foliage a yellow tinge, a brightness that reflected from the dew-heavy growth. He saw nothing but bodies. Burly prisoners lay in bright orange coveralls riddled with bullet holes, their faces crawling with blood-swollen scavengers.
Somehow he forced himself to walk through them, to search the faces until he found the empty pale blue eyes of his son, his body half lying over that of the former President, her suit jacket and white blouse soaked through with blood.
He’d knelt down to them, when the distinct sound of a gun cocking broke the heavy silence. He stood slowly to find Boomer before him in her flight suit. Her face was sweaty and there was a bloody rent in her cheek, her teeth horrifically visible between the jagged lines of torn skin.
A second gun cocked, and he turned his head to find the Sharon he’d loved. Her hair was in a pony tail, her duty blues neat and clean, her dark, puppy dog eyes meeting his over the barrel of her gun.
“And you ask why,” the Cylons said together, in an eerie harmony.
The deafening sound of gunfire reverberated in his head.
Roslin’s gonna have to live long enough to fulfill that bullshit prophecy, so calm down.
He pulled everything out of the bag and started repacking, focussing on each item in turn, keeping only what was essential to keep the bag light. In the end, he added two extra pairs of socks. He needed every advantage he could get.
***
Kobol.
Her hands were trembling. It was cold enough out on the bare ground, despite the thin tarp, but it wasn’t the temperature that was making her shake. Everything on the ancient planet was overgrown; long, gnarled stems twisted through patches of bright green moss, yet did little to cushion the uneven, rocky ground underneath. Her skin was too sensitive; her muscles and bones ached from the exertion and from the cold, water-heavy air. She should have been exhausted, but the chamalla was running fresh through her veins now, taken with a sip of lukewarm water from a large, plastic-smelling canteen. She could still taste its bitterness in the back of her throat.
Camp was quiet, yet even the smallest noises reached her in a way that she could almost feel: the sound of the wind cutting through the trees, the constant tapping of rain on the tarp above her head, the snaps and clicks of the weaponry of those standing watch. Kara’s half-guarded whispering was interspersed with Lee’s more controlled, quieter tones and Billy’s nervous laughter.
To say she had been surprised to see her young aide was an understatement, the fact that she’d talked civilly to the Commander at length in the waning hours of the day was nothing short of a miracle.
Bill was snoring now. He was laid out on his back beside her, an arm braced across his chest, his breathing frustratingly uneven. She used to be a world-class sleeper. It had never taken longer than five minutes for her to nod off. She missed those days.
She clasped her hands to try to stop their shaking, but there was something under the skin, an anxiety that flowed with her blood and wouldn’t be calmed. Thoughts came and went in a rush. When it happened on Colonial One she paced, burying herself in numbers and reports. When morning came she always let Billy think she’d only been up for an hour.
Here she could walk.
Easing herself up slowly, she was careful not to wake him.
She never went far, an unspoken agreement with those in charge of protecting their small group. She needed to move, to feel the ache of strained muscles and chafed skin, and the pressure of the damp air in her lungs. Sleeping felt a little too close to dying, and she needed to stay on this journey until its end.
She ran her fingers through the long grass as she walked. There was life here. It was old and tired, heavy with the trials of countless souls gone before. She could feel their pull on her, growing stronger as she weakened, and it only served to quicken her pace.
There was a dull, grey half-light that was suggestive of morning, but the moons still hung low in the sky, scarred and pock marked, looking as weary with travel as she felt.
“Laura?” She didn’t hear Adama until he was practically on top of her and she couldn’t help her surprised gasp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She didn’t want his courtesy any more than she did his forgiveness. This was the time when she could be alone, when no one came to ask her opinion or seek her advice, religious or otherwise. At night, she was used to just letting herself feel, weary of the image, and the expectations, she lived up to during the day.
I’m fine. Go back to sleep.
“It’s all right. I was distracted.” She resisted the urge to fumble in her pocket for her glasses, wanting even that small barrier between them, despite the darkness. She could almost feel his disappointment. On a planet likely crawling with Cylons, she didn’t even have the wherewithal to listen properly when she was alone. Would it be a reminder or a reprimand? She waited.
“I couldn’t sleep anymore,” he offered instead.
“So you’ve come to join the club.” There was a hint of genuine humour in her voice.
“I dunno. There isn’t some complicated initiation ritual, is there? ‘Cause I’m not sure I’m quite up to that.”
The chirping of nocturnal insects becomes the regular beep of the heart monitor. All she can see is his olive-skinned chest, bisected by a raw, bloodied line of stitches.
“Are you sure you’re well enough at all?” It was out of her mouth before she’d really thought about it. He was just trying to lighten the mood, but all she could think of was that she didn’t need another burden out here.
“Are you?” he retorted sharply.
She wrapped her arms around her chest, the movement causing her arm to brush against his. He was warm. “Guess I deserved that.”
“How long, Laura?”
“It’s hard to say.” She leaned heavily against the peeling bark beside her. “I’m hoping that Sharon will know more when we reach the crest of the ravine. There are no good footholds anywhere; most of the time it feels like we’re slipping back as much as we’re moving forward. But, I don’t know.” She lifted her chin, taking in the bright patterns of the stars overhead. “This feels … right.”
“Not the journey,” he said, patiently. Her eyes snapped to his. His features were blurred, soft, a faint hint of purple at the edges that she was beginning to identify solely with him. “How long do you have?”
She turned, taking a few steps away. She hadn’t thought in terms of weeks or months since she got here; it was enough to fight through each day.
“I couldn’t tell you about my illness,” she replied, answering the question she knew he’d rather ask. “I like to think you understand why, so I hope you didn’t come looking for another apology.”
“That’s unfair.”
“I know … I know …” She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to keep from shaking. It was hard to stand still. “I’m just …”
“Tired of trying to make it seem like everything’s okay.”
His quiet observation was so right that she felt tears pricking at the edges of her vision. A lump formed in her throat. He simply wasn’t this perceptive, and she wasn’t drawn to him like this. His voice, his warmth-she was aware of him in a way she’d never been before. It shouldn’t have been so comfortable.
I don’t know you at all anymore, do I? Maybe I never did.
“I never wanted any of this,” she confessed quietly. “You’ve trained your whole life to wear that uniform, that rank. I never once looked at Richard Adar and coveted his job. Even during the good times.”
“What would you have done?”
It’s cool in the room and smells of chalk and the sealant they put over the flooring in the summer. So many faces. To some it’s just another hour to get through; they fidget behind their desks, watching the floor or their friends, anyone but her, but they’re listening, she can tell. Andrew in the middle row skipped his lunch to play pyramid in the gym; he thinks she doesn’t notice him leaned over, sipping a juice under the cover of his desk. Corina has moved her chair as far from him as she can, her nose wrinkled. Others’ attention she doesn’t have to work for, some follow too eagerly, a rare few stop to question where she’s leading. She lives for that exchange: energy, ideas, that moment when understanding crosses young features, when a single unanticipated question broadens her own. Nathan copies from Lily beside him; he needs glasses, but he won’t ask to be moved.
“Laura?”
Night fell around her again.
“It doesn’t matter. There are no school boards, no colleagues, no friends, and I’m suddenly the most experienced politician left. I’ll be President for the rest of my life. Everything changed for me the day of the attacks.”
“It changed for everyone.”
“You know that’s not true. You still had your family, your ship, every last knick-knack in your home.”
He was silent.
***
Laura Roslin had a suitcase. In it was everything she had left from her former life. He’d seen only three suits, and he had a favourite, or at least one that he found the least intimidating. No one had travelled with her save a newly-hired aide and a small collection of reporters and hangers-on. Had she left family behind? A husband? A lover?
“I didn’t come here to compare losses with you.”
She sighed. “I don’t want that either, Bill.”
What he had in comparison seemed obscene, and he’d been willing to throw it all away, would have, if not for her.
“You’re saying that we couldn’t find common ground then, because we weren’t on it,” he said finally. He felt her relax.
“But now we’ve both been torn down,” she said quietly, without malice or superiority.
He felt a flare of that rage that had been burning brightly since he’d opened his eyes in the recovery room. With each betrayal, a part of his life had been torn away, and that had hurt far more than either of the wounds in his chest. He wasn’t sure he knew how to let that rage go.
“And we’ve only just started putting ourselves back together,” she continued. “Despite everything, there’s only one soul in this Fleet who can understand my life now, and that’s you.”
Laura was never afraid to face things exactly as they were. He could barely make out her profile. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle. It was almost as if she were holding herself, and he suspected she’d been doing that for a long time.
“That’s a place to start,” he replied, his voice huskier than he’d intended.
“It is.”
“Before, when you mentioned your life on Caprica, you never mentioned family.”
She was quiet then, her body gently rocking beside his. He didn’t think she knew she was doing it.
“You should know that, whatever happens, you have one now.”
Reaching out, he put an arm around her and took some of her weight. She surprised him when she turned into him, letting his other arm curl across her back. Her arms came around him and he wasn’t prepared for how small she felt. It was such a contrast to the size of her presence there with him.
Even through all her layers and his, he could feel the press of her breasts against his chest. He imagined he felt the tumour that was taking her life. Pulling back, he found himself curious, not really understanding why he wanted to know.
“Which one is it?”
“What?”
Gods, he didn’t actually say that out loud. It wasn’t fair to ask her that. In fact, it was totally unacceptable. What if he’d had testicular cancer? Would he want her asking him ‘which one’?
So frakking stupid.
“I’m sorry, I never should have …” He started to pull away, when her hand came around his wrist. He wasn’t sure why she wanted to keep him there, the complete ass that he was.
Her fingers were cold when she took his hand and brought it toward her. His breath caught when he realized what she was about to do. The cotton of her coat was heavy with water, as was the material of her suit jacket underneath. He could feel the damp heat of her body as she pushed his hand past the silk of her blouse and the frayed edge of her bra. Her gently-rounded flesh was smooth, soft under his fingers. It was too dark to really see, but he could feel her watching him, feel her trying to keep her breathing even, waiting to gauge his reaction as she pressed his hand firmly against the inner curve of her breast.
He wasn’t sure how much had been real to him in the wake of his surgery. He had listened to every report, but his focus had been on his own pain, both real and imagined, and on his own betrayal.
The irregular mass under his fingers was real. It was hard. Its surface was rough and pebbled under the warm softness of her skin. She hummed in pain, dropping her hand away from his when he pressed against the tumour, traced its contours, seeing in his mind the area Cottle had indicated on her scan, a shocking white against a veined circle of grey.
He closed his eyes. He’d seen enough death in the last two years, had caused it with his own hands. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been to the morgue to mourn his former pilot. He could almost feel Sharon’s cold shoulder against his forehead. Enough was enough.
His chest ached constantly, muted and heavy, the edge taken off by the painkillers he kept in the left pocket of his coat.
She’s hurting too.
His heart pounded loudly as he relaxed his hand, his fingers resting barely there against her skin. He remembered the solid feel of his son in his arms that morning, the comfort it brought him. He’d watched Laura, her eyes wide and wet with unshed tears, when she saw Billy. Billy’s hands had opened, and Adama could tell that the boy wanted to touch her, hug her maybe, but didn’t seem to know how to go about it. Maybe it was fear. She now carried two titles, either one enough to make a person larger than life, unattainable, untouchable.
I’m not afraid, Laura.
But he felt reckless, knowing how what he was thinking of doing would tax his arteries and veins, the barely healed rents in his chest, but nothing in the last few months had been about playing it safe. He didn’t really know her or how she would respond, all he knew was what he felt. They’d both endured enough pain.
Easing his hand lower, he watched her intently, her face a shadowed outline in the grey light of the moons. He brushed his thumb lightly over her nipple. The night seemed so silent and time seemed to linger, making him wait, suddenly nervous as if she were the first girl he’d ever been with.
You always push too far. The last thing she needs right now is the attentions of an old warhorse like you.
Then he heard her sharp intake of breath, and the long, slow release, a soft note carried on the air. He slid his fingers under to cup her, his thumb still rubbing the slowly hardening peak. Her hand ran over the outside of his arm, and he wondered if she was going to pull his hand away, but she lingered, just rubbing back and forth along his biceps as he touched her. He wasn’t sure, but he thought her eyes were closed.
***
There was a light, buzzing sensation under her skin. She could still feel the pain where he’d pressed against her tumour, but his touch was light now and she hadn’t anticipated the intensity of the sensation. She could feel his fingers as they brushed through the light dusting of tiny hairs that covered her, experiencing each one as it was disturbed, feeling her skin pucker in response.
The only person who’d touched her since her diagnosis had been Cottle. His hands were always warm, but they moved quickly, clinically, pressing where she’d rather he not, pain always the result. Maybe it was just late enough, and she was just worn down enough, but she didn’t want Adama to stop.
He didn’t.
Instead, his thumb slid over the aching tip of her breast. She’d almost cried out, probably would have if she were more comfortable with her surroundings and the man in front of her. Pleasure curled behind the swelling peak, a heat that spread over her chest and belly, tiny, swirling currents that seemed to converge into a heavy ache between her legs.
In the few, quiet moments before she responded to him consciously, she realized that time had slowed, and the constant rush of anxious thought that she’d been living with since her diagnosis began to lose momentum.
She didn’t trust him, didn’t trust deathbed epiphanies. It never took long before people fell into the old habits and patterns that got them into trouble in the first place. Yet her body was overriding her mind, craving the quiet that was settling in her head, the sensations that felt electric against her skin.
A light rain was falling. The drops were cool against the flushed skin of her face when she reached for him. She rubbed a hand over his arm, trying to find her equilibrium, before she cupped his neck and leaned forward to press her lips to his.
She felt the muscles of his neck relax, and he held her breast, kneading softly as he got a taste of her, their lips moving slowly. She wondered if he could taste the chamalla. Pressing him closer, urging with her tongue, she breathed deeply with and around him, her mind suddenly, completely still.
More.
She dug a hand up under his camo jacket and sweater, craving the feel of his skin from the one place she could access it. His belly was warm and unexpectedly smooth under her hand. She let her fingers wander as she enjoyed the taste of his mouth, the silky feel of his tongue against hers. Then she felt his scar. It was ridged and jagged, hotter than the skin around it. She broke the kiss.
“You can’t do this,” she said with a defeated sigh.
He slid his hand up from her breast, bringing his palm over her neck to rest against her cheek. “I can’t do this how I want to,” he corrected softly, around his ragged breathing. “But I won’t stop unless that’s what you want.”
She kissed him again. It had always been easier like this, to trust a man with her body while her heart remained guarded and safe.
I’ll never have to deal with this.
He shrugged off his jacket and helped her out of hers. He spread them both out on the bare, partially dry ground under the canopy of trees, before urging her down with him. Settling her on her side, he stretched out behind her, curling his arm around her waist to press her snugly against his chest.
***
The firm line of her back gave the illusion of support against his chest. It hurt, but he was sufficiently distracted when she pressed her ass back against him, rubbing over his partial erection. He knew that, before the surgery, he’d have been rock hard from the moment she’d accepted his touch on her breast, but was relieved that he’d responded at all. Maybe it was just that the painkillers were wearing off.
Stop worrying, you idiot. Try to enjoy this. It’s not like you’ll be getting another chance.
Her body shook a little when he undid the button and zipper on her pants, spreading the fabric as wide as it would go. He kissed the edge of her ear as he returned her gesture of earlier, slipping his hand under her blouse. Pushing her bra up over the swells of her breasts, he traced long, smooth paths over her skin, pausing to caress a breast, a hip, to feel the heat of her in the humid space between her underwear and pants.
His heart was thudding rapidly. She arched against him, her small, breathless noises causing blood to pool heavily in his groin. He could feel the weight of it, the way it stretched the skin of his penis, the slight discomfort resulting from its awkward angle beneath his zipper. The urge to thrust was nearly overwhelming, and he curled a hand around her hip, rocking gently against her.
He felt her hook her thumbs into her waistband, felt his mouth drop open stupidly as she shoved pants and underwear from her hips. Her pale skin was such a contrast to the enveloping dark, the rounded curve of her ass the most tempting thing he’d seen in a long time. She nudged his hand where it had stilled against her stomach.
“You too,” came her husky alto. It sent a pulse of desire through his cock. Gods, he wanted her. He hadn’t realized how much as, not so long ago, he’d been distracted by the notion that strangling her might have been pleasure enough.
He fumbled with his belt and zipper, biting back a grunt of pain as he shifted enough to work his pants and thermals down his thighs. She reacted to the noise and the way his muscles tightened, trying to turn toward him.
“I’m all right,” he said, hoping he sounded reassuring. He relaxed when she settled back against him again.
In truth the pain was starting to interfere with his arousal. He needed to be inside her soon, but knew that, once there, he could never last long enough to give her the release she deserved.
He ran two fingers lightly over her abdomen. “I want to touch you.”
He felt her shift with a low hum, her legs parting enough to grant him access. Her sparse curls against his palm, he traced the bare, closed line of her sex with the pads of his fingers. She gasped, her ass pressing hard back into him. The motion hurt, and the pain was probably the only thing that kept him from taking her then and there.
Trying to calm his breathing, he gently exposed her to the night air, tracing over her folds before slipping inside, learning the lines and textures of her tender skin.
***
It was easier to just let this happen when she didn’t have to face him. Laura blinked, spreading her legs a little further as her head fell back, upturned to the sky.
The stars above her seemed to shift, forming intricate patterns in the darkness, teasing her mind to sort them.
Adama’s touch was slow, but not tentative; he traced deliberate paths along her labia, and despite the fact that he had yet to even brush her clit, she was wet and aching, nearly ready to come apart against him. It had been such a long time.
At night, her mind would not rest. The pain was the worst and paradoxically the effects of the chamalla the strongest. She had vivid, chilling nightmares, but also some dreams that would have made her look sideways at every priest and oracle who’d ever taken the stuff. They were highly erotic, so sensual that she could often still feel the caresses against her skin as she went through her morning routine. More than once she’d woken in the throes of an orgasm she’d done nothing to initiate.
He isn’t a dream this time.
Turning her head, she pressed her lips against the warmth of his neck, tasting the slight sheen of sweat on his skin and inhaling deeply. She reached behind her and ran her hand over his thigh, tracing her nails through the coarse hair that covered the thick muscles. She wanted him inside her. Not so long ago it hadn’t even been a possibility, but now she found herself desperate to intensify the connection between them, to ground herself in it.
His thumb circled her clit.
She gasped, arching back, and the thick length of him pressed hotly into the curve of her ass. She felt rather than heard his soft moan. His chest was warm against her back, his thighs supporting hers, skin on skin. His fingers swept in a lazy circle, before he pressed two fingers inside, until his palm rested flush against her aching flesh. He held there a moment, caressing gently. It seemed more like wonder than ownership, and she couldn’t help but smile to think that here they were, half-naked on the ground in the middle of nowhere, likely to be discovered, and yet he simply wanted the moment to last. Conscious thought began to slip away as he drew his fingers out slowly and began to rub the slick digits with deliberate pressure over her clit.
She began to tremble, thighs pressing on either side of his hand, but he didn’t falter in pressure or rhythm. She kissed his neck with hot, rough sweeps of her lips, tongue and teeth. She felt her release building, her body and mind for once, finally, in synch. She muffled her cry into his neck, one hand clutching at his hip and the other tangled in the material of his coat beneath her. Pleasure gripped her lower body, a sweet rush that broke over her abdomen and swept upward in waves until her breasts swelled with heat, her nipples achingly hard. Every inch of her skin, already slick and sweaty and warm, tingled as she began to come down.
The sky was light, the patterns of stars fading, and she looked down through the trees and rocky landscape to see the lights of the ancient city in the distance. The dome of the temple shone a bright white, the spoke-like paths that led from it teeming with people. The majestic lines of the Opera House rose a short distance away, and from it she heard the sound of a child laughing, tiny rushed breaths and running feet. Someone was shouting.
“So good, Laura, so beautiful.”
“Hera …”
She became aware of a hand resting over sensitive flesh and soft kisses along the line of her jaw. The urgency of the moment began to fade, and she was left as if she’d woken from a dream she couldn’t remember, the source of the panic and loss she was feeling slipping out of reach.
***
He wished he could see her, wished he could have seen her face as she came.
It was crazy, but he almost wanted someone to find them. Just that the moment could exist outside his own experience, that someone would know that they had meant something to each other, even if she was taking no more than comfort from him.
Her sex was hot and slick under his hand, and he wouldn’t soon forget the feel of her undulating against and around him. He felt not a small measure of pride in being able to give that to her, that she had let him.
“So good, Laura, so beautiful.”
His cock ached as he waited for her to come down. Her body actually tensed against him and he began to kiss along the line of her chin, trying to soothe her. She pushed away from him slightly, causing a brief flash of panic before he realized she was only making room for her hand between their bodies.
She stroked along his length with a light touch. He was painfully hard and the contact had his hips thrusting against her. She circled her thumb over the soft skin at the tip before taking him in hand.
“Now.” It was partly a command, partly a plea, uttered as she guided him close. He could feel the wet heat of her even before she pressed the head of his penis to her slick flesh, and waited.
He buried his face in the hair at the nape of her neck. Stroking a hand along her thigh, he pushed it forward, breaching her slowly, sliding up to grasp her hip to still her body as she pushed back.
Her orgasm had left her almost uncomfortably hot, yet he had to clench his teeth she felt so good, so tight around him. When he was fully seated, he felt her arm come around him, her fingers pressing into the curve of his ass, holding him there inside her, much as he’d done with her earlier, a soft sigh breaking the silence around them.
Adama closed his eyes. So much that was written about Kobol was portents and warnings of impending loss. The ancient planet was weighed down by human weakness and failure, and yet, somehow, still allowed them this small moment. It wasn’t going to have him going to temple anytime soon, but it was a start.
He was jolted out of his reverie when Laura clenched her inner muscles around him, her hand sliding from his ass to his thigh. He pulled back slowly, his head dropping back at the sensation as he slid out and then back in. The pleasure overwhelmed the growing ache in his chest.
“Oh frak, Laura, I’m not gonna last,” he warned, already feeling a tightening in his groin. He couldn’t help but wish there could be another chance to do this properly.
“Then don’t,” she replied simply, taking his hand from her hip and guiding it up under her blouse. She covered her bare breast with his hand and he shuddered at the feel of her nipple, slick and hard against his palm. He let go of the breath he’d been holding.
He slid his other hand underneath her, gripping her hip and using it to pull her back toward him repeatedly. His thrusts were shallow and jerky, but it didn’t matter, he was already too far gone. He clutched her breast, struggling to keep control of his voice as he emptied himself into her, his heart pounding dangerously loud in his chest with each pulse of his release.
Afterwards, they lay quietly. His limbs were heavy and relaxed, yet his chest throbbed with his heartbeat, a slight wave of nausea washing over him at the sharpness of the pain. He was still inside her and as their bodies cooled, he grew more and more uneasy. She deserved so much more than an awkward frak on the cold ground. As if she hadn’t been uncomfortable enough, having to sleep each night in damp, muddied clothing, he couldn’t even save her the discomfort of their aftermath.
“We can’t stay out here,” she said finally, but made no effort to move, not even the hand that was resting over his on her stomach.
That had been far from his best effort. He wasn’t likely to get the chance to do this again, and he didn’t want her thinking he was a lousy lay.
“I know.” He planted a soft kiss in her hair. “Look, I don’t usually-”
“Don’t think for a minute that you didn’t give me exactly what I needed.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but he felt the conviction in it. She eased away from him and his cock slipped free. She shifted awkwardly, her hand failing to grip the edge of her pants.
He pushed her hand away, warmth settling in his heart as she lifted her hips, letting him right her clothing. It almost felt more intimate drawing her zipper closed and fixing her button than it was when he was inside her.
But not quite.
They didn’t say anything more as he righted his own clothing and they stood to pull on their coats. Even then, she did not move away from him. They walked back toward camp, her arm brushing constantly against his, as if she were afraid to lose the connection they’d found.
The tarp on the ground was cold and damp.
“How do you usually sleep?” she asked, quietly. When he’d gone to find her, he didn’t think he’d rest again that night, now he was almost too exhausted to answer her question.
“I have to stay on my back right now,” he whispered. Any other position gave the distinct impression that his insides were likely to stain the ground as he slept.
Don’t mention that.
“Okay.” She didn’t move and he took that to mean she was waiting for him to get settled. The ground seemed to have shifted between them, and she didn’t seem any more comfortable than he was. Emotionally they’d been so much more in tune.
He lay on his back on the tarp, looking up into the half darkness, their makeshift lean-to blocking his view of the stars.
She turned from him and lay on her side. She shifted until the line of her back rested against his arm. To anyone looking, the scene would appear simple and innocent. He found himself lying awake to listen as her breathing evened out. He reached into his pocket for his pills, quietly snapping off the lid and taking two dry, not wanting to wake her.
His heart was full as he settled back against her. He wanted so much in that moment, to know what she liked, what she didn’t, how she would taste, what it would be like to sleep with her in his arms, how her skin would feel against his.
He always pushed; he always wanted too much.
***
Billy shifted uncomfortably. He’d drunk way too much water the night before. He’d been nervous talking to Lee and Kara, totally out of his element, and when he was nervous, he tended to need his hands occupied. He’d swallowed half the contents of his canteen in a series of nervous gulps, before he’d realized what he was doing and put the container out of reach.
There was enough light to make out the other sleeping forms around him, and he felt relatively confident he remembered the way to the spot Lee had shown him earlier. He couldn’t wait any longer.
Trying to fold his lanky frame enough to stand without disturbing anyone was a challenge, but he managed. He walked as softly and quickly as he could. The pressure was worse on standing and it was a fight to resist the urge to hold himself.
He hadn’t noticed a thing; he’d been so intent on his destination. Now feeling much more relaxed, he stopped on the return trip when he saw the Commander and the President.
Adama lay on his back. He was snoring. The President was curled away from him, her back against his side. Billy didn’t want to linger, but he wasn’t sure he’d imagined that Adama’s hand was underneath her, flush against her hip.
Had they been able to work out a truce? Was this ancient planet somehow common ground for them? He didn’t know. He only knew that what he saw now was something he hadn’t seen since he’d met Laura Roslin. It made him smile.
She was relaxed and sound asleep.
***
Fin.