Battlestar Galactica
Life Station
Eight hours later.
It was late. An eerie silence had settled over Life Station. The stillness was interrupted only by soft beeps and whirs that were evidence to beating hearts and flowing blood. Laura’s security guard sat in a metal chair outside the curtain surrounding her bed, his eyes alert and his body the picture of neatly coiled strength.
Adama leaned over him, asked him quietly but not without authority if he would take a break. He just wanted a little time alone. With her.
“Five minutes, sir.” The security guard left without further comment, apparently satisfied that the Admiral of the Fleet was an adequate replacement.
Opening the curtain he stepped through and for a moment just stood beside the bed. He watched the gentle movement of her chest as it rose and fell. He closed his eyes and listened, letting the sound of her breathing chase away his doubts. His fear.
“Hey,” he said quietly and folded her slender hand into his much larger one. He ignored how limp her hand felt, how there was no reaction to his slightly sweaty grip. But there was something. His breath caught. Nervousness knotted his stomach as he noticed that her skin was cool. His eyes flew to the monitors beside the bed. Respiration normal. Heart rate normal.
As he leaned over her, he felt an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his mostly healed gunshot wounds. The waves of heat were gone. Her breath puffed over his skin as he brought his lips to hers.
He had meant to kiss her lightly, quickly but felt a very different heat bleed a path from his heart to regions lower as her lips moved against his mouth. He felt her other hand as it lit feather light on his shoulder and discouraged him from pulling away. The kiss was the faintest of touches, soft and chaste. Nothing like what they’d shared on New Caprica. It did, however, fill his heart with the same uncomplicated joy. He smiled into the kiss and relief flooded his body. As he felt her answering smile, he finally pushed away. Her weary green eyes looked back at him from under heavy lids. Her hand dropped from his shoulder and she smiled weakly.
“Hey.” Her voice was like sandpaper scratching over splintered wood. She laced her fingers through his and her eyes fell closed again.
He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the glass of water that sat on a nearby table; condensation slipped over his fingers. He placed a warm hand against her cheek, her eyes slid open and he helped her sit up. He brought the glass to her cracked lips.
“Hey … slowly,” he said chuckling quietly at her eagerness. “We don’t want a repeat of the incident on the Raptor.”
“Hmm? … oh … no …” she looked sheepish. He gently wiped away the water that had dribbled down her chin and eased her body back down. “You okay?” She asked, staring at a spot by his right shoulder. He followed her gaze and found the stain on his uniform. Edom’s blood. He had been so distracted, he’d forgotten to change.
“Ask me again sometime. How‘re you feeling?”
She frowned slightly but didn’t push him. “Better than I probably look.” The water had smoothed her voice a little. “But I’m so tired I don’t even want to breathe.”
“Probably isn’t a good idea to stop.” You look beautiful. She was pale, sweaty, and her hair was matted to her head. None of it mattered. He gave her a wide grin and her lips curled upward in response. Her eyes told him what she was too tired to say. “But you don’t have to talk.” He stood as he noticed the security man return but didn’t let go of her hand. “Get some rest, I‘ll deal with Cottle.”
She looked at him then, a question in her murky gaze and he wondered when they had become so connected. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Yeah … I can stay for a while.” She answered him by closing her eyes, turning her head and allowing herself to sink into the fatigue that had settled over her body like a physical weight.
***
Colonial One
One week later
She was impeccably dressed; her suit though not new looked fresh and crisp. Her fiery hair caressed her shoulders and she wore her glasses. Her long fingers leafed through the papers before her. When Tory announced him, Roslin looked up long enough to admit him and then returned her eyes to the desk. It allowed him time to take in her appearance, to build up barriers against feelings he shouldn’t have. He smoothed his shirt, straightened his tie.
On New Caprica, Tom Zarek had come to know Laura Roslin or at least he felt that he had. He had sought her out often and tried to be friendly, charming, enough to try to help her work past the obvious distrust she harboured for him. He’d helped set up the school, leaned on the right people to offer supplies and did his best to try and keep her safe without rousing her attention.
Zarek knew that Laura Roslin held the key to his future. Baltar would never have lasted. Yes he was brilliant but his utter self absorption, in small doses of benefit to a politician, had already sent waves of dissent through the young settlement.
Zarek had watched as people came to Roslin for opinions, accidentally used her old title, and looked for her to mediate their disputes. The return of the Cylons had sealed Baltar’s fate and had brought the military to the forefront once again. When the machines landed Zarek had done what he knew she would respect. He hadn’t looked for an advantage, hadn’t played games. He had outright opposed them. It had earned him a version of hell but at least he had shared it with her. Shared suffering fostered intimacy. Respect. He felt that from Roslin. If only she hadn’t already walked that path with another man.
The Admiral trusted her, with the well being of the Fleet and by all indications with this heart. He didn’t need a road map to know that building trust with the Admiral hinged on building it with her. He just hadn’t counted on falling for her charms. Quite the opposite he had hoped that she would fall for his.
She looked up again as he took the chair in front of her desk. This close, he could see that the image of perfection he had perceived when he had arrived didn’t hold. Though her glasses obscured them, her eyes spoke of pain and fatigue. Her skin was drawn and a little too pale and although the suit and blouse subtly accented her gentle curves it also revealed the weight she had obviously lost. She leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. “Tom. What can I do for you?”
He smiled warmly. “Thanks for fitting me in. I know Major Cottle has limited your schedule.”
“Mmm.” The noise was almost cute. “A return to sickbay is a powerful bargaining tool, so for now my schedule is his.”
“Understandable. Feeling any better?”
She caught something in his eyes when he said it, something unsettling even though she hadn’t much on which to base the feeling. She had always compared Tom Zarek to that student that really wanted to please his teacher but wasn’t doing it just to be nice. That type of student would behave wonderfully for a time, just to gain your trust. Then when you finally felt comfortable moving him to the back of the room, all hell would break loose leaving you wondering what you had missed. “Much better, thank you.”
“’Cause a lot of people aren’t.” The charming smile disappeared.
“Excuse me?” She tilted her head, bringing her chin up.
“I really thought that you and I understood each other. Finally. That somehow New Caprica had burned off all the false pretences and petty politics. But it seems you were holding back. I can‘t say I blame you, really, it‘s one hell of secret.”
He decided it was like taking a photograph. A person could only know Laura Roslin in that one instant, that blink of an eye, before she moved and nothing was the same again.
“Perhaps you should try to make a point.” Her eyes were narrowed, her body position defensive.
“Whatever you might think, I wasn’t involved in this. Yes, people with an interest in the progress of my political career were involved. Not me. But as a result, I know now what you and the Admiral have been hiding. About the Cylon child and the cure for your cancer. You have the power to help a lot of people and you don’t use it. Why?”
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
He leaned towards her and before she could answer he continued. “Don’t worry, I already have the answer. Like any good politician you had to consider yourself. What would the people think if they knew their leader carried around Cylon DNA? I can tell you a little. It would outrage the Sagittarons and the Gemenese and plant a seed of doubt in each and every colonist that would erode any trust you had earned from them. The question is: what would you do to keep this secret a little longer?”
“Is that a threat?” Anger battled with the fatigue that she just barely kept at bay.
“I just want to help people. It turns out that someone on the Bounty still has some of that miracle blood of yours. I intend to help them get it to the people who need it. As long as you keep the military off my back, no one needs to know what you’re carrying.”
“Help them.” She repeated angrily. “I’m sure Tom Zarek stands to make a tidy profit, not just in goods but in reputation.” She leaned back and pulled off her glasses. “It’s not to your advantage that the people know exactly what they’re getting, many would refuse treatment and your reputation would be sullied along with mine.”
Zarek smiled. “You forget the advantages of the black market. No one asks where anything comes from and everyone expects risk. I’m giving you a way to share your miracle with people who are suffering at no cost to you, political or otherwise.”
And when their ailments return, or they die from the side effects of the transfusion? Then it’s all on you Tom. “How will you prevent people making the connection to what happened on the Bounty?”
“Blood is perishable but we do have a window of time. Get Adama to back off and we‘ll move it quietly off ship. We‘ll wait a few weeks before introducing it.”
Her stomach ached. I will lead the people to salvation. It is my sole purpose. How many could she save by swallowing her pride and her human need for revenge? She studied Zarek, hated him for being right.
“Very well, I’ll handle Adama, but this ends here. You come back looking for crumbs and our next conversation will take place in Galactica's brig.”
He stood and smiled, though she could see that her message had gotten through. “As always a pleasure, Madam President.”
“Good night, Tom.” Her voice was flat and she slowly replaced her glasses. She returned her gaze to the desk in front of her. He saw himself out.
***
Battlestar Galactica
Brig
12 hours later
Not really sure how she’d gotten there, Laura Roslin stood in front of Karl Edom’s cell. He sat on the bed, head tilted back and resting against the wall. When she appeared, he sat up quickly. He stumbled in his hurry to get on his feet.
“Madam President … you’re all right. I’ve been … praying.” He approached the bars slowly, shadows passed over his swollen face. Dark purple bruising marred his nose and the skin under his eyes. He put his uninjured hand through the bars as if he wanted to touch her.
“I’m not sure I believe that you care, Karl.” She looked directly into his eyes as they were nearly the same height. She kept a subtle distance from the bars.
He fumbled with his words, trying to assure her that she was mistaken. She cut into his babble.
“Why didn’t you just ask for help?”
His eyes dropped from hers and he watched his finger as it traced a slow line along the cold metal that separated them. “Simple.” She felt his eyes sweep back up her body as he admitted. “You might have said no.”
“Is that what you want me to tell the friends and family of those who died?” She tried to keep her anger from her voice but the attempt was spotty at best. “The service is in ten minutes.”
He stood quietly then and looked at her. She decided that he was weak. Flawed in the same way as Baltar. Neither man saw past the end of his own nose. They simply reacted and then mourned whatever mess they had made.
“I … I don’t know what to tell them,” he said finally. “Is is right to apologise if you would do the same thing, given another chance? I‘ll pay for what I did. They‘ll have that comfort.”
Why confess a sin when you had every intention of repeating it. “What if you could help others?”
The eyes that met hers shone with unshed tears. “How? Seems to me that you‘re the only one who can do that now.”
She didn’t answer right away, simply tapped her glasses against her thigh to stem the anger.
He continued: “Yes, your cure came from the Cylons.” His voice dropped to a whisper and she found herself moving towards the bars to hear him. “But we created them. So, in a way, we created this cure. It shouldn‘t be feared.” She was close enough that he was able to capture her fingers against a sweaty palm. “You said I could help … how?”
She pulled her hand away abruptly and resisted the urge to wipe it on her skirt. She didn’t step back. “Forget what you just told me. All of it. If anyone asks, the cure came from the black market. You don’t know how or why it worked.”
“I understand … more than you probably think.” He paused and looked away from her. “Henry … I’m never going to see him again. Am I?”
And there he went. Back to himself and his needs.
She almost didn’t tell him.
“Henry played his first game of Pyramid today.” She watched his face crumble, a mix of anguish and elation. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees in front of her.
He wiped away tears with the back of his good hand. “I’m sorry,” was all he said. And he was right. The apology was empty.
***
Battlestar Galactica
Admiral’s quarters.
The service had been difficult. Three of the security officers she had known a long time. One had been new. And young. They had become a part of her routine, of her life, like a comfortable coat that she put on in the morning and left by the door at night. Though there were new faces, fresh handshakes, she ached for the familiarity that had been lost.
Adama had stood beside her. His crisp dress uniform scratchy where it brushed her skin. She had leaned her weight against his strength. The action was as subtle as two people just standing close. She had felt his fingers tighten around hers briefly before she left him to add her words to those of the people who had also loved and lost.
The service for those passengers lost on the Bounty would take place on that ship. She was not welcome.
Her emotions simmered close to the surface and her nerves were badly frayed in the wake of the ceremony. Back in his quarters, Adama pressed a glass into her trembling hand and covered it with his to prevent the alcohol from sloshing onto the floor. She took a long sip and swallowed slowly, focussed on the trickle of fire that burned a path down her throat. It all came spilling out then, everything she’d been through. The Bounty. Kara. Karl. Zarek. She stood in stocking feet with one arm around her middle while the other clutched the near empty glass as she laid it all out for him. Till her throat was dry, her face wet and she found she couldn’t stand a minute more.
Adama listened quietly from where he stood a few feet in front of her. It had been an ordeal in itself to get Laura to tell him what had happened after the Cylons occupied New Caprica. And he still hadn’t gotten over what she had revealed. But this. This new openness. It was a gift that meant more than any she had given him, even his Admiral stars.
Several times while she talked he’d wanted to reach out and comfort her in some way but each time she stopped him with a single look. It told him that if he touched her, she wouldn’t be able to finish what she needed to say. She was telling him about Zarek, about a final manipulation that made his skin crawl. And then she was finished and was visibly swaying on her feet. His body didn’t need his brain’s command to move. He put a warm hand around her waist and guided her slowly towards the couch. When he settled her, she leaned her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes. He sat beside her, a comfortable distance between them and broke the moment.
“So Zarek benefits. He could have been behind this whole thing, Laura. He admits he can contact these people. Makes me sick.” She opened her eyes at the gentle rasp of his voice. Her body stiffened and slightly regained its regal bearing.
“I know.” It came out as little more than a whisper.
“But Karl Edom pays. Kidnapping, assault, murder. He and those other bastards in the brig pay.” He fixed her with an unwavering glare. Don’t push me on this.
She nodded her head slowly, never taking her eyes from his. “Then you shut down the investigation. Release the restrictions on the Bounty.”
He sat back and let out an exasperated sigh. It went against every tenet of his military training. Search out the enemy. All of them. And bring them down. Now those beliefs were conflicting with faith of all things. Laura’s cure was a miracle. That Henry Edom was running around like any average kid was a miracle. How could he deny a people so weighed down by sorrow, hardship and deprivation something that would bring them hope? He had been willing to lie about Earth to give it to them. Was this any different?
He nodded his consent. He took her glass and stood up to refill their drinks. “How do you plan on keeping people from making the connection?”
He heard the leather crinkle as she shifted on the sofa. “The blood will be moved from the Bounty to the Prometheus. There will be a significant delay between relocation and distribution.’
“What about Henry?” He started pouring and for a while that was the only sound in the room.
“I talked to Karl Edom.”
He turned, startled. “You did what?”
He watched her hands as they glided over her skirt, smoothing the lines and creases, and she ignored his question. “Edom‘s prepared to acknowledge that he acquired the cure from the black market. None of the others involved will risk their profit share by revealing the truth.” He could read the disappointment in her face. She wasn’t liking this either. “There’s something else.” She didn’t wait for a response from him. “Edom was covered in bruises. That day, in sickbay, there was blood on your uniform…”
Damn.
He cleared his throat. Alcohol in his hands, he walked slowly back to her. “I interrogated him.”
She took the offered glass and surprised him with a single word: “And…”
“I might have hit him.”
He wondered if he should try to explain to her what he had been feeling. How the rage had built hour after hour until the sight of her pale, unconscious form had shredded his control like paper. How every blow had brought a measure of satisfaction but had done nothing to soothe the underlying pain.
She simply nodded, absorbed his words and asked “What did he say?”
It surprised him sometimes. How practical … how cold Laura could be. “Nothing that you haven’t already told me.”
They sat quietly then and sipped their drinks. Some colour seemed to return to her cheeks.
She broke the comfortable silence.
“The press are calling this another Gideon incident. Is it?”
He looked into his glass, swirled the amber liquid. “It wasn’t coffee this time, Laura. The marines were fully justified in boarding the Bounty and using whatever means necessary to secure your release. This time, they’re heroes.”
She looked into her own glass. “Kara‘s … the hero.” Was it his imagination or were her words slurred?
He smiled wanly. “Not that she would acknowledge it. Even to herself.”
Laura mumbled something, sank back against the sofa and closed her eyes. She looked flushed. It was then that he realised that he had been giving alcohol to a woman barely recovered from severe blood loss. It had to be hitting her with the force of an emergency landing just about now.
He squeezed her arm and gently extracted the glass from her hand. “We should get you home.”
“Mmm hmm.” She made the colossal mistake of trying to stand and in no time he had his arms full of warm, barely coherent, President. “Not … going … to make it.” She mumbled against his chest.
He chuckled, the action gently shaking them both. There was no way he was going to walk Laura through the corridors of Galactica in this condition. He wondered if he had compromised her health in some way. Maybe he should call Cottle. How many times had he helped Saul in this condition? He decided he was well qualified.
There was gentle fumbling as he attempted to remove her suit coat and was thwarted by the genius level puzzle that was the side clasp. He finally guided her hand to it and the jacket fell open almost immediately. The accompanying fit of giggles nearly knocked them over. He slipped it off, careful to set it neatly back on the sofa.
Not trusting himself to remove anything else, he eased her towards his rack. He tried and quickly failed to ignore the feel of her skin under his fingers where her blouse had come loose from her skirt.
She passed out before he could settle her properly. The sudden pull of her full weight caught his back unprepared. He winced, adjusted his grip on her and her head fell back over his elbow. She had a beautiful neck. Heat crept up his cheeks. He deliberately took his time adjusting her on the bed and covered her. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth before he crossed the room to his desk. He sat down but his attention was still drawn by the sleeping form in his rack. Tory was going to spontaneously combust when she found out.
When he finally brought his eyes to the desk the photograph stood out, even among the clutter of books, reports and modelling supplies that littered its surface. Pulling his glasses from his pocket he reached for it, studied it with a trembling hand.
Looking over at Laura, he gently tore the picture and let the pieces fall.
***
Pilot’s Lounge.
The next day.
“Full colours!” Kara Thrace’s whoop of victory was unmistakable as Laura eased her way through the hatch to the Pilot’s lounge and tried to ignore her pounding head… The others at Kara’s table groaned loudly and slapped down their cards. Their ears rang with the pilot’s unbridled laughter. Laura raised her hand to indicate that her security should stay at the door; the motion caused one of the junior pilots to notice her. The young woman leapt to her feet.
“President on deck!” Her voice carried and there was soon a loud rumble of chairs scraping the floor as the pilots came to attention.
Laura had long since stopped letting this surprise her. “Please,” she said quietly but with sufficient authority, “as you were.” The pilots returned to their seats but the noise level was significantly lower as many of them regarded her surreptitiously from behind cards or glasses of weak alcohol. She accepted the scrutiny, in fact welcomed it. What Kara had done for her deserved public recognition.
When the President reached her table, Kara stood slowly. The air of confidence that had surrounded her after the card game evaporated and left her feeling awkward. Laura Roslin could summon any soul in the fleet to her ship at a moment’s notice. The significance was not lost on Kara that the President had come to her.
She decided to speak first, to try to set a formal tone. Their experience had brought them closer and however much she appreciated that, Laura didn’t need the ridicule of the other pilots. “Madam President. Welcome aboard.”
The consummate politician that she was, Laura answered in kind. “Thank you, Captain.” She fingered the over abused paper bag that she cradled in the crook of her left arm. “I’m late for a meeting but I needed to drop something off here first. Sorry about the wrapping.” She grasped the bag with both hands and presented it to the young pilot. In Laura Roslin‘s hands, the bag might as well have been a medal.
Kara’s brow creased as she accepted the gift. Laura could not have heard what she’d said to her in life station. She didn’t deserve this but how could she not take it with so many eyes on her. She shook her head. Laura. Pilot’s lounge. Right.
She knew what it was from its weight, from the slight sloshing sound that came from the thin paper bag. Glancing at Laura’s amused gaze, she pulled the bottle from the bag. Her eyebrows shot up almost instantly. Single malt? Fifteen years old? Man, stuff this rare should never be wasted on fighter pilots. Didn’t she know that pilots would drink jet fuel if they thought it would give them a buzz?
“Wow … uh … thank you, ma’am,” she said still in awe of the sheer rarity of what she was holding. Would Laura be horrified if she opened it?
“It’s not nearly adequate but I just wanted to say thank you.” Laura extended her hand towards Kara. “Don’t put it on a shelf.”
Kara looked from the bottle to Laura’s hand. She bit her lip. Laura was alive; that was something to celebrate. “Make sure you have a glass, people.” The room erupted in cheers at the mere thought that Kara might share; the noise level increased as pilots fought over glassware. The other pilots sufficiently distracted, she took Laura’s hand and used it to pull her close. The hug was sloppy and rough but Laura didn’t seem to mind.
She leaned in and spoke to Kara alone. “It wasn’t stupid and I would do it again.”
***
Fin.