IwtP - Comfort Part 2

[redfireroslin]

 Comfort Part Two -

It's also at Survival Instinct for those who prefer that format.

Roslin resumed her seat at the table when I finally stopped gasping for air, apparently assured that she wouldn’t have to perform CPR. “You gonna live?” she grinned.

Gonna live. Such a simple statement, isn’t it?

And yet as I looked at the dying woman in front of me it spoke volumes and my heart constricted painfully in my chest. I’d already grown to love her in the short time I’d spent with her, extraordinary person that she clearly was, and it struck me for the first time that I’d be getting closer and closer to her as the interviews went on, only to lose her. To watch her slowly die much as I had watched my own sister slowly die when I was sixteen. Not of cancer, but the distinction seemed irrelevant at this point.

Loss is loss and you can’t quantify pain. When it hurts it hurts.

But she didn’t need that from me, I was sure. I’d been in a cheaper version of her shoes and knew how it felt to see your illness reflected in the faces of the people around you. I also knew the quiet joy of anonymity - the gaze of someone who didn’t see your illness at all when they looked at you, but just saw the person. And I wanted so badly to give her that.

My expression and the sudden heavy silence in the room betrayed me, however.

“Relax, Kris,” she said kindly as she patted my hand. “I’m not dying today.”

I found it hard to speak around the lump that had grown in my throat. “I know. I’m sorry, Madame President. The last thing you need is another concerned face staring at you. I know that.”

She stopped patting my hand and clasped it in her own. Her small hands were cold. “Yes, you seem to care about me. How very selfish of you to feel compassion for another human being.”

I smiled at her through my unshed tears. “I know how it is, how it feels. The worried looks, the well-meaning stares … I know how it is to long for the people in your life to just see YOU when they look at you.”

As if reading my mind she said, “You’re afraid I’ll see sympathy in your eyes.”

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze and held her gaze. “Is that really what you see in my eyes?”

“No,” she whispered immediately, “It’s not. I see something very different. I see empathy. I see a deep and profound understanding that comes from suffering. I see knowledge, intimate knowledge, of that suffering and the pain it causes you to see someone else going through it. And while I appreciate your desire to provide me with an unaffected face in my day to day life, I think it’s important for you to know that there are many kinds of comfort.”

She gazed intently at me and I couldn’t have looked away had my life depended on it. “You said yourself how fleeting comfort can be. Did you ever consider that perhaps I find your empathy, your understanding, comforting?”

Not for a second, but it made sense. “No. I’m far too masochistic to have looked at it that way,” I said, offering her a wry and self-depreciating smile. “But if it comforts you, even a little, then I guess I’ll stop trying to hide it.” It clearly wasn’t working anyway.

“That’s all I’m asking,” she said reasonably, patting my hand once more before she released it to finally take a sip of her water. “I mean, let’s face the facts here. I’m about to spill my guts to you, tell you things that until now I haven’t told anyone. Things that died on Caprica, things that are extremely un-presidential. You’re going to know things about me that no one else knows, Kris, so I think a little emotion isn’t entirely out of line.”

Woah. Seriously? Suddenly blinking and breathing required extreme effort on my part.

“You look too stunned to speak.” I managed to nod and she smiled triumphantly before she continued. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but I’m betting that’s a first. Now, since you’re already speechless I’ll just get it all out of the way. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, you and I, and you’re going to see a side of your President that most civilians would never be allowed to see. I plan to have you accompany me to some of my less classified meetings, observe some of my daily routine, even accompany me to some of those torture sessions Cottle calls cancer treatment.”

She pulled some papers from a folder on the table. “Tory drew up a contract. I thought it was a bit much at first but she knows how to make an argument. If she’d had her way you’d have been required to sign something before even being allowed to speak to me so I consider it a compromise. It’s basically a confidentiality contract. You can read it before signing, of course, but to sum up it says that you agree not to discuss what I share with you or what you observe when you’re with me with anyone. It also says that I, or in my absence, Tory, reserve the right to approve the final manuscript once you complete it. This is an authorized biography, after all, and I want to know what it says before anyone else sees it.”

She glanced up at me when I only continued to stare at her in shock. “Nod and let me know you’re still with me.”

I did, though it was really more of a wobble than a nod. My brain was still floating somewhere in the region of You’re going to know things about me that no one else knows … and even my blurts had abandoned me in my utter surprise. What the frak?

“And here’s where it gets a little … interesting,” she said.

“Because up until now it’s been so very ordinary?” Ah, hello blurts.

She laughed. “You’ve regained the ability to speak. That’s good; you had me worried there for a moment. And we both know that nothing about our current situation is ordinary.”

“Touché,” I managed.

“The things we’re going to be discussing are highly personal,” she paused until I met her eyes. “There are more records on my presidency that I know what to do with. I don’t really need someone to write about President Roslin. It’s the person I am beneath, the person I’ve nearly had to sacrifice for this Fleet, that I’m hoping to share with you. That’s who I’m hoping you’ll capture with your writing.”

Understanding quickly set in. “That’s why you want me to call you Laura…”

“Yes.” She smiled wistfully. “Because I need you to see beyond President Roslin. I need you to see Laura.”

“Oh, I see her,” I said, laying an affectionate but respectful hand on her arm. “I see you, Laura. And I’m honored you’ve chosen me to do this.” My voice cracked under the weight of her gaze and my own emotion. “Honored.”

Her voice cracked too, but to her credit her grin was completely wicked. “Even if I won’t let you bunk with Colonel Tigh?”

I laughed despite my tears. “Because you won’t let me bunk with Colonel Tigh.”

“You know what else I see in your eyes?”

“What’s that?” I asked as she passed me the contract.

“A strong need for a good drink,” she said, rising from the table. She patted me lightly on the shoulder before moving to a tray in the corner of the room. “Ambrosia?”

“Gods, yes! I mean … please.”

“No you don’t,” she chuckled. “You meant the first one. Can’t say I blame you. If I were in your position I think I’d want a drink, too.”

“If you were in my position,” the blurts said, “you’d want a big fat joint from New Caprica - possibly that planet’s only redeeming feature.” My head snapped up and a hand flew too late to cover my big mouth as I realized I’d just told the President of the Twelve Colonies that she made me want to get stoned.

To my absolute shock, she merely quirked an eyebrow and said, “Play your cards right…”

Completely floored, I actually dropped my pen. “Okay, now you’re just frakking with me.”

She handed me a glass of Ambrosia and I noted with mild amusement that she must be feeling better as she had poured one for herself as well. “And why would I do that?”

I shrugged. “Entertainment value?”

Her wicked grin returned and mischief flashed in her eyes. “I’m bunking in Admiral Adama’s personal cabin. Do you honestly think I can’t come up with more imaginative ways to amuse myself when boredom sets in?”

I dropped my head back, laughing, and nearly fell out of my chair. “Oh, tell me you’ve found his skibbies drawer!”

She raised an eyebrow at me and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not telling you anything until you sign that contract. That way if you rat me out I can execute you.”

I tried to shove my eyeballs back into my face. “Well you’re just wicked scary, Laura. I like that.” I skimmed the rather lengthy contract. “If I sign this … we get to talk about New Caprican pot and the Admiral’s boxers?”

She held her position, arms still neatly folded. “I guess you’ll have to sign to find out, won’t you?”

“Tease,” I drawled. “It’s, uh, detailed. Tory’s very…”

“Thorough?” she supplied.

“I was going to say anal retentive, but you’re the President.” She snorted, an undignified sound that she somehow managed to make adorable. I signed with a flourish then pushed the paper back to her and drained my glass of Ambrosia. “Will that do, or will Tory demand I sign it in blood?”

“We’ll see,” she said casually as she slipped it back into the folder. “If she’s not happy with you I’m sure you’ll be the first to know.”

Now I snorted. “Lucky me.” I flashed her a conspiratorial grin, feeling the Ambrosia reddening my cheeks. “You gonna elaborate about the weed?” When she hesitated I added. “I just signed away part of my soul. My turn to be direct.”

“I didn’t know we were keeping score.”

“We’re not,” I replied. “I’m just trying to guilt you into spilling something juicy.”

She rested her chin in her hand and smiled. “You want to know if we’re growing Grade A grass on Galactica.”

I didn’t bother denying it. I simply widened my eyes in anticipation of her response.

“It has certain … medicinal purposes,” she drawled.

“Uh huh. And do you … self medicate?”

That actually drew a laugh. “Do you?” she volleyed.

I raised a brow at her. “I’ve indulged occasionally.”

“Me too.”

She giggled, and a memory fluttered unbidden to the surface of my mind. I remembered the first time I’d heard that giggle, though I didn’t know at the time that it belonged to President Roslin. A ground breaking ceremony on New Caprica, the alien sun setting in the sky, and the shadows of two people sprawled out on sandbags a short distance away from the crowd.

I had wandered away from the group and the lights with my … comfort … firmly in tow, yearning for privacy and a good view of stars that twinkled again. I had missed that, I remembered vividly, the twinkling caused by the atmosphere. We’d seen them curled up together on the sandbags, though we didn’t realize at the time who it was, and we’d heard her giggling. “Someone’s having fun,” he’d said as he’d nuzzled my ear.

“Let’s go make our own fun,” I’d replied, taking his hand and pulling him into the trees.

I looked up at Laura and couldn’t stop the knowing smile that spread across my face. “You and the Admiral … I remember now.”

Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly but other than that she appeared completely unfazed. “You remember what?”

“We saw you.”

Now she raised an eyebrow. “We?”

I almost blurted a name, but caught myself. “No one you know. A friend. We saw you and Admiral Adama. You were flopped out on the sandbag pile like a couple of teenagers.”

Her grin was positively playful and I knew I was right, and that it was a cherished memory.

“And you were giggling like one.”

“Yes,” she grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as the realization fully hit me. “You were stoned. Both of you!”

“Out of our minds,” she giggled. “Gods, I couldn’t even move, my arms and legs were so heavy. It was delicious. And you?”

“Oh, completely,” I laughed. “Well, at least until some asshole ruined my romantic night in the woods. Frakker kept screaming, ‘I love Kara Thrace!’” I shook my head at the memory, tucking a stray lock of unruly hair behind my ear. “We kept yelling back, ‘Tell someone who gives a shit,’ but he just kept screaming so we left.” I gave her a pointed look. “But not before I got my comfort…”

I let that last part hang there on purpose. And she knew it, of course.

Her face became unreadable. “Is this part of the interview?”

“You tell me.”

She considered it for a moment, brushing her hair behind her shoulder as she thought about it. “I suppose I can hardly expect you to write about me personally if I can’t tell you about who I am as a person, and I’ve come to accept the fact that Bill Adama is very much a part of who I am. So I guess the best thing to do is just be as honest with you as I can and then I’ll have to trust you, won’t I? You’re the author, after all.”

I swallowed loudly. “But no pressure.”

That earned me a soft laugh. “Somehow, I have a feeling you can handle it.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, Laura,” I said honestly. Then I scooted slightly closer to her as I slid my chair up to the table and double checked my voice recorder. “Now dish.”

“Well, judging by the gleam in your eyes I’m guessing you’re in for a letdown, but here goes.” She took a deep breath and I held mine. She focused her eyes on something on the table but her gaze turned inward as she spoke and her voice took on a tone that told me Laura was somewhere else entirely.

“I got comfort but not the kind you mean. I’d be willing to bet it was just as good though. As much as I came to despise New Caprica, I look back fondly and often on that particular day. Bill was there for the ceremony. I was no longer President and while he was still the Admiral it seemed the burdens of war had been lifted off his shoulders. At least temporarily, I mean I think we both knew deep down that the Cylons would find us eventually. But not that day.

“That day we felt a giddy kind of freedom we had never known together and it made us high long before we smoked anything. I actually found him sitting in the dirt with his boots off. He was barefoot, savoring the feeling of the ground between his toes. And the expression on his face when he first saw me … “

Her cheeks flushed pink at the memory and I realized I was breathing fast. Not wanting to break whatever spell she was under, I stayed quiet.

“He didn’t even try to hide the desire, he was that unencumbered. He just let his eyes slowly roam across my body.”

I smiled a little because I had seen him do that personally.

“Gods, I felt sixteen again!” she said, smiling wistfully, her gaze still focused on that far away place in her memory. “He was so charming. He said all the right things, did all the right things. I honestly couldn’t remember a time before that day when I’d felt more desirable or beautiful. Or when I’d enjoyed just being with someone more.”

She turned to look at me, her green eyes bright with the images in her mind. “We fell asleep there, you know? On the sandbags under the stars. He was a complete gentleman. He held me all night long; we were too stoned to do anything else. I mean, Gods, we’re not 25 anymore. But it was still so sexy, so romantic. In fact it’s one of the most romantic memories of my entire life. The feel of his arms around me, the smell of soap on his neck and the way his deep voice rumbled and tickled my ear when I rested my head on his chest. Or the way his fingers felt in my hair.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and I wondered if she was still with me at all. “When I told him the cancer was back,” she paused briefly as her voice hitched in her throat, “he held me then, too. He talked to me all night. Just let me lay there with my head on his chest, listening to the sound of his voice, holding my hair out of my face and soothing me while I cried. He listened without judgment while I talked about my fears, because I can do that with Bill. And he just … he just held on to me as if it would keep me here.”

She looked at me then. “So how’s that for comfort?”

For the second time that day, she had rendered me speechless.

“Kris … are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered, “I … I just lost all blood flow to my head for a few minutes.” She waited for me to compose myself and I finally said, “That’s probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Isn’t it?”

I took another sip of my alcohol and really wished for a joint. And a man as romantic as Bill Adama apparently was. “So forgive me for being blunt here but I think we both know delicate is not really my thing. Are you two…”

“Are we what? Are we sleeping together?”

“Well, I was going to wait until we were sharing some of the Grade A weed you were talking about to ask that one. I was gonna ask if you’re a couple, actually. But since you opened that door-“

“I didn’t. I’m not ready to step through that door just yet. But I know half the Fleet is saying it since I’m staying here so I’ve been expecting you to ask me. As for whether or not we’re a couple … I’m not sure how to answer that.”

I shrugged casually. “Is there anyone else in your life?”

“No,” she answered without hesitation.

“In his?”

“No,” she said again.

“Seems pretty cut and dry to me.”

She bit off a rueful laugh. “I wish it were that simple. But it’s not like that day on New Caprica. I’m the President again, and he’s the Admiral of a Fleet at war. We have responsibilities to the people.”

I must have been staring at her pretty hard because she actually squirmed a little before saying, “What?”

“Frak the people,” I finally said.

The look on her face was absolutely priceless. It was her turn to search for words.

“They have no idea how much you sacrifice for them every day. I’m sitting here with you right now and I’m realizing that I’m only beginning to see how much. And I’m not sure it’s an amount I can live with. You don’t owe us your personal happiness. And you definitely don’t owe it to us to die alone, Madame President.”

I heard her gasp softly at the directness of my words but she allowed me to continue.

“Take your comfort, whatever form it comes in. The people will be fine if they know their leaders are fine. You told me you don’t have a lot of time left. Please don’t spend it alone out of some misplaced sense of obligation to the people. You can have both, Laura. I really believe you can.”

She blinked hard, pushing back tears, and I knew that was as far as she could go. So I did what any decent writer does. I gave her a creative way out.

“There will be some serious disappointment among the pilots, however. Are you aware that one of them has a blow up doll with a long brown wig and he calls it Laura?”

Her eyes bugged out of her head and her jaw fell open so hard I’m surprised her face didn’t cave in.

I laughed so hard I was frakkin’ crying, but she just continued to stare at me with wide eyes. Uh oh. “Are you pissed?” I finally managed.

“Depends,” she said evenly.

“On what?”

The edges of her mouth curled slightly as she tried to hide her smile. “Which pilot?”

About 30 minutes and another glass of Ambrosia later…

“So, now that I’ve signed a vow of secrecy upon threat of death, let’s talk about Adama’s underwear.”

“What do you want to know?” The rumbling voice came from behind me. It was only then that I noticed Roslin’s gaze was not on me, but on some point over my shoulder.

Once again, I felt the blood rush to my face as I blushed in embarrassment. I knocked my glass off the table as I scrambled to stand up. “Admiral! Where’d you come from? I mean…” I bent down to retrieve the glass and, because I’m me, managed to slam the back of my already sore head on the table on my way back up. “Frak me!” I cursed as the cartoon birdies circled my head.

To her credit Roslin had managed to snatch her glass from the table before my head collided with it and she now stood watching me with a look of concern and amusement on her face. But her silence told me she had no intention of bailing me out on the underwear thing. I was on my own on that one.

Adama, on the other hand, looked concerned for the well being of his furniture. As well he should.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Apart from a case of terminal Dipshit-itis and possible brain damage, I think I’m fine.” He and Roslin shared an amused grin at my expense, but I figured I had it coming so I tried to pretend I didn’t notice. “Sorry about the cussing.”

He shook his head slightly. “I’m a military man. They haven’t invented a word yet that can offend my ears. No worries.” He glanced at President Roslin and I noticed his eyes twinkling with humor. “Now about the other thing …”

“Gods,” I groaned quietly, suddenly wishing I’d hit my head hard enough to knock myself out because it would’ve been less painful than this conversation.

“If all you two have to write about is my choice of underwear this is going to be a very short, very boring book.”

Roslin laughed, bless her heart, and finally bailed me out. “Well that comment was a little out of context. You didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

“Not sure I want to,” he replied as he poured himself a glass of ice water.

“You really, really don’t,” I said, reaching for Roslin’s glass of Ambrosia when she replaced it on the table. I ignored her look of entertained surprise as I drained the glass in one gulp. I figured she owed me one for leaving me hanging on the underwear comment for what felt like eternity.

“How’d you sneak in here so quietly, anyway?” she asked, returning her attention to Adama.

I noticed he smiled almost sweetly at her as he walked over to the table. “I’ve gotten pretty good at coming and going without making a lot of racket now that I have a roommate.”

She graced him with a beautiful smile that I could only describe as affectionate. Oh yeah, there was definitely some serious sparks going off between them. And I no longer needed her to answer the sleeping together question. There was an excitement and sense of anticipation between them that made me think it hadn’t turned completely physical yet. He clearly loved having her in his cabin, and she visibly glowed under his gaze. It still had that shiny and new polish to it despite the fact that they were obviously completely comfortable with each other. Total quagmire.

As they shared a glance my definition of romance was completely redefined. She was in her fifties and he had rounded sixty, technically speaking they could easily be my parents. But at that moment the heat in the room was palpable and they both simply oozed with sexy. He wasn’t the war-hardened soldier and she most definitely wasn’t a dying woman, ill from a treatment that’s as harsh as the disease itself. He was handsome and bright-eyed as any young Viper jock in the Fleet. She was radiant and as beautiful as the women on the ship who were half her age. More so, actually, because she wore her life experience like a medal pinned to her chest, with dignity and elegance that eludes the arrogance of youth.

I realized then that I hadn’t yet really even begun to live, and I had a lot to aspire to before I grew up.

“So how’s the writing coming along?” Admiral Adama asked, snapping my attention back to the moment at hand.

“We’re really just getting started,” Laura said. “Getting through the formalities.”

“Tory really loves the formalities,” I grumbled, rubbing the back of my aching head absently.

“You look a little pale, Kris. Why don’t you have a seat?” She said it in that tone that sounds like a question but is clearly more of a polite order from the President, so my body responded reflexively and I plopped my butt back on the chair.

“You hit your head pretty hard,” Adama said.

“Yeah,” I blurted aloud, “And not for the first time today either.” When they both gave me questioning looks I just waved them off. “Never mind.”

The Admiral stepped closer to me and looked carefully into my eyes. “Maybe we should take you to see Doc Cottle.”

I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. “And harsh my Ambrosia buzz? Hell no.”

“You could have a concussion,” Adama said, apparently trying to reason with me. Clearly he had never actually MET me … you know what I mean.

I giggled at my own thoughts, something I did often. President Roslin cast a worried glance in my general direction, which for some reason only made me giggle more.

“She’s laughing , Bill.”

“I can hear that, Laura.”

She shot him an annoyed glare. “I mean it could be a sign of a concussion.”

“It could also be a sign of intoxication. How much Ambrosia did you give her?”

“What am I? Unconscious?” I said, more than a little amused at their husband/wife style bickering but less than amused at being referred to in the third person when I was sitting right there.

I ticked my gaze to Roslin. “I’m not concussed.” And to Adama. “Or intoxicated. Not completely anyway.” Then I rubbed my aching head with the palm of my hand again. “I’m just … well, if you knew how often I hit my head you’d be laughing, too. If I went to see Cottle every time I get a lump on my very thick skull I would never leave Life Station. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll skip the poke and prod, thank you both very much.”

They just stared at me, so I filled the silence the way I usually do. I blurted things.

“Has anyone ever told you two that you sound like a married couple? You bicker like my parents.”

Now they stared at each other which gave me a bizarre sense of satisfaction.

There was a pounding on the hatch, some muffled words exchanged, and then Tory appeared. “Time to go,” she said to me disdainfully, like I was too stupid to walk back to my quarters by myself.

I stopped rubbing my head to point a finger at her. “Now see?” I … say it with me … blurted. “That’s how you enter a room, Admiral. Loudly and in a way that disrupts everything so everyone knows you’re there.” Hmm … maybe I am drunk.

Without taking her eyes off Adama, Roslin handed Tory the folder with the contract in it. "It's signed," she said.

"In pen?" Tory asked somewhat impatiently.

"No, in crayon," I snapped as I pushed past her. "Frakking vampire."

And I heard Laura giggling, comfortable in the Admiral's cabin and his company, as I stumbled my way out of the hatch to find my own comfort.