Chamalla and Ambrosia Part Three
So I promised to get this written and posted today, well I have five minutes to post it everywhere to avoid making myself a liar :) So here goes. Part three went on a little longer than I anticipated and I still have a few things to wrap up from the story so expect a sequel very soon :)
Chamalla and Ambrosia
Part Three
Rating: Totally suitable for anyone who watches BSG.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters...DRATS!
Laura Roslin was used to her morning alarm. It was shrill, it was annoying, it was always on time, it was called Tory Foster and Laura Roslin often awoke to the pleasant thought that her alarm needed air locking.
This morning was different. No one was calling her. There were no ‘Madam President! You have a meeting in an hour with the Quorum’ or ‘Madam President, the vice President wants to see you and he’s being rather insistent, in fact he’s right here’ or ‘Madam President, the Cylons are attacking and we’re in the middle of a huge battle and probably about to be destroyed’. No…in fact, the ship sounded extremely quiet. Almost…wrong.
Her eyes fluttered open and she realised why.
*This isn’t Colonial One…* She thought to herself.
She should have known. Colonial One had a distinctive hum to her engine, a familiar clunking sound that every so often reminded them that she was in fact still moving, an echo that ran down the corridors with almost perfect resonance and a scent totally unlike the one that now surrounded her.
This was unfamiliar. The blanket covering her had a scent but it wasn’t hers…
“Bill…” Her voice was a whisper of recognition as she gently pulled the blanket modestly a little tighter to her body. At that she felt her muscles begin to protest, a dull ache from every possible area of her body brought back hazy memories of chamalla, ambrosia, pacing, a bed…Bill.
She sat up suddenly, enough to make her head spin, half expecting to see him beside her but was surprised to find just an empty space, the sheets still pressed down into a Bill Adama shaped outline. Her hand reached across, brushing the area he had spent the night, finding it still warm she smiled a little. He hadn’t been gone long.
*Not that that matters, of course* She silently rationalised.
*Not that I feel all fluttery because I’ve been sleeping next to Bill…* An amused smile crossed her lips. *Well…perhaps…*
She contemplated the situation. Here she was…*President Laura Roslin of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol* Sleeping in a bed *Not just any bed*. Sleeping in a man’s bed *Bills bed* Not just any mans bed, the bed of the Admiral *Admiral Adama’s bed. Admiral Adama. Admiral William Adama. Bill Adama. Adama.* His name kept playing in her mind *Admiral Bill Adama, Bill Adama, Laura Roslin Adama…FRAK!* A crimson shade of blush rushed to her cheeks. Now she felt fluttery, like a teenager. *This won’t do…* Her internal presidential voice warned her with a distinctive severe tone.
*Oh shut up* The Laura side of her personality shot back as she pushed all of those thoughts away and slid back down the bed.
True, the world was a little hazy this morning and she remembered something about owing Bill a new bottle of ambrosia but right now she was lying there in a warm bed. Lying there in Bills bed *we’re not going there right now…* lying there in a bed that was warm.
As she concluded that moving around too much was not a good idea given that she appeared to be suffering the after effects of drinking way too much and sleeping not too well, she determined to stay perfectly still until someone came to tell her that she simply had to get up. Even then she was contemplating ordering them to go away until she was good and ready to get up, which would be in about a weeks time so they could either pull up a chair or go away. No, this bed was too comfortable to leave just yet and even though there was a little nagging feeling at the back of her head, the one that told her she needed to get up, needed to check in, needed to go to some meeting or another, needed to get dressed, she pulled the blanket tighter around her and sighed. She was warm and comfortable and it felt almost new to her, like the memory of peace long forgotten, as if she had never felt this comfortable before. The blanket was cosy, hugging her every curve from her neck right the way down her legs, which were bare…*my legs are what now?* She didn’t care to move the covers to see but she gently shifted her legs beneath the blanket, feeling that familiar sensation of skin against material. *Well, these aren’t my pyjamas* She surmised as she frantically tried to recall *did I dress myself for bed last night?*
For some strange reason she found the whole thing more amusing than worrying. She was Laura Roslin, Laura Roslin who leant against tables, who peered over glasses, who gently brushed his arm with her hand. *Regularly*.
She was the President and though the thought of it going too much further between them often gave her pause, for theirs was a delicate balance of power and trust, even then she enjoyed the comfortable way she gently flirted with him. The way sometimes he would be surprised, the way his pupils got that little bit wider and even through his military training his breath would still catch and give him away without him realising it. *I could break him in an interrogation… easily* she mused, but not overly so for the idea of interrogating Bill was firstly disturbing then rather…well…it was food for thought but not right now.
*If only they knew* she thought to herself, shifting her legs again and savouring the way they slid beneath the covers. *If only he knew,* She smiled *He’d get the shock of his life if he knew the thoughts that passed through my head sometimes…they all would.* For some reason she pictured the look on Tory Fosters face, yes that would be priceless. A mixture of horror and disgust at the thought that her President was, after everything, after the Cylon attacks, after surviving cancer and having it come back, after air locking Cylons, after New Caprica, after stealing or at least trying to steal an election, after everything, Laura Roslin was undeniably a woman.
*Billy knew I was a woman* she mused to herself *but only because he thought of me as his mother*.
It was strange, so many people looked up to her now. So many looked to her for guidance, so many hated her but still they all looked to her as that figure, the figure of authority and direction, the figure of a mother. It didn’t feel strange, for some reason she slid right into the role. Perhaps it was the years of teaching, perhaps it was the secret curiosity that she had kept buried for so long, the question, what it might have been like had she ever had a child. Though she’d thought that time had passed her by somehow fate had deemed fit to appoint her with over forty thousand children. Those numbers were dwindling now, each loss cutting at her, but still she had thousands of people who were very much her children. With the exception of a few. *Tigh* she cringed; she did not like the idea of that man as her son. Though like him, many of her ‘children’ were older than her, she just couldn’t picture having any sort of maternal feelings towards the man. She couldn’t picture any woman having ever had maternal feelings towards him. She couldn’t picture him ever having a mother!
*Great, I’m laying in a warm cosy bed with barely a stitch on thinking about Colonel Tigh. Something is so wrong with that*
If people knew the thoughts she had, the jokes her own mind told her, the way she kept herself sane throughout the worst of times by always coming up with some witty remark that she kept to herself, she imagined they would be as surprised as if they learned she actually had a past before the Cylon attacks.
*An interesting past at that*
She thought back to all the things that would come back to haunt her, if anyone had a clue that those things had ever happened. No, now anyone who had been around for her more rebellious years, well they were all gone *dead* and they weren’t coming back *unless they know the secret to Cylon resurrection…*
Perhaps it was for the best now that no one remained from her past. Perhaps, if not personally then at least in her role as President, she had been given a lucky break when it came to leadership. There weren’t any records and barely the time to start rumours, so the reporters and the few humans left after the first attacks, had little to go on when it came to digging around for dirt in her past. That was a side to her she was allowed to keep private, while they picked at her present and her future, they could never take her past.
Another thing they couldn’t take, because as far as she knew there were no reporters in bed with her at that instant, was this exact moment. This moment where she gently reached up and pulled the collar of the shirt around her, inhaling deeply and marvelling at the fact that, for now at least, Bill Adama’s shirt no longer smelled of him but rather of her. *He’ll have it cleaned later* she imagined * but for now, I own this shirt, his shirt…my shirt*
There had been other shirts. Other mornings when she had woken to the feel of material against her skin, material that hadn’t previously belonged to her. True enough, those shirts were few and far between and there hadn’t been many hanging in the wardrobe she’d had left behind on New Caprica, the wardrobe containing her favourite skirts, her favourite dresses, her favourite shoes *If I’d known I’d never see them again, I would have packed more*
It was true; she’d lost a lot of possessions in the initial attacks. The clothing was a big loss. What bothered her most was the idea that they were all still likely folded, neatly hung, and neatly settled in that damn wardrobe doing absolutely no good to anyone. It seemed such a waste but she didn’t dwell on it often because it was such a trivial matter when confronted with just how many souls were lost that day but sometimes, like now, she found herself thinking about her home and those clothes, the clothes she’d spent hours shopping for, hours trying on, hours admiring, hours…*Gods what a waste of time* she marvelled at the sheer stupidity of it all because here she was, Laura Roslin, in a shirt that didn’t even belong to her and as she lay there she was blissfully aware that she wouldn’t trade this shirt for any of her long lost outfits.
“Good, you’re awake…”
She wasn’t startled to hear his voice, she’d been expecting him to turn up any time now and there he was, stood in the doorway fully dressed in his uniform with two cups of tea in hand.
“Well…I contemplated not bothering but you know, the fleet needs me and I figured the whole place would fall apart if I didn’t wake up some time soon. Not that I’m promising to get up just yet”
He laughed quietly a little, her easy manner relaxing him as he moved from the doorway, back towards the bed. He hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect, whether she would be uneasy, whether she would be embarrassed or worse, angry. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that she was none of those things; in fact she seemed more at ease than usual.
“Do you mind if I…?”
He motioned to the bed and she scooted over as best she could, considering that the world was still spinning a little. She petted the area he had occupied during the night.
“Feel free, it’s your bed after all.”
Carefully he set himself down, not that he was usually so careful but today he had hold of two steaming cups of tea and the last thing he wanted was to upset them all over himself or the woman currently in his bed *the president would air lock me for scolding her with steaming hot tea when she’s not even dressed* he laughed to himself.
“So, did I miss anything while I was out” She asked lightly as she took one of the cups from his hand, leaving him a little bit more manoeuvrability to set one of his legs up on the bed, the other hanging down the side of the bed in an easy and relaxed manner as he leant back, finally taking a sip of his own tea.
“Not much.” He finally answered, feeling the gentle ease with which the two of them were bantering in the morning to be a refreshing and almost liberating experience “The Cylons surrendered, we found Earth, I had Galactica painted black but decided it made us blend in with the darkness of space too much so I ordered the crew to paint it back and we found something other than algae to eat. The usual”
For some reason she hadn’t expected him to be so witty this morning and was in the process of sipping her tea when his words sank in and she spluttered.
“Oh Bill!” She swatted his arm but found the very action caused her muscles to tense and she winced, something that didn’t go unnoticed.
“Do you need your medication?”
She shook her head, just lightly, through the small sharp pain that ran up her arm and then down her spine to every muscle in her body.
“No…it’s just…I ache all over this morning, and not in a good way” She opened her eyes and smiled at him, eyes twinkling but still the pain hovered around her.
“You had a bad night,” he offered “and you fell off the bed at one point.” He tried not to look so guilty but he felt it “I tried to keep you from doing that but you were determined to hurl yourself off the bed. You’re quite strong when you put your mind to it.” He tried to make light of the whole thing but it didn’t last because the questions, like the tea, had been brewing all that morning.
“You seemed disorientated last night…you said something about being in a cell…”
Though he had questioned whether or not he should ask her about it, though he had tried to introduce it as casually as possible, instantly the lightness of the morning was gone. It didn’t fade but rather rushed from them, as if a wind had caught it like a leaf and blown it so far away that it was almost impossible to imagine it had once been there between them.
“Oh.”
It was all she could say, choosing instead to take a long steady sip of her tea, too long a sip as it turned out as the hot steaming liquid scolded her mouth and burned as it made it’s way down her throat. But she didn’t dare to stop for fear that he would expect her to elaborate, and elaboration was exactly what he expected.
“You called me a Cylon”
Finally she stopped sipping the tea, her mouth welcoming the relief from it’s steaming torture but her mind wishing there were just one other way she could distract him from his questioning.
“I’m sorry about that…I…I really don’t remember much about last night after coming to bed. I guess I just had a bad dream.”
He frowned; both of them were staring forward now, as if the wall ahead of them held the answer to all of their questions, all of their worries, all of their denial.
“Do you…dream like that often?”
She turned away a little, uneasy at the question but uneasier at the thought of having to reply. What did he expect her to say? That no, she slept like a baby most nights? That she never dreamed of dying, of being lost and alone, of Cylons, of death, of the past, of destruction and pain? What could she say? How could she lie? Say that most nights she dreamed of fluffy white clouds, green fields and flowers?
“I…I dream a lot. So sometimes the dreams aren’t the most pleasant and I guess…well…”
Her feet fidgeted beneath the covers as her hands occupied themselves by wrapping themselves around the warm cup, heating her fingers and keeping her focused when her mind tried to drift back to the dreams, the dreams she’d said she couldn’t remember, the dreams she didn’t want to remember.
“Do you fall out of bed often?”
She laughed the question off but he expected an answer and she couldn’t deny him that.
“Sometimes, when the dreams are particularly bad, I occasionally find myself getting to know the floor a little better” Somehow that seemed to lighten the mood a little, still she expected the look of concern to be on his face if she had the guts to look, but she didn’t, instead she shifted her gaze to the tea and the way it rippled gently in the cup. It was then that she realised she was shaking, ever so slightly.
“I drank your ambrosia last night, I’m sorry…I’ll find you a replacement”
A warm pair of hands covered hers, just briefly, before removing the cup and setting it on the table, with his cup, beside the bed.
“You’re shaking…” He stated, and there it was, the concerned look she had known would be there when her eyes finally found his.
“I’m fine…” she lied, trying not to look him in the eye, knowing he knew full well when she lied, especially when she couldn’t even bring herself to sound convincing.
“Should I get Doc Cottle?”
She closed her eyes as she shook her head, not wanting to see the room move even more than it felt like it was already.
“No. It’s nothing, just the after effects of the chamalla and the ambrosia and a bad nights rest. I’ll be fine…I should really be getting ready now.” She added disappointedly as she opened her eyes and met his again “I need to contact Tory and I’m almost positive I have a meeting I should be at. I’m the President, they’ll wait but only for so long”
He rested a hand on her arm, a feeling of soft electricity tingled at her senses and in spite of herself, she was smiling again.
“I could call Tory and tell her you got lost?”
Her nose screwed up a little.
“She’d never fall for it, plus she’d only hunt me down until she found me” He nodded, accepting that she was probably right. Tory Foster was nothing if not efficient.
“Okay…well maybe I could tell her I’m holding you hostage? I could make some outlandish demands and when she refuses to pay then you can stay here as long as you want?”
Laura had images, images of Tory Foster, the phone up to her ear as Admiral William Adama demanded a ship full of Ambrosia, a case of noodles and a shiny new viper.
“She’d kill you” Laura laughed through the words, trying hard not to notice the aching “then she’d kill ME for letting myself get taken hostage. She’s very protective you know?”
They were both laughing now, the bed shaking a little beneath them. Slowly as the laughter died down Laura felt herself having to work just that little big harder to stop the shaking from running down her entire body.
“Well…at least let me hold her off long enough for you to have some breakfast with me. I have noodles, not much but it’s better than you running off to your meetings with nothing but ambrosia on your stomach”
The very thought of ambrosia now seemed to turn her stomach and she nodded without hesitation.
“Fine, but on one condition…”
He stopped where he stood, having risen to reach for the phone the moment the word ‘fine’ had left her lips.
“I get to listen in. I want to know what she says. That. That is something people would pay to hear!”
He smiled, amusement tracing his every feature.
“What? Her response or me actually telling someone that you are running late because you’re still in my bed?”
She pulled the covers up a little higher, closing her eyes and pretending that the very question didn’t make her want to giggle outwardly.
“Both.”
Chamalla and Ambrosia
Part Three
Rating: Totally suitable for anyone who watches BSG.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters...DRATS!
Laura Roslin was used to her morning alarm. It was shrill, it was annoying, it was always on time, it was called Tory Foster and Laura Roslin often awoke to the pleasant thought that her alarm needed air locking.
This morning was different. No one was calling her. There were no ‘Madam President! You have a meeting in an hour with the Quorum’ or ‘Madam President, the vice President wants to see you and he’s being rather insistent, in fact he’s right here’ or ‘Madam President, the Cylons are attacking and we’re in the middle of a huge battle and probably about to be destroyed’. No…in fact, the ship sounded extremely quiet. Almost…wrong.
Her eyes fluttered open and she realised why.
*This isn’t Colonial One…* She thought to herself.
She should have known. Colonial One had a distinctive hum to her engine, a familiar clunking sound that every so often reminded them that she was in fact still moving, an echo that ran down the corridors with almost perfect resonance and a scent totally unlike the one that now surrounded her.
This was unfamiliar. The blanket covering her had a scent but it wasn’t hers…
“Bill…” Her voice was a whisper of recognition as she gently pulled the blanket modestly a little tighter to her body. At that she felt her muscles begin to protest, a dull ache from every possible area of her body brought back hazy memories of chamalla, ambrosia, pacing, a bed…Bill.
She sat up suddenly, enough to make her head spin, half expecting to see him beside her but was surprised to find just an empty space, the sheets still pressed down into a Bill Adama shaped outline. Her hand reached across, brushing the area he had spent the night, finding it still warm she smiled a little. He hadn’t been gone long.
*Not that that matters, of course* She silently rationalised.
*Not that I feel all fluttery because I’ve been sleeping next to Bill…* An amused smile crossed her lips. *Well…perhaps…*
She contemplated the situation. Here she was…*President Laura Roslin of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol* Sleeping in a bed *Not just any bed*. Sleeping in a man’s bed *Bills bed* Not just any mans bed, the bed of the Admiral *Admiral Adama’s bed. Admiral Adama. Admiral William Adama. Bill Adama. Adama.* His name kept playing in her mind *Admiral Bill Adama, Bill Adama, Laura Roslin Adama…FRAK!* A crimson shade of blush rushed to her cheeks. Now she felt fluttery, like a teenager. *This won’t do…* Her internal presidential voice warned her with a distinctive severe tone.
*Oh shut up* The Laura side of her personality shot back as she pushed all of those thoughts away and slid back down the bed.
True, the world was a little hazy this morning and she remembered something about owing Bill a new bottle of ambrosia but right now she was lying there in a warm bed. Lying there in Bills bed *we’re not going there right now…* lying there in a bed that was warm.
As she concluded that moving around too much was not a good idea given that she appeared to be suffering the after effects of drinking way too much and sleeping not too well, she determined to stay perfectly still until someone came to tell her that she simply had to get up. Even then she was contemplating ordering them to go away until she was good and ready to get up, which would be in about a weeks time so they could either pull up a chair or go away. No, this bed was too comfortable to leave just yet and even though there was a little nagging feeling at the back of her head, the one that told her she needed to get up, needed to check in, needed to go to some meeting or another, needed to get dressed, she pulled the blanket tighter around her and sighed. She was warm and comfortable and it felt almost new to her, like the memory of peace long forgotten, as if she had never felt this comfortable before. The blanket was cosy, hugging her every curve from her neck right the way down her legs, which were bare…*my legs are what now?* She didn’t care to move the covers to see but she gently shifted her legs beneath the blanket, feeling that familiar sensation of skin against material. *Well, these aren’t my pyjamas* She surmised as she frantically tried to recall *did I dress myself for bed last night?*
For some strange reason she found the whole thing more amusing than worrying. She was Laura Roslin, Laura Roslin who leant against tables, who peered over glasses, who gently brushed his arm with her hand. *Regularly*.
She was the President and though the thought of it going too much further between them often gave her pause, for theirs was a delicate balance of power and trust, even then she enjoyed the comfortable way she gently flirted with him. The way sometimes he would be surprised, the way his pupils got that little bit wider and even through his military training his breath would still catch and give him away without him realising it. *I could break him in an interrogation… easily* she mused, but not overly so for the idea of interrogating Bill was firstly disturbing then rather…well…it was food for thought but not right now.
*If only they knew* she thought to herself, shifting her legs again and savouring the way they slid beneath the covers. *If only he knew,* She smiled *He’d get the shock of his life if he knew the thoughts that passed through my head sometimes…they all would.* For some reason she pictured the look on Tory Fosters face, yes that would be priceless. A mixture of horror and disgust at the thought that her President was, after everything, after the Cylon attacks, after surviving cancer and having it come back, after air locking Cylons, after New Caprica, after stealing or at least trying to steal an election, after everything, Laura Roslin was undeniably a woman.
*Billy knew I was a woman* she mused to herself *but only because he thought of me as his mother*.
It was strange, so many people looked up to her now. So many looked to her for guidance, so many hated her but still they all looked to her as that figure, the figure of authority and direction, the figure of a mother. It didn’t feel strange, for some reason she slid right into the role. Perhaps it was the years of teaching, perhaps it was the secret curiosity that she had kept buried for so long, the question, what it might have been like had she ever had a child. Though she’d thought that time had passed her by somehow fate had deemed fit to appoint her with over forty thousand children. Those numbers were dwindling now, each loss cutting at her, but still she had thousands of people who were very much her children. With the exception of a few. *Tigh* she cringed; she did not like the idea of that man as her son. Though like him, many of her ‘children’ were older than her, she just couldn’t picture having any sort of maternal feelings towards the man. She couldn’t picture any woman having ever had maternal feelings towards him. She couldn’t picture him ever having a mother!
*Great, I’m laying in a warm cosy bed with barely a stitch on thinking about Colonel Tigh. Something is so wrong with that*
If people knew the thoughts she had, the jokes her own mind told her, the way she kept herself sane throughout the worst of times by always coming up with some witty remark that she kept to herself, she imagined they would be as surprised as if they learned she actually had a past before the Cylon attacks.
*An interesting past at that*
She thought back to all the things that would come back to haunt her, if anyone had a clue that those things had ever happened. No, now anyone who had been around for her more rebellious years, well they were all gone *dead* and they weren’t coming back *unless they know the secret to Cylon resurrection…*
Perhaps it was for the best now that no one remained from her past. Perhaps, if not personally then at least in her role as President, she had been given a lucky break when it came to leadership. There weren’t any records and barely the time to start rumours, so the reporters and the few humans left after the first attacks, had little to go on when it came to digging around for dirt in her past. That was a side to her she was allowed to keep private, while they picked at her present and her future, they could never take her past.
Another thing they couldn’t take, because as far as she knew there were no reporters in bed with her at that instant, was this exact moment. This moment where she gently reached up and pulled the collar of the shirt around her, inhaling deeply and marvelling at the fact that, for now at least, Bill Adama’s shirt no longer smelled of him but rather of her. *He’ll have it cleaned later* she imagined * but for now, I own this shirt, his shirt…my shirt*
There had been other shirts. Other mornings when she had woken to the feel of material against her skin, material that hadn’t previously belonged to her. True enough, those shirts were few and far between and there hadn’t been many hanging in the wardrobe she’d had left behind on New Caprica, the wardrobe containing her favourite skirts, her favourite dresses, her favourite shoes *If I’d known I’d never see them again, I would have packed more*
It was true; she’d lost a lot of possessions in the initial attacks. The clothing was a big loss. What bothered her most was the idea that they were all still likely folded, neatly hung, and neatly settled in that damn wardrobe doing absolutely no good to anyone. It seemed such a waste but she didn’t dwell on it often because it was such a trivial matter when confronted with just how many souls were lost that day but sometimes, like now, she found herself thinking about her home and those clothes, the clothes she’d spent hours shopping for, hours trying on, hours admiring, hours…*Gods what a waste of time* she marvelled at the sheer stupidity of it all because here she was, Laura Roslin, in a shirt that didn’t even belong to her and as she lay there she was blissfully aware that she wouldn’t trade this shirt for any of her long lost outfits.
“Good, you’re awake…”
She wasn’t startled to hear his voice, she’d been expecting him to turn up any time now and there he was, stood in the doorway fully dressed in his uniform with two cups of tea in hand.
“Well…I contemplated not bothering but you know, the fleet needs me and I figured the whole place would fall apart if I didn’t wake up some time soon. Not that I’m promising to get up just yet”
He laughed quietly a little, her easy manner relaxing him as he moved from the doorway, back towards the bed. He hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect, whether she would be uneasy, whether she would be embarrassed or worse, angry. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that she was none of those things; in fact she seemed more at ease than usual.
“Do you mind if I…?”
He motioned to the bed and she scooted over as best she could, considering that the world was still spinning a little. She petted the area he had occupied during the night.
“Feel free, it’s your bed after all.”
Carefully he set himself down, not that he was usually so careful but today he had hold of two steaming cups of tea and the last thing he wanted was to upset them all over himself or the woman currently in his bed *the president would air lock me for scolding her with steaming hot tea when she’s not even dressed* he laughed to himself.
“So, did I miss anything while I was out” She asked lightly as she took one of the cups from his hand, leaving him a little bit more manoeuvrability to set one of his legs up on the bed, the other hanging down the side of the bed in an easy and relaxed manner as he leant back, finally taking a sip of his own tea.
“Not much.” He finally answered, feeling the gentle ease with which the two of them were bantering in the morning to be a refreshing and almost liberating experience “The Cylons surrendered, we found Earth, I had Galactica painted black but decided it made us blend in with the darkness of space too much so I ordered the crew to paint it back and we found something other than algae to eat. The usual”
For some reason she hadn’t expected him to be so witty this morning and was in the process of sipping her tea when his words sank in and she spluttered.
“Oh Bill!” She swatted his arm but found the very action caused her muscles to tense and she winced, something that didn’t go unnoticed.
“Do you need your medication?”
She shook her head, just lightly, through the small sharp pain that ran up her arm and then down her spine to every muscle in her body.
“No…it’s just…I ache all over this morning, and not in a good way” She opened her eyes and smiled at him, eyes twinkling but still the pain hovered around her.
“You had a bad night,” he offered “and you fell off the bed at one point.” He tried not to look so guilty but he felt it “I tried to keep you from doing that but you were determined to hurl yourself off the bed. You’re quite strong when you put your mind to it.” He tried to make light of the whole thing but it didn’t last because the questions, like the tea, had been brewing all that morning.
“You seemed disorientated last night…you said something about being in a cell…”
Though he had questioned whether or not he should ask her about it, though he had tried to introduce it as casually as possible, instantly the lightness of the morning was gone. It didn’t fade but rather rushed from them, as if a wind had caught it like a leaf and blown it so far away that it was almost impossible to imagine it had once been there between them.
“Oh.”
It was all she could say, choosing instead to take a long steady sip of her tea, too long a sip as it turned out as the hot steaming liquid scolded her mouth and burned as it made it’s way down her throat. But she didn’t dare to stop for fear that he would expect her to elaborate, and elaboration was exactly what he expected.
“You called me a Cylon”
Finally she stopped sipping the tea, her mouth welcoming the relief from it’s steaming torture but her mind wishing there were just one other way she could distract him from his questioning.
“I’m sorry about that…I…I really don’t remember much about last night after coming to bed. I guess I just had a bad dream.”
He frowned; both of them were staring forward now, as if the wall ahead of them held the answer to all of their questions, all of their worries, all of their denial.
“Do you…dream like that often?”
She turned away a little, uneasy at the question but uneasier at the thought of having to reply. What did he expect her to say? That no, she slept like a baby most nights? That she never dreamed of dying, of being lost and alone, of Cylons, of death, of the past, of destruction and pain? What could she say? How could she lie? Say that most nights she dreamed of fluffy white clouds, green fields and flowers?
“I…I dream a lot. So sometimes the dreams aren’t the most pleasant and I guess…well…”
Her feet fidgeted beneath the covers as her hands occupied themselves by wrapping themselves around the warm cup, heating her fingers and keeping her focused when her mind tried to drift back to the dreams, the dreams she’d said she couldn’t remember, the dreams she didn’t want to remember.
“Do you fall out of bed often?”
She laughed the question off but he expected an answer and she couldn’t deny him that.
“Sometimes, when the dreams are particularly bad, I occasionally find myself getting to know the floor a little better” Somehow that seemed to lighten the mood a little, still she expected the look of concern to be on his face if she had the guts to look, but she didn’t, instead she shifted her gaze to the tea and the way it rippled gently in the cup. It was then that she realised she was shaking, ever so slightly.
“I drank your ambrosia last night, I’m sorry…I’ll find you a replacement”
A warm pair of hands covered hers, just briefly, before removing the cup and setting it on the table, with his cup, beside the bed.
“You’re shaking…” He stated, and there it was, the concerned look she had known would be there when her eyes finally found his.
“I’m fine…” she lied, trying not to look him in the eye, knowing he knew full well when she lied, especially when she couldn’t even bring herself to sound convincing.
“Should I get Doc Cottle?”
She closed her eyes as she shook her head, not wanting to see the room move even more than it felt like it was already.
“No. It’s nothing, just the after effects of the chamalla and the ambrosia and a bad nights rest. I’ll be fine…I should really be getting ready now.” She added disappointedly as she opened her eyes and met his again “I need to contact Tory and I’m almost positive I have a meeting I should be at. I’m the President, they’ll wait but only for so long”
He rested a hand on her arm, a feeling of soft electricity tingled at her senses and in spite of herself, she was smiling again.
“I could call Tory and tell her you got lost?”
Her nose screwed up a little.
“She’d never fall for it, plus she’d only hunt me down until she found me” He nodded, accepting that she was probably right. Tory Foster was nothing if not efficient.
“Okay…well maybe I could tell her I’m holding you hostage? I could make some outlandish demands and when she refuses to pay then you can stay here as long as you want?”
Laura had images, images of Tory Foster, the phone up to her ear as Admiral William Adama demanded a ship full of Ambrosia, a case of noodles and a shiny new viper.
“She’d kill you” Laura laughed through the words, trying hard not to notice the aching “then she’d kill ME for letting myself get taken hostage. She’s very protective you know?”
They were both laughing now, the bed shaking a little beneath them. Slowly as the laughter died down Laura felt herself having to work just that little big harder to stop the shaking from running down her entire body.
“Well…at least let me hold her off long enough for you to have some breakfast with me. I have noodles, not much but it’s better than you running off to your meetings with nothing but ambrosia on your stomach”
The very thought of ambrosia now seemed to turn her stomach and she nodded without hesitation.
“Fine, but on one condition…”
He stopped where he stood, having risen to reach for the phone the moment the word ‘fine’ had left her lips.
“I get to listen in. I want to know what she says. That. That is something people would pay to hear!”
He smiled, amusement tracing his every feature.
“What? Her response or me actually telling someone that you are running late because you’re still in my bed?”
She pulled the covers up a little higher, closing her eyes and pretending that the very question didn’t make her want to giggle outwardly.
“Both.”