Darkest After the Dawn, for rococoms
Title: Darkest After the Dawn
Author: charmed8620
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: MA
Summary: Laura waits for her test results in Cottle’s office
Original Story: rococoms’ Between the Darkness and the Light.
Author's Note:Also a huge thank you to my awesome beta plaid_slytherin.
She’d never noticed how cold Cottle’s office was before. Whenever she’d come here in passing to ask a question about the intricacies of Cylon blood testing or the fleet’s nutritional situation it had seemed like such a nice room - like a small little haven away from the noise and crowds that dominated the rest of sickbay. She’d thought it fitting that Galactica’s doctor had a place to retreat whenever chain smoking like a chimney wasn’t enough to calm his nerves. After everything he had to deal with day in and day out, he deserved a small corner of the sickbay to himself.
Now, however, Laura felt none of that calm and quiet in the room. All that she noticed was how austere the steely grey walls looked, and how the hard walls and floors seemed to magnify her every breath. All she could feel was the cold seeping through her suit from the icy metal of Cottle’s chair - that and the dull ache emanating from her chest.
She lifted her right hand and slipped it beneath her suit jacket, slowly palpating to see if she could actually feel what she feared might be lurking within her left breast. The tender circles she pressed across her breast revealed no new tangible evidence, no life-shattering epiphanies.
Perhaps she’d been wrong to ask Cottle to test her, maybe she was simply overreacting to a stressful week and had imagined the twinges of pain in her chest. Perhaps it was unnecessary to have him clear part of his busy schedule just to drag her into a curtained off area and check for signs of abnormality.
Yet then again, if it had all been unnecessary why did he leave her here in his office while he retrieved the test results? Why not just bring her to one of the curtain-enclosed segments of the general sickbay? Why bring her into his private sanctuary? Was he just trying to respect her privacy as the President or had he found something wrong?
She remembered the feel of his hands on her breast, so cold and clinical, so unlike the last time she’d felt someone’s hands on her body. The good parts of New Caprica seemed a lifetime away, yet she could still recall even the smallest details from that time.
Bill took his time exploring the smooth expanses of her skin. Even now she could feel goosebumps on her skin just thinking about it. His hand journeyed down the curve of her neck, tracing along the thin fabric hugging her side, and past the hemline of the red skirt bunched at her thighs...
The high-pitched squeak of the hinges sounded as Cottle stepped through the hatch puffing on a cigarette that was already down to its last embers. That he’d already gone through an entire cigarette and appeared to be preparing to light another before they’d even begun their conversation wasn’t a good sign.
She could tell from the moment he sat down and looked at her with uncharacteristic pity in his eyes that as soon as he opened his mouth there would forever be two separate periods in her life. The before he spoke and the after. The before filled with surprising moments of laughter and happiness she’d never expected to experience in a post-nuclear holocaust society, and the after filled with the deterioration of any hope she’d had of regaining such moments once the fleet was safe and she was no longer President.
Watching Cottle shuffle her x-rays and forms around his desk in a way that in any other man would be described as nervous, Laura began to think that regaining such happy moments with Bill was a fantasy. That it simply wasn’t in the cards for her.
“Madame President, I’m sorry to have to inform you that the scans revealed a mass in your left breast.” He took a drag of his cigarette and handed her a copy of the film so she could lift it up to the room’s harsh lights and view the mass herself.
Laura left the scan sitting in her lap.
His index finger followed the curve of her breast, never touching, but so close she could feel warmth in the patterns he traced above her.
“The good news,” Cottle cleared his throat and continued once he realized she had no intention of looking at the physical proof, “is that the mass is very small and we still don’t necessarily know that it’s malignant.”
He leaned over and began ghosting feather-light kisses to her flesh, working his way around in ever-smaller circles, until finally teasing the nipple into a tight peak.
He flicked ashes into a small tray on the corner of his desk, “I’d like to do a biopsy as soon as possible so we can confirm whether or not the mass is malignant and begin treatment immediately if necessary.”
Another biopsy. Another scar to mark the landscape of a body at war with itself. He brought his hand to her breast, tracing the peak, the soft side, and the small white puckered scar that ran along the underside.
He’d told her once on New Caprica that the scar was merely a blemish, a tangible reminder that would fade with time - she could hear him saying it now, devastatingly soft and reassuring in the back of her mind, even as Cottle droned on in the background. He’d viewed her scar as reminder, as proof that she’d survived her ordeal, and now she wondered what he’d make of this new scar if he ever saw it - not that that was likely happen anymore.
He palmed the whole of her breast in his hand. Kneading lightly, he brought his lips to her ear, and whispered in counterpoint to her wordless hums. “Never again.”
“You know the side effects of doloxan, so I won’t bother lecturing you about them now, but you really need to consider it this time, Laura.” Cottle sounded as gruff as ever, but his eyes seemed to be genuinely pleading with her. “If the tests show it is cancer, then we caught it early this time - early enough that putting yourself through the hell of doloxan could actually be worth it.”
She didn’t respond. She simply continued to silently stare at him. Finally she stood from her cold chair and wordlessly handed him the film copy. She walked halfway to the hatch, waiting for any protest he might make, and when he remained silent she spoke softly without facing him. “The Baltar trial will begin in a of couple weeks and I can’t be trying to deal with this and that ridiculous trial at the same time. We’ll schedule a biopsy before the trial, but there will be no word of this to anyone else, and there will be no more talk of treatments or plans of action until after the trial.”
She continued to the doorway without waiting for any kind of acknowledgment from the doctor. She paused with her hand on the hatch, and spoke again in the same quiet monotone, “And Doctor, I do mean anyone else. I know the lines of doctor patient confidentiality have had to blur somewhat since the attacks, but there can be no ambiguities here.”
“Yes Madame President.” She could hear him gathering the papers from her file off his desk and she pushed open the hatch. “But you ought to seriously consider telling him yourself. It would be better for both of you.”
She responded with a brief “hmm” and then continued through the hatch and out of sickbay. The click of her heels echoed off the corridor walls as her guards fell in sync behind her and she readjusted her suit jacket over chest - preparing her armor to face the next task required of Madame President.
Never again. It echoed in her mind as they continued through the crowded corridors of Galactica. He’d been right of course - it’s just that he’d been speaking about the wrong thing. Never again would they have such stolen moments together, never again would she feel his hands caressing her skin or tangling in her hair. That was all over now.
He’d been so worried when he noticed her reaction the first time he’d touched her breast as they made love on New Caprica - her whole body stiffened. He froze - that there was simply no way he could be with her after this.
"Laura, I'm sorry, I didn't mean... Did I hurt you?.. Does it.... Are you...?" He’d been so concerned about hurting her, so preoccupied with trying to understand her reaction, that he’d never really taken the time to process what the constant reminder and permanent threat living in her breast really meant to her.
He swallowed her protests with his mouth, kissing her deeply. She remembered the passion in his kiss, the desperation to show her that everything would be alright - to prove to her that she hadn’t ruined their time together by bringing up her own anxieties.
At the time she’d been grateful for the distraction, welcomed the new and incredible sensation of his lips on hers in place of the looming apprehension she’d felt, but now she wondered about its implications. If he didn’t know how to respond to her concerns even when she’d been healthy, and she didn’t know how to explain them, surely there was no hope for them now.
There was no way he’d ever be able to deal with seeing the frustration, sadness, and pain that she felt tied to the miniscule knot in her left breast. Never again.
Besides, they’d agreed after the rescue from New Caprica that they needed to maintain different priorities until the fleet was well and truly safe - priorities that for the sake of their people couldn’t involve one another. This was no different. It was simply another situation in which new priorities needed to be established. Her job now was to guide the fleet through this absurd Baltar trial as smoothly as possible and to find them a permanent home.
Everything else was secondary. If she could just remember that and make it through without letting Bill see any of her raw emotional vulnerabilities then they could steer the fleet through these rough times. She picked up her pace down the corridor, walking with renewed determination and forcing her guards to weave through civilians and military personnel as they stuck with her.
If she could just continue on without fixating on the unattainable events of the past, then the fleet would be okay - she could make sure that they at least came out of this situation alright.
He brought his roving hand upward again on its meandering journey of her body, this time slipping under her camisole and pushing it upwards…well, maybe if she could limit her fixation to the times when she was alone and needed a reprieve from the difficult days that were undeniably ahead that could be enough. Maybe it would be enough to focus on the fleet without entirely losing the comfort of those memories. He dusted his finger along her ribs to the side of her breast before taking a gentle handful of the soft mound…It would have to be enough. Never again.
Surely she could ask for at least that much.
Author: charmed8620
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: MA
Summary: Laura waits for her test results in Cottle’s office
Original Story: rococoms’ Between the Darkness and the Light.
Author's Note:Also a huge thank you to my awesome beta plaid_slytherin.
She’d never noticed how cold Cottle’s office was before. Whenever she’d come here in passing to ask a question about the intricacies of Cylon blood testing or the fleet’s nutritional situation it had seemed like such a nice room - like a small little haven away from the noise and crowds that dominated the rest of sickbay. She’d thought it fitting that Galactica’s doctor had a place to retreat whenever chain smoking like a chimney wasn’t enough to calm his nerves. After everything he had to deal with day in and day out, he deserved a small corner of the sickbay to himself.
Now, however, Laura felt none of that calm and quiet in the room. All that she noticed was how austere the steely grey walls looked, and how the hard walls and floors seemed to magnify her every breath. All she could feel was the cold seeping through her suit from the icy metal of Cottle’s chair - that and the dull ache emanating from her chest.
She lifted her right hand and slipped it beneath her suit jacket, slowly palpating to see if she could actually feel what she feared might be lurking within her left breast. The tender circles she pressed across her breast revealed no new tangible evidence, no life-shattering epiphanies.
Perhaps she’d been wrong to ask Cottle to test her, maybe she was simply overreacting to a stressful week and had imagined the twinges of pain in her chest. Perhaps it was unnecessary to have him clear part of his busy schedule just to drag her into a curtained off area and check for signs of abnormality.
Yet then again, if it had all been unnecessary why did he leave her here in his office while he retrieved the test results? Why not just bring her to one of the curtain-enclosed segments of the general sickbay? Why bring her into his private sanctuary? Was he just trying to respect her privacy as the President or had he found something wrong?
She remembered the feel of his hands on her breast, so cold and clinical, so unlike the last time she’d felt someone’s hands on her body. The good parts of New Caprica seemed a lifetime away, yet she could still recall even the smallest details from that time.
Bill took his time exploring the smooth expanses of her skin. Even now she could feel goosebumps on her skin just thinking about it. His hand journeyed down the curve of her neck, tracing along the thin fabric hugging her side, and past the hemline of the red skirt bunched at her thighs...
The high-pitched squeak of the hinges sounded as Cottle stepped through the hatch puffing on a cigarette that was already down to its last embers. That he’d already gone through an entire cigarette and appeared to be preparing to light another before they’d even begun their conversation wasn’t a good sign.
She could tell from the moment he sat down and looked at her with uncharacteristic pity in his eyes that as soon as he opened his mouth there would forever be two separate periods in her life. The before he spoke and the after. The before filled with surprising moments of laughter and happiness she’d never expected to experience in a post-nuclear holocaust society, and the after filled with the deterioration of any hope she’d had of regaining such moments once the fleet was safe and she was no longer President.
Watching Cottle shuffle her x-rays and forms around his desk in a way that in any other man would be described as nervous, Laura began to think that regaining such happy moments with Bill was a fantasy. That it simply wasn’t in the cards for her.
“Madame President, I’m sorry to have to inform you that the scans revealed a mass in your left breast.” He took a drag of his cigarette and handed her a copy of the film so she could lift it up to the room’s harsh lights and view the mass herself.
Laura left the scan sitting in her lap.
His index finger followed the curve of her breast, never touching, but so close she could feel warmth in the patterns he traced above her.
“The good news,” Cottle cleared his throat and continued once he realized she had no intention of looking at the physical proof, “is that the mass is very small and we still don’t necessarily know that it’s malignant.”
He leaned over and began ghosting feather-light kisses to her flesh, working his way around in ever-smaller circles, until finally teasing the nipple into a tight peak.
He flicked ashes into a small tray on the corner of his desk, “I’d like to do a biopsy as soon as possible so we can confirm whether or not the mass is malignant and begin treatment immediately if necessary.”
Another biopsy. Another scar to mark the landscape of a body at war with itself. He brought his hand to her breast, tracing the peak, the soft side, and the small white puckered scar that ran along the underside.
He’d told her once on New Caprica that the scar was merely a blemish, a tangible reminder that would fade with time - she could hear him saying it now, devastatingly soft and reassuring in the back of her mind, even as Cottle droned on in the background. He’d viewed her scar as reminder, as proof that she’d survived her ordeal, and now she wondered what he’d make of this new scar if he ever saw it - not that that was likely happen anymore.
He palmed the whole of her breast in his hand. Kneading lightly, he brought his lips to her ear, and whispered in counterpoint to her wordless hums. “Never again.”
“You know the side effects of doloxan, so I won’t bother lecturing you about them now, but you really need to consider it this time, Laura.” Cottle sounded as gruff as ever, but his eyes seemed to be genuinely pleading with her. “If the tests show it is cancer, then we caught it early this time - early enough that putting yourself through the hell of doloxan could actually be worth it.”
She didn’t respond. She simply continued to silently stare at him. Finally she stood from her cold chair and wordlessly handed him the film copy. She walked halfway to the hatch, waiting for any protest he might make, and when he remained silent she spoke softly without facing him. “The Baltar trial will begin in a of couple weeks and I can’t be trying to deal with this and that ridiculous trial at the same time. We’ll schedule a biopsy before the trial, but there will be no word of this to anyone else, and there will be no more talk of treatments or plans of action until after the trial.”
She continued to the doorway without waiting for any kind of acknowledgment from the doctor. She paused with her hand on the hatch, and spoke again in the same quiet monotone, “And Doctor, I do mean anyone else. I know the lines of doctor patient confidentiality have had to blur somewhat since the attacks, but there can be no ambiguities here.”
“Yes Madame President.” She could hear him gathering the papers from her file off his desk and she pushed open the hatch. “But you ought to seriously consider telling him yourself. It would be better for both of you.”
She responded with a brief “hmm” and then continued through the hatch and out of sickbay. The click of her heels echoed off the corridor walls as her guards fell in sync behind her and she readjusted her suit jacket over chest - preparing her armor to face the next task required of Madame President.
Never again. It echoed in her mind as they continued through the crowded corridors of Galactica. He’d been right of course - it’s just that he’d been speaking about the wrong thing. Never again would they have such stolen moments together, never again would she feel his hands caressing her skin or tangling in her hair. That was all over now.
He’d been so worried when he noticed her reaction the first time he’d touched her breast as they made love on New Caprica - her whole body stiffened. He froze - that there was simply no way he could be with her after this.
"Laura, I'm sorry, I didn't mean... Did I hurt you?.. Does it.... Are you...?" He’d been so concerned about hurting her, so preoccupied with trying to understand her reaction, that he’d never really taken the time to process what the constant reminder and permanent threat living in her breast really meant to her.
He swallowed her protests with his mouth, kissing her deeply. She remembered the passion in his kiss, the desperation to show her that everything would be alright - to prove to her that she hadn’t ruined their time together by bringing up her own anxieties.
At the time she’d been grateful for the distraction, welcomed the new and incredible sensation of his lips on hers in place of the looming apprehension she’d felt, but now she wondered about its implications. If he didn’t know how to respond to her concerns even when she’d been healthy, and she didn’t know how to explain them, surely there was no hope for them now.
There was no way he’d ever be able to deal with seeing the frustration, sadness, and pain that she felt tied to the miniscule knot in her left breast. Never again.
Besides, they’d agreed after the rescue from New Caprica that they needed to maintain different priorities until the fleet was well and truly safe - priorities that for the sake of their people couldn’t involve one another. This was no different. It was simply another situation in which new priorities needed to be established. Her job now was to guide the fleet through this absurd Baltar trial as smoothly as possible and to find them a permanent home.
Everything else was secondary. If she could just remember that and make it through without letting Bill see any of her raw emotional vulnerabilities then they could steer the fleet through these rough times. She picked up her pace down the corridor, walking with renewed determination and forcing her guards to weave through civilians and military personnel as they stuck with her.
If she could just continue on without fixating on the unattainable events of the past, then the fleet would be okay - she could make sure that they at least came out of this situation alright.
He brought his roving hand upward again on its meandering journey of her body, this time slipping under her camisole and pushing it upwards…well, maybe if she could limit her fixation to the times when she was alone and needed a reprieve from the difficult days that were undeniably ahead that could be enough. Maybe it would be enough to focus on the fleet without entirely losing the comfort of those memories. He dusted his finger along her ribs to the side of her breast before taking a gentle handful of the soft mound…It would have to be enough. Never again.
Surely she could ask for at least that much.