Unwound (4/4)
Title: Unwound (4/4)
Author: icedteainthebag
Word Count: 1,524
Rating: MA
Pairings: Bill Adama/Carolanne Adama, Bill Adama/Ellen Tigh
Summary: Unwinding the labyrinth.
Notes: tjonesy bought my services in the help_haiti auction and requested a story in which Bill and Ellen frakked. This is what happened. Thanks to her for inspiring me to write it and putting her foot up my ass to finish it. My love and overly affectionate praise go out to larsfarm77 and somadanne for the amazing betas.
Thanks to everyone for reading. This story is important to me and it’s been a great experience sharing it with you and talking about it.
Link to: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
The sound of laughter in the distance is surprising. He is caught between waking and dreaming, and hazily he feels the anticipation of a typical Sunday morning. He expects Lee and Zak to hit the door like a thunder clap and burst into the room. They’ll jump onto the bed and shake him awake. Their mother is finally tired of holding them at bay. He can smell the French toast she always makes-she always used to make, but hasn’t made in years.
Laughter, again, but he opens his eyes to an empty bed, the details of the dream flitting out of his conscience. The laughter isn’t theirs. It filters through the empty apartment like a score playing over the wrong musical.
He’s still naked and as he shifts his leg in the bed, there’s a subtle soreness that reminds him of his indiscretions the night before.
She’s gone. His heartbeat speeds up in his chest and he wonders if she’s gone home without telling him goodbye, maybe kissing him in thanks. He shouldn’t expect such things. This wasn’t what it was to her, and it shouldn’t be what it is to him.
The laughter, on third occurrence, is recognizably hers. Ellen-he remembers her name as he sits up in bed and scans the room for his boxers, lying incriminatingly in a pile on the floor with her dress. She must have gotten up while he was sleeping, but she wasn’t wearing her own clothes.
Bill hopes she’s wearing something. It’s going to be strange enough this morning with Saul.
He gets up and slips on his boxers, then last night’s shirt for good measure. He pads down the hallway, rubbing his hand across his eyes.
Ellen and Saul are sitting at the kitchen bar across from each other. She’s sipping from a glass of orange juice and he immediately gets the sense that juice isn’t the only thing that’s in it. Bill notices she’s in one of his own dress shirts, her long legs framing the tall barstool. She must have raided his closet while he was sleeping.
“Hey, you,” she says, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “’Bout time you got up. I came out here-I was ravenous, if you know what I mean-and before I knew it, I’d met your roommate.”
Bill walks up to the countertop and stifles a yawn. “Mornin’, Saul.”
“Better morning for you, I’m guessin’,” Saul says. His voice is a low growl. It gets that way when he thinks he’s being clever.
Ellen grins. “You’d better believe it.”
“Oh, I do,” Saul responds.
Ellen’s soft laughter has a flirtatious quality to it that sets Bill on edge, which he quickly passes off as completely unreasonable on his part. He wonders how long she’s been up and having this conversation.
“Saul was just telling me stories about your time on the freighter,” Ellen says, taking another sip of her orange juice. “He could sympathize with me on the fact that you have quite a snore when you go to sleep a little tipsy.”
“Whatever he said, I had nothing to do with that incident in the mess hall.” Bill watches Saul go to the cupboard and get a tall glass. He pours it half-full of orange juice, then reaches for the ever-present bottle of clear liquor to his left.
“If that’s for me, I’ll take straight juice,” Bill says.
“Hair of the dog?”
“I’m all right.”
Saul shrugs, swiping the glass from the counter and delivering it to him. “Here’s to your health. You owe me a good night of sleep, by the way. Got traumatized last night. Think I heard dogs howling out in the alley.”
Ellen laughs. “You probably loved it, Saul.”
Saul chuckles and takes a long gulp of his alcoholic breakfast. “Maybe I did.”
“You’re a sick frak.” Bill sips his juice, the tang on his tongue making him wince. He notices Ellen watching Saul intently, and realizes Saul seems to be returning the gaze. He suddenly gets an overwhelming feeling that he’s interrupting something, but he doesn’t want to believe it.
“I think I’m going to shower,” he says. He lingers, watching for her reaction.
“All right,” she says. “If I’m not here when you get out, thanks for everything.”
Saul glances at him and then looks away, knowing very well that she’s just knocked Bill down several notches by passing him off in such a way.
“Right,” Bill answers, standing up. It’s awkward and he wordlessly leaves the kitchen, headed for the bathroom, his anger growing with each footstep.
The annoyance he feels simmering deep inside is inexplicable as he shuts the bathroom door too hard and sheds his clothes. He needs to relax. This was nothing to her. It was nothing to him.
He steps under the shower, temperature as hot as he can stand it, and lets the water soothe his body.
He doesn’t need her to join him. He got what he needed.
He tilts his head back, water running over his face.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
She’s walked out by the time he's walked out.
x x x x
Bill decides to spend the day downtown, taking the Lev to the bookstore in Little Libran. He hasn’t been there in ages, since his father was alive. He expects the store to smell like his father’s cologne when he enters, as it usually mixed in with the dusty newsprint odor lingering in the air with the owner’s omnipresent cup of coffee.
The scent of coffee is still strong. The owner, now hunched over with age as his feeble hands clutch at his mug, still recognizes him by name as he passes the register.
He makes his way to the crimes bookshelf, a location he’d become very familiar with in his previous visits, and skims the books slowly, methodically, as always.
Picking a book is like selecting a lover; he’d been sloppy in the past and ended up unsatisfied. But if he picked the right one, it would settle into him, ground him; he’d explore it slowly until it came to its end, only to read it again, each time finding something new to savor.
He hasn’t read in a very long time. He selects a Nick Pace novel and purchases it, paying the owner a couple of extra cubits and leaving before he has a chance to protest.
In Little Tauron, he goes to a small hole-in-the-wall umidera and orders Tauronese stew, the scent of it bringing him back to his grandmother’s kitchen.
He still hates it.
He picks up some hamburgers on the way back to Saul’s apartment; Saul seems to subsist on a liquid diet and he could probably use what little nourishment a burger and fries provide. His stomach growls-he realizes he hasn’t eaten all day besides the bitter sip of orange juice at the kitchen island with Saul and Ellen.
As he keys into the apartment, he wonders if he’ll ever see her again.
“Saul?” he calls as he walks into the apartment, kicking his boots off under the entryway table. He remembers the night before and gets an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he makes his way down the hallway. Maybe he went out for the day.
Bill walks past the living room and finds it empty as he places the food bag on the kitchen island. He hears a door squeak open and turns as he removes his book from his jacket pocket.
“Bill, hey.” Saul walks down the hallway toward him. He’s in his boxer shorts. Bill checks his watch; it’s three in the afternoon.
“Hey,” Bill says, turning the book over in his hands to read the back. “You gotta stop walking around half naked now that you’ve got a roommate. I don’t want to see your scrawny chest.”
“The River Runs Red.” Saul’s voice is gruff as he reads the front cover of the book. “You’re not gonna do anything drastic now are ya.”
Bill chuckles. “No. But I did bring you some food.”
Saul stands in front of him, shifting on his feet. Bill looks up from the book jacket and watches his eyes as they wander from the food bag back to him.
“The frak, you don’t like hamburgers?” Bill asks. “You should feel lucky I got you anything at all.”
“Bill, I... ” Saul stops what he’s saying and nods, as if in agreement with himself. The uneasy feeling in Bill’s gut returns as he watches his friend struggling with something that seems more troubling than the food on the counter behind him. “I gotta tell you something.”
Bill stares at him. This isn’t like him at all. “Spit it out, Saul.”
“I didn’t figure on this happening,” Saul says quietly.
“What happened? You mean me moving in? If it’s causing a problem, I-”
“Saul?”
The familiar voice from Saul’s bedroom should surprise Bill, but it doesn’t. Saul looks relieved that he hasn’t had to confess his sins.
They’ve never judged each other before for their decisions or their mistakes.
This time is different.
You’re letting her get to you.
- end -
Author: icedteainthebag
Word Count: 1,524
Rating: MA
Pairings: Bill Adama/Carolanne Adama, Bill Adama/Ellen Tigh
Summary: Unwinding the labyrinth.
Notes: tjonesy bought my services in the help_haiti auction and requested a story in which Bill and Ellen frakked. This is what happened. Thanks to her for inspiring me to write it and putting her foot up my ass to finish it. My love and overly affectionate praise go out to larsfarm77 and somadanne for the amazing betas.
Thanks to everyone for reading. This story is important to me and it’s been a great experience sharing it with you and talking about it.
Link to: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
The sound of laughter in the distance is surprising. He is caught between waking and dreaming, and hazily he feels the anticipation of a typical Sunday morning. He expects Lee and Zak to hit the door like a thunder clap and burst into the room. They’ll jump onto the bed and shake him awake. Their mother is finally tired of holding them at bay. He can smell the French toast she always makes-she always used to make, but hasn’t made in years.
Laughter, again, but he opens his eyes to an empty bed, the details of the dream flitting out of his conscience. The laughter isn’t theirs. It filters through the empty apartment like a score playing over the wrong musical.
He’s still naked and as he shifts his leg in the bed, there’s a subtle soreness that reminds him of his indiscretions the night before.
She’s gone. His heartbeat speeds up in his chest and he wonders if she’s gone home without telling him goodbye, maybe kissing him in thanks. He shouldn’t expect such things. This wasn’t what it was to her, and it shouldn’t be what it is to him.
The laughter, on third occurrence, is recognizably hers. Ellen-he remembers her name as he sits up in bed and scans the room for his boxers, lying incriminatingly in a pile on the floor with her dress. She must have gotten up while he was sleeping, but she wasn’t wearing her own clothes.
Bill hopes she’s wearing something. It’s going to be strange enough this morning with Saul.
He gets up and slips on his boxers, then last night’s shirt for good measure. He pads down the hallway, rubbing his hand across his eyes.
Ellen and Saul are sitting at the kitchen bar across from each other. She’s sipping from a glass of orange juice and he immediately gets the sense that juice isn’t the only thing that’s in it. Bill notices she’s in one of his own dress shirts, her long legs framing the tall barstool. She must have raided his closet while he was sleeping.
“Hey, you,” she says, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “’Bout time you got up. I came out here-I was ravenous, if you know what I mean-and before I knew it, I’d met your roommate.”
Bill walks up to the countertop and stifles a yawn. “Mornin’, Saul.”
“Better morning for you, I’m guessin’,” Saul says. His voice is a low growl. It gets that way when he thinks he’s being clever.
Ellen grins. “You’d better believe it.”
“Oh, I do,” Saul responds.
Ellen’s soft laughter has a flirtatious quality to it that sets Bill on edge, which he quickly passes off as completely unreasonable on his part. He wonders how long she’s been up and having this conversation.
“Saul was just telling me stories about your time on the freighter,” Ellen says, taking another sip of her orange juice. “He could sympathize with me on the fact that you have quite a snore when you go to sleep a little tipsy.”
“Whatever he said, I had nothing to do with that incident in the mess hall.” Bill watches Saul go to the cupboard and get a tall glass. He pours it half-full of orange juice, then reaches for the ever-present bottle of clear liquor to his left.
“If that’s for me, I’ll take straight juice,” Bill says.
“Hair of the dog?”
“I’m all right.”
Saul shrugs, swiping the glass from the counter and delivering it to him. “Here’s to your health. You owe me a good night of sleep, by the way. Got traumatized last night. Think I heard dogs howling out in the alley.”
Ellen laughs. “You probably loved it, Saul.”
Saul chuckles and takes a long gulp of his alcoholic breakfast. “Maybe I did.”
“You’re a sick frak.” Bill sips his juice, the tang on his tongue making him wince. He notices Ellen watching Saul intently, and realizes Saul seems to be returning the gaze. He suddenly gets an overwhelming feeling that he’s interrupting something, but he doesn’t want to believe it.
“I think I’m going to shower,” he says. He lingers, watching for her reaction.
“All right,” she says. “If I’m not here when you get out, thanks for everything.”
Saul glances at him and then looks away, knowing very well that she’s just knocked Bill down several notches by passing him off in such a way.
“Right,” Bill answers, standing up. It’s awkward and he wordlessly leaves the kitchen, headed for the bathroom, his anger growing with each footstep.
The annoyance he feels simmering deep inside is inexplicable as he shuts the bathroom door too hard and sheds his clothes. He needs to relax. This was nothing to her. It was nothing to him.
He steps under the shower, temperature as hot as he can stand it, and lets the water soothe his body.
He doesn’t need her to join him. He got what he needed.
He tilts his head back, water running over his face.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
She’s walked out by the time he's walked out.
x x x x
Bill decides to spend the day downtown, taking the Lev to the bookstore in Little Libran. He hasn’t been there in ages, since his father was alive. He expects the store to smell like his father’s cologne when he enters, as it usually mixed in with the dusty newsprint odor lingering in the air with the owner’s omnipresent cup of coffee.
The scent of coffee is still strong. The owner, now hunched over with age as his feeble hands clutch at his mug, still recognizes him by name as he passes the register.
He makes his way to the crimes bookshelf, a location he’d become very familiar with in his previous visits, and skims the books slowly, methodically, as always.
Picking a book is like selecting a lover; he’d been sloppy in the past and ended up unsatisfied. But if he picked the right one, it would settle into him, ground him; he’d explore it slowly until it came to its end, only to read it again, each time finding something new to savor.
He hasn’t read in a very long time. He selects a Nick Pace novel and purchases it, paying the owner a couple of extra cubits and leaving before he has a chance to protest.
In Little Tauron, he goes to a small hole-in-the-wall umidera and orders Tauronese stew, the scent of it bringing him back to his grandmother’s kitchen.
He still hates it.
He picks up some hamburgers on the way back to Saul’s apartment; Saul seems to subsist on a liquid diet and he could probably use what little nourishment a burger and fries provide. His stomach growls-he realizes he hasn’t eaten all day besides the bitter sip of orange juice at the kitchen island with Saul and Ellen.
As he keys into the apartment, he wonders if he’ll ever see her again.
“Saul?” he calls as he walks into the apartment, kicking his boots off under the entryway table. He remembers the night before and gets an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he makes his way down the hallway. Maybe he went out for the day.
Bill walks past the living room and finds it empty as he places the food bag on the kitchen island. He hears a door squeak open and turns as he removes his book from his jacket pocket.
“Bill, hey.” Saul walks down the hallway toward him. He’s in his boxer shorts. Bill checks his watch; it’s three in the afternoon.
“Hey,” Bill says, turning the book over in his hands to read the back. “You gotta stop walking around half naked now that you’ve got a roommate. I don’t want to see your scrawny chest.”
“The River Runs Red.” Saul’s voice is gruff as he reads the front cover of the book. “You’re not gonna do anything drastic now are ya.”
Bill chuckles. “No. But I did bring you some food.”
Saul stands in front of him, shifting on his feet. Bill looks up from the book jacket and watches his eyes as they wander from the food bag back to him.
“The frak, you don’t like hamburgers?” Bill asks. “You should feel lucky I got you anything at all.”
“Bill, I... ” Saul stops what he’s saying and nods, as if in agreement with himself. The uneasy feeling in Bill’s gut returns as he watches his friend struggling with something that seems more troubling than the food on the counter behind him. “I gotta tell you something.”
Bill stares at him. This isn’t like him at all. “Spit it out, Saul.”
“I didn’t figure on this happening,” Saul says quietly.
“What happened? You mean me moving in? If it’s causing a problem, I-”
“Saul?”
The familiar voice from Saul’s bedroom should surprise Bill, but it doesn’t. Saul looks relieved that he hasn’t had to confess his sins.
They’ve never judged each other before for their decisions or their mistakes.
This time is different.
You’re letting her get to you.
- end -