Respite (2/5) by larsfarm77 & icedteainthebag
Title: Respite (2/5)
Authors: larsfarm77 & icedteainthebag
Summary: She wondered if he remembered what it felt like to bury his face in her hair; it wasn't so long ago.
Spoilers: Through The Road Less Traveled
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,702
Authors' Notes: More than three months ago, icedteainthebag posted this little drabble in rememberlaura. As can be read in our responses, it inspired much laughter, a wonderful friendship/collaboration and, eventually, this 20,000+ word fic. Huge thanks to tjonesy and somadanne for beta awesomeness.
Link to Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapters will be posted daily until finished.
***
It was late when the Marines pushed open the hatch, and she winced at the screech of the fatigued metal as it closed soundly behind her.
The outer room was dark, silent, but for the hiss of the oxygen scrubbers, and the occasional gurgle of water as it rushed through the pipes above her head. A faint glow came from the sleeping area. It wasn’t bright enough to work by, or read by. Letting out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, she stood for a moment, letting the silence envelop her.
Galactica was a big ship, and she’d wandered her for hours, anger and frustration driving her forward, no direction, no destination, trusting that the Marines could lead her back. Her legs ached, her heart beat palpably against the inside of her chest, and her breath came in thin, short sips. She slumped against the bulkhead, finally too exhausted to think or feel anything. It was such sweet relief.
A soft grunt emanated from the direction of the rack, and Laura stood still, waiting to see if she had woken him.
Not now, go back to sleep. Please, just sleep.
There was a rustling of blankets, before she heard a long snore that slowly faded into deep, even breaths. Her stomach ached, even as she relaxed with the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to face him again tonight.
Her mind had churned furiously as she’d walked, weighing options, repeating and editing what she had said to him, what she would say to him, and she kept coming back to the same conclusion.
This isn’t fair to you, Bill.
He hadn’t known what he was getting into when he offered her his quarters, had been giddy in an adorably boyish way when he’d helped her find places for the few things she had. Gods, it had been less than an hour later that she’d had him flat on his back in his bed, frakking him senseless. That was before the diloxin, when she was every bit the woman she’d been on New Caprica, their burdens shared.
Her eyes having adjusted to the dim light, she ventured toward his closet. Crouching slowly, she reached in and fumbled for the battered suitcase that had carried what little she owned. She clutched the worn handle and gently pulled it free. She was able to find a blouse and skirt by feel, slipping them from the hanger, and folding them into the bag.
She couldn’t help thinking about those stolen moments on New Caprica, lying bare with him under a dew-heavy blanket, uneven ground prodding at her deliciously sated body. It didn’t ever matter whether they’d been slow and gentle or frenzied in their lovemaking; he had always held her afterward, his arms heavy and strong around her. New Caprica was a time bomb. They both knew it, yet in those moments, nestled warmly against him in the frigid air in her tent, she’d allowed herself to feel safe for the first time since she’d lost her family.
It had been both fleeting and foolish.
In a matter of days, the Cylons had effectively stripped away anything resembling security, and had scared her in ways that she tried not to remember, much less dwell on. And now, he could still hold her, help her fall asleep, but there was this tiny undercurrent of panic, the kind that catches you in the still, quiet moments in the depths of night. No amount of holding or stroking his hand over her back would keep her safe from this. Cancer. As all encompassing as his denial was, she knew that he felt that panic too. Somewhere inside, he was as out of control as she was, and didn’t want her to see it.
You don’t deserve this.
When her mother was sick, she spent brief periods in the hospital. It effectively removed the burden of primary care from Laura, allowing her to return home in the evenings. She could be alone, regroup, grieve and just plain be weak in a way that she’d never allow herself to be at her mother’s bedside. She could give that to Bill, too. She could take guest quarters, give herself the illusion of fresh air, and leave him the space to deal with this however he wanted.
He’ll drink, but at least you won’t be there to see it.
But she wouldn’t leave him entirely. Couldn’t. She just needed to work through this on her own.
Rationalize it however you want, Laura, you’re running again.
She couldn’t shake the thought as she padded to the back of his quarters. Kneeling in front of the rack, she listened to the steadiness of his breathing and allowed herself to appreciate how relaxed his features were. She’d always loved to watch him sleep. His body was pressed back against the bulkhead. His lips were full and slack, the lines and contours of his face somehow smoother. He had a hand wrapped loosely around his bare abdomen, the other resting above his head. It was too much temptation. She looked away. Gathering her resolve, she ignored the curl of heat in her lower abdomen and quietly pulled open her drawer. Grabbing a fistful of her undergarments, she turned to add them to the front compartment of her bag.
The light on the desk caught her eye.
There was something sitting under the lamp. It looked like glass, beveled surfaces reflecting the pale light as she moved toward it, a dark patch in the center where a small piece of folded paper rested. It said simply, “Laura” in Bill’s fluid handwriting.
She reached out a tentative hand, not sure she really wanted to read this. Her mind was made up. Her clothes packed. She should leave now, while she still could.
Damn you, Bill.
She loved a mystery and he knew it. She could already feel some of her weariness fading with anticipation.
Fumbling in her pocket for her glasses, she propped a hip on the desk and snatched up the note with her other hand. A glass jar sat behind it, filled almost to the top with a cream-colored liquid. A worn, blue label was wrapped around the middle, the words faded and rubbed to the point where she couldn’t read them at a distance.
She opened the note.
Laura,
Funny what a well hung dog-man can get you these days in the triad circles. I’m sorry that it took so many games, on so many nights, but I figured algae was the last thing you wanted to come back to after everything. It’s not fresh air, I know. Guest quarters have been cleared on deck 2, just call Dee, she’ll escort you.
Bill.
She bit her lip, rolling the tender flesh over the sharp edge of her teeth, as if that small pain would be enough to counter the swell of emotion that heated her face, filled her eyes and nose with moisture, and closed her throat.
She lifted the jar, trying to concentrate on reading the lettering, anything to be distracted from the horrible guilt that was rising in her. Rubbing a hand under her glasses to wipe at her eyes, she read:
Mayweather’s Fine Custard. Guaranteed fresh if sealed. A… family?… recipe since 10346.
Absently, she pressed down on the metal cap. It didn’t pop back up.
Gods, Bill.
It wasn’t just dog-man. It was a pen, a precious tube of toothpaste. All had gone missing, and now she knew why. The conversation had been one of many, and so long ago, about the foods that they missed. Custard. She’d told him that her grandmother used to make it.
She dropped her bag to the floor, clothes still hanging out of it. She read the note again, then placed it back on the desk.
Glancing at Bill, she began to undress, plucking buttons out of their holes, shrugging the silk off her shoulders. She removed the rest of her clothing and hesitated at her panties, her thumbs hooked under them. Taking a deep breath, she pulled them back out and closed her eyes. She exhaled, then walked over to his rack quietly, watching his chest rise and fall.
He lay curled on his side against the bulkhead, snoring softly, half of the mattress left empty.
Her chin quivered. He was always making room for her, always had made room for her.
She climbed into the rack and settled on her side, facing away from him. She felt his warmth against her back as he slid his arm around her.
***
Bill awoke to the shifting of the bed and wrapped his arm around Laura's waist. She turned to him and he pulled her close, as tightly as he could.
“Bill, I’m so sorry.” Her voice was soft, and it wavered with the threat of tears.
Her body had always felt like it fit perfectly against his own. Her slender leg slid between his thighs as she cuddled closer. His eyes were still closed as he pressed his lips against her forehead, soft and warm.
“You wanna tell me what this is all about?” he murmured.
I think I know. I just need you to tell me.
“It’s a couple of things,” she whispered. “Gods, Bill, all this time I’ve been angry at you for taking off and you’ve been trying to…”
He hummed against her forehead and she took a deep, shaky breath. He felt her chest shudder slightly against his and tried his best to ignore it.
“What things?” he asked softly, kissing her brow.
“I don’t like the drinking.” She buried her face in his neck. “I know we’re going through a lot. It’s hard to take. But I don’t like who you become when you do that. I don’t like who I become around you.”
Her breath was soft on his skin. He ran his fingers up and down her spine slowly, feeling soft ridges under them.
“What else?” he asked.
She was quiet and he felt her body tense up in his arms. She pushed into him more snugly.
“I’m not who I was before,” she murmured.
His fingers drifted up to the smooth skin at the base of her skull and rubbed a gentle circle there. He was being careful, not wanting to make her self-conscious. He was unsure if she’d shy away, but she didn’t, her warm body curled into him.
“None of us are,” he said. “How could we be?”
She sighed. “I don’t mean only before the attacks. This second bout with cancer has changed me, Bill. This body doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore, inside or outside.”
“You’re worried that you’re not the woman I fell in love with.”
Her affirmation was only a small sound in the back of her throat. He knew it well. Sometimes, she felt so much that she could barely express it in words.
You’re so wrong, Laura.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember what she was like before. New Caprica was easiest. He’d spent almost four months in space with nothing but his memories of her. Laura had had one small, incandescent lamp near the cot in her tent. The generator was inefficient and the orange glow seemed to shift in intensity, muting her pale skin and bringing out the copper tones in her hair. He’d loved going down on her, loved the feeling of her soft, damp curls against his lips and chin, tickling his skin. He imagined that the sensation was mild compared to feel of his thick moustache against her tender flesh. It was rarely warm enough to completely undress, but Laura would pull her sweater up on one side, enough to bare a breast to him, to play with a stiff nipple as he watched her over the rounded, healthy curve of her abdomen.
He knew it would be different now, the feel of her body under his hands and his mouth. Changes from head to toe, but she was still Laura to him, beautiful, full of life. There had been so many times recently he’d wanted to tell her how much he ached to explore her again, to chart the slightly altered topography of her body. He wanted to see her writhe, bedsheets crumpled into her fists, and her back arched as he made her come.
He wasn’t sure she understood that the idea of learning her anew was exciting for him. He knew the differences she saw probably disturbed her, but he wanted her to be comforted by his acceptance. Maybe even accept them if he did.
“Laura.” He eased back from her a little, enough to untuck her chin from his neck, to allow him to search for her eyes in the dim light. “There’s something you have to understand.” He held her face in one hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth along her cheek, and waited until she grew impatient enough to meet his gaze. “Diloxin can’t touch the woman I love. Change the packaging a little, yeah…”
“It isn’t just a little, Bill.” She shook her head, and he could almost feel her struggle not to look away from him. “It reminds me of how my mother wasted away. I’ve never felt uncomfortable in my own skin before.”
“You remember our first night together?” he asked, softly, pressing her to him once again.
There was a pause and then a brief shrug of her shoulders, an amused, almost embarrassed sounding noise preceding her words. “Not really, not as much as I’d like.”
He grinned, chuckling against her. “Neither do I.”
“We were so stoned.”
“Yeah, well, what about the second time?”
“Mmm hmm, morning.” She shifted, her thigh pressing briefly against his groin. It could have been accidental, if it were anyone else.
“You remember what you did?” He could still see her, lying in the dappled sunlight that shone through the seams and gaps in the tent fabric. Completely bare and not even slightly self conscious, comfortable with him from the first. “You showed me exactly how to touch you. And it was so sexy, Laura, learning you like that.” Just the thought had him half hard. She could probably feel it. Good, I’m not gonna apologize for what you do to me. “Maybe… maybe that’s what we need to do. Go back to that morning.”
“But, I don’t-”
“It doesn’t matter. This time we learn together.” He wished he could add ‘take our time,’ but they didn’t live the sort of lives that allowed for a long respite; they would have to take what they could get. “Will you try?”
She sniffed, nodding against him.
“Okay.” He kissed the edge of her forehead, his lips partially on the silk of her headscarf. “Not now, though, not when we’re both exhausted. Just sleep, now.”
“Bill?”
“Mmm?”
“Thank you.”
“You haven’t even tried it, yet.”
He felt the giggle along the entire length of her body. It warmed his heart. “I wasn’t talking about the custard.”
“Neither was I.”
***
The next morning when Bill went on shift, she knew what she had to do.
She’d developed a love/hate relationship with medicine over time, from holding her mother’s hand after she found out about the cancer spreading through her body, to her most current experiences with diloxin. Sometimes she questioned the seemingly primitive idea of lacing her body with poison to see what would die first, the good cells or the bad ones.
But she also had faith in medicine-she was still around, she knew, because of the stem cells that had been infused into her body.
Medicine existed to sustain life, to enhance life. That was the belief that led her to sickbay the morning after her talk with Bill.
Will you try?
He had no idea how much she’d been trying, or how much more she wanted to give, just to feel good again, to be close to him without worry.
It was another five minutes at least before Cottle shuffled into his office, a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lower lip. He sat heavily in the worn rolling chair behind his desk, and glancing at her, stubbed out the smoke. “Godsdamned Leonian cigarettes. Stale, the lot of them,” he grumbled. Affection curled her lips into a slight smile, knowing that the gesture had nothing to do with his excuse.
“Something I can help you with?” he asked, when she didn’t offer anything further. She could hardly see him for the files piled on the surface of his desk. “’Cause if you just want to pace, I can think of a lot of better places.”
Usually she found it amusing that he wouldn’t know bedside manner if he tripped over it, preferring someone who got to the point, but today it put her back up. She turned toward the hatch. “I’m sorry. It’s not important.” Her hand was closing over the wheel when he spoke.
“So the President of the Twelve Colonies takes time out of her godsdamned overloaded schedule to voluntarily pace my sickbay, and it’s not important?” He coughed and she could hear him shuffling papers. How did he always know exactly which button to push with her?
She dropped her hand from the hatch, pressing her forehead against the metal, before turning back and copping out. Gloriously. “Do you think Ishay would have a moment to talk?” She toyed self-consciously with the wheel behind her.
“Ishay?” He rubbed a hand over his furrowed brow. “Can’t for the life of me figure out why the civilian ships keep asking for her instead of me. She’s handling routine calls on the Zephyr today. It’ll be a few hours. You can work on that groove you’re making in my office floor.”
She continued pacing. “That’s not going to work for me.” The Quorum Q and A was in less than an hour, and since she’d been unable to attend the last one, there was no excuse, save her actual demise, that they would accept this time.
Just frakking ask him. It’s not like he hasn’t heard it before.
Cottle seemed to read her mind. “Look, young lady, there’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t heard at least twice in the last forty years, and you might just feel better saying it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What have you heard only twice?”
“Let’s just say it’s a very delicate situation involving a hormonal male and the vacuum hose the deck hands use to remove particulate from the Viper intakes.” He considered her from under his heavy eyebrows. “If I had to guess, I’d say that you’re dealing with a delicate situation of your own. You know, if he’s having performance iss-”
“Excuse me?” she said quickly, shocked.
“The only reasons patients squirm like you’ve been doing for the last five minutes is they either want to discuss sex or a bowel issue. I’m assuming it’s not-”
“No.”
I’m not sure which one I’d rather be discussing.
“Okay then. Sit down. I’m gettin’ tired just watching you pace like that, and this is the only break I get.”
“If it will make you talk a little more quietly…” she hissed. Glancing at the hatch, she walked over and took the chair in front of the desk.
“I’m not expecting anyone and I understand the need for confidentiality here. My political opinions might not be worth frak, but I’d say that if people had any sense at all, they’d be happy for you two.”
She wasn’t sure it was possible to feel any more uncomfortable, despite the kindness of his words. “Thanks. I think.”
Cottle cleared his throat loudly, as if to signal that the sentimentality was over. “There are a lot of reasons why he may be having difficulty. He might have latent fears about your illness, about the side effects of the treatment. He may worry about when or if things will be normal again now that this cycle is over.” He leaned toward her, crossing his hands over a pile of files on the desk and meeting her eyes. “The mind is a tricky thing. The body might be ready, but all these little questions can ruin things faster than hearing Baltar’s voice over the wireless.”
Frak, that would do it.
She couldn’t help smiling. She needed to stop him, correct him about just who was having the problem, but he quickly rambled on.
“I’ll tell you what I tell my other patients. Despite the fact that there are physical and emotional changes to deal with, people expect to respond sexually as if nothing has changed at all. If I had a cubit for every time I’ve heard ‘when will I be normal again?’ well… okay… I’d have been nuked on a beach on Picon while drinking some really nice Port.” He coughed and raised his voice, “The point is, now is not the time to go back to the old standbys. Too much expectation there. You got a kink, Madam President?”
Oh. My. Gods.
Her eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving his face. He simply looked back at her, completely unapologetic. She made a mental note to thank Richard Adar in the afterlife for her ability to think on her feet.
“If I did, what makes you think I’d share it with you?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared.
“Right. Well, if you do have one, or two, no better time than the present. You may be surprised.”
She couldn’t believe she was having a serious discussion with Cottle about the utilization of sexual fantasy as a medical treatment. Then again, it didn’t seem like an entirely worthless opinion.
“No other options?”
Cottle chuckled. “That must be some kink. There is some water based lubricant that-”
She waved a dismissive hand at him and stood up, more than ready to end this particular conversation. “Then thank you for your help,” she said, formally. Feeling bad that she had allowed him to think that the problem rested with Bill, she went to add, “You should know-”
“You can tell Bill that next time he wants to talk about his problem, he doesn’t have to pace a groove into my sickbay first.” His eyes sparkled at her.
She nodded, an embarrassed smile on her face, not particularly surprised that he already knew.
“Be patient, okay?” he said quietly as she turned to leave. “You’ll find it again.”
She walked out of sickbay, trying to conceptualize exactly how she could put the doctor’s advice into action.
It wasn’t a bad line of thought.
***
Laura was restless during the afternoon Quorum meeting. She couldn’t care less about the illicit trading being conducted on the Prometheus. Again. There were a few more pressing issues for her, both public and private.
With the hope of Earth glimmering on the horizon, she felt they were on the verge of its discovery.
A home was a tall order, perhaps a little too idealistic, but sometimes she allowed herself to fantasize about it. She’d lie awake and wonder if she would truly make it there, to feel the wind on her face, solid ground under her feet, the heat of the sun on her back. And maybe, if the drugs worked well enough, if her body held out, she and Bill could build a little place together or, at the very least, make love under the stars instead of being trapped among them.
The simple things she took for granted in what seemed like a completely different lifetime were the only things she truly wanted now.
She took a quiet breath and pushed those thoughts out of her mind.
I’ve spent enough time thinking about what I want to do before I die.
She knew she should turn the focus of her attention back to the meeting. Instead, she began to recall the conversation she’d had with Cottle in sickbay.
She listlessly stared at the words on the page of their agenda, yet only one word kept coming to mind.
Kinks.
Amazing what kind of medical advice doctors were giving these days.
She and Bill weren’t as spry as they most assuredly were when they were younger, but they’d also found intriguing ways to spend what little private time they had together. A scarf here, a toy there, and then there was that incident with the video camera… no, they definitely weren’t boring, but when she thought about the word kinky, the sex between her and Bill wasn’t exactly what came to mind. Beautiful, and fulfilling, yes. Kinky, maybe not as much.
But the idea of changing things up intrigued her. She had certain memories associated with “the old standbys”… the gentle tug of his fingers through her hair as she went down on him was one of them. The feeling of his body draped over her back, his hips grinding into hers. There had to be other things that would be different enough, yet turn her on all the same.
She took a deep, calming breath as the warmth of arousal threatened to reach her neck, her cheeks, just at the thought. She glanced around the table of delegates, trying her best to go unnoticed, and shifted in her seat, squeezing her thighs together.
If they tried something new, mixed it up a little like Cottle had suggested, maybe it would be easier for her to forget about things that were different. Maybe she’d be able to focus on the present instead of the past.
The last few days she’d been craving that closeness with Bill, the feeling of his hands all over her body, of his mouth between her legs, of taking him deep inside of her.
I need that. I need him.
She made a small humming noise and immediately blushed when she noticed Lee glance at her.
“Did you have something to add, Madam President?” he asked. “We’re all ears.”
“Yes, I’m…” just thinking about your father frakking me senseless… She let some of her frustration bleed into her voice. “I think this debate has gone on long enough. Obviously the Prometheus is a problem, but one that cannot be allowed to consume so much of our time. I move that the issue be left to committee.” There was a rustle of paper and a low murmur as delegates expressed opinions, finally looking at one another for volunteers. “Since Mr. Adama is the only one here with practical, albeit military, experience dealing with the parties involved, I submit that he be considered for committee chair.” She glanced pointedly at Lee, who shifted in his seat, his mouth open. Wisely, he didn’t speak.
Don’t call me out again.
“Sagittaron calls the question,” said Cantrell predictably.
“Canceron seconds.”
“Mr. Adama?” She watched Lee over the rims of her glasses.
Lee sat forward in his chair and tipped his head in defeat, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Happy to serve, Madam President.”
“The question has been called and seconded. All in favor?”
Hands shot quickly up.
“It’s unanimous. Mr. Adama will form a committee to propose options vis-à-vis the Prometheus. Ms. Foster, please schedule time to discuss Mr. Adama’s findings into next week’s agenda along with the remaining items from today. We all need to cool our heads.” Among other things…
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stood up and brushed her hands over her pants. “Meeting adjourned.”
She smiled quickly and exited the room with a deep sigh of relief.
Continued in chapter 3 tomorrow.
Authors: larsfarm77 & icedteainthebag
Summary: She wondered if he remembered what it felt like to bury his face in her hair; it wasn't so long ago.
Spoilers: Through The Road Less Traveled
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,702
Authors' Notes: More than three months ago, icedteainthebag posted this little drabble in rememberlaura. As can be read in our responses, it inspired much laughter, a wonderful friendship/collaboration and, eventually, this 20,000+ word fic. Huge thanks to tjonesy and somadanne for beta awesomeness.
Link to Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapters will be posted daily until finished.
***
It was late when the Marines pushed open the hatch, and she winced at the screech of the fatigued metal as it closed soundly behind her.
The outer room was dark, silent, but for the hiss of the oxygen scrubbers, and the occasional gurgle of water as it rushed through the pipes above her head. A faint glow came from the sleeping area. It wasn’t bright enough to work by, or read by. Letting out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, she stood for a moment, letting the silence envelop her.
Galactica was a big ship, and she’d wandered her for hours, anger and frustration driving her forward, no direction, no destination, trusting that the Marines could lead her back. Her legs ached, her heart beat palpably against the inside of her chest, and her breath came in thin, short sips. She slumped against the bulkhead, finally too exhausted to think or feel anything. It was such sweet relief.
A soft grunt emanated from the direction of the rack, and Laura stood still, waiting to see if she had woken him.
Not now, go back to sleep. Please, just sleep.
There was a rustling of blankets, before she heard a long snore that slowly faded into deep, even breaths. Her stomach ached, even as she relaxed with the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to face him again tonight.
Her mind had churned furiously as she’d walked, weighing options, repeating and editing what she had said to him, what she would say to him, and she kept coming back to the same conclusion.
This isn’t fair to you, Bill.
He hadn’t known what he was getting into when he offered her his quarters, had been giddy in an adorably boyish way when he’d helped her find places for the few things she had. Gods, it had been less than an hour later that she’d had him flat on his back in his bed, frakking him senseless. That was before the diloxin, when she was every bit the woman she’d been on New Caprica, their burdens shared.
Her eyes having adjusted to the dim light, she ventured toward his closet. Crouching slowly, she reached in and fumbled for the battered suitcase that had carried what little she owned. She clutched the worn handle and gently pulled it free. She was able to find a blouse and skirt by feel, slipping them from the hanger, and folding them into the bag.
She couldn’t help thinking about those stolen moments on New Caprica, lying bare with him under a dew-heavy blanket, uneven ground prodding at her deliciously sated body. It didn’t ever matter whether they’d been slow and gentle or frenzied in their lovemaking; he had always held her afterward, his arms heavy and strong around her. New Caprica was a time bomb. They both knew it, yet in those moments, nestled warmly against him in the frigid air in her tent, she’d allowed herself to feel safe for the first time since she’d lost her family.
It had been both fleeting and foolish.
In a matter of days, the Cylons had effectively stripped away anything resembling security, and had scared her in ways that she tried not to remember, much less dwell on. And now, he could still hold her, help her fall asleep, but there was this tiny undercurrent of panic, the kind that catches you in the still, quiet moments in the depths of night. No amount of holding or stroking his hand over her back would keep her safe from this. Cancer. As all encompassing as his denial was, she knew that he felt that panic too. Somewhere inside, he was as out of control as she was, and didn’t want her to see it.
You don’t deserve this.
When her mother was sick, she spent brief periods in the hospital. It effectively removed the burden of primary care from Laura, allowing her to return home in the evenings. She could be alone, regroup, grieve and just plain be weak in a way that she’d never allow herself to be at her mother’s bedside. She could give that to Bill, too. She could take guest quarters, give herself the illusion of fresh air, and leave him the space to deal with this however he wanted.
He’ll drink, but at least you won’t be there to see it.
But she wouldn’t leave him entirely. Couldn’t. She just needed to work through this on her own.
Rationalize it however you want, Laura, you’re running again.
She couldn’t shake the thought as she padded to the back of his quarters. Kneeling in front of the rack, she listened to the steadiness of his breathing and allowed herself to appreciate how relaxed his features were. She’d always loved to watch him sleep. His body was pressed back against the bulkhead. His lips were full and slack, the lines and contours of his face somehow smoother. He had a hand wrapped loosely around his bare abdomen, the other resting above his head. It was too much temptation. She looked away. Gathering her resolve, she ignored the curl of heat in her lower abdomen and quietly pulled open her drawer. Grabbing a fistful of her undergarments, she turned to add them to the front compartment of her bag.
The light on the desk caught her eye.
There was something sitting under the lamp. It looked like glass, beveled surfaces reflecting the pale light as she moved toward it, a dark patch in the center where a small piece of folded paper rested. It said simply, “Laura” in Bill’s fluid handwriting.
She reached out a tentative hand, not sure she really wanted to read this. Her mind was made up. Her clothes packed. She should leave now, while she still could.
Damn you, Bill.
She loved a mystery and he knew it. She could already feel some of her weariness fading with anticipation.
Fumbling in her pocket for her glasses, she propped a hip on the desk and snatched up the note with her other hand. A glass jar sat behind it, filled almost to the top with a cream-colored liquid. A worn, blue label was wrapped around the middle, the words faded and rubbed to the point where she couldn’t read them at a distance.
She opened the note.
Laura,
Funny what a well hung dog-man can get you these days in the triad circles. I’m sorry that it took so many games, on so many nights, but I figured algae was the last thing you wanted to come back to after everything. It’s not fresh air, I know. Guest quarters have been cleared on deck 2, just call Dee, she’ll escort you.
Bill.
She bit her lip, rolling the tender flesh over the sharp edge of her teeth, as if that small pain would be enough to counter the swell of emotion that heated her face, filled her eyes and nose with moisture, and closed her throat.
She lifted the jar, trying to concentrate on reading the lettering, anything to be distracted from the horrible guilt that was rising in her. Rubbing a hand under her glasses to wipe at her eyes, she read:
Mayweather’s Fine Custard. Guaranteed fresh if sealed. A… family?… recipe since 10346.
Absently, she pressed down on the metal cap. It didn’t pop back up.
Gods, Bill.
It wasn’t just dog-man. It was a pen, a precious tube of toothpaste. All had gone missing, and now she knew why. The conversation had been one of many, and so long ago, about the foods that they missed. Custard. She’d told him that her grandmother used to make it.
She dropped her bag to the floor, clothes still hanging out of it. She read the note again, then placed it back on the desk.
Glancing at Bill, she began to undress, plucking buttons out of their holes, shrugging the silk off her shoulders. She removed the rest of her clothing and hesitated at her panties, her thumbs hooked under them. Taking a deep breath, she pulled them back out and closed her eyes. She exhaled, then walked over to his rack quietly, watching his chest rise and fall.
He lay curled on his side against the bulkhead, snoring softly, half of the mattress left empty.
Her chin quivered. He was always making room for her, always had made room for her.
She climbed into the rack and settled on her side, facing away from him. She felt his warmth against her back as he slid his arm around her.
***
Bill awoke to the shifting of the bed and wrapped his arm around Laura's waist. She turned to him and he pulled her close, as tightly as he could.
“Bill, I’m so sorry.” Her voice was soft, and it wavered with the threat of tears.
Her body had always felt like it fit perfectly against his own. Her slender leg slid between his thighs as she cuddled closer. His eyes were still closed as he pressed his lips against her forehead, soft and warm.
“You wanna tell me what this is all about?” he murmured.
I think I know. I just need you to tell me.
“It’s a couple of things,” she whispered. “Gods, Bill, all this time I’ve been angry at you for taking off and you’ve been trying to…”
He hummed against her forehead and she took a deep, shaky breath. He felt her chest shudder slightly against his and tried his best to ignore it.
“What things?” he asked softly, kissing her brow.
“I don’t like the drinking.” She buried her face in his neck. “I know we’re going through a lot. It’s hard to take. But I don’t like who you become when you do that. I don’t like who I become around you.”
Her breath was soft on his skin. He ran his fingers up and down her spine slowly, feeling soft ridges under them.
“What else?” he asked.
She was quiet and he felt her body tense up in his arms. She pushed into him more snugly.
“I’m not who I was before,” she murmured.
His fingers drifted up to the smooth skin at the base of her skull and rubbed a gentle circle there. He was being careful, not wanting to make her self-conscious. He was unsure if she’d shy away, but she didn’t, her warm body curled into him.
“None of us are,” he said. “How could we be?”
She sighed. “I don’t mean only before the attacks. This second bout with cancer has changed me, Bill. This body doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore, inside or outside.”
“You’re worried that you’re not the woman I fell in love with.”
Her affirmation was only a small sound in the back of her throat. He knew it well. Sometimes, she felt so much that she could barely express it in words.
You’re so wrong, Laura.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember what she was like before. New Caprica was easiest. He’d spent almost four months in space with nothing but his memories of her. Laura had had one small, incandescent lamp near the cot in her tent. The generator was inefficient and the orange glow seemed to shift in intensity, muting her pale skin and bringing out the copper tones in her hair. He’d loved going down on her, loved the feeling of her soft, damp curls against his lips and chin, tickling his skin. He imagined that the sensation was mild compared to feel of his thick moustache against her tender flesh. It was rarely warm enough to completely undress, but Laura would pull her sweater up on one side, enough to bare a breast to him, to play with a stiff nipple as he watched her over the rounded, healthy curve of her abdomen.
He knew it would be different now, the feel of her body under his hands and his mouth. Changes from head to toe, but she was still Laura to him, beautiful, full of life. There had been so many times recently he’d wanted to tell her how much he ached to explore her again, to chart the slightly altered topography of her body. He wanted to see her writhe, bedsheets crumpled into her fists, and her back arched as he made her come.
He wasn’t sure she understood that the idea of learning her anew was exciting for him. He knew the differences she saw probably disturbed her, but he wanted her to be comforted by his acceptance. Maybe even accept them if he did.
“Laura.” He eased back from her a little, enough to untuck her chin from his neck, to allow him to search for her eyes in the dim light. “There’s something you have to understand.” He held her face in one hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth along her cheek, and waited until she grew impatient enough to meet his gaze. “Diloxin can’t touch the woman I love. Change the packaging a little, yeah…”
“It isn’t just a little, Bill.” She shook her head, and he could almost feel her struggle not to look away from him. “It reminds me of how my mother wasted away. I’ve never felt uncomfortable in my own skin before.”
“You remember our first night together?” he asked, softly, pressing her to him once again.
There was a pause and then a brief shrug of her shoulders, an amused, almost embarrassed sounding noise preceding her words. “Not really, not as much as I’d like.”
He grinned, chuckling against her. “Neither do I.”
“We were so stoned.”
“Yeah, well, what about the second time?”
“Mmm hmm, morning.” She shifted, her thigh pressing briefly against his groin. It could have been accidental, if it were anyone else.
“You remember what you did?” He could still see her, lying in the dappled sunlight that shone through the seams and gaps in the tent fabric. Completely bare and not even slightly self conscious, comfortable with him from the first. “You showed me exactly how to touch you. And it was so sexy, Laura, learning you like that.” Just the thought had him half hard. She could probably feel it. Good, I’m not gonna apologize for what you do to me. “Maybe… maybe that’s what we need to do. Go back to that morning.”
“But, I don’t-”
“It doesn’t matter. This time we learn together.” He wished he could add ‘take our time,’ but they didn’t live the sort of lives that allowed for a long respite; they would have to take what they could get. “Will you try?”
She sniffed, nodding against him.
“Okay.” He kissed the edge of her forehead, his lips partially on the silk of her headscarf. “Not now, though, not when we’re both exhausted. Just sleep, now.”
“Bill?”
“Mmm?”
“Thank you.”
“You haven’t even tried it, yet.”
He felt the giggle along the entire length of her body. It warmed his heart. “I wasn’t talking about the custard.”
“Neither was I.”
***
The next morning when Bill went on shift, she knew what she had to do.
She’d developed a love/hate relationship with medicine over time, from holding her mother’s hand after she found out about the cancer spreading through her body, to her most current experiences with diloxin. Sometimes she questioned the seemingly primitive idea of lacing her body with poison to see what would die first, the good cells or the bad ones.
But she also had faith in medicine-she was still around, she knew, because of the stem cells that had been infused into her body.
Medicine existed to sustain life, to enhance life. That was the belief that led her to sickbay the morning after her talk with Bill.
Will you try?
He had no idea how much she’d been trying, or how much more she wanted to give, just to feel good again, to be close to him without worry.
It was another five minutes at least before Cottle shuffled into his office, a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lower lip. He sat heavily in the worn rolling chair behind his desk, and glancing at her, stubbed out the smoke. “Godsdamned Leonian cigarettes. Stale, the lot of them,” he grumbled. Affection curled her lips into a slight smile, knowing that the gesture had nothing to do with his excuse.
“Something I can help you with?” he asked, when she didn’t offer anything further. She could hardly see him for the files piled on the surface of his desk. “’Cause if you just want to pace, I can think of a lot of better places.”
Usually she found it amusing that he wouldn’t know bedside manner if he tripped over it, preferring someone who got to the point, but today it put her back up. She turned toward the hatch. “I’m sorry. It’s not important.” Her hand was closing over the wheel when he spoke.
“So the President of the Twelve Colonies takes time out of her godsdamned overloaded schedule to voluntarily pace my sickbay, and it’s not important?” He coughed and she could hear him shuffling papers. How did he always know exactly which button to push with her?
She dropped her hand from the hatch, pressing her forehead against the metal, before turning back and copping out. Gloriously. “Do you think Ishay would have a moment to talk?” She toyed self-consciously with the wheel behind her.
“Ishay?” He rubbed a hand over his furrowed brow. “Can’t for the life of me figure out why the civilian ships keep asking for her instead of me. She’s handling routine calls on the Zephyr today. It’ll be a few hours. You can work on that groove you’re making in my office floor.”
She continued pacing. “That’s not going to work for me.” The Quorum Q and A was in less than an hour, and since she’d been unable to attend the last one, there was no excuse, save her actual demise, that they would accept this time.
Just frakking ask him. It’s not like he hasn’t heard it before.
Cottle seemed to read her mind. “Look, young lady, there’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t heard at least twice in the last forty years, and you might just feel better saying it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What have you heard only twice?”
“Let’s just say it’s a very delicate situation involving a hormonal male and the vacuum hose the deck hands use to remove particulate from the Viper intakes.” He considered her from under his heavy eyebrows. “If I had to guess, I’d say that you’re dealing with a delicate situation of your own. You know, if he’s having performance iss-”
“Excuse me?” she said quickly, shocked.
“The only reasons patients squirm like you’ve been doing for the last five minutes is they either want to discuss sex or a bowel issue. I’m assuming it’s not-”
“No.”
I’m not sure which one I’d rather be discussing.
“Okay then. Sit down. I’m gettin’ tired just watching you pace like that, and this is the only break I get.”
“If it will make you talk a little more quietly…” she hissed. Glancing at the hatch, she walked over and took the chair in front of the desk.
“I’m not expecting anyone and I understand the need for confidentiality here. My political opinions might not be worth frak, but I’d say that if people had any sense at all, they’d be happy for you two.”
She wasn’t sure it was possible to feel any more uncomfortable, despite the kindness of his words. “Thanks. I think.”
Cottle cleared his throat loudly, as if to signal that the sentimentality was over. “There are a lot of reasons why he may be having difficulty. He might have latent fears about your illness, about the side effects of the treatment. He may worry about when or if things will be normal again now that this cycle is over.” He leaned toward her, crossing his hands over a pile of files on the desk and meeting her eyes. “The mind is a tricky thing. The body might be ready, but all these little questions can ruin things faster than hearing Baltar’s voice over the wireless.”
Frak, that would do it.
She couldn’t help smiling. She needed to stop him, correct him about just who was having the problem, but he quickly rambled on.
“I’ll tell you what I tell my other patients. Despite the fact that there are physical and emotional changes to deal with, people expect to respond sexually as if nothing has changed at all. If I had a cubit for every time I’ve heard ‘when will I be normal again?’ well… okay… I’d have been nuked on a beach on Picon while drinking some really nice Port.” He coughed and raised his voice, “The point is, now is not the time to go back to the old standbys. Too much expectation there. You got a kink, Madam President?”
Oh. My. Gods.
Her eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving his face. He simply looked back at her, completely unapologetic. She made a mental note to thank Richard Adar in the afterlife for her ability to think on her feet.
“If I did, what makes you think I’d share it with you?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared.
“Right. Well, if you do have one, or two, no better time than the present. You may be surprised.”
She couldn’t believe she was having a serious discussion with Cottle about the utilization of sexual fantasy as a medical treatment. Then again, it didn’t seem like an entirely worthless opinion.
“No other options?”
Cottle chuckled. “That must be some kink. There is some water based lubricant that-”
She waved a dismissive hand at him and stood up, more than ready to end this particular conversation. “Then thank you for your help,” she said, formally. Feeling bad that she had allowed him to think that the problem rested with Bill, she went to add, “You should know-”
“You can tell Bill that next time he wants to talk about his problem, he doesn’t have to pace a groove into my sickbay first.” His eyes sparkled at her.
She nodded, an embarrassed smile on her face, not particularly surprised that he already knew.
“Be patient, okay?” he said quietly as she turned to leave. “You’ll find it again.”
She walked out of sickbay, trying to conceptualize exactly how she could put the doctor’s advice into action.
It wasn’t a bad line of thought.
***
Laura was restless during the afternoon Quorum meeting. She couldn’t care less about the illicit trading being conducted on the Prometheus. Again. There were a few more pressing issues for her, both public and private.
With the hope of Earth glimmering on the horizon, she felt they were on the verge of its discovery.
A home was a tall order, perhaps a little too idealistic, but sometimes she allowed herself to fantasize about it. She’d lie awake and wonder if she would truly make it there, to feel the wind on her face, solid ground under her feet, the heat of the sun on her back. And maybe, if the drugs worked well enough, if her body held out, she and Bill could build a little place together or, at the very least, make love under the stars instead of being trapped among them.
The simple things she took for granted in what seemed like a completely different lifetime were the only things she truly wanted now.
She took a quiet breath and pushed those thoughts out of her mind.
I’ve spent enough time thinking about what I want to do before I die.
She knew she should turn the focus of her attention back to the meeting. Instead, she began to recall the conversation she’d had with Cottle in sickbay.
She listlessly stared at the words on the page of their agenda, yet only one word kept coming to mind.
Kinks.
Amazing what kind of medical advice doctors were giving these days.
She and Bill weren’t as spry as they most assuredly were when they were younger, but they’d also found intriguing ways to spend what little private time they had together. A scarf here, a toy there, and then there was that incident with the video camera… no, they definitely weren’t boring, but when she thought about the word kinky, the sex between her and Bill wasn’t exactly what came to mind. Beautiful, and fulfilling, yes. Kinky, maybe not as much.
But the idea of changing things up intrigued her. She had certain memories associated with “the old standbys”… the gentle tug of his fingers through her hair as she went down on him was one of them. The feeling of his body draped over her back, his hips grinding into hers. There had to be other things that would be different enough, yet turn her on all the same.
She took a deep, calming breath as the warmth of arousal threatened to reach her neck, her cheeks, just at the thought. She glanced around the table of delegates, trying her best to go unnoticed, and shifted in her seat, squeezing her thighs together.
If they tried something new, mixed it up a little like Cottle had suggested, maybe it would be easier for her to forget about things that were different. Maybe she’d be able to focus on the present instead of the past.
The last few days she’d been craving that closeness with Bill, the feeling of his hands all over her body, of his mouth between her legs, of taking him deep inside of her.
I need that. I need him.
She made a small humming noise and immediately blushed when she noticed Lee glance at her.
“Did you have something to add, Madam President?” he asked. “We’re all ears.”
“Yes, I’m…” just thinking about your father frakking me senseless… She let some of her frustration bleed into her voice. “I think this debate has gone on long enough. Obviously the Prometheus is a problem, but one that cannot be allowed to consume so much of our time. I move that the issue be left to committee.” There was a rustle of paper and a low murmur as delegates expressed opinions, finally looking at one another for volunteers. “Since Mr. Adama is the only one here with practical, albeit military, experience dealing with the parties involved, I submit that he be considered for committee chair.” She glanced pointedly at Lee, who shifted in his seat, his mouth open. Wisely, he didn’t speak.
Don’t call me out again.
“Sagittaron calls the question,” said Cantrell predictably.
“Canceron seconds.”
“Mr. Adama?” She watched Lee over the rims of her glasses.
Lee sat forward in his chair and tipped his head in defeat, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Happy to serve, Madam President.”
“The question has been called and seconded. All in favor?”
Hands shot quickly up.
“It’s unanimous. Mr. Adama will form a committee to propose options vis-à-vis the Prometheus. Ms. Foster, please schedule time to discuss Mr. Adama’s findings into next week’s agenda along with the remaining items from today. We all need to cool our heads.” Among other things…
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stood up and brushed her hands over her pants. “Meeting adjourned.”
She smiled quickly and exited the room with a deep sigh of relief.
Continued in chapter 3 tomorrow.