MOL Day 28: Weed
Title: High Times
Author: lemmig
Word count: ~5000
Rating: M/MA (sex and drugs...and even a little rock and roll)
Disclaimer: Not my intellectual property.
Summary: How Laura Roslin learned to stop worrying and love New Caprica.
A/N: Thanks to defyingnormalcy for her generous assistance and correctly insisting that Laura was probably not, in fact, perpetually stoned on NC; and to nixmom for contributing a particularly fun line and serving as a sounding board when this story was in its inception. Any mistakes and/or implausible characterizations are mine.
I. Identification
"You say this stuff grows around here?"
Laura Roslin secured the flap to the school tent, tossing a heavy sweater over her shoulders on her way out. It was late afternoon and she figured she had at least a few hours left of daylight. She glanced around the settlement as she moved purposefully through the muddy, construction-rutted streets.
Since settling on the planet nearly eight weeks prior, she’d been curious about the surrounding areas and had determined that she would explore the planet. Today she was fulfilling that promise to herself as she set out to follow a stream flowing to the north of the settlement.
It took only fifteen minutes’ brisk walking before the settlement absurdly named "New Caprica City" was behind her and nothing but wilderness stretched out to mountains on the horizon. The stream widened slightly as she made her way alongside it, babbling water soothing her wearied mind.
"Frakking Baltar...frakking planet...frakking people," she muttered aloud, annoyed for the umpteenth time at the fact that they had settled on a marginally inhabitable planet. But her annoyance was short-lived; Laura had begrudgingly come to accept her place on this planet, and she reminded herself that cursing Baltar and his constituents would not alter their presence here on New Caprica. The school kept her fairly busy, especially as more and more children joined the ranks of the settlers and the living situations, such as they were, had finally stabilized enough for children to attend. Teaching children of various ages with minimal supplies, materials, and qualified assistance was such a makeshift proposition at the moment. She had decided to throw conventional lesson-planning to the wayside and instead spend her time trying to figure out what useful things she might teach children facing a possible lifetime-- or not-- on this frozen mudball. The utility of teaching Colonial history and geography was debatable at best, but at least it served to honor those who had perished in the genocide and provided some connection to their shared past.
"A pragmatic education," she thought to herself, recalling random snippets of her long-completed Ed.D dissertation; the idea of education as the means for "the social continuity of life" had greater relevance than ever in present circumstances. Also, these "curriculum development" excursions gave her a good excuse to get away from the pitying stares of the strangers surrounding her in the settlement. She was lonely whether she was among the people or out here by herself, and as a result, had embraced solitude in an effort to put aside thoughts of the one person she truly found herself missing. Laura drew his sweater around herself more tightly, hoping to discern a hint of his scent, but to no avail.
She was now about ten clicks away from the settlement, and by the sun’s low position in the sky, she knew she should soon head back before it became impossible to find her way in the darkness. The trees grew sparser and shorter up here, but there was still moderately thick vegetation spreading out across the ground in the foothills of the mountains. She slowed her pace and bent over slightly to examine the flowering plants that grew to about mid-thigh. Contemplating the plant, she pinched the top bud off the central stem between her thumb and forefinger, and brought it to her nose.
Laura’s brow furrowed she inhaled the sweet scent, her mind suddenly inundated with images of smoky rooms, beaded curtains, and passing ashtrays. She remembered an outdoor rock concert she’d attended during college: being hoisted atop the shoulders of a long-forgotten boyfriend, wearing a strappy halter top she’d sewn herself; the feelings of freedom and relaxation as she enjoyed the festival, plumes of sweet woodsy smoke rising up from the crowds to caress her senses. She hummed, amused at her recollection. A good memory.
She traced her free hand down along the plant and pinched off a large, multi-fingered leaf resembling the Seal of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Holding the bud and leaf in front of her, side by side, she crouched down to closer inspect the bounty around her. Realizing for the first time that she was in fact surrounded by a field of the leafy plants, she did a quick mental calculation and determined that there must be several hundred of them right here along the stream.
Unless she was very much mistaken, this plant was smokeable. And psychoactive. She gathered up an armful of the plants and headed back to her tent with a spring in her step and an almost-forgotten melody involuntarily escaping from her lips.
II. Cultivation
"In the mountains north of here there’s this little stream that comes down into a lake..."
Laura awoke in her tent and stretched contentedly, taking care not to disturb the other occupant of her cot. She reveled in the warmth emitting from her personal furnace and sighed softly, knowing how much she would miss this when he returned to orbit. The warmth...and other things, she silently chided herself.
Bill, typically, seemed attuned to her thinking, even in repose, and he grunted softly as he turned over to face her. "Good morning," he murmured, stroking his hand possessively along the soft skin of her stomach.
Laura tilted her head up to his and kissed his chin, her eyes flashing playfully. "It is a good morning," she agreed. "Nowhere to be today, the frakking rain has stopped..."
He grasped her hips and pulled her flush on top of him. "So we don’t even have to leave this tent?"
Wriggling uninhibitedly against his growing hardness, her hair falling in curtains around his face, she smirked and replied, "We don’t have to do anything. But I thought I might take you on a little excursion, show you where I’ve been getting that weed you liked so much."
He leaned up to growl into her ear, "I could be persuaded...in a little while."
* * *
Their morning activities satisfactorily concluded and all evidence thereof cleaned up, Laura tugged on her boots and took stock of the verdant inventory currently drying and curing in her tent. Several bunches of plants hung in a row along one side of the tent’s frame. The dampness wasn’t ideal, but unavoidable given the climate, and at least it was perpetually dark under the heavy canvas. Opening a trunk at the foot of her cot, she removed the precious glass jars she’d traded one of her suits for at the market and inspected how the curing process was progressing.
Bill peered over her shoulder. "Quite a stash you’ve got there, Laura."
She raised up the glass, critically evaluating the vegetable matter within. "See, not quite ready. I like to see more crystals on the buds. This needs at least another week." She turned her attention to the jar in her other hand. "This one, though, has been curing since before your last visit. I think we’ll be able to enjoy some of this stuff before your transport leaves tomorrow." She opened the jar, sniffed deeply, then waved it vaguely in the direction of Bill’s face. "Oh, yeah. Definitely ready," she pronounced.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "How did you become such an expert?"
"Trial and error. I’ve had plenty of time to see what works and what doesn’t. I know you come down here every month and think those joints just roll themselves..."
Bill placed a hand on her shoulder, pulled her gently to a standing position. "I wish I could get down here more often," he said apologetically.
Unreceptive to his condescension, Laura fixed her gaze at a spot above his shoulder and remained silent for several moments. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she hastily placed the jars back in the trunk, closed it, and grabbed a large woven basket. "Let’s go," she implored.
As they walked through the tent city, a few people gave them curious looks, but for the most part they were left alone aside from an occasional salute from a former crewmember. There were many of them here now, over half the crews of Galactica and Pegasus having mustered out since the previous month’s groundbreaking celebration. Once the settlement was behind them and they were alone, Laura looped her arm through the crook of Bill’s elbow and squeezed his arm tightly to her side, regretting her earlier prickliness.
"Where are we going?" Bill asked. "To your lake?"
She giggled, pleased that he remembered her stoned confession to him from the evening of the groundbreaking. "It’s up that way, yes. We just follow this stream to the foothills of the mountains up there. That’s where I want to build my cabin."
Bill tilted his head to the side to look at her. "And where your indigenous leaf grows?"
Laura hummed affirmatively. "It’s amazing. There’s a field full of it, just growing naturally." They continued walking in companionable silence, both enjoying the warmth of the sunlight beating down on the crowns of their heads and the satisfying crunch of dirt (and occasional squelch of mud) beneath their feet.
Eventually they reached the field full of what she had begun thinking of as the New Caprica Leaf. Slowing their pace, Laura gestured widely and said, "Here we are."
Bill surveyed their surroundings, impressed. "You weren’t kidding, huh." He cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek fondly. "Very enterprising, Ms. Roslin."
She laughed. "This private citizen has plenty of time for exploration, apparently."
He kissed her, pulled away. "And developing the planet’s natural resources."
She kissed him back. "I do what I can." She rested her head on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his waist, enjoying the relatively recent development of their physical intimacy. "I like coming up here, getting away from everyone." She hugged him even tighter, inhaling his spicy masculine scent. "I come here, collect plants, plan my cabin." Laura released him and picked up her basket. "Come on, you can give me a hand."
Laura handed him a small flat blade, showed him how to hack through the stalk of the plant on the diagonal, close to the roots. Soon they had filled the basket with about two dozen of the plants. "I think that’s about all we need for now," Laura observed, sitting down next to the basket. "Would you like to head back to town?"
"No," Bill demurred, giving her a bashful smile that made her heart constrict. "I’d like you to tell me about your cabin. Show me."
She held out her hand in invitation, led him on a walk further along the stream until they reached its terminus at a small lake, sunlight glinting off the surface. As they took in the tableau before them, she hummed happily and pulled him down onto the ground beside her. Reaching into her bra, she pulled out a skinny joint and lit it with a match she struck on the sole of her boot. She puffed expertly, once and then another long drag, before handing it over to Bill. "It’s going to be two rooms. A combined kitchen and living area, and a bedroom." She stopped talking and exhaled slowly, her voice returning to its normal timbre and cadence as the smoke dissipated. "Facing east, like we are now. I’m going to build it out of timbers from the pine trees that grow between here and the settlement. I’ll situate it here, close to the lake, so I can fish and maybe go swimming if it warms up enough."
Bill exhaled his own sweet-scented cloud and softly kissed her hair. "Sounds nice, Laura. Peaceful."
"I think so," she said wistfully, taking the joint back from him. "I’ve been here for almost five months, I hope I can get it started soon. It just hasn’t happened yet, with manpower and resources still being needed in the settlement. I’ll be doing most of the work myself."
She could feel Bill frown in consternation beside her, yet he said nothing. She turned her body to face him, looked him in the eye. Taking a deep breath, she tamped out the joint and voiced her heart’s hope. "Unless I have some help...."
To her dismay, Bill grunted noncommittally. She froze, and Bill, sensing the tension radiating from her body, leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss against her lips.
She understood. She felt like an idiot, but she understood his reluctance to commit to anything that might take him away from Galactica for more than his all-too-brief monthly shore leaves. They both thought the Cylons would eventually return and find them here, a contingency for which it was absolutely necessary that Bill remain in orbit as Admiral of the Colonial Fleet.
He kissed her again, more forcefully now, and proceeded to make love to her on the sun-dappled shore, showing her with his body what he would not express with words. Her head much lighter than her heart, Laura accepted this reality and recalled her proclamation to him the previous month: "Maybe the Cylons come back, maybe they don’t... maybe we should just enjoy this." And she did, taking solace in the glorious feeling that, at least in this moment, they may as well be the only two people on this godsforsaken planet.
III. Allocation
"New Caprica Leaf may cause short term memory loss, appetite suppression, and decreased sex drive."
New Caprica was a desolate place. While the high spirits of the settlers, happy to be sprung free from their tin cans, had initially disguised this fact, the excitement of being on solid ground had long since worn off, and the people now trudged through a fairly bleak existence of poor accommodations and worse rations. The weather patterns had settled into a grim, wet coldness that permeated every structure, and the gray skies and heavy rains basically rendered futile the settlement’s feeble farming efforts.
Laura could see the depression in the faces of parents as they wearily came to pick up their once-exuberant children at the school tent, hear the resignation in the voices of her neighbors as they chatted about the market being devoid of foodstuffs yet again.
She may not be their President anymore, could no longer effect pragmatic policies, but there was one thing Laura thought she could do to help.
Her occasional indulgence in the indigenous leaf, as needed on particularly stressful days, seemed to have staved off the depression that seemingly affected everyone else. Sure, she was sad and lonely; her best friend and lover was orbiting the frakking planet ninety percent of the time instead of keeping her warm in her tent. But toking up had the benefits of not only making her feel indifferent to the oppressive cold and damp, but suppressing her appetite as well. She found that as long as she was able to avoid excessive introspection, New Caprica Leaf made her existence appreciably more tolerable.
During Bill’s last visit, she had enlisted his help, shown him how to roll a tidy joint using torn-up squares of old fuel consumption reports she had asked him to bring down with him for this purpose. Ever the effective instructor, she now had both a very generous stash of pre-rolled joints stowed safely in her trunk, as well as a sustainable harvesting and drying operation that required only a weekly visit up to her field to replenish her stores. While Bill obviously had reservations about her intentions, they went unexpressed, as he had long since learned not to question openly her methods for coping with the unpleasantness of life in the settlement.
It was time to share the goods.
She had no reason to think that she alone had discovered the properties of the leaf or would be the exclusive supplier of fleet wheat to the people of New Caprica. But she also didn’t know whether its desirable effects of short term memory loss and appetite suppression were well known in the community, and so far had found it difficult to broach the topic with others, fearing that she might earn a reputation as an expert of sorts (deserved though it may be). She could imagine that news that the former President and current schoolteacher was cultivating a psychoactive plant for consumption might shock people. Laura preferred to proceed with discretion.
So she had figured out a plan, enlisting the assistance of Sister Tivenan over several conversations at the Temple of Artemis.
Laura had initially found the religious celebrant frustratingly cryptic, with a propensity to evoke experiences with chamalla that she preferred repressed. However, Laura did enjoy taking the time to return to religious devotion, finding that it brought her some measure of peace, especially if she was already stoned upon entering the temple for prayer. After Laura brought Tivenan some maple candies that had been a gift from a student, Tivenan warmed to her considerably, and began communicating with her more directly.
"You are still seeking...something, Laura. Your mind is conflicted. Tell me," she coaxed one rainy weekend afternoon.
Laura sighed. She wasn’t about to get into her longing for Bill, who, between maintenance problems on Galactica and what she suspected was Baltar’s obstructionism, hadn’t been to the surface in weeks, with this woman. So she opted to discuss the alternative.
"I’ve found an indigenous plant that causes euphoria, and lessens pain and discomfort, when smoked. It also seems to make my mind more open to prayer," Laura explained, hoping she wasn’t coming off as insincere. "I dry it out in my tent to make it smokeable."
Tivenan seemed intrigued. "Do you have any with you?" she asked bluntly.
Laura grinned at Tivenan’s open-minded reception and produced a joint. "Would it be blasphemous to light this thing with a prayer candle?"
Tivenan just smiled serenely. "It is the will of the gods. Go ahead."
As the two women shared the joint, Laura discussed her concerns regarding the apparent decline in the psychological health of the settlers, how she felt the leaf might help. "It does cause a lack of motivation, and sometimes also a decrease in sex drive. But I think given the benefits, it could really help a lot of people deal with the conditions we’re all being subjected to."
At "sex drive," Tivenan smirked, and Laura felt a flush of embarrassment creep over her cheeks. No matter; after the disturbingly erotic dreams she’d had while on chamalla, she was perfectly happy that New Caprica Leaf could sometimes have the opposite effect, more often (but not always) tending to lead to sweet snuggling and bad singing than passionate frakking. Laura tried to re-focus on the issue at hand, her mind lazily resisting clarity.
"It is written in the scriptures that the smoke of a many-fingered plant may help the people ease their burdens as they await their deliverance from Gehenna," intoned Tivenan thoughtfully. "Your role is bigger than this, Laura Roslin. But I will help you."
* * *
The next time Laura came to the temple, she brought a significant portion of her joint cache with her. She had repurposed a simple, ritual offering box; instead of small religious idols, it was filled with joints containing New Caprica Leaf. "Rolled by the Admiral of the Fleet himself," she giggled inwardly. She had pasted a handwritten note on the inside lid of the cornerless box:
Warning: New Caprica Leaf may cause short term memory loss, appetite suppression, and decreased sex drive. Share and enjoy in moderation.
She found Tivenan behind her curtain, sitting placidly on a pile of pillows with her eyes closed. Laura cleared her throat, inadvertently triggering a wheezy cough. "Sister Tivenan, hello."
Tivenan did not open her eyes, but raised her brows in acknowledgment. A few awkwardly silent moments passed, and then she gestured for Laura to sit across from her. Laura placed the offering box on the low table between them and pushed it slightly toward Tivenan.
"I’ve brought a stash of the stuff. You really think this will work?" Laura asked.
Tivenan smiled. "Many seekers come here looking for faith, answers, or psychotropic substances. I am happy to help them however I can." She rose, picked up the box, and crossed the small temple as Laura watched from her position on the floor. Tivenan placed the box on a shadowy corner of the altar.
"People will find it, word will spread. Spirits will rise. You’ll see," Tivenan advised. "Let us smoke, and contemplate, and perhaps you will tell me about the other thing that’s really bothering you."
IV. Gratification
"Maybe we should just enjoy this."
Laura couldn’t quite repress her excitement as she tidied up her small tent in advance of the Admiral’s impending arrival.
Bill is coming Bill is coming Bill is coming.
Her living area swept comfortably clean and her cot immaculate, Laura decided to busy herself by rolling joints. A mindless task, but one necessitated by the newfound popularity of the Temple of Artemis and its mysterious benefactor.
She methodically broke stems and seeds away from dried leaves, collecting the crystalline dust that resulted from the process and flicking the sticky detritus from her fingertips. Disposing of the unwanted byproduct, she tore up a stack of sheets of paper and began the rolling process, sprinkling keef on top of each little portion of weed and twisting each joint at the ends so it would stay in place.
She was nearly finished with her task of transforming the green pile into white pillars when she heard a purposeful pull on the homemade wind chime-- another gift from a student-- that sufficed as a doorbell.
"Bill?" she called, her heart pounding as she stood and hurriedly put the materials away.
The flap opened and Bill stepped in, bringing a burst of cold air with him. "Hi," he said, an adorable grin breaking out across his weathered features. He dropped his bag, secured the tent flap behind him, and turned to her expectantly.
She stepped into his waiting embrace. "Gods, I missed you," she breathed in his ear.
He kissed her temple in reply. "Missed you too, Laura," his deep voice drawled.
She stepped back slightly, arms still wrapped around his solid trunk. "How long can you stay?" she inquired, looking into his eyes beseechingly.
He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply, running his tongue along her bottom lip, separating with a smack. "Three days. And I intend to spend all of it keeping a low profile with you."
Gods, that was exactly what she needed to hear after the lengthy separation they had just endured. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of his uniform jacket, slid her hands underneath to caress his pectoral muscles through his tanks. "That’s good."
"It is good," he rumbled back with an amused smile, leaning in to kiss her again. She gave as good as she got, nipping his lips, caressing his tongue with hers. Quickly becoming frustrated at the amount of clothing they each wore, she pulled him with her by his lapels as she walked backwards toward her cot. She stopped when she felt the back of her knees hit the edge of cot and broke the kiss. "Strip, Admiral," she ordered.
Bill grinned again. "Yes, sir," he responded gamely, throwing off a quick salute as he shed his boots and clothing. Laura didn’t hesitate in divesting herself of her own long skirt and tatty sweater. She did, however, leave her lingerie; she had traded another one of her old suits for the black lace bra and panty set, and thought Bill would enjoy it.
Her suspicion was confirmed as Bill eyed her hungrily. "Looks good on you," he murmured, pushing her down onto the cot, his fingers trailing one bra strap down her shoulder. Laura’s wild locks fanned out around her face as she gazed up at him. He ran his other hand through her hair, and Laura sighed contentedly at the sensation. She arched up toward his lowering hips, needing to feel him. Wrapping one leg around his waist, she pulled him down, forcing him to close the distance between them. She ground into him, incredibly keyed up as he began suckling her nipple through the lace.
"Had dreams about you," he confessed into her cleavage. "This." She whimpered and shrugged her hands behind her shoulders beneath him to unhook her bra, nimbly removing the garment and baring her chest to receive his ministrations. The rough stubble covering his cheeks and chin was just as stimulating as his mouth on her delicate skin. She writhed beneath him as he laved her breasts, marking the crest of one creamy swell before moving on to her neck, lips, earlobe. Reaching down between them, she stroked his length, guided it past the waistband of her panties so she could feel the soft skin brush against her wetness. Panting breathlessly, she demanded, "Frak me, Bill."
He growled and pushed her panties down, flinging them off her long legs. He pulled her up with surprising force and smoothly switched places with her so she was on top, her hands on his chest and his arms on her shoulders steadying her as she sank down onto his erection. The narrow cot creaked with the strain of their exertions, which quickly became more and more frenzied as Bill mumbled nearly incoherently to Laura how gorgeous she was, how much he wanted her.
Wanting the sensations to last, but knowing from the familiar coiling of pressure deep inside her that she didn’t have long, she clenched her muscles around his cock, slowing the pace before lifting up until he was nearly unsheathed, then slamming down so he bottomed out against her. Bill’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, back arched, lowly keening in the throes of passion, and feeling her quivering around him, he thrust a few more times before following her over the edge.
Both sated, they remained joined in a lovers’ embrace, Laura draped over him comfortably, masses of russet hair keeping her back warm where Bill’s hands were not. Eventually he withdrew from her, reaching for the discarded panties and gently cleaning her as she sighed with satisfaction. "Thanks," she whispered, raising her head to look at him with shining eyes. He shifted them so they were on their sides, facing each other.
"You’re amazing," he told her, deep affection evident in his tone. Suddenly uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, she blindly grasped under her cot for a small ashtray. Pulling it out from its ineffectual hiding place, she smiled wickedly and asked, "Post-coital smoke?"
He chuckled. Her heart sang at seeing him happy and relaxed, and apparently amenable to her second-favorite recreational activity. "You are a weed fiend," he informed her. "Toking up all the time! But yeah...I’ll smoke."
"You’d toke up as often as you could, if you had to live on this mudball, too," she responded somewhat petulantly. She lit the joint with a flourish and passed it to him, kissing his shoulder as he puffed with increasing familiarity. "It helps me forget," she confessed. "Forget about how angry I am that we abandoned the search for Earth; forget how physically demanding life is down here; forget that I’m alone and cold most nights." She hesitated, thinking, taking a hit of the joint. "And it reminds me of better times. College, grad school, parties back on Caprica...times with you since the groundbreaking." She draped herself over broad shoulders and smiled against the skin at the nape of his neck. "That night especially, actually. Oh my gods, we were so high!"
At that, he guffawed and turned to face her. "I heard you put a warning on the box in the temple that this stuff decreases sex drive. How many times do I have to apologize for falling asleep on you that night?" he asked with affected indignation.
She giggled. "You made it up to me the next day, and then some, so it’s all fine. Besides, I just wanted to share with others what we learned the hard way." She paused again, clearly having lost her train of thought, before brightening and declaring: "Do the deed before you smoke the weed!" She fell over into his lap, her giggles escalating at the hilarity of her Leaf-induced insight, and he couldn’t help but join her laughter as tendrils of smoke curled around them.
V. Eradication
"We need to strike a high profile target to have a more meaningful impact."
Laura had been unprepared for how much worse life on New Caprica could get. They’d had a good few months here, for a while. Both her personally, as she had indulged in one of the most physically satisfying relationships of her life, and the settlement, as the general mood had lifted with more people utilizing the Leaf to abide the discomforts of material deprivation. She had eventually outsourced much of the "Make New Capricans Happy...With Weed" operation to Galen Tyrol, whose many talents were obviously not limited to repairing mangled Vipers, fabricating rotgut stills, and organizing labor unions.
Maybe the settlement would have eventually died out due to disease, a tectonic event, crop failure, or any other potential disaster. Maybe her cancer would have returned and she would have died alone in a cabin she’d constructed herself, although she rather hoped not. But what really left a bitter taste in her mouth was that those things could have happened while she and everyone else were blissfully high, or at least relatively unburdened. Now, with the Cylon occupation, the obstacles to their survival were compounded. A violent end awaited any human unfortunate enough to make any kind of misstep in the vicinity of a Centurion. These times demanded vigilance, not oblivion.
Vigilance was contrary to the effects of the Leaf, but in the end, it didn’t matter. With curfews and surveillance in place, Laura was no longer able to leave the settlement and make the journey up to her field, her cabin, her lake. She hoped they remained as they were, but had no way of knowing. She hadn’t had the foresight to save a few plants or plant the clippings in or around her tent; she didn’t even have any plants left hanging to dry at this point. For all practical purposes, New Caprica Leaf had been eradicated from their existence.
The Temple of Artemis had ceased being a welcoming place to pray and pick up a few free doobies on the sly; no one had the heart to set foot there after the vicious massacre. Laura frequently found herself praying that her idea of using the temple as a place to discreetly distribute the weed, which she felt had been innocuous, had not inspired the decision to store contraband weapons there.
Laura puffed contemplatively on one of her few remaining joints as she wrote in her journal about the occupation. The one thing that hadn’t been eradicated with the Cylon presence, she realized, was hope that Adama would return.
_________________
A/N: I envision the indigenous leaf as cannabis ruderalis, which has lower THC content than either indica or sativa, but can withstand much harsher climates. Sounds like our Leaf, no?
_________________
Author: lemmig
Word count: ~5000
Rating: M/MA (sex and drugs...and even a little rock and roll)
Disclaimer: Not my intellectual property.
Summary: How Laura Roslin learned to stop worrying and love New Caprica.
A/N: Thanks to defyingnormalcy for her generous assistance and correctly insisting that Laura was probably not, in fact, perpetually stoned on NC; and to nixmom for contributing a particularly fun line and serving as a sounding board when this story was in its inception. Any mistakes and/or implausible characterizations are mine.
I. Identification
"You say this stuff grows around here?"
Laura Roslin secured the flap to the school tent, tossing a heavy sweater over her shoulders on her way out. It was late afternoon and she figured she had at least a few hours left of daylight. She glanced around the settlement as she moved purposefully through the muddy, construction-rutted streets.
Since settling on the planet nearly eight weeks prior, she’d been curious about the surrounding areas and had determined that she would explore the planet. Today she was fulfilling that promise to herself as she set out to follow a stream flowing to the north of the settlement.
It took only fifteen minutes’ brisk walking before the settlement absurdly named "New Caprica City" was behind her and nothing but wilderness stretched out to mountains on the horizon. The stream widened slightly as she made her way alongside it, babbling water soothing her wearied mind.
"Frakking Baltar...frakking planet...frakking people," she muttered aloud, annoyed for the umpteenth time at the fact that they had settled on a marginally inhabitable planet. But her annoyance was short-lived; Laura had begrudgingly come to accept her place on this planet, and she reminded herself that cursing Baltar and his constituents would not alter their presence here on New Caprica. The school kept her fairly busy, especially as more and more children joined the ranks of the settlers and the living situations, such as they were, had finally stabilized enough for children to attend. Teaching children of various ages with minimal supplies, materials, and qualified assistance was such a makeshift proposition at the moment. She had decided to throw conventional lesson-planning to the wayside and instead spend her time trying to figure out what useful things she might teach children facing a possible lifetime-- or not-- on this frozen mudball. The utility of teaching Colonial history and geography was debatable at best, but at least it served to honor those who had perished in the genocide and provided some connection to their shared past.
"A pragmatic education," she thought to herself, recalling random snippets of her long-completed Ed.D dissertation; the idea of education as the means for "the social continuity of life" had greater relevance than ever in present circumstances. Also, these "curriculum development" excursions gave her a good excuse to get away from the pitying stares of the strangers surrounding her in the settlement. She was lonely whether she was among the people or out here by herself, and as a result, had embraced solitude in an effort to put aside thoughts of the one person she truly found herself missing. Laura drew his sweater around herself more tightly, hoping to discern a hint of his scent, but to no avail.
She was now about ten clicks away from the settlement, and by the sun’s low position in the sky, she knew she should soon head back before it became impossible to find her way in the darkness. The trees grew sparser and shorter up here, but there was still moderately thick vegetation spreading out across the ground in the foothills of the mountains. She slowed her pace and bent over slightly to examine the flowering plants that grew to about mid-thigh. Contemplating the plant, she pinched the top bud off the central stem between her thumb and forefinger, and brought it to her nose.
Laura’s brow furrowed she inhaled the sweet scent, her mind suddenly inundated with images of smoky rooms, beaded curtains, and passing ashtrays. She remembered an outdoor rock concert she’d attended during college: being hoisted atop the shoulders of a long-forgotten boyfriend, wearing a strappy halter top she’d sewn herself; the feelings of freedom and relaxation as she enjoyed the festival, plumes of sweet woodsy smoke rising up from the crowds to caress her senses. She hummed, amused at her recollection. A good memory.
She traced her free hand down along the plant and pinched off a large, multi-fingered leaf resembling the Seal of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Holding the bud and leaf in front of her, side by side, she crouched down to closer inspect the bounty around her. Realizing for the first time that she was in fact surrounded by a field of the leafy plants, she did a quick mental calculation and determined that there must be several hundred of them right here along the stream.
Unless she was very much mistaken, this plant was smokeable. And psychoactive. She gathered up an armful of the plants and headed back to her tent with a spring in her step and an almost-forgotten melody involuntarily escaping from her lips.
II. Cultivation
"In the mountains north of here there’s this little stream that comes down into a lake..."
Laura awoke in her tent and stretched contentedly, taking care not to disturb the other occupant of her cot. She reveled in the warmth emitting from her personal furnace and sighed softly, knowing how much she would miss this when he returned to orbit. The warmth...and other things, she silently chided herself.
Bill, typically, seemed attuned to her thinking, even in repose, and he grunted softly as he turned over to face her. "Good morning," he murmured, stroking his hand possessively along the soft skin of her stomach.
Laura tilted her head up to his and kissed his chin, her eyes flashing playfully. "It is a good morning," she agreed. "Nowhere to be today, the frakking rain has stopped..."
He grasped her hips and pulled her flush on top of him. "So we don’t even have to leave this tent?"
Wriggling uninhibitedly against his growing hardness, her hair falling in curtains around his face, she smirked and replied, "We don’t have to do anything. But I thought I might take you on a little excursion, show you where I’ve been getting that weed you liked so much."
He leaned up to growl into her ear, "I could be persuaded...in a little while."
* * *
Their morning activities satisfactorily concluded and all evidence thereof cleaned up, Laura tugged on her boots and took stock of the verdant inventory currently drying and curing in her tent. Several bunches of plants hung in a row along one side of the tent’s frame. The dampness wasn’t ideal, but unavoidable given the climate, and at least it was perpetually dark under the heavy canvas. Opening a trunk at the foot of her cot, she removed the precious glass jars she’d traded one of her suits for at the market and inspected how the curing process was progressing.
Bill peered over her shoulder. "Quite a stash you’ve got there, Laura."
She raised up the glass, critically evaluating the vegetable matter within. "See, not quite ready. I like to see more crystals on the buds. This needs at least another week." She turned her attention to the jar in her other hand. "This one, though, has been curing since before your last visit. I think we’ll be able to enjoy some of this stuff before your transport leaves tomorrow." She opened the jar, sniffed deeply, then waved it vaguely in the direction of Bill’s face. "Oh, yeah. Definitely ready," she pronounced.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "How did you become such an expert?"
"Trial and error. I’ve had plenty of time to see what works and what doesn’t. I know you come down here every month and think those joints just roll themselves..."
Bill placed a hand on her shoulder, pulled her gently to a standing position. "I wish I could get down here more often," he said apologetically.
Unreceptive to his condescension, Laura fixed her gaze at a spot above his shoulder and remained silent for several moments. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she hastily placed the jars back in the trunk, closed it, and grabbed a large woven basket. "Let’s go," she implored.
As they walked through the tent city, a few people gave them curious looks, but for the most part they were left alone aside from an occasional salute from a former crewmember. There were many of them here now, over half the crews of Galactica and Pegasus having mustered out since the previous month’s groundbreaking celebration. Once the settlement was behind them and they were alone, Laura looped her arm through the crook of Bill’s elbow and squeezed his arm tightly to her side, regretting her earlier prickliness.
"Where are we going?" Bill asked. "To your lake?"
She giggled, pleased that he remembered her stoned confession to him from the evening of the groundbreaking. "It’s up that way, yes. We just follow this stream to the foothills of the mountains up there. That’s where I want to build my cabin."
Bill tilted his head to the side to look at her. "And where your indigenous leaf grows?"
Laura hummed affirmatively. "It’s amazing. There’s a field full of it, just growing naturally." They continued walking in companionable silence, both enjoying the warmth of the sunlight beating down on the crowns of their heads and the satisfying crunch of dirt (and occasional squelch of mud) beneath their feet.
Eventually they reached the field full of what she had begun thinking of as the New Caprica Leaf. Slowing their pace, Laura gestured widely and said, "Here we are."
Bill surveyed their surroundings, impressed. "You weren’t kidding, huh." He cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek fondly. "Very enterprising, Ms. Roslin."
She laughed. "This private citizen has plenty of time for exploration, apparently."
He kissed her, pulled away. "And developing the planet’s natural resources."
She kissed him back. "I do what I can." She rested her head on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his waist, enjoying the relatively recent development of their physical intimacy. "I like coming up here, getting away from everyone." She hugged him even tighter, inhaling his spicy masculine scent. "I come here, collect plants, plan my cabin." Laura released him and picked up her basket. "Come on, you can give me a hand."
Laura handed him a small flat blade, showed him how to hack through the stalk of the plant on the diagonal, close to the roots. Soon they had filled the basket with about two dozen of the plants. "I think that’s about all we need for now," Laura observed, sitting down next to the basket. "Would you like to head back to town?"
"No," Bill demurred, giving her a bashful smile that made her heart constrict. "I’d like you to tell me about your cabin. Show me."
She held out her hand in invitation, led him on a walk further along the stream until they reached its terminus at a small lake, sunlight glinting off the surface. As they took in the tableau before them, she hummed happily and pulled him down onto the ground beside her. Reaching into her bra, she pulled out a skinny joint and lit it with a match she struck on the sole of her boot. She puffed expertly, once and then another long drag, before handing it over to Bill. "It’s going to be two rooms. A combined kitchen and living area, and a bedroom." She stopped talking and exhaled slowly, her voice returning to its normal timbre and cadence as the smoke dissipated. "Facing east, like we are now. I’m going to build it out of timbers from the pine trees that grow between here and the settlement. I’ll situate it here, close to the lake, so I can fish and maybe go swimming if it warms up enough."
Bill exhaled his own sweet-scented cloud and softly kissed her hair. "Sounds nice, Laura. Peaceful."
"I think so," she said wistfully, taking the joint back from him. "I’ve been here for almost five months, I hope I can get it started soon. It just hasn’t happened yet, with manpower and resources still being needed in the settlement. I’ll be doing most of the work myself."
She could feel Bill frown in consternation beside her, yet he said nothing. She turned her body to face him, looked him in the eye. Taking a deep breath, she tamped out the joint and voiced her heart’s hope. "Unless I have some help...."
To her dismay, Bill grunted noncommittally. She froze, and Bill, sensing the tension radiating from her body, leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss against her lips.
She understood. She felt like an idiot, but she understood his reluctance to commit to anything that might take him away from Galactica for more than his all-too-brief monthly shore leaves. They both thought the Cylons would eventually return and find them here, a contingency for which it was absolutely necessary that Bill remain in orbit as Admiral of the Colonial Fleet.
He kissed her again, more forcefully now, and proceeded to make love to her on the sun-dappled shore, showing her with his body what he would not express with words. Her head much lighter than her heart, Laura accepted this reality and recalled her proclamation to him the previous month: "Maybe the Cylons come back, maybe they don’t... maybe we should just enjoy this." And she did, taking solace in the glorious feeling that, at least in this moment, they may as well be the only two people on this godsforsaken planet.
III. Allocation
"New Caprica Leaf may cause short term memory loss, appetite suppression, and decreased sex drive."
New Caprica was a desolate place. While the high spirits of the settlers, happy to be sprung free from their tin cans, had initially disguised this fact, the excitement of being on solid ground had long since worn off, and the people now trudged through a fairly bleak existence of poor accommodations and worse rations. The weather patterns had settled into a grim, wet coldness that permeated every structure, and the gray skies and heavy rains basically rendered futile the settlement’s feeble farming efforts.
Laura could see the depression in the faces of parents as they wearily came to pick up their once-exuberant children at the school tent, hear the resignation in the voices of her neighbors as they chatted about the market being devoid of foodstuffs yet again.
She may not be their President anymore, could no longer effect pragmatic policies, but there was one thing Laura thought she could do to help.
Her occasional indulgence in the indigenous leaf, as needed on particularly stressful days, seemed to have staved off the depression that seemingly affected everyone else. Sure, she was sad and lonely; her best friend and lover was orbiting the frakking planet ninety percent of the time instead of keeping her warm in her tent. But toking up had the benefits of not only making her feel indifferent to the oppressive cold and damp, but suppressing her appetite as well. She found that as long as she was able to avoid excessive introspection, New Caprica Leaf made her existence appreciably more tolerable.
During Bill’s last visit, she had enlisted his help, shown him how to roll a tidy joint using torn-up squares of old fuel consumption reports she had asked him to bring down with him for this purpose. Ever the effective instructor, she now had both a very generous stash of pre-rolled joints stowed safely in her trunk, as well as a sustainable harvesting and drying operation that required only a weekly visit up to her field to replenish her stores. While Bill obviously had reservations about her intentions, they went unexpressed, as he had long since learned not to question openly her methods for coping with the unpleasantness of life in the settlement.
It was time to share the goods.
She had no reason to think that she alone had discovered the properties of the leaf or would be the exclusive supplier of fleet wheat to the people of New Caprica. But she also didn’t know whether its desirable effects of short term memory loss and appetite suppression were well known in the community, and so far had found it difficult to broach the topic with others, fearing that she might earn a reputation as an expert of sorts (deserved though it may be). She could imagine that news that the former President and current schoolteacher was cultivating a psychoactive plant for consumption might shock people. Laura preferred to proceed with discretion.
So she had figured out a plan, enlisting the assistance of Sister Tivenan over several conversations at the Temple of Artemis.
Laura had initially found the religious celebrant frustratingly cryptic, with a propensity to evoke experiences with chamalla that she preferred repressed. However, Laura did enjoy taking the time to return to religious devotion, finding that it brought her some measure of peace, especially if she was already stoned upon entering the temple for prayer. After Laura brought Tivenan some maple candies that had been a gift from a student, Tivenan warmed to her considerably, and began communicating with her more directly.
"You are still seeking...something, Laura. Your mind is conflicted. Tell me," she coaxed one rainy weekend afternoon.
Laura sighed. She wasn’t about to get into her longing for Bill, who, between maintenance problems on Galactica and what she suspected was Baltar’s obstructionism, hadn’t been to the surface in weeks, with this woman. So she opted to discuss the alternative.
"I’ve found an indigenous plant that causes euphoria, and lessens pain and discomfort, when smoked. It also seems to make my mind more open to prayer," Laura explained, hoping she wasn’t coming off as insincere. "I dry it out in my tent to make it smokeable."
Tivenan seemed intrigued. "Do you have any with you?" she asked bluntly.
Laura grinned at Tivenan’s open-minded reception and produced a joint. "Would it be blasphemous to light this thing with a prayer candle?"
Tivenan just smiled serenely. "It is the will of the gods. Go ahead."
As the two women shared the joint, Laura discussed her concerns regarding the apparent decline in the psychological health of the settlers, how she felt the leaf might help. "It does cause a lack of motivation, and sometimes also a decrease in sex drive. But I think given the benefits, it could really help a lot of people deal with the conditions we’re all being subjected to."
At "sex drive," Tivenan smirked, and Laura felt a flush of embarrassment creep over her cheeks. No matter; after the disturbingly erotic dreams she’d had while on chamalla, she was perfectly happy that New Caprica Leaf could sometimes have the opposite effect, more often (but not always) tending to lead to sweet snuggling and bad singing than passionate frakking. Laura tried to re-focus on the issue at hand, her mind lazily resisting clarity.
"It is written in the scriptures that the smoke of a many-fingered plant may help the people ease their burdens as they await their deliverance from Gehenna," intoned Tivenan thoughtfully. "Your role is bigger than this, Laura Roslin. But I will help you."
* * *
The next time Laura came to the temple, she brought a significant portion of her joint cache with her. She had repurposed a simple, ritual offering box; instead of small religious idols, it was filled with joints containing New Caprica Leaf. "Rolled by the Admiral of the Fleet himself," she giggled inwardly. She had pasted a handwritten note on the inside lid of the cornerless box:
Warning: New Caprica Leaf may cause short term memory loss, appetite suppression, and decreased sex drive. Share and enjoy in moderation.
She found Tivenan behind her curtain, sitting placidly on a pile of pillows with her eyes closed. Laura cleared her throat, inadvertently triggering a wheezy cough. "Sister Tivenan, hello."
Tivenan did not open her eyes, but raised her brows in acknowledgment. A few awkwardly silent moments passed, and then she gestured for Laura to sit across from her. Laura placed the offering box on the low table between them and pushed it slightly toward Tivenan.
"I’ve brought a stash of the stuff. You really think this will work?" Laura asked.
Tivenan smiled. "Many seekers come here looking for faith, answers, or psychotropic substances. I am happy to help them however I can." She rose, picked up the box, and crossed the small temple as Laura watched from her position on the floor. Tivenan placed the box on a shadowy corner of the altar.
"People will find it, word will spread. Spirits will rise. You’ll see," Tivenan advised. "Let us smoke, and contemplate, and perhaps you will tell me about the other thing that’s really bothering you."
IV. Gratification
"Maybe we should just enjoy this."
Laura couldn’t quite repress her excitement as she tidied up her small tent in advance of the Admiral’s impending arrival.
Bill is coming Bill is coming Bill is coming.
Her living area swept comfortably clean and her cot immaculate, Laura decided to busy herself by rolling joints. A mindless task, but one necessitated by the newfound popularity of the Temple of Artemis and its mysterious benefactor.
She methodically broke stems and seeds away from dried leaves, collecting the crystalline dust that resulted from the process and flicking the sticky detritus from her fingertips. Disposing of the unwanted byproduct, she tore up a stack of sheets of paper and began the rolling process, sprinkling keef on top of each little portion of weed and twisting each joint at the ends so it would stay in place.
She was nearly finished with her task of transforming the green pile into white pillars when she heard a purposeful pull on the homemade wind chime-- another gift from a student-- that sufficed as a doorbell.
"Bill?" she called, her heart pounding as she stood and hurriedly put the materials away.
The flap opened and Bill stepped in, bringing a burst of cold air with him. "Hi," he said, an adorable grin breaking out across his weathered features. He dropped his bag, secured the tent flap behind him, and turned to her expectantly.
She stepped into his waiting embrace. "Gods, I missed you," she breathed in his ear.
He kissed her temple in reply. "Missed you too, Laura," his deep voice drawled.
She stepped back slightly, arms still wrapped around his solid trunk. "How long can you stay?" she inquired, looking into his eyes beseechingly.
He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply, running his tongue along her bottom lip, separating with a smack. "Three days. And I intend to spend all of it keeping a low profile with you."
Gods, that was exactly what she needed to hear after the lengthy separation they had just endured. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of his uniform jacket, slid her hands underneath to caress his pectoral muscles through his tanks. "That’s good."
"It is good," he rumbled back with an amused smile, leaning in to kiss her again. She gave as good as she got, nipping his lips, caressing his tongue with hers. Quickly becoming frustrated at the amount of clothing they each wore, she pulled him with her by his lapels as she walked backwards toward her cot. She stopped when she felt the back of her knees hit the edge of cot and broke the kiss. "Strip, Admiral," she ordered.
Bill grinned again. "Yes, sir," he responded gamely, throwing off a quick salute as he shed his boots and clothing. Laura didn’t hesitate in divesting herself of her own long skirt and tatty sweater. She did, however, leave her lingerie; she had traded another one of her old suits for the black lace bra and panty set, and thought Bill would enjoy it.
Her suspicion was confirmed as Bill eyed her hungrily. "Looks good on you," he murmured, pushing her down onto the cot, his fingers trailing one bra strap down her shoulder. Laura’s wild locks fanned out around her face as she gazed up at him. He ran his other hand through her hair, and Laura sighed contentedly at the sensation. She arched up toward his lowering hips, needing to feel him. Wrapping one leg around his waist, she pulled him down, forcing him to close the distance between them. She ground into him, incredibly keyed up as he began suckling her nipple through the lace.
"Had dreams about you," he confessed into her cleavage. "This." She whimpered and shrugged her hands behind her shoulders beneath him to unhook her bra, nimbly removing the garment and baring her chest to receive his ministrations. The rough stubble covering his cheeks and chin was just as stimulating as his mouth on her delicate skin. She writhed beneath him as he laved her breasts, marking the crest of one creamy swell before moving on to her neck, lips, earlobe. Reaching down between them, she stroked his length, guided it past the waistband of her panties so she could feel the soft skin brush against her wetness. Panting breathlessly, she demanded, "Frak me, Bill."
He growled and pushed her panties down, flinging them off her long legs. He pulled her up with surprising force and smoothly switched places with her so she was on top, her hands on his chest and his arms on her shoulders steadying her as she sank down onto his erection. The narrow cot creaked with the strain of their exertions, which quickly became more and more frenzied as Bill mumbled nearly incoherently to Laura how gorgeous she was, how much he wanted her.
Wanting the sensations to last, but knowing from the familiar coiling of pressure deep inside her that she didn’t have long, she clenched her muscles around his cock, slowing the pace before lifting up until he was nearly unsheathed, then slamming down so he bottomed out against her. Bill’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, back arched, lowly keening in the throes of passion, and feeling her quivering around him, he thrust a few more times before following her over the edge.
Both sated, they remained joined in a lovers’ embrace, Laura draped over him comfortably, masses of russet hair keeping her back warm where Bill’s hands were not. Eventually he withdrew from her, reaching for the discarded panties and gently cleaning her as she sighed with satisfaction. "Thanks," she whispered, raising her head to look at him with shining eyes. He shifted them so they were on their sides, facing each other.
"You’re amazing," he told her, deep affection evident in his tone. Suddenly uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, she blindly grasped under her cot for a small ashtray. Pulling it out from its ineffectual hiding place, she smiled wickedly and asked, "Post-coital smoke?"
He chuckled. Her heart sang at seeing him happy and relaxed, and apparently amenable to her second-favorite recreational activity. "You are a weed fiend," he informed her. "Toking up all the time! But yeah...I’ll smoke."
"You’d toke up as often as you could, if you had to live on this mudball, too," she responded somewhat petulantly. She lit the joint with a flourish and passed it to him, kissing his shoulder as he puffed with increasing familiarity. "It helps me forget," she confessed. "Forget about how angry I am that we abandoned the search for Earth; forget how physically demanding life is down here; forget that I’m alone and cold most nights." She hesitated, thinking, taking a hit of the joint. "And it reminds me of better times. College, grad school, parties back on Caprica...times with you since the groundbreaking." She draped herself over broad shoulders and smiled against the skin at the nape of his neck. "That night especially, actually. Oh my gods, we were so high!"
At that, he guffawed and turned to face her. "I heard you put a warning on the box in the temple that this stuff decreases sex drive. How many times do I have to apologize for falling asleep on you that night?" he asked with affected indignation.
She giggled. "You made it up to me the next day, and then some, so it’s all fine. Besides, I just wanted to share with others what we learned the hard way." She paused again, clearly having lost her train of thought, before brightening and declaring: "Do the deed before you smoke the weed!" She fell over into his lap, her giggles escalating at the hilarity of her Leaf-induced insight, and he couldn’t help but join her laughter as tendrils of smoke curled around them.
V. Eradication
"We need to strike a high profile target to have a more meaningful impact."
Laura had been unprepared for how much worse life on New Caprica could get. They’d had a good few months here, for a while. Both her personally, as she had indulged in one of the most physically satisfying relationships of her life, and the settlement, as the general mood had lifted with more people utilizing the Leaf to abide the discomforts of material deprivation. She had eventually outsourced much of the "Make New Capricans Happy...With Weed" operation to Galen Tyrol, whose many talents were obviously not limited to repairing mangled Vipers, fabricating rotgut stills, and organizing labor unions.
Maybe the settlement would have eventually died out due to disease, a tectonic event, crop failure, or any other potential disaster. Maybe her cancer would have returned and she would have died alone in a cabin she’d constructed herself, although she rather hoped not. But what really left a bitter taste in her mouth was that those things could have happened while she and everyone else were blissfully high, or at least relatively unburdened. Now, with the Cylon occupation, the obstacles to their survival were compounded. A violent end awaited any human unfortunate enough to make any kind of misstep in the vicinity of a Centurion. These times demanded vigilance, not oblivion.
Vigilance was contrary to the effects of the Leaf, but in the end, it didn’t matter. With curfews and surveillance in place, Laura was no longer able to leave the settlement and make the journey up to her field, her cabin, her lake. She hoped they remained as they were, but had no way of knowing. She hadn’t had the foresight to save a few plants or plant the clippings in or around her tent; she didn’t even have any plants left hanging to dry at this point. For all practical purposes, New Caprica Leaf had been eradicated from their existence.
The Temple of Artemis had ceased being a welcoming place to pray and pick up a few free doobies on the sly; no one had the heart to set foot there after the vicious massacre. Laura frequently found herself praying that her idea of using the temple as a place to discreetly distribute the weed, which she felt had been innocuous, had not inspired the decision to store contraband weapons there.
Laura puffed contemplatively on one of her few remaining joints as she wrote in her journal about the occupation. The one thing that hadn’t been eradicated with the Cylon presence, she realized, was hope that Adama would return.
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A/N: I envision the indigenous leaf as cannabis ruderalis, which has lower THC content than either indica or sativa, but can withstand much harsher climates. Sounds like our Leaf, no?
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