Libran fanfic
Title: In Good Taste
Author: Aussie
Word count: mad, over 4000 anyway
Rating: T
Sequel to Brief Encounter, Passing Chance and Museum Pieces. The last of these is here with the other links.
Forgive me my rambling and the fact this will need another chapter and has no plot. *sigh*
“How long will we have to stay here, do you think?” she asked once I’d ushered her inside the cheap motel room. Her eyes darted around the drab room, noting its faded and worn furniture.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Until Mazur’s men stop looking for us. Or find us,” I added, dumping the two plastic shopping bags I was carrying on the bed.
She placed the two she held, much more delicately, on the small counter where a toaster and coffee maker -- about three years worth of scum built up on its glass, I reckoned -- were propping up the motel’s ‘Rules’. I could only make out the final statement on the laminated sheet of paper: ‘Thank you for staying with us! Come again!’ Crude thoughts sprang instantly to mind, especially as I suspected the room was more often than not rented out by the hour.
“They’ll only leave me alone if they find Sweetman and...” She bit down hard on her bottom lip as she trailed off, unable to finish her thought.
I remained silent. I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I, an ex-Secret Service Agent, wanted Emery Sweetman dead.
She moved over to the window and fingered the edge of the drapes for a long moment. Finally, however, she resisted the urge to furtively look out, releasing the thick material along with a cloud of dust.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, hoping to distract her.
“Are you?” she asked, stepping away from the window and leaning down to experimentally test the bed’s springs with the palm of her hand.
Food was the last thing on my mind. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” I assured her. I dragged my gaze away from her and stared at the dull beige couch with the stain at one end. I’d have to remember to put my feet up that end--
“Why?”
Her quiet one word question elicited too many thoughts at once: thoughts of falling into her soft, warm curves; her hands stroking my cool skin; her wet lips around--
“Everything in this room is old except for the bed. I think they have their priorities. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here.”
Finally, after several steadying breaths on my part, I felt brave enough to glance in her direction. I shouldn’t have.
“This is your stop, Laura,” the woman in the seat beside her prompted, adding a gentle poke to her ribs.
Surprised, Laura blinked out the window and took in her surroundings. The bus doors were closing and the driver was indicating that he was about to return to the main road. They were about to pull away from the crossroads that ran into the cottage’s driveway.
Ignoring any concern as to how her companion knew her name or stop, even though she rarely spoke to the other passengers on these short trips, she threw a quick ‘thank you’ in the woman’s general direction and hurried down the bus aisle as gracefully as she could in her heels.
She delivered her request to stop to the driver, automatically using her sharpest authoritative tone. With a muttered curse under his breath about dreamy women, he obliged her order and again stopped the bus. She barely had time to jump out onto the dusty sidewalk before the bus pulled away with a rush of hot air and a groan of gear changes.
“So much for country hospitality,” she chided indignantly in the bus’s wake, as if the driver could somehow still hear her.
She looked down at the book she was clutching. “It’s all your fault.”
She’d found herself picking up Blood Runs After Midnight as she’d headed out the door that morning. It had been after she’d spent an obligatory half an hour on the phone with the doctor. She conceded his general message of moving forward and getting on with life probably had little to do with forcing herself to finish a book, but she thought it was as nice a place to start as any.
She hadn’t confided in the doctor about the book, because it would have only led to a discussion regarding her mysterious soldier. She didn’t think it was necessary, considering she had spent almost two weeks without making a single enquiry as to his identity.
With a sigh, she tucked the book into her handbag and navigated her way along the dusty driveway. She’d just that morning invested in a hardier pair of shoes and she contemplated getting them out of the box right now as she circled around potholes and tufts of weeds.
Her mind skipped to all that she had to do to be ready before Billy came to collect her for the Tasting. When she’d arranged the time with him, she hadn’t known she’d be caught up at the real estate agency.
She’d arrived in Mudgee this morning to find it busier than usual, due to the influx of tourists for their famous annual event. So, after purchasing the new boots, she’d ordered a takeaway coffee and her favourite cinnamon and sultana bun, and escaped to the Village Green to sit quietly and indulge in some quality people-watching.
Since her trip to the museum, she had done her best to immerse herself in the colourful atmosphere of the village. She made a point to visit the village every day. It would be so easy to stay at her cottage; become a hermit.
Today she’d found interest with a group of men playing chess on the other side of the park. She’d juggled her glasses onto her head to peer towards the men, but found it difficult to distinguish their individual facial features as they all bowed to concentrate on their game and talk enthusiastically. Many of them also puffed away on cigarettes and a plume of smoke hung in the air around their chess tables, masking their faces to those who’d only boasted one encounter at a Caprican transfer station. Much to her annoyance, a voice in her head had insisted she’d recognise her particular soldier anywhere and he mustn’t be part of today’s circle gathered on the Village Green.
She’d turned away from the group, irritated that she should have such confidence after such a brief meeting. (She might have ceased asking about him, but she hadn’t stopped searching for him, she should admit.) As she’d swung around, she’d seen a car pull up at a stop sign with an advertisement painted on its side, and in a completely uncharacteristic impulsive manner, she’d made the decision to buy her own house in the district.
Photos, profiles and prices of farmhouses and cottages and sprawling ranches and apartments with views of the park were offered up to her by the agents; eager to arrange times for viewings to their new client.
Yes, despite the bus driver’s attitude, the Libran lifestyle was usually relaxed and encouraging.
Surprisingly she even, after she’d showered, styled her hair, and slipped on the long red dress she’d found at one of the village’s small boutiques the day before, thought Libran had restored some of her natural exuberance which had been missing for many years.
She swirled the dress’s flowing skirt in front of the bedroom mirror. Her mood almost matched the fresh and carefree outfit. The doctor’s advice was actually working.
Well, almost working, she corrected. He had been hoping she’d free herself from her guilt over Cheryl and Sandra, but that was ridiculous... That would never happen.
Happily, however, for the first time in a long time she’d stopped feeling guilty about starting a relationship with Richard Adar. She’d stopped obsessing about how she could have better handled that moment when she knew he was taking a more personal interest in his Secretary of Education.
Billy’s car rattling along the driveway interrupted her wandering thoughts.
She sat down in front of the mirror to swipe her lips with some colour; one that matched her new dress as closely as possible. From this position, she realised she needed to adjust the top of the dress’s bodice. She’d been wearing a different bra when she’d tried it on originally, and now it looked perhaps too tight and too low.
A few minutes later, having heard the car stop and its driver open and shut his door, she gave up tugging at the stubborn material and turned away from her indecent cleavage with a mutter.
She opened her closet to search for anything suitable to use as a wrap. Then she remembered her light blue organza blouse. It was so sheer, she usually had to wear a tank top or camisole beneath it. It would be perfect. She shrugged into it, tying it together instead of using the buttons. The effect was summery and feminine--and much more respectable.
~*~
Bill resisted the urge to adjust the tunic of his uniform yet again. He’d obviously put on some weight around his middle since he’d last had the opportunity to wear it. He’d have to ask around in the village whether anyone could let it out before Colonial Day, which would come around before he knew it after the Tasting celebrations came to a close.
He’d liked to have attended the Tasting in normal civilian clothes, despite it being correct protocol to wear dress greys.
The population of Mudgee had swelled; the Tasting was well known throughout the Twelve Colonies. The few tourist operators on the planet placed the event on their calendar, and all accommodation in the area was booked out in advance. Plus, most Thermis locals travelled over for the night.
The carrier he’d caught back from the Caprica that morning had been crowded. He’d chuckled to himself as he’d boarded; she wouldn’t have been able to get away with so much baggage today.
Civvie clothes would have offered him a chance to relax; blend in. Yet, he was still proud of the uniform and what it stood for, and somehow that pride was more important when Ellen Tigh was visiting.
He soon became separated from Ellen and Saul when they lingered immediately at one of the local winery’s tables. Ellen’s idea of how much should be poured into her glass for an adequate tasting was differing from the young stewardess’s who was serving at the display. Saul was already enjoying his wife’s wit while she put forward her argument. Bill let Saul’s laugh echo behind him and kept strolling between the stalls set up on the Village Green grass in makeshift lanes.
He found himself automatically searching the crowd for her. She could have returned to Caprica, he knew, but he still had it in his head that she was settling. Wishful thinking, he wondered.
He recognised many of the faces passing him by. It was obvious quite a few of the older lawyers and judges who’d made the trip from Thermis also recognised him. He was sure one day he’d be comfortable with this...
He nodded politely, and stopped to chat now and then, grateful that his memory exercises were still working when called upon. Over the course of the night he hoped to find some new clients, as well as close a deal or two with his current ones. A handshake was still the equivalent to a written contract in the antique business.
He was talking to Sherman Cottle, a doctor whom he’d served with for a few years before they’d both retired, about obtaining a gold cigarette case when he saw her. She was speaking to young Billy Keikeya, sipping on a glass of wine and swaying to the music being provided by the local band with the odd name of the Hillbilly Bears.
He’d fooled himself into believing his imagination had managed to over-inflate her looks, but now he realised, if anything, he’d been underestimating how lovely she was.
Suddenly, she stopped talking to Keikeya and looked around, her gaze flicking from face to face until finally it settled on him. At that exact moment the planet stopped spinning. He had no recollection later of what Cottle was saying; she stole away his entire attention, as well as his breath.
Later, he would remember only one clear thought from that moment: she remembered him.
He stared down into his drink, the red of his wine almost matched the lovely shade of her hair and dress, both sparkling in the slowly setting sun.
He looked up again. She was gone. Billy was now standing beside a young girl he knew to be Anastasia Dualla. He searched the crowd in Billy’s immediate area. Surely her dress would stand out amongst this year’s preferred trend of black.
“Didn’t you just return from Caprica?”
He blinked back over at Sherman Cottle. What was he asking?
“Yes,” he finally answered slowly. She was here, that was what was important. He could find her later; Sherman deserved his attention and focus for a few more minutes at least. “I found a Ducant out of the blue. I took it there to the auctions.”
“A Ducant! Here?”
“In Thermis, yes. The kid who’d inherited it had no idea, but to give him his due, his grandmother had never made a big deal out of the painting, other than to say it was a sentimental gift she’d once received.”
“I love Ducant. He makes the ordinary scene so extraordinary. I mean, how does one take an empty field and make it special enough that it’s deemed as priceless a mere hundred years later?”
Bill was struck dumb, but Sherman had no such worries. “You’re quite right, young lady. The Farm Dinner is one of my absolute favourites and it’s just a family of four sitting at the table having a very typical Aerilon potato stew.”
“He spent quite a long time on Libran during his early twenties, didn’t he?”
Bill blinked, realising she was posing the question to him and not Cottle.
“Yes,” he finally managed to say. “This painting is only small, but the detail is exquisite. And, as everyone thought there were no paintings of his left undiscovered in the Twelve Colonies, it proved a windfall for the lad.”
“And you,” she said with a knowing smile.
“Yes. But I never went into the business to make money. Would you like another?” he asked, gesturing to her now-empty wine glass.
She hummed and looked around at the options available. She still swayed and Bill had the urge to reach out and pin her to his side. He glanced at the area in front of the stage set aside for dancing, but before he could make any suggestion, Cottle was: “Commander, you should take the Madam Secretary here to try the grape cage.”
Bill saw his surprise of her title reflected on her face. Cottle gave her an unabashed shrug at his knowledge of her identity.
Her eyebrows lifted higher at Cottle’s next cryptic comment: “My nephew lacks originality when it comes to suggesting holiday destinations.”
“Confidentiality--” she started.
Cottle waved his arm around. “It was in all the papers that you saw him, I’m sorry to say. I just put two and two together and for once, got four. Now, by the looks of the Old Man here, he has not a clue what I’m talking about, so don’t go fretting.”
Bill felt the impulse to step in and somehow stand up to Cottle for her, but it soon became apparent the lady didn’t need a knight in shining armour.
“I wasn’t fretting,” she replied evenly. “I never fret. But I wouldn’t be willing to allow the President and members of the Cabinet to be advised by a doctor who didn’t take security seriously.”
“Oh, he takes it too damn seriously. Can’t get a smile out of that kid some days. Anyway, I need a damn drink. I’ll leave you two whipper-snappers to make goo-goo eyes at each other. Let me know, Commander, if you find the case.”
Bill stared at the doctor’s slightly hunched back as he trudged between the stalls for a long while before he turned back to his female companion.
“Madam Secretary,” he murmured, searching the far recesses of his brain to recall the newspaper articles Cottle was referring to. There was one that Adar was supposedly having an affair... She was taking some sort of stress leave after an incident in Paradis Park... “Secretary of Education?” he asked hesitantly.
“Laura Roslin,” she completed her introduction with a small crooked smile. “Commander...” she prompted.
“Adama. Bill Adama.”
“Husker?” she gasped and laughed when he nodded curtly at the old call sign.
“Where--”
“I visited the museum in Thermis recently.”
Bill nodded at the obvious explanation before looking away from her teasing smile. He could understand why Adar would be attracted to her.
“So... Are you going to explain what the grape cage is, Commander?”
He chuckled and looked down at her feet. Her skirt hung low around her ankles, almost hiding her shoes, which he was surprised to see where hardy lace-up boots. “You’ll have to be willing to take them off,” he said, eliciting a giggle from her with the seriousness of his warning.
“You want me to undress?” she flirted.
His only answer was to capture her hand in his to lead her to the end of the park where the popular tourist attraction was set up each year.
I watched her while she slept. She was not nearly as relaxed as I would have hoped. I tried to remember a time I wasn’t in love with her. I couldn’t. I also couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse.
She had my heart. As broken down, incomplete and worn as it was, it was still hers.
I thought I could live without hers in return. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I wasn’t as good at being noble as I’d thought. Perhaps I truly did want more... The still night was shattered by a loud blast. Perhaps now I would never know.
“Chapter Fourteen, Searider Falcon,” Laura murmured. “Have you ever read it?”
They lay on their backs, staring up at the clear sky. As they spoke, they had to tilt their heads and speak directly into each other’s ears because of the noise of the fireworks which had started about five minutes previous.
“A series of confessions,” he said, his lips brushing against her ear lobe eliciting a shiver. “I’ve read most of it.”
“Do you think confessing is good for the soul?”
She never gave him a chance to reply.
“It didn’t come out of the blue; our romance. There was many a long discussion and exchange of opinions which had been laced with innuendo and scattered with possibilities, but still there had been that one defining moment when I could have chosen to keep everything between us on a professional level. There was one moment when I could have turned away and kept with my solitary, ordinary life.”
“You don’t think he might have just pursued you more vigorously?”
She blinked, realising that that possibility had never occurred to her. Why was she so intent on blaming herself in this scenario?
“Richard Adar isn’t accustomed to failure,” she agreed. “He’s never tasted it.”
She smiled when her companion grunted at her last statement.
“My mother passed away from breast cancer. It was something Richard and I bonded over; his wife having died of the same disease.”
Bill’s fingers linked with hers. “He manipulated you with his sad story,” he offered.
“Surely I’m not that foolish...”
“It was how he won over the general population so effortlessly. It was Richard Adar, the handsome man who outwardly had it all, but beneath was nursing a broken heart, who caught the imagination of the voting public.”
“Yes,” she conceded.
“I wonder how he would have fared without the ‘widower card,” Bill added.
“He does have some good qualities; he makes a lot of wise political decisions,” she said, belatedly remembering her loyalty to her position and the government. She shouldn’t even be discussing any of these things with a comparative stranger, but she knew instinctively she could trust Bill. “And he did want me to marry him; to ensure the press didn’t turn it into something sordid.”
“You said no?” he asked raggedly.
“What Richard couldn’t understand was while it was the sadness of my past which had drawn me to him in the first place, it has also defined me in so many other ways. Love might be a distant memory, one which I will never experience again, but I’m not going to settle for a marriage of convenience. Because, really, that’s what our relationship was in the end.”
“Knowing how arrogant our President is, he wouldn’t have liked that one little bit.”
Maybe Bill was right. Richard had won his first term as president in a landslide, and the polls had never even suggested he would struggle to be re-elected.
“No. But I suppose I could have rejected his offer of marriage in a less abrupt manner and thus settled him as a friend, rather than the enemy I’m now dealing with in the public arena.”
“Arrogant prick,” he muttered. “Do you think his popularity led to his arrogance, or whether he’d always been that way, his successes just adding fuel to the fire?”
She glanced over at Bill’s profile. They’d only known each other a few hours...
“I do know whatever Richard Adar wants, Richard Adar gets,” she confessed, “and gods’ forbid if anyone stands in his way, including a woman he claims to love.”
Love... She shivered.
“Cold?” Bill asked.
She sat up and wiggled her stained toes. The grape cage had turned out to be just what it sounded like; a cage full of grapes. Tourists paid for the novelty of dancing on a bed of grapes, squashing the fragile fruit.
At the gate, they’d removed their shoes and socks, Bill had rolled up the cuffs of his trousers and she’d hooked her skirt up into her underwear, exposing her legs from mid thigh down. They were then required to sit on small stools while a local Mudgee resident scrubbed their feet in a bucket of water.
“I’m not sure,” she’d hissed at Bill after she’d read a sign proclaiming you could buy the wine made from the juice collected beneath the cage the year before. “I’m still not completely sold on the idea of this wine, despite the apparent cleanliness.”
Bill had laughed heartily and held her arm tight as they’d struggled to find their footing as they entered the cage. “It’s all an illusion,” he’d confided. “The wine made from the cage hasn’t been available for human consumption for over forty years. If you have a look, it’s there in small print on the wine label. But no one cares. Tourists love to boast they have wine made from such decadent means.”
She’d fallen into his arms then, finding it easier to lean against his strong body as they moved around the slippery dance floor together.
“I’m still intoxicated by that wine,” she said now, searching around for her socks. “Not drinking it, but the cool and soft sensation of the grapes was surprisingly exhilarating.”
“They’re always the pleasures you remember the most: the smallest ones.”
“Ones you didn’t expect,” she added softly.
She turned and held Bill’s gaze. His blue eyes shimmered as the final explosion of fireworks sparkled in the sky. “Thank you,” she said with sincerity.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
He grinned and she almost gasped at the brilliance of it. Forcing herself to look away, she immediately saw Billy standing out in the crowd on the other side of the park. She waved and he gestured that he would soon be leaving. Despite the urge to remain exactly where she was for the rest of the night, she gestured back that she still needed a lift home.
She dragged her boots on and then paused. She was teetering on the edge of the cliff. “Tomorrow morning. Here,” she said, toppling down the slippery slope with barely-concealed glee.
She stood, dusting down her dress and pulling the organza wrap around her. “My favourite is sultana and cinnamon,” she threw over her shoulder with a cheeky grin before heading off in Billy’s direction.
Author: Aussie
Word count: mad, over 4000 anyway
Rating: T
Sequel to Brief Encounter, Passing Chance and Museum Pieces. The last of these is here with the other links.
Forgive me my rambling and the fact this will need another chapter and has no plot. *sigh*
“How long will we have to stay here, do you think?” she asked once I’d ushered her inside the cheap motel room. Her eyes darted around the drab room, noting its faded and worn furniture.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Until Mazur’s men stop looking for us. Or find us,” I added, dumping the two plastic shopping bags I was carrying on the bed.
She placed the two she held, much more delicately, on the small counter where a toaster and coffee maker -- about three years worth of scum built up on its glass, I reckoned -- were propping up the motel’s ‘Rules’. I could only make out the final statement on the laminated sheet of paper: ‘Thank you for staying with us! Come again!’ Crude thoughts sprang instantly to mind, especially as I suspected the room was more often than not rented out by the hour.
“They’ll only leave me alone if they find Sweetman and...” She bit down hard on her bottom lip as she trailed off, unable to finish her thought.
I remained silent. I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I, an ex-Secret Service Agent, wanted Emery Sweetman dead.
She moved over to the window and fingered the edge of the drapes for a long moment. Finally, however, she resisted the urge to furtively look out, releasing the thick material along with a cloud of dust.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, hoping to distract her.
“Are you?” she asked, stepping away from the window and leaning down to experimentally test the bed’s springs with the palm of her hand.
Food was the last thing on my mind. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” I assured her. I dragged my gaze away from her and stared at the dull beige couch with the stain at one end. I’d have to remember to put my feet up that end--
“Why?”
Her quiet one word question elicited too many thoughts at once: thoughts of falling into her soft, warm curves; her hands stroking my cool skin; her wet lips around--
“Everything in this room is old except for the bed. I think they have their priorities. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here.”
Finally, after several steadying breaths on my part, I felt brave enough to glance in her direction. I shouldn’t have.
“This is your stop, Laura,” the woman in the seat beside her prompted, adding a gentle poke to her ribs.
Surprised, Laura blinked out the window and took in her surroundings. The bus doors were closing and the driver was indicating that he was about to return to the main road. They were about to pull away from the crossroads that ran into the cottage’s driveway.
Ignoring any concern as to how her companion knew her name or stop, even though she rarely spoke to the other passengers on these short trips, she threw a quick ‘thank you’ in the woman’s general direction and hurried down the bus aisle as gracefully as she could in her heels.
She delivered her request to stop to the driver, automatically using her sharpest authoritative tone. With a muttered curse under his breath about dreamy women, he obliged her order and again stopped the bus. She barely had time to jump out onto the dusty sidewalk before the bus pulled away with a rush of hot air and a groan of gear changes.
“So much for country hospitality,” she chided indignantly in the bus’s wake, as if the driver could somehow still hear her.
She looked down at the book she was clutching. “It’s all your fault.”
She’d found herself picking up Blood Runs After Midnight as she’d headed out the door that morning. It had been after she’d spent an obligatory half an hour on the phone with the doctor. She conceded his general message of moving forward and getting on with life probably had little to do with forcing herself to finish a book, but she thought it was as nice a place to start as any.
She hadn’t confided in the doctor about the book, because it would have only led to a discussion regarding her mysterious soldier. She didn’t think it was necessary, considering she had spent almost two weeks without making a single enquiry as to his identity.
With a sigh, she tucked the book into her handbag and navigated her way along the dusty driveway. She’d just that morning invested in a hardier pair of shoes and she contemplated getting them out of the box right now as she circled around potholes and tufts of weeds.
Her mind skipped to all that she had to do to be ready before Billy came to collect her for the Tasting. When she’d arranged the time with him, she hadn’t known she’d be caught up at the real estate agency.
She’d arrived in Mudgee this morning to find it busier than usual, due to the influx of tourists for their famous annual event. So, after purchasing the new boots, she’d ordered a takeaway coffee and her favourite cinnamon and sultana bun, and escaped to the Village Green to sit quietly and indulge in some quality people-watching.
Since her trip to the museum, she had done her best to immerse herself in the colourful atmosphere of the village. She made a point to visit the village every day. It would be so easy to stay at her cottage; become a hermit.
Today she’d found interest with a group of men playing chess on the other side of the park. She’d juggled her glasses onto her head to peer towards the men, but found it difficult to distinguish their individual facial features as they all bowed to concentrate on their game and talk enthusiastically. Many of them also puffed away on cigarettes and a plume of smoke hung in the air around their chess tables, masking their faces to those who’d only boasted one encounter at a Caprican transfer station. Much to her annoyance, a voice in her head had insisted she’d recognise her particular soldier anywhere and he mustn’t be part of today’s circle gathered on the Village Green.
She’d turned away from the group, irritated that she should have such confidence after such a brief meeting. (She might have ceased asking about him, but she hadn’t stopped searching for him, she should admit.) As she’d swung around, she’d seen a car pull up at a stop sign with an advertisement painted on its side, and in a completely uncharacteristic impulsive manner, she’d made the decision to buy her own house in the district.
Photos, profiles and prices of farmhouses and cottages and sprawling ranches and apartments with views of the park were offered up to her by the agents; eager to arrange times for viewings to their new client.
Yes, despite the bus driver’s attitude, the Libran lifestyle was usually relaxed and encouraging.
Surprisingly she even, after she’d showered, styled her hair, and slipped on the long red dress she’d found at one of the village’s small boutiques the day before, thought Libran had restored some of her natural exuberance which had been missing for many years.
She swirled the dress’s flowing skirt in front of the bedroom mirror. Her mood almost matched the fresh and carefree outfit. The doctor’s advice was actually working.
Well, almost working, she corrected. He had been hoping she’d free herself from her guilt over Cheryl and Sandra, but that was ridiculous... That would never happen.
Happily, however, for the first time in a long time she’d stopped feeling guilty about starting a relationship with Richard Adar. She’d stopped obsessing about how she could have better handled that moment when she knew he was taking a more personal interest in his Secretary of Education.
Billy’s car rattling along the driveway interrupted her wandering thoughts.
She sat down in front of the mirror to swipe her lips with some colour; one that matched her new dress as closely as possible. From this position, she realised she needed to adjust the top of the dress’s bodice. She’d been wearing a different bra when she’d tried it on originally, and now it looked perhaps too tight and too low.
A few minutes later, having heard the car stop and its driver open and shut his door, she gave up tugging at the stubborn material and turned away from her indecent cleavage with a mutter.
She opened her closet to search for anything suitable to use as a wrap. Then she remembered her light blue organza blouse. It was so sheer, she usually had to wear a tank top or camisole beneath it. It would be perfect. She shrugged into it, tying it together instead of using the buttons. The effect was summery and feminine--and much more respectable.
~*~
Bill resisted the urge to adjust the tunic of his uniform yet again. He’d obviously put on some weight around his middle since he’d last had the opportunity to wear it. He’d have to ask around in the village whether anyone could let it out before Colonial Day, which would come around before he knew it after the Tasting celebrations came to a close.
He’d liked to have attended the Tasting in normal civilian clothes, despite it being correct protocol to wear dress greys.
The population of Mudgee had swelled; the Tasting was well known throughout the Twelve Colonies. The few tourist operators on the planet placed the event on their calendar, and all accommodation in the area was booked out in advance. Plus, most Thermis locals travelled over for the night.
The carrier he’d caught back from the Caprica that morning had been crowded. He’d chuckled to himself as he’d boarded; she wouldn’t have been able to get away with so much baggage today.
Civvie clothes would have offered him a chance to relax; blend in. Yet, he was still proud of the uniform and what it stood for, and somehow that pride was more important when Ellen Tigh was visiting.
He soon became separated from Ellen and Saul when they lingered immediately at one of the local winery’s tables. Ellen’s idea of how much should be poured into her glass for an adequate tasting was differing from the young stewardess’s who was serving at the display. Saul was already enjoying his wife’s wit while she put forward her argument. Bill let Saul’s laugh echo behind him and kept strolling between the stalls set up on the Village Green grass in makeshift lanes.
He found himself automatically searching the crowd for her. She could have returned to Caprica, he knew, but he still had it in his head that she was settling. Wishful thinking, he wondered.
He recognised many of the faces passing him by. It was obvious quite a few of the older lawyers and judges who’d made the trip from Thermis also recognised him. He was sure one day he’d be comfortable with this...
He nodded politely, and stopped to chat now and then, grateful that his memory exercises were still working when called upon. Over the course of the night he hoped to find some new clients, as well as close a deal or two with his current ones. A handshake was still the equivalent to a written contract in the antique business.
He was talking to Sherman Cottle, a doctor whom he’d served with for a few years before they’d both retired, about obtaining a gold cigarette case when he saw her. She was speaking to young Billy Keikeya, sipping on a glass of wine and swaying to the music being provided by the local band with the odd name of the Hillbilly Bears.
He’d fooled himself into believing his imagination had managed to over-inflate her looks, but now he realised, if anything, he’d been underestimating how lovely she was.
Suddenly, she stopped talking to Keikeya and looked around, her gaze flicking from face to face until finally it settled on him. At that exact moment the planet stopped spinning. He had no recollection later of what Cottle was saying; she stole away his entire attention, as well as his breath.
Later, he would remember only one clear thought from that moment: she remembered him.
He stared down into his drink, the red of his wine almost matched the lovely shade of her hair and dress, both sparkling in the slowly setting sun.
He looked up again. She was gone. Billy was now standing beside a young girl he knew to be Anastasia Dualla. He searched the crowd in Billy’s immediate area. Surely her dress would stand out amongst this year’s preferred trend of black.
“Didn’t you just return from Caprica?”
He blinked back over at Sherman Cottle. What was he asking?
“Yes,” he finally answered slowly. She was here, that was what was important. He could find her later; Sherman deserved his attention and focus for a few more minutes at least. “I found a Ducant out of the blue. I took it there to the auctions.”
“A Ducant! Here?”
“In Thermis, yes. The kid who’d inherited it had no idea, but to give him his due, his grandmother had never made a big deal out of the painting, other than to say it was a sentimental gift she’d once received.”
“I love Ducant. He makes the ordinary scene so extraordinary. I mean, how does one take an empty field and make it special enough that it’s deemed as priceless a mere hundred years later?”
Bill was struck dumb, but Sherman had no such worries. “You’re quite right, young lady. The Farm Dinner is one of my absolute favourites and it’s just a family of four sitting at the table having a very typical Aerilon potato stew.”
“He spent quite a long time on Libran during his early twenties, didn’t he?”
Bill blinked, realising she was posing the question to him and not Cottle.
“Yes,” he finally managed to say. “This painting is only small, but the detail is exquisite. And, as everyone thought there were no paintings of his left undiscovered in the Twelve Colonies, it proved a windfall for the lad.”
“And you,” she said with a knowing smile.
“Yes. But I never went into the business to make money. Would you like another?” he asked, gesturing to her now-empty wine glass.
She hummed and looked around at the options available. She still swayed and Bill had the urge to reach out and pin her to his side. He glanced at the area in front of the stage set aside for dancing, but before he could make any suggestion, Cottle was: “Commander, you should take the Madam Secretary here to try the grape cage.”
Bill saw his surprise of her title reflected on her face. Cottle gave her an unabashed shrug at his knowledge of her identity.
Her eyebrows lifted higher at Cottle’s next cryptic comment: “My nephew lacks originality when it comes to suggesting holiday destinations.”
“Confidentiality--” she started.
Cottle waved his arm around. “It was in all the papers that you saw him, I’m sorry to say. I just put two and two together and for once, got four. Now, by the looks of the Old Man here, he has not a clue what I’m talking about, so don’t go fretting.”
Bill felt the impulse to step in and somehow stand up to Cottle for her, but it soon became apparent the lady didn’t need a knight in shining armour.
“I wasn’t fretting,” she replied evenly. “I never fret. But I wouldn’t be willing to allow the President and members of the Cabinet to be advised by a doctor who didn’t take security seriously.”
“Oh, he takes it too damn seriously. Can’t get a smile out of that kid some days. Anyway, I need a damn drink. I’ll leave you two whipper-snappers to make goo-goo eyes at each other. Let me know, Commander, if you find the case.”
Bill stared at the doctor’s slightly hunched back as he trudged between the stalls for a long while before he turned back to his female companion.
“Madam Secretary,” he murmured, searching the far recesses of his brain to recall the newspaper articles Cottle was referring to. There was one that Adar was supposedly having an affair... She was taking some sort of stress leave after an incident in Paradis Park... “Secretary of Education?” he asked hesitantly.
“Laura Roslin,” she completed her introduction with a small crooked smile. “Commander...” she prompted.
“Adama. Bill Adama.”
“Husker?” she gasped and laughed when he nodded curtly at the old call sign.
“Where--”
“I visited the museum in Thermis recently.”
Bill nodded at the obvious explanation before looking away from her teasing smile. He could understand why Adar would be attracted to her.
“So... Are you going to explain what the grape cage is, Commander?”
He chuckled and looked down at her feet. Her skirt hung low around her ankles, almost hiding her shoes, which he was surprised to see where hardy lace-up boots. “You’ll have to be willing to take them off,” he said, eliciting a giggle from her with the seriousness of his warning.
“You want me to undress?” she flirted.
His only answer was to capture her hand in his to lead her to the end of the park where the popular tourist attraction was set up each year.
I watched her while she slept. She was not nearly as relaxed as I would have hoped. I tried to remember a time I wasn’t in love with her. I couldn’t. I also couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse.
She had my heart. As broken down, incomplete and worn as it was, it was still hers.
I thought I could live without hers in return. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I wasn’t as good at being noble as I’d thought. Perhaps I truly did want more... The still night was shattered by a loud blast. Perhaps now I would never know.
“Chapter Fourteen, Searider Falcon,” Laura murmured. “Have you ever read it?”
They lay on their backs, staring up at the clear sky. As they spoke, they had to tilt their heads and speak directly into each other’s ears because of the noise of the fireworks which had started about five minutes previous.
“A series of confessions,” he said, his lips brushing against her ear lobe eliciting a shiver. “I’ve read most of it.”
“Do you think confessing is good for the soul?”
She never gave him a chance to reply.
“It didn’t come out of the blue; our romance. There was many a long discussion and exchange of opinions which had been laced with innuendo and scattered with possibilities, but still there had been that one defining moment when I could have chosen to keep everything between us on a professional level. There was one moment when I could have turned away and kept with my solitary, ordinary life.”
“You don’t think he might have just pursued you more vigorously?”
She blinked, realising that that possibility had never occurred to her. Why was she so intent on blaming herself in this scenario?
“Richard Adar isn’t accustomed to failure,” she agreed. “He’s never tasted it.”
She smiled when her companion grunted at her last statement.
“My mother passed away from breast cancer. It was something Richard and I bonded over; his wife having died of the same disease.”
Bill’s fingers linked with hers. “He manipulated you with his sad story,” he offered.
“Surely I’m not that foolish...”
“It was how he won over the general population so effortlessly. It was Richard Adar, the handsome man who outwardly had it all, but beneath was nursing a broken heart, who caught the imagination of the voting public.”
“Yes,” she conceded.
“I wonder how he would have fared without the ‘widower card,” Bill added.
“He does have some good qualities; he makes a lot of wise political decisions,” she said, belatedly remembering her loyalty to her position and the government. She shouldn’t even be discussing any of these things with a comparative stranger, but she knew instinctively she could trust Bill. “And he did want me to marry him; to ensure the press didn’t turn it into something sordid.”
“You said no?” he asked raggedly.
“What Richard couldn’t understand was while it was the sadness of my past which had drawn me to him in the first place, it has also defined me in so many other ways. Love might be a distant memory, one which I will never experience again, but I’m not going to settle for a marriage of convenience. Because, really, that’s what our relationship was in the end.”
“Knowing how arrogant our President is, he wouldn’t have liked that one little bit.”
Maybe Bill was right. Richard had won his first term as president in a landslide, and the polls had never even suggested he would struggle to be re-elected.
“No. But I suppose I could have rejected his offer of marriage in a less abrupt manner and thus settled him as a friend, rather than the enemy I’m now dealing with in the public arena.”
“Arrogant prick,” he muttered. “Do you think his popularity led to his arrogance, or whether he’d always been that way, his successes just adding fuel to the fire?”
She glanced over at Bill’s profile. They’d only known each other a few hours...
“I do know whatever Richard Adar wants, Richard Adar gets,” she confessed, “and gods’ forbid if anyone stands in his way, including a woman he claims to love.”
Love... She shivered.
“Cold?” Bill asked.
She sat up and wiggled her stained toes. The grape cage had turned out to be just what it sounded like; a cage full of grapes. Tourists paid for the novelty of dancing on a bed of grapes, squashing the fragile fruit.
At the gate, they’d removed their shoes and socks, Bill had rolled up the cuffs of his trousers and she’d hooked her skirt up into her underwear, exposing her legs from mid thigh down. They were then required to sit on small stools while a local Mudgee resident scrubbed their feet in a bucket of water.
“I’m not sure,” she’d hissed at Bill after she’d read a sign proclaiming you could buy the wine made from the juice collected beneath the cage the year before. “I’m still not completely sold on the idea of this wine, despite the apparent cleanliness.”
Bill had laughed heartily and held her arm tight as they’d struggled to find their footing as they entered the cage. “It’s all an illusion,” he’d confided. “The wine made from the cage hasn’t been available for human consumption for over forty years. If you have a look, it’s there in small print on the wine label. But no one cares. Tourists love to boast they have wine made from such decadent means.”
She’d fallen into his arms then, finding it easier to lean against his strong body as they moved around the slippery dance floor together.
“I’m still intoxicated by that wine,” she said now, searching around for her socks. “Not drinking it, but the cool and soft sensation of the grapes was surprisingly exhilarating.”
“They’re always the pleasures you remember the most: the smallest ones.”
“Ones you didn’t expect,” she added softly.
She turned and held Bill’s gaze. His blue eyes shimmered as the final explosion of fireworks sparkled in the sky. “Thank you,” she said with sincerity.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
He grinned and she almost gasped at the brilliance of it. Forcing herself to look away, she immediately saw Billy standing out in the crowd on the other side of the park. She waved and he gestured that he would soon be leaving. Despite the urge to remain exactly where she was for the rest of the night, she gestured back that she still needed a lift home.
She dragged her boots on and then paused. She was teetering on the edge of the cliff. “Tomorrow morning. Here,” she said, toppling down the slippery slope with barely-concealed glee.
She stood, dusting down her dress and pulling the organza wrap around her. “My favourite is sultana and cinnamon,” she threw over her shoulder with a cheeky grin before heading off in Billy’s direction.