'Incandescent - Part Four' - Adama/Roslin Fic
Title: Incandescent - Part Four
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
A/N: Written for the ever fabulous nixmom's birthday. Her prompt was a fic where we see how/when/ and why Laura falls for BBE Bill. Many thanks to redrockcan for all her encouragement and to bugsfic for her invaluable beta and support. The poem used in the heart of this chapter was written by Margaret Atwood; her words are her own, not mine.
Part Three is HERE
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and as you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
- Margaret Atwood "Variations on the Word Sleep"
Laura could feel the sheen of sweat beginning to cool on her lower back. Her skin still tingled with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Bill was leaning against the couch with his head tipped back, his eyes closed, and a goofy grin plastered on his face.
She carefully untangled their limbs, and flopped down beside him on the couch. The residual ache that had pervaded her began to reassert itself in her bones. Her back felt stiff and her knees were slightly sore; she was definitely going to feel this in the morning.
With slightly shaking hands, she brushed her sweaty hair out of her face.
“Hey.” Bill rumbled from his position beside her.
“Hey yourself,” Laura laughed. “How is your shoulder, did I-“
“It’s fine,” he assured her.
He had shifted slightly so that they were sitting with their hips touching. His pants were still half on, his flaccid penis rested against his thigh. For the first time since Laura had met him, he looked happy.
“You’re so beautiful.” Bill leaned forward to capture her lips in another sweet assault.
“Mmph -” Laura placed her hand on his good shoulder and pushed him back lightly. “I think I need a shower.” She crinkled her nose.
He grinned.
“Yeah, I’ve got time for a shower before my shift.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and made to caress her hip. “We can share,” he suggested huskily.
The enormity of what just happened came crashing down on her.
Laura opened then closed her mouth. She was mortified that she had completely misjudged the situation. She figured that this would be a onetime thing. Bill, it seemed, had other plans.
He seemed to pick up on her discomfort and drew his hand back from her.
“Or, if you prefer, you can have it first,” he offered.
“Thank you.” Laura practically bolted up from the couch. “I’ll just be a few minutes-“
“Take your time,” he insisted. “Make yourself at home.”
There it was again, that domestic language that he seemed to be fluent in, but that was utterly foreign to her. Words like “home” and “we;” words that she had spent the better part of the last ten years avoiding in conjunction with a man.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she gathered her clothing and made her way to the head, leaving Bill half naked on the couch. She did not hesitate to shut the hatch all the way.
She dared to look at herself in his mirror. There were red blotches on her neck and right breast from his afternoon stubble. Her hair was in complete disarray and she was covered in sweat and both of their fluids. With a sigh, Laura turned the taps on, testing the heat and pressure of the water.
***
Bill grunted as he leaned forward to unlace his boots and remove his pants completely. Using his boxer briefs, he quickly wiped his spent cock and balls and threw everything in the laundry hamper. His brown robe was in the head. Sighing, he fished out the towel he had used this morning after his shower and tied it around his waist.
He made his way back over to his couch and picked up the discarded volume of poetry on the floor. From the fold in the pages, he was able to discern where Laura had been reading when he had stormed into his cabin earlier.
He grabbed his reading glasses off of the coffee table and opened the anthology.
The Small Cabin
The house we built gradually
from the ground up when we were young
(three rooms, the walls
raw trees) burned down
last year they said
I didn't see it, and so
the house is still there in me
among branches as always I stand
inside it looking out
at the rain moving across the lake
but when I go back
to the empty place in the forest
the house will blaze and crumple
suddenly in my mind
collapsing like a cardboard carton
thrown on a bonfire, summers
crackling, my earlier
selves outlined in flame.
Left in my head will be
the blackened earth: the truth.
Where did the house go?
Where do the words go
when we have said them?
He had been reading this particular collection of poetry a few days before the attack on the Twelve Colonies. This poem had stood out in his mind; he had always dreamed of retiring in a humble cabin, surrounded by lush forestry and perhaps even a lake or pond.
The image of the burnt cabin in this poem had resonated with him, especially after the attacks.
It seemed that, like the speaker of the poem, his cabin would be nothing more to him than a pile of ash. Checking the spine of the volume his suspicions were confirmed. Atwood; he always liked this poet. She had a real knack for conjuring hauntingly beautiful images and then transforming them into the written word.
Bill set the volume of poetry aside, along with his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Laura was still in the head; he could hear the water running.
He had noticed how her body had stiffened when he suggested that they share the shower. Had she not enjoyed herself? He had been so sure that she had found pleasure in his touch. Bill frowned; he needed to talk with her. He needed to clear the air.
The hatch to the head opened, and Laura emerged freshly showered.
“Enjoy yourself?” Bill patted the spot on the couch next to him, hoping that she would sit.
Laura carefully sat on the couch, placing a respectable amount of distance between them. Bill was having none of it, so he simply moved closer to her.
He could smell his soap on her, and he felt a surge of possessiveness towards her. He saw her eyeing his nude body, and he puffed his chest out a bit on behalf of his pride.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your shift?” she asked carefully.
“I’ve got time,” he assured her. “Laura, are we okay?”
She cringed as his use of the word “we” again. He noticed.
“Look, before I go and make a complete ass of myself, I’d really like an explanation as to what has happened between us.”
Laura took a deep breath.
“Bill, I don’t regret what happened. I enjoyed myself, really,” she began.
“But this, it can’t be anything more than it was,” she concluded softly.
“And what was it?” he pushed.
“We had sex. It was fabulous, fulfilling. But it cannot happen again. We still have responsibilities -“
“Don’t bullshit me. It was more than just sex and we both know it,” he grumbled angrily.
Laura’s eyes began to fill with tears. He was right. Being with him had offered her more than just a physical release. For the first time since the attacks, hell, for the first time in years, he had made her feel like Laura. Just Laura.
“I know you’re a private person,” he reasoned, “ but we can keep this private. We don’t need to announce to the Fleet that we’re -“
“We’re what, Bill? We’re throwing away our objectivity, our duty to the thousands of souls that we govern, for what?”
“I’m falling for you,” he blurted out. “I’m always thinking about you, about us. Sometimes I wish that I had met you years ago, on Caprica. I wonder what would have happened,” he confessed. “But then, I figure that I’ve never really been your type. You wouldn’t have even noticed me. But I would have noticed you.”
“Oh Bill, you hated me when we first met.” She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of their first encounter.
“I did not,” he huffed. “I may have disagreed with you, but I didn’t hate you. I thought that you were beautiful and stubborn. I wanted to get to know you. I still do.”
She voiced the bitter truth: “I don’t have time for you to get to know me.”
Bill reached for her hand. He needed to connect with her physically.
“I’ll take whatever time you can give me. It will be enough.”
“And what about when I’m gone? Will it be enough then?” she asked.
He couldn’t answer. The truth was, he could never have enough time with her. Had he met her years ago, like he wished, and spent those years with her it still would not have been enough. Laura noted his silence.
“This is why we can’t let this happen again. I can’t do this to you. Or to me,” she admitted. She motioned to the clock.“You really should get ready.” She sounded mournful.
“Can we talk when I get back?” The hope in his voice was not lost on her. She sighed.
“Yes. When you get back,” she relented. She owed him at least that. He smiled gratefully, and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist before standing and heading towards the head.
He had won. The battle, the war, he had won it all. But she couldn’t surrender herself completely, no matter how badly she wanted to.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
A/N: Written for the ever fabulous nixmom's birthday. Her prompt was a fic where we see how/when/ and why Laura falls for BBE Bill. Many thanks to redrockcan for all her encouragement and to bugsfic for her invaluable beta and support. The poem used in the heart of this chapter was written by Margaret Atwood; her words are her own, not mine.
Part Three is HERE
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and as you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
- Margaret Atwood "Variations on the Word Sleep"
Laura could feel the sheen of sweat beginning to cool on her lower back. Her skin still tingled with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Bill was leaning against the couch with his head tipped back, his eyes closed, and a goofy grin plastered on his face.
She carefully untangled their limbs, and flopped down beside him on the couch. The residual ache that had pervaded her began to reassert itself in her bones. Her back felt stiff and her knees were slightly sore; she was definitely going to feel this in the morning.
With slightly shaking hands, she brushed her sweaty hair out of her face.
“Hey.” Bill rumbled from his position beside her.
“Hey yourself,” Laura laughed. “How is your shoulder, did I-“
“It’s fine,” he assured her.
He had shifted slightly so that they were sitting with their hips touching. His pants were still half on, his flaccid penis rested against his thigh. For the first time since Laura had met him, he looked happy.
“You’re so beautiful.” Bill leaned forward to capture her lips in another sweet assault.
“Mmph -” Laura placed her hand on his good shoulder and pushed him back lightly. “I think I need a shower.” She crinkled her nose.
He grinned.
“Yeah, I’ve got time for a shower before my shift.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and made to caress her hip. “We can share,” he suggested huskily.
The enormity of what just happened came crashing down on her.
Laura opened then closed her mouth. She was mortified that she had completely misjudged the situation. She figured that this would be a onetime thing. Bill, it seemed, had other plans.
He seemed to pick up on her discomfort and drew his hand back from her.
“Or, if you prefer, you can have it first,” he offered.
“Thank you.” Laura practically bolted up from the couch. “I’ll just be a few minutes-“
“Take your time,” he insisted. “Make yourself at home.”
There it was again, that domestic language that he seemed to be fluent in, but that was utterly foreign to her. Words like “home” and “we;” words that she had spent the better part of the last ten years avoiding in conjunction with a man.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she gathered her clothing and made her way to the head, leaving Bill half naked on the couch. She did not hesitate to shut the hatch all the way.
She dared to look at herself in his mirror. There were red blotches on her neck and right breast from his afternoon stubble. Her hair was in complete disarray and she was covered in sweat and both of their fluids. With a sigh, Laura turned the taps on, testing the heat and pressure of the water.
***
Bill grunted as he leaned forward to unlace his boots and remove his pants completely. Using his boxer briefs, he quickly wiped his spent cock and balls and threw everything in the laundry hamper. His brown robe was in the head. Sighing, he fished out the towel he had used this morning after his shower and tied it around his waist.
He made his way back over to his couch and picked up the discarded volume of poetry on the floor. From the fold in the pages, he was able to discern where Laura had been reading when he had stormed into his cabin earlier.
He grabbed his reading glasses off of the coffee table and opened the anthology.
The Small Cabin
The house we built gradually
from the ground up when we were young
(three rooms, the walls
raw trees) burned down
last year they said
I didn't see it, and so
the house is still there in me
among branches as always I stand
inside it looking out
at the rain moving across the lake
but when I go back
to the empty place in the forest
the house will blaze and crumple
suddenly in my mind
collapsing like a cardboard carton
thrown on a bonfire, summers
crackling, my earlier
selves outlined in flame.
Left in my head will be
the blackened earth: the truth.
Where did the house go?
Where do the words go
when we have said them?
He had been reading this particular collection of poetry a few days before the attack on the Twelve Colonies. This poem had stood out in his mind; he had always dreamed of retiring in a humble cabin, surrounded by lush forestry and perhaps even a lake or pond.
The image of the burnt cabin in this poem had resonated with him, especially after the attacks.
It seemed that, like the speaker of the poem, his cabin would be nothing more to him than a pile of ash. Checking the spine of the volume his suspicions were confirmed. Atwood; he always liked this poet. She had a real knack for conjuring hauntingly beautiful images and then transforming them into the written word.
Bill set the volume of poetry aside, along with his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Laura was still in the head; he could hear the water running.
He had noticed how her body had stiffened when he suggested that they share the shower. Had she not enjoyed herself? He had been so sure that she had found pleasure in his touch. Bill frowned; he needed to talk with her. He needed to clear the air.
The hatch to the head opened, and Laura emerged freshly showered.
“Enjoy yourself?” Bill patted the spot on the couch next to him, hoping that she would sit.
Laura carefully sat on the couch, placing a respectable amount of distance between them. Bill was having none of it, so he simply moved closer to her.
He could smell his soap on her, and he felt a surge of possessiveness towards her. He saw her eyeing his nude body, and he puffed his chest out a bit on behalf of his pride.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your shift?” she asked carefully.
“I’ve got time,” he assured her. “Laura, are we okay?”
She cringed as his use of the word “we” again. He noticed.
“Look, before I go and make a complete ass of myself, I’d really like an explanation as to what has happened between us.”
Laura took a deep breath.
“Bill, I don’t regret what happened. I enjoyed myself, really,” she began.
“But this, it can’t be anything more than it was,” she concluded softly.
“And what was it?” he pushed.
“We had sex. It was fabulous, fulfilling. But it cannot happen again. We still have responsibilities -“
“Don’t bullshit me. It was more than just sex and we both know it,” he grumbled angrily.
Laura’s eyes began to fill with tears. He was right. Being with him had offered her more than just a physical release. For the first time since the attacks, hell, for the first time in years, he had made her feel like Laura. Just Laura.
“I know you’re a private person,” he reasoned, “ but we can keep this private. We don’t need to announce to the Fleet that we’re -“
“We’re what, Bill? We’re throwing away our objectivity, our duty to the thousands of souls that we govern, for what?”
“I’m falling for you,” he blurted out. “I’m always thinking about you, about us. Sometimes I wish that I had met you years ago, on Caprica. I wonder what would have happened,” he confessed. “But then, I figure that I’ve never really been your type. You wouldn’t have even noticed me. But I would have noticed you.”
“Oh Bill, you hated me when we first met.” She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of their first encounter.
“I did not,” he huffed. “I may have disagreed with you, but I didn’t hate you. I thought that you were beautiful and stubborn. I wanted to get to know you. I still do.”
She voiced the bitter truth: “I don’t have time for you to get to know me.”
Bill reached for her hand. He needed to connect with her physically.
“I’ll take whatever time you can give me. It will be enough.”
“And what about when I’m gone? Will it be enough then?” she asked.
He couldn’t answer. The truth was, he could never have enough time with her. Had he met her years ago, like he wished, and spent those years with her it still would not have been enough. Laura noted his silence.
“This is why we can’t let this happen again. I can’t do this to you. Or to me,” she admitted. She motioned to the clock.“You really should get ready.” She sounded mournful.
“Can we talk when I get back?” The hope in his voice was not lost on her. She sighed.
“Yes. When you get back,” she relented. She owed him at least that. He smiled gratefully, and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist before standing and heading towards the head.
He had won. The battle, the war, he had won it all. But she couldn’t surrender herself completely, no matter how badly she wanted to.