Painted Lady (6/14)
Title: Painted Lady (6/14)
Author: tjonesy and icedteainthebag
Word Count: 1,325
Rating: MA
Pairing: Roslin/Adama
Spoilers: S2, Final Cut through LDYB II
Summary: We survived the end of worlds and we still can't tell people how we really feel.
Notes: Thanks to our amazing betas somadanne and larsfarm77, both for their invaluable skills and their patience. Thanks to melligator for the pretty icon set and again to katamaran78 for the gorgeous frakkin’ banner.
We're almost to the halfway point, so we wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for reading and providing such insightful feedback, and for going on this journey with our characters. You've been amazing.
We will be posting chapters once per day (around 10 p.m. EST) until the fic is posted in its entirety.
Link to : Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7
Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Epilogue
____________________________________________________________
RESURRECTION SHIP PART 1:
There's a tension tonight that Bill and I can't seem to shake. Between Nicco's fairly accurate theory that I'm merely a surrogate for the dying President, me realizing that I want a little something more from Adama, and the man's solemn attitude toward the evening, I wouldn't call it the most comfortable of sessions.
We threw the mattress pads on the floor and are staring at the ceiling, side by side. He didn't want to get in the rack today and I'm trying not to take it personally.
"The President's irrational," he finally says.
"She's dying, and she's probably scared," I answer. "You can't expect her to be entirely rational."
He sighs deeply. It's the sound of a guy who's harboring secrets.
"What happened?" I ask. "You know you want to tell me. Just spit it out already."
"She said we have to kill the Admiral."
His voice is so low I can barely decipher his words, but I did hear the most important ones and I prop myself up on my elbow and stare at him. He doesn't look at me. "Kill the Admiral?"
"I shouldn't have told you," he says through clenched teeth as he looks away.
"Yeah, 'cause I'm going to go announce it over the wireless or something. If I was gonna frak up your reputation, I'd have done it by now."
We're quiet. I realize I've just made fun of a guy who rarely opens up to anyone. I don't like how embittered I'm becoming, but it was a lot easier to enjoy life when I actually had one. I rest my hand on the slight swell of his stomach and feel him breathing. "Are you gonna do it?"
"I'm not going to do it."
The tone of his voice alarms me, and I realize I'm not ready for this foray into military strategy. This isn't my thing. This is his life, not mine, and there are some things I shouldn't know.
"How is she?" I say, trying to change the subject.
He keeps staring at the ceiling like he's holding it up by sheer will. "Sick."
"Sick?"
"Dying," he growls.
"She's been dying for a while now."
That makes him look at me with the glare I expected. "Try not to be so flippant. This is your President we're talking about."
"Well, what is she to you?" I snap in challenge.
"My superior," he says in a clipped tone that lets me know this conversation is at an end.
I'm so tired of him avoiding this issue that I refuse to let him get away with it this time. "You're such a coward. No wonder you can't kill this shitty Admiral."
"Frak you," he snarls and drags himself off the floor, looking at his watch. "That was only half a session. One hundred cubits." He starts digging for his wallet.
"Cut the crap, Bill, and get back down here."
"Take it," he says, thrusting the cash in my face. "I can't do a full session today."
"That's not cool. You shoulda told me that before. I booked this room for a full hour. Now it's gotta come out of my pocket."
He looks troubled by this information. I can't believe that after all this time, he still doesn't know how it works down here.
"I didn't know that," he says quietly. I can tell he's flustered.
"Unfrakkingbelieveable," I mutter as I get up off the floor and brush at the dust clinging to my skirt.
"Brooke?"
I turn at the hint of worry in his voice. He's still holding out the cubits to me. "This is the last of my cash."
My breath catches in my throat at the implication, and I wonder if the half-session business was just a ploy to cover the fact that he's finally run out of scratch. I try to lighten the mood because he looks as worried as I feel. "It's the end of the world and you're spending all your money on hookers, Commander. What would your crew think?"
"I could try to get some more," he stammers, and I realize he's embarrassed by his cash-poor status. I'm embarrassed that I want to tell him he could come for free if it meant I could keep him here with me.
"It doesn't need to be cubits," I say quickly, before I say something I'll regret later. "You could bring me things that I could trade on the black market."
"Things?"
"Stuff that has value," I elaborate.
He breathes a sigh of relief, and I realize he was as upset as I was at the prospect of our sessions ending. "I've got a cabin filled with stuff."
"So, you'll bring me something good next time." I tug on his arm and bring him back down to the floor with me. He follows willingly.
"That half-session crap," I say as I arrange myself on the worn mattress, "was that to hide the fact that you couldn't pay for a full hour?"
He looks like he wants to crawl under a rock. "Yeah."
"You are so lame."
He starts to chuckle as he settles in beside me. I think he likes the fact that I don't make concessions to his status. I'll bet nobody tells him anything straight up, except maybe her.
I turn on my side and rest my chin on my fist, giving him the once over. "I need you to be honest with me from now on, Bill. No more bullshit. I don't like it. If you can't pay-"
"-I'm in love with the President," he says suddenly, cutting me off. His eyes widen in horror after it's out of his mouth, and I wonder if it's because he hadn't meant to blurt it out like that or if his face is simply mirroring my own shocked expression.
"Oh." My mouth forms the word, but no sound comes out.
"Frak it," he grumbles, and looks away.
Frak it is right. I compose myself. I have to keep it cool. "Does she know?"
"I don't know."
Gods damn, he's an evasive sucker when he wants to be. But he wouldn't have brought it up if he wasn't ready to talk about it. "Have you told her how you feel?"
"Not in so many words," he says. I can hear the guilt in his voice. He hasn't told her shit.
I reach over him and press my hand against his cheek, prompting him to turn his head and look at me. The urge to brush my thumb across his lips is way too strong, and I resist it. He's vulnerable right now. "It's time to stop pussyfooting around, Bill."
"I don't want to make it harder on her."
"No," I say, giving him the glare he knows means business. I know it reminds him of her; he taught me this look, for frak's sake. "You don't want to make it harder on yourself."
I'm too aware of the heat of his body against mine as we watch each other in silence. The wicked thoughts crossing my mind shouldn't be there at all.
"She's dying." The pain I hear in his voice grounds me.
"You keep saying that, but you're acting like she's gonna be around forever."
She's not. And there's a very good reason why I haven't let myself acknowledge it before-that soon, she'll be dead, and he'll be alone. I feel a flutter of hope in the pit of my stomach and it nauseates me. I try to focus instead on the pain I see in his eyes. "You need to tell her," I whisper. I meant to sound stronger. I try again. "Show her. Something. For the both of you."
I lay my head down on his chest because I'm afraid of what I'll do if I don't. I feel like a hypocrite, but it doesn't keep me from selfishly pressing my cheek into the warm fabric of his sweater.
We survived the end of worlds and we still can't tell people how we really feel.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Continued in Chapter 7...
Author: tjonesy and icedteainthebag
Word Count: 1,325
Rating: MA
Pairing: Roslin/Adama
Spoilers: S2, Final Cut through LDYB II
Summary: We survived the end of worlds and we still can't tell people how we really feel.
Notes: Thanks to our amazing betas somadanne and larsfarm77, both for their invaluable skills and their patience. Thanks to melligator for the pretty icon set and again to katamaran78 for the gorgeous frakkin’ banner.
We're almost to the halfway point, so we wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for reading and providing such insightful feedback, and for going on this journey with our characters. You've been amazing.
We will be posting chapters once per day (around 10 p.m. EST) until the fic is posted in its entirety.
Link to : Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7
Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Epilogue
____________________________________________________________
RESURRECTION SHIP PART 1:
There's a tension tonight that Bill and I can't seem to shake. Between Nicco's fairly accurate theory that I'm merely a surrogate for the dying President, me realizing that I want a little something more from Adama, and the man's solemn attitude toward the evening, I wouldn't call it the most comfortable of sessions.
We threw the mattress pads on the floor and are staring at the ceiling, side by side. He didn't want to get in the rack today and I'm trying not to take it personally.
"The President's irrational," he finally says.
"She's dying, and she's probably scared," I answer. "You can't expect her to be entirely rational."
He sighs deeply. It's the sound of a guy who's harboring secrets.
"What happened?" I ask. "You know you want to tell me. Just spit it out already."
"She said we have to kill the Admiral."
His voice is so low I can barely decipher his words, but I did hear the most important ones and I prop myself up on my elbow and stare at him. He doesn't look at me. "Kill the Admiral?"
"I shouldn't have told you," he says through clenched teeth as he looks away.
"Yeah, 'cause I'm going to go announce it over the wireless or something. If I was gonna frak up your reputation, I'd have done it by now."
We're quiet. I realize I've just made fun of a guy who rarely opens up to anyone. I don't like how embittered I'm becoming, but it was a lot easier to enjoy life when I actually had one. I rest my hand on the slight swell of his stomach and feel him breathing. "Are you gonna do it?"
"I'm not going to do it."
The tone of his voice alarms me, and I realize I'm not ready for this foray into military strategy. This isn't my thing. This is his life, not mine, and there are some things I shouldn't know.
"How is she?" I say, trying to change the subject.
He keeps staring at the ceiling like he's holding it up by sheer will. "Sick."
"Sick?"
"Dying," he growls.
"She's been dying for a while now."
That makes him look at me with the glare I expected. "Try not to be so flippant. This is your President we're talking about."
"Well, what is she to you?" I snap in challenge.
"My superior," he says in a clipped tone that lets me know this conversation is at an end.
I'm so tired of him avoiding this issue that I refuse to let him get away with it this time. "You're such a coward. No wonder you can't kill this shitty Admiral."
"Frak you," he snarls and drags himself off the floor, looking at his watch. "That was only half a session. One hundred cubits." He starts digging for his wallet.
"Cut the crap, Bill, and get back down here."
"Take it," he says, thrusting the cash in my face. "I can't do a full session today."
"That's not cool. You shoulda told me that before. I booked this room for a full hour. Now it's gotta come out of my pocket."
He looks troubled by this information. I can't believe that after all this time, he still doesn't know how it works down here.
"I didn't know that," he says quietly. I can tell he's flustered.
"Unfrakkingbelieveable," I mutter as I get up off the floor and brush at the dust clinging to my skirt.
"Brooke?"
I turn at the hint of worry in his voice. He's still holding out the cubits to me. "This is the last of my cash."
My breath catches in my throat at the implication, and I wonder if the half-session business was just a ploy to cover the fact that he's finally run out of scratch. I try to lighten the mood because he looks as worried as I feel. "It's the end of the world and you're spending all your money on hookers, Commander. What would your crew think?"
"I could try to get some more," he stammers, and I realize he's embarrassed by his cash-poor status. I'm embarrassed that I want to tell him he could come for free if it meant I could keep him here with me.
"It doesn't need to be cubits," I say quickly, before I say something I'll regret later. "You could bring me things that I could trade on the black market."
"Things?"
"Stuff that has value," I elaborate.
He breathes a sigh of relief, and I realize he was as upset as I was at the prospect of our sessions ending. "I've got a cabin filled with stuff."
"So, you'll bring me something good next time." I tug on his arm and bring him back down to the floor with me. He follows willingly.
"That half-session crap," I say as I arrange myself on the worn mattress, "was that to hide the fact that you couldn't pay for a full hour?"
He looks like he wants to crawl under a rock. "Yeah."
"You are so lame."
He starts to chuckle as he settles in beside me. I think he likes the fact that I don't make concessions to his status. I'll bet nobody tells him anything straight up, except maybe her.
I turn on my side and rest my chin on my fist, giving him the once over. "I need you to be honest with me from now on, Bill. No more bullshit. I don't like it. If you can't pay-"
"-I'm in love with the President," he says suddenly, cutting me off. His eyes widen in horror after it's out of his mouth, and I wonder if it's because he hadn't meant to blurt it out like that or if his face is simply mirroring my own shocked expression.
"Oh." My mouth forms the word, but no sound comes out.
"Frak it," he grumbles, and looks away.
Frak it is right. I compose myself. I have to keep it cool. "Does she know?"
"I don't know."
Gods damn, he's an evasive sucker when he wants to be. But he wouldn't have brought it up if he wasn't ready to talk about it. "Have you told her how you feel?"
"Not in so many words," he says. I can hear the guilt in his voice. He hasn't told her shit.
I reach over him and press my hand against his cheek, prompting him to turn his head and look at me. The urge to brush my thumb across his lips is way too strong, and I resist it. He's vulnerable right now. "It's time to stop pussyfooting around, Bill."
"I don't want to make it harder on her."
"No," I say, giving him the glare he knows means business. I know it reminds him of her; he taught me this look, for frak's sake. "You don't want to make it harder on yourself."
I'm too aware of the heat of his body against mine as we watch each other in silence. The wicked thoughts crossing my mind shouldn't be there at all.
"She's dying." The pain I hear in his voice grounds me.
"You keep saying that, but you're acting like she's gonna be around forever."
She's not. And there's a very good reason why I haven't let myself acknowledge it before-that soon, she'll be dead, and he'll be alone. I feel a flutter of hope in the pit of my stomach and it nauseates me. I try to focus instead on the pain I see in his eyes. "You need to tell her," I whisper. I meant to sound stronger. I try again. "Show her. Something. For the both of you."
I lay my head down on his chest because I'm afraid of what I'll do if I don't. I feel like a hypocrite, but it doesn't keep me from selfishly pressing my cheek into the warm fabric of his sweater.
We survived the end of worlds and we still can't tell people how we really feel.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Continued in Chapter 7...