Painted Lady (14/14)
Title: Painted Lady (14/14)
Author: tjonesy and icedteainthebag
Word Count: 1,635
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.
Thank you to everyone who's read, everyone who's commented, and all of our friends who have supported us along the way. This has been an incredible experience, and we can't quite believe it's over.
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
____________________________________________________________
LAY DOWN YOUR BURDENS, PART 2:
Laura looked beautiful today.
That's what was going through my head as I stood beside her during Baltar's swearing in ceremony. There I was, watching impotently as the safety and well-being of this Fleet were placed into the hands of a man woefully incapable of performing the job, and all I could think was that she looked beautiful today.
My stunning lack of focus makes me wonder if it was mere coincidence or hubris that precipitated the explosion outside of Colonial One's starboard windows. A harrowing display of fireworks eerily marks the beginning of Baltar's term.
It's an auspicious beginning to the start of a Presidency. I'm sure Laura would call it an omen.
After the ship was buffeted by the initial blast impact, debris from what was left of Cloud 9 began pinging against Colonial One's hull in a pattern reminiscent of the rhythm Nicco used to tap on the hatch when he wanted to come in. I'm embarrassed to say I got sick on the carpeting of what was once Roslin's office.
She led me to the head in back and helped clean me up. Her eyes briefly met mine, her concerned, yet determined expression all but heartbreaking as she dabbed at my tunic.
I quietly took her back with me to Galactica since she had nowhere else to go. Laura Roslin's now one of the Fleet's dispossessed-just another refugee of the Cylon attacks. The irony escapes neither one of us.
When we entered my cabin, she stopped in the middle of the room, turned to me and told me she couldn’t take it anymore. Her jaw was firmly set despite the tears that threatened to fall.
We wound up clinging to each other in the middle of the room because it felt like we had nothing left to hold onto. In that moment I knew what I had to do, what she needed me to do.
I kissed her and heard the soft hum of approval in the back of her throat. It was different from the first time, and I know she sensed it.
I took her hand and guided her to my rack where we undressed each other. I ran my hands over her naked body, feeling her shiver in response. I felt my own shiver as she claimed every inch of my skin with her touch. When we slid into my bed, our mouths followed the familiar trails our fingers had blazed.
I made love to her. As we moved together on the crisp sheets, she looked up at me with the most beautiful smile on her face and said, "It's about time."
She fell asleep in my arms as I lay awake, the reality of the catastrophe surrounding us settling back into my mind as I breathed her in.
I'm now sitting on my couch, nursing my second glass of whiskey, staring at the painting Brooke gave to me when Laura enters from my bedroom area. My blurry eyes focus on her briefly before I'm forced to look away. She reminds me of Brooke. How sick is that? I spent three months trolling Cloud 9 searching for Laura in the persona of a prostitute and now that she's gone, I'm looking for traces of that woman in the godsdamned ex-President of the Twelve Colonies. I'm a pathetic frak.
"You're taking this pretty hard," she comments as she plops down next to me on the couch. I stare at her bare feet, everything sending my thoughts back to a cramped cabin off Causeway B.
I look into the depths of the brown liquid in my glass, trying to make sense of it all. "I gave that prick, Baltar, the nuclear bomb," I remind her. "How else am I supposed to take it?" I down the remainder of my drink in one sloppy gulp. "All those people are gone as a result of my stupidity. My negligence." I move to refill my glass, but her arm is on mine, stopping me.
"Stop being such a drama queen, Bill. Gods, I hate when you get like this."
I laugh bitterly. It's so perfectly her to put me in my place. Brooke would have done the same damned thing. She actually did on more than one occasion.
"How many did we lose?" Laura asks with a forced casualness I see right through. She's playing it cool, but she’s also taking responsibility for the tragedy. She brought that damnable whiteboard with her-she said she would be the one to account for all those senseless deaths.
"Gaeta dropped off a report while you were still sleeping." I take a deep breath and drop my head against the back of the couch. "Three thousand, five hundred fifty-seven." It's a lie. The number I gave her is short by one. When Laura's done subtracting the total from the frakking thing, I'll make the final correction myself before I hand it over to Baltar. It's the least I can do.
"I should have airlocked that weasel's scrawny ass when I had the power," she muses.
I laugh in spite of myself and pull her against me. It's an impulsive move, I know, but I don't care anymore. Today's tragedy gave me the courage to do what I should have done a long time ago. I need to find my happiness despite all this senseless waste. I think that's what Brooke was trying to teach me.
"How's it feel to be a civilian, Madame Nobody Important?" I ask in an effort to lighten the horribly oppressive mood. The ploy seems to work because she giggles adorably then burrows against my side.
"Pretty frakking great, Admiral Adama, Sir." She hums in my embrace. This is what Brooke would want for us, I think. Maybe the way to honor her is to make the most of the time I have with this unique woman in my arms.
"Wasn’t that on the wall above your rack?" Laura asks, pointing to Brooke's painting with her foot. "I'd never seen it before today."
I grunt in amusement. "You'd never been in my rack before today."
She chuckles, a low, soft sound, and snuggles closer to me.
She's so observant; I'm not surprised she noticed the piece. I pulled it off the wall on my way to the couch a few hours ago. It's a piece of art, something of actual beauty. Not a thing to be secreted away in a dark corner of my cabin. That was a mistake. "A friend gave it to me," I say simply.
She looks up at me in confusion. "You knew Laura Brooks?"
I stare at her blankly.
"Laura Brooks, the artist," she elaborates as she leans forward to pluck the painting from its position on the coffee table. "Did she give this to you herself, or did your friend buy it and give it to you?"
My head is swimming in confusion and my mouth has suddenly gone dry. "I got it from the artist," I manage to choke out.
"I loved her stuff," Laura says wistfully, staring at the small painting in her hands. "She was contracted to start work on a portrait of Adar on the day of the attacks. I really wanted to meet her, and Richard knew it. It's one of the reasons he sent me to the decommissioning. He was trying to punish me, the bastard. Oh, fate is a fickle bitch, don't you think?"
I barely register what she's saying. I feel like I've been kicked in the balls. I lean forward and take the painting from her in my shaking hands.
Laura looks at me curiously. "Is this an early work of hers? The palette is off. I don't remember her working in such dark tones."
"It was a later piece," I manage to croak, emotion clogging my voice.
"So unusual," she murmurs, running her fingers over the short, textured brushwork.
To say I feel like ten kinds of a fool wouldn't even begin to cover it. Zak loved Laura Brooks' work. She was famous for hiding her initials in her paintings. When he was in middle school we would make a game of finding all the hidden letters. I look closely at the signature on the bottom corner of the piece, and now I can clearly see that what I thought was an 'e' on the end of Brook is actually an 's.' It's amazing the things you don't notice when they're staring you right in the face.
"Oh my gods," Laura practically squeals in delight. "She didn't do an 'LB,' Bill, she did a 'WA.'" She points to a series of abstract squiggles painted into the water that make up the river in the painting. "Bill, she painted your initials into the piece!"
I look at where she's pointing and I can just make out the shape of a 'W' and an 'A.' What Laura doesn't notice, but I do, is how they're interlocked with a hidden 'L' and 'B.' She painted us into the piece, hopelessly intertwined. The entire time she was encouraging me to tell Roslin my true feelings, I realize she was struggling to express her own.
"How well did you know her?" Laura asks, a hint of suspicion in her voice.
"Not as well as I thought," I say quietly.
Her lips curl into a sly smile and she eyes me speculatively. "Did you have a thing with her?"
"I don't know what we had," I answer truthfully. "It was kind of indefinable."
"Hmm." She places her head against my chest. "You obviously felt something for her."
"I did."
"What was she like?"
I rest my hand against her cheek and kiss the top of her head. "She was a lot like you, actually."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Epilogue
Author: tjonesy and icedteainthebag
Word Count: 1,635
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.
Thank you to everyone who's read, everyone who's commented, and all of our friends who have supported us along the way. This has been an incredible experience, and we can't quite believe it's over.
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
____________________________________________________________
LAY DOWN YOUR BURDENS, PART 2:
Laura looked beautiful today.
That's what was going through my head as I stood beside her during Baltar's swearing in ceremony. There I was, watching impotently as the safety and well-being of this Fleet were placed into the hands of a man woefully incapable of performing the job, and all I could think was that she looked beautiful today.
My stunning lack of focus makes me wonder if it was mere coincidence or hubris that precipitated the explosion outside of Colonial One's starboard windows. A harrowing display of fireworks eerily marks the beginning of Baltar's term.
It's an auspicious beginning to the start of a Presidency. I'm sure Laura would call it an omen.
After the ship was buffeted by the initial blast impact, debris from what was left of Cloud 9 began pinging against Colonial One's hull in a pattern reminiscent of the rhythm Nicco used to tap on the hatch when he wanted to come in. I'm embarrassed to say I got sick on the carpeting of what was once Roslin's office.
She led me to the head in back and helped clean me up. Her eyes briefly met mine, her concerned, yet determined expression all but heartbreaking as she dabbed at my tunic.
I quietly took her back with me to Galactica since she had nowhere else to go. Laura Roslin's now one of the Fleet's dispossessed-just another refugee of the Cylon attacks. The irony escapes neither one of us.
When we entered my cabin, she stopped in the middle of the room, turned to me and told me she couldn’t take it anymore. Her jaw was firmly set despite the tears that threatened to fall.
We wound up clinging to each other in the middle of the room because it felt like we had nothing left to hold onto. In that moment I knew what I had to do, what she needed me to do.
I kissed her and heard the soft hum of approval in the back of her throat. It was different from the first time, and I know she sensed it.
I took her hand and guided her to my rack where we undressed each other. I ran my hands over her naked body, feeling her shiver in response. I felt my own shiver as she claimed every inch of my skin with her touch. When we slid into my bed, our mouths followed the familiar trails our fingers had blazed.
I made love to her. As we moved together on the crisp sheets, she looked up at me with the most beautiful smile on her face and said, "It's about time."
She fell asleep in my arms as I lay awake, the reality of the catastrophe surrounding us settling back into my mind as I breathed her in.
I'm now sitting on my couch, nursing my second glass of whiskey, staring at the painting Brooke gave to me when Laura enters from my bedroom area. My blurry eyes focus on her briefly before I'm forced to look away. She reminds me of Brooke. How sick is that? I spent three months trolling Cloud 9 searching for Laura in the persona of a prostitute and now that she's gone, I'm looking for traces of that woman in the godsdamned ex-President of the Twelve Colonies. I'm a pathetic frak.
"You're taking this pretty hard," she comments as she plops down next to me on the couch. I stare at her bare feet, everything sending my thoughts back to a cramped cabin off Causeway B.
I look into the depths of the brown liquid in my glass, trying to make sense of it all. "I gave that prick, Baltar, the nuclear bomb," I remind her. "How else am I supposed to take it?" I down the remainder of my drink in one sloppy gulp. "All those people are gone as a result of my stupidity. My negligence." I move to refill my glass, but her arm is on mine, stopping me.
"Stop being such a drama queen, Bill. Gods, I hate when you get like this."
I laugh bitterly. It's so perfectly her to put me in my place. Brooke would have done the same damned thing. She actually did on more than one occasion.
"How many did we lose?" Laura asks with a forced casualness I see right through. She's playing it cool, but she’s also taking responsibility for the tragedy. She brought that damnable whiteboard with her-she said she would be the one to account for all those senseless deaths.
"Gaeta dropped off a report while you were still sleeping." I take a deep breath and drop my head against the back of the couch. "Three thousand, five hundred fifty-seven." It's a lie. The number I gave her is short by one. When Laura's done subtracting the total from the frakking thing, I'll make the final correction myself before I hand it over to Baltar. It's the least I can do.
"I should have airlocked that weasel's scrawny ass when I had the power," she muses.
I laugh in spite of myself and pull her against me. It's an impulsive move, I know, but I don't care anymore. Today's tragedy gave me the courage to do what I should have done a long time ago. I need to find my happiness despite all this senseless waste. I think that's what Brooke was trying to teach me.
"How's it feel to be a civilian, Madame Nobody Important?" I ask in an effort to lighten the horribly oppressive mood. The ploy seems to work because she giggles adorably then burrows against my side.
"Pretty frakking great, Admiral Adama, Sir." She hums in my embrace. This is what Brooke would want for us, I think. Maybe the way to honor her is to make the most of the time I have with this unique woman in my arms.
"Wasn’t that on the wall above your rack?" Laura asks, pointing to Brooke's painting with her foot. "I'd never seen it before today."
I grunt in amusement. "You'd never been in my rack before today."
She chuckles, a low, soft sound, and snuggles closer to me.
She's so observant; I'm not surprised she noticed the piece. I pulled it off the wall on my way to the couch a few hours ago. It's a piece of art, something of actual beauty. Not a thing to be secreted away in a dark corner of my cabin. That was a mistake. "A friend gave it to me," I say simply.
She looks up at me in confusion. "You knew Laura Brooks?"
I stare at her blankly.
"Laura Brooks, the artist," she elaborates as she leans forward to pluck the painting from its position on the coffee table. "Did she give this to you herself, or did your friend buy it and give it to you?"
My head is swimming in confusion and my mouth has suddenly gone dry. "I got it from the artist," I manage to choke out.
"I loved her stuff," Laura says wistfully, staring at the small painting in her hands. "She was contracted to start work on a portrait of Adar on the day of the attacks. I really wanted to meet her, and Richard knew it. It's one of the reasons he sent me to the decommissioning. He was trying to punish me, the bastard. Oh, fate is a fickle bitch, don't you think?"
I barely register what she's saying. I feel like I've been kicked in the balls. I lean forward and take the painting from her in my shaking hands.
Laura looks at me curiously. "Is this an early work of hers? The palette is off. I don't remember her working in such dark tones."
"It was a later piece," I manage to croak, emotion clogging my voice.
"So unusual," she murmurs, running her fingers over the short, textured brushwork.
To say I feel like ten kinds of a fool wouldn't even begin to cover it. Zak loved Laura Brooks' work. She was famous for hiding her initials in her paintings. When he was in middle school we would make a game of finding all the hidden letters. I look closely at the signature on the bottom corner of the piece, and now I can clearly see that what I thought was an 'e' on the end of Brook is actually an 's.' It's amazing the things you don't notice when they're staring you right in the face.
"Oh my gods," Laura practically squeals in delight. "She didn't do an 'LB,' Bill, she did a 'WA.'" She points to a series of abstract squiggles painted into the water that make up the river in the painting. "Bill, she painted your initials into the piece!"
I look at where she's pointing and I can just make out the shape of a 'W' and an 'A.' What Laura doesn't notice, but I do, is how they're interlocked with a hidden 'L' and 'B.' She painted us into the piece, hopelessly intertwined. The entire time she was encouraging me to tell Roslin my true feelings, I realize she was struggling to express her own.
"How well did you know her?" Laura asks, a hint of suspicion in her voice.
"Not as well as I thought," I say quietly.
Her lips curl into a sly smile and she eyes me speculatively. "Did you have a thing with her?"
"I don't know what we had," I answer truthfully. "It was kind of indefinable."
"Hmm." She places her head against my chest. "You obviously felt something for her."
"I did."
"What was she like?"
I rest my hand against her cheek and kiss the top of her head. "She was a lot like you, actually."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Epilogue