[bsg] The Illusion of Solid Ground (A/R, Rated PG)
Title: The Illusion of Solid Ground
Author: icedteainthebag
Pairing: Roslin/Adama
Rating: PG
Spoilers: through Colonial Day
Author's Notes: I wrote this for the sixth makelaurahappy challenge. The prompt was "Make Laura happy...by not being dead!" I wanted to write something cute, sweet and non-smutty. I'm pleased that it worked out so well. Thanks to everyone who voted for my story. I will embrace my shiny "Living in Elysian Fields" trophy with honor. Honestly, you guys, I'm honored, surprised, and beyond happy. ♥ Also, thanks to my fabulous beta dashakay. Mango martinis for you.
Laura indulges in the feeling of Commander Adama’s arms around her, their bodies swaying, and she's glowing. She's glowing for the first time in months.
Colonial Day has nearly passed, and all there's left to do is revel in the dim lighting, the freely flowing alcohol and the loud music that thrums through her body like her heartbeat. She is alive, still alive, despite it all. Tonight she feels invincible. Tonight, she is strong. She is radiant. And all she wants to do is embrace this moment of pure, unadulterated life.
The pleasant surprise of the Commander asking her to dance doesn't wear off quickly, and he keeps his hand on the small of her back even when the song ends and they head toward the long, mahogany bar to sit down.
He orders a whiskey on the rocks and she balks at the idea, selecting a white wine for herself instead. When it arrives she swirls it in the glass, catching his eye.
"Do you know how to taste wine?" Laura asks, watching the pale, golden liquid rise closer to the edge with each rotation of her wrist.
"Not besides drinking it," he answers, taking a draw off of his whiskey.
She smiles over her glass at him, then sets her eyes on the wine. "First, you swirl it in your glass, inspecting its color and fluidity, and then you take a nice whiff of it." She demonstrates this to him, taking in the lightly fruity scent with a delicate sniff.
She looks up at him, detecting the amusement in his eyes as he watches her curiously. She raises her eyebrow and continues talking to her glass. "Then, you sip it, and I mean a sip. Not a mouthful, Commander. An elegant sip. And you leave it on your tongue and you think about it. Really think about it for awhile. Is it tangy? Is it sweet? Where did it come from? What is it made of?"
She sips her wine and lets it settle in her mouth. It's dry, nearly bitter. She tries to think about the field where these grapes may have basked in the sunlight. That field is gone, it has to be, gone like everything else they abandoned. She wonders if he can see it in her eyes, the split second of realization that this wine is the last wine, that there have been too many lasts as of late.
She watches him take another sip of his whiskey, the wine still on her tongue.
"Did you swallow yet?" he asks.
She shakes her head. "I'm still experiencing it," she says, and it comes out garbled as she tries to keep the wine from spilling out of her mouth.
The Commander laughs, a deep one at that, and smiles at her. It brings her back to them, sitting at the bar.
Laura swallows and feels the slight burn of the wine down her throat. "That's some good wine."
"I'm glad," he responds, his fingers tapping on the bar. The bartender brings another drink.
They sip in silence for a few moments and she feels the vibration of the music in the air around them. She has a fleeting thought of asking him to dance again, but doesn't want to be too forward.
"So, Gaius Baltar, huh," he says finally, turning toward her on his bar stool.
She lets out a small laugh and nods once. She knows where he's going with this. "Yes, Gaius Baltar."
"Do you think he has the guts for the job?"
She smirks and sips her wine slowly, her eyes traveling upward as she thinks. "I think he fits nicely into the role of second fiddle. Especially given the public's attitude toward him."
She closes her eyes and suddenly she's back in Caprica City in Richard's office, sun shining through the windows and warming the carpet under her bare feet. She has no idea why her mind is going there now, yet for the first time in a long time, she lets it wander over a few of their shared glances, scattered bits of conversation she had with him along the way.
She hasn't thought of Richard in a very long time. Sometimes she feels guilty for not missing him more.
She opens her eyes and breathes deeply, collecting her thoughts.
"I learned a lot during my time in the Adar administration," she says, running her finger along the edge of her wine glass. "I learned that politics is a stage and politicians are but actors, playing the parts that the public yearns to see. There is a distinct separation between their public and private personas."
Laura’s silent for a pause as she watches the circular path of her finger. Then she looks up at him, her head cocked to the side, and she feels something stir inside her, something dark she pushes back as hard as she can. She shakes it off by taking another drink, bitter on her tongue.
"Richard was a master of the act," she says. "And Baltar is as well, and has been for quite some time, in his own vein. As much as he can seem like a bumbling fool behind the scenes or back in his lab, the visage he presents to the public is esteemed. Confident. He transforms." She finishes off her wine. "I guess we all do."
"Politicians?" Adama asks, taking a sip of his drink.
"Politicians, and I suppose on a smaller scale, everyone else. Everyone has two sides. At least two." She touches her hair, twining it through her fingers, distracted by her memory. Her sight drifts over to the collection of bottles at the back of the bar. She remembers seeing Richard's second side, even his third side, how dark they were, how deeply she got sucked in.
"Which side am I seeing right now?"
She's brought back into their moment and she meets the Commander's eyes.
"The answer to that question should be obvious," she says, her gaze intent.
He grins and downs the rest of his drink. "Maybe it's not as obvious as you think."
She tilts her head to the side, examining him. "How about you?"
He chuckles, setting his drink down on the long mahogany bar. "What about me?"
She puts her elbow on the bar, leaning in slightly. She feels a tingle of excitement inside her. It’s inexplicable, yet she welcomes it. "Which side of Commander William Adama am I seeing right now?"
He looks at her and chuckles again, shaking his head. "I'm no politician. I'm pretty straightforward."
Her smile widens. "Maybe not as straightforward as you think."
He orders them another round.
x x x x
The Commander walks her down a dimly lit garden path that smells of hibiscus and fresh green grass, the path to her overnight room nestled deep inside a secured area of Cloud Nine. She holds on to his arm, the wine doing a number on her head, turning her deliciously dizzy.
Laura’s carrying her heels in her free hand, dangling them from her fingers by the straps. He kept ordering, and they kept drinking, even though she knew that most likely, she wouldn't be able to walk in her heels by the time the party ended. She was right.
"This place is so gorgeous," she says, her eyes scanning the overhead dome. It's been darkened for an evening effect and she can see the stars overhead, almost like it's nighttime on a real planet and they're real people walking through a real garden.
Sometimes she questions what her reality is nowadays.
"Yes, it is," he responds, stepping over a rut in the path and placing a firm hand on her forearm as she tiptoes around it. "I'm pleased they were able to repair it after the attacks. It's nice to have a place to go that’s a reminder of home, if only for a few days at a time."
She feels a warm breeze on her face, hears it rustling in the trees, and is in awe for an instant. "Can you hear it?" she asks immediately, tilting her head.
"The wind?"
"Yes." She stops and pulls at his arm, closing her eyes. She listens to the rustle and tries to pretend it's not a machine making the wind whisper through the trees. She feels his hand move down her forearm and wrap around her palm. She blushes, yet keeps her eyes shut.
"It sounds too real," she murmurs.
He squeezes her hand and she opens her eyes. He's looking at her, and it's too dim to see the true expression in his gaze, but she imagines they're feeling the same thing--a mixture of appreciation and apprehension at how something so fake can seem so true. There is far too much of that these days.
Her toes are twiddling, digging into what she wants to believe is solid ground. His thumb brushes over her palm, tracing her life line.
"Shall we walk?" he says quietly, tugging at her hand.
"Mhmmm," she murmurs, giving her shoes a swing.
Laura follows his lead. It wasn't too long ago that she would have felt a bit apprehensive about strolling along the gardens with her arm entwined with someone else's--she didn't necessarily like to be led, and she wouldn't have let herself enjoy it nearly as much as she is right now.
But tonight there's a pleasure she's finding in simple things and she is in the mood to embrace it. She laces her fingers with his, indulging in the comforting warmth of his hand.
They pass armed guards at the entrance to the corridor to her room. Nobody's taking any chances after the initial threat on her life, she knows this, but she can't help but feel a little put-off by the military presence. To him it makes no difference--his reality is uniforms and arms and the threat of force. She's still not used to this reality.
She starts to feel remorseful as their walk is about to end. She sees her room near the end of the corridor, easily identifiable by yet another pair of guards standing watch. She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek.
"It's for your protection," he says.
"I know," she answers with a slightly indignant air that surprises her. "That doesn't mean I like it. Or that I'm used to it, or that I even want to have to get used to it."
They arrive outside her door and she eyes the men at her door, feeling uncomfortably under scrutiny even though the guards' eyes are directed forward.
She leans in, her mouth brushing against his ear. "This is awkward," she whispers. "Please come in. Just to say good night."
"Of course," he says. She feels a wave of relief and slips her room keycard out of her pocket, sliding it through the lock. The door opens with a click and she pushes it open, pulling him gently by the hand.
Laura flicks on the light and glances around the room--it's gorgeously appointed, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook more gardens, decor of brown and red and dark green, original paintings on the walls.
"This is nice," he says as they stand inside her door, side by side.
"Yes, it's quite extravagant," she comments, tossing the keycard atop the entryway table and her shoes underneath it. "Very presidential. Apparently, I fit the bill for these accommodations."
"Beats the hell out of my rack," he says, and she glances at him, observing his immediate blush. She blushes herself, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Thank you," she says, squeezing his hand again. She wants to hold his hand all night. She would be completely satisfied with just that, the simplicity of his palm pressed against hers, strong and steady. "For the conversation, for walking me home. Well, back here."
"I wanted to makes sure you were safe," he says. He runs his thumb in circles over the curve of her palm.
She turns to face him, butterflies in her stomach. "I am," she says.
He nods and suddenly she feels it as she looks into his eyes, searching them for something--she doesn't even know what, but whatever it is, she wants to find it and hold it close, even after he leaves her room tonight.
He squeezes her hand. "Good night, then."
She parts her lips for words that struggle to emerge. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she feels so silly, so charmed by him. "Good night... Bill."
They don't move, looking into each other's eyes, and she licks her lips without thinking, and touches his face without thinking, her thumb stroking his cheek, unexpectedly soft. He smiles and glances down to his feet, then suddenly pulls their hands toward his side, bringing her body closer.
She gasps right before his lips meet hers, warm and gentle. She closes her eyes, breathing in his scent, wool and cologne, tasting the slightest hint of whiskey on his lips.
He holds her hand against his hip and his other hand meets the small of her back. She relives their dance earlier and it sends a shiver up her spine.
She pulls his head downward as their lips part slowly to curious, tentative exploration. She presses her body into his chest and is overwhelmed by the soothing, solid feel of his body against her own.
He pulls away, their lips grazing, feather-light. "I'm going to go now, Laura," he murmurs.
"I know," she whispers, opening her eyes to look into his, observing a softer blue than she's used to seeing. "Good night."
He lets go of her hand and they step away from each other. They exchange another smile and she lets her hand drop from its place on his cheek.
"Thank you for a wonderful evening," he says. "It's been too long since I enjoyed myself."
"Let's do it more often?" She answers in question, hope spreading warmth through her abdomen.
He nods and opens the door. "Another time."
She grins, inwardly relieved. "Absolutely. Be safe on your way home."
He chuckles. "Sweet dreams."
He exits the room and she leans her back against the door, closing her eyes.
She’s glowing.
Also, CONGRATS to larsfarm77 and i_am_davnee for their wins. Rock it, ladies!
Author: icedteainthebag
Pairing: Roslin/Adama
Rating: PG
Spoilers: through Colonial Day
Author's Notes: I wrote this for the sixth makelaurahappy challenge. The prompt was "Make Laura happy...by not being dead!" I wanted to write something cute, sweet and non-smutty. I'm pleased that it worked out so well. Thanks to everyone who voted for my story. I will embrace my shiny "Living in Elysian Fields" trophy with honor. Honestly, you guys, I'm honored, surprised, and beyond happy. ♥ Also, thanks to my fabulous beta dashakay. Mango martinis for you.
Laura indulges in the feeling of Commander Adama’s arms around her, their bodies swaying, and she's glowing. She's glowing for the first time in months.
Colonial Day has nearly passed, and all there's left to do is revel in the dim lighting, the freely flowing alcohol and the loud music that thrums through her body like her heartbeat. She is alive, still alive, despite it all. Tonight she feels invincible. Tonight, she is strong. She is radiant. And all she wants to do is embrace this moment of pure, unadulterated life.
The pleasant surprise of the Commander asking her to dance doesn't wear off quickly, and he keeps his hand on the small of her back even when the song ends and they head toward the long, mahogany bar to sit down.
He orders a whiskey on the rocks and she balks at the idea, selecting a white wine for herself instead. When it arrives she swirls it in the glass, catching his eye.
"Do you know how to taste wine?" Laura asks, watching the pale, golden liquid rise closer to the edge with each rotation of her wrist.
"Not besides drinking it," he answers, taking a draw off of his whiskey.
She smiles over her glass at him, then sets her eyes on the wine. "First, you swirl it in your glass, inspecting its color and fluidity, and then you take a nice whiff of it." She demonstrates this to him, taking in the lightly fruity scent with a delicate sniff.
She looks up at him, detecting the amusement in his eyes as he watches her curiously. She raises her eyebrow and continues talking to her glass. "Then, you sip it, and I mean a sip. Not a mouthful, Commander. An elegant sip. And you leave it on your tongue and you think about it. Really think about it for awhile. Is it tangy? Is it sweet? Where did it come from? What is it made of?"
She sips her wine and lets it settle in her mouth. It's dry, nearly bitter. She tries to think about the field where these grapes may have basked in the sunlight. That field is gone, it has to be, gone like everything else they abandoned. She wonders if he can see it in her eyes, the split second of realization that this wine is the last wine, that there have been too many lasts as of late.
She watches him take another sip of his whiskey, the wine still on her tongue.
"Did you swallow yet?" he asks.
She shakes her head. "I'm still experiencing it," she says, and it comes out garbled as she tries to keep the wine from spilling out of her mouth.
The Commander laughs, a deep one at that, and smiles at her. It brings her back to them, sitting at the bar.
Laura swallows and feels the slight burn of the wine down her throat. "That's some good wine."
"I'm glad," he responds, his fingers tapping on the bar. The bartender brings another drink.
They sip in silence for a few moments and she feels the vibration of the music in the air around them. She has a fleeting thought of asking him to dance again, but doesn't want to be too forward.
"So, Gaius Baltar, huh," he says finally, turning toward her on his bar stool.
She lets out a small laugh and nods once. She knows where he's going with this. "Yes, Gaius Baltar."
"Do you think he has the guts for the job?"
She smirks and sips her wine slowly, her eyes traveling upward as she thinks. "I think he fits nicely into the role of second fiddle. Especially given the public's attitude toward him."
She closes her eyes and suddenly she's back in Caprica City in Richard's office, sun shining through the windows and warming the carpet under her bare feet. She has no idea why her mind is going there now, yet for the first time in a long time, she lets it wander over a few of their shared glances, scattered bits of conversation she had with him along the way.
She hasn't thought of Richard in a very long time. Sometimes she feels guilty for not missing him more.
She opens her eyes and breathes deeply, collecting her thoughts.
"I learned a lot during my time in the Adar administration," she says, running her finger along the edge of her wine glass. "I learned that politics is a stage and politicians are but actors, playing the parts that the public yearns to see. There is a distinct separation between their public and private personas."
Laura’s silent for a pause as she watches the circular path of her finger. Then she looks up at him, her head cocked to the side, and she feels something stir inside her, something dark she pushes back as hard as she can. She shakes it off by taking another drink, bitter on her tongue.
"Richard was a master of the act," she says. "And Baltar is as well, and has been for quite some time, in his own vein. As much as he can seem like a bumbling fool behind the scenes or back in his lab, the visage he presents to the public is esteemed. Confident. He transforms." She finishes off her wine. "I guess we all do."
"Politicians?" Adama asks, taking a sip of his drink.
"Politicians, and I suppose on a smaller scale, everyone else. Everyone has two sides. At least two." She touches her hair, twining it through her fingers, distracted by her memory. Her sight drifts over to the collection of bottles at the back of the bar. She remembers seeing Richard's second side, even his third side, how dark they were, how deeply she got sucked in.
"Which side am I seeing right now?"
She's brought back into their moment and she meets the Commander's eyes.
"The answer to that question should be obvious," she says, her gaze intent.
He grins and downs the rest of his drink. "Maybe it's not as obvious as you think."
She tilts her head to the side, examining him. "How about you?"
He chuckles, setting his drink down on the long mahogany bar. "What about me?"
She puts her elbow on the bar, leaning in slightly. She feels a tingle of excitement inside her. It’s inexplicable, yet she welcomes it. "Which side of Commander William Adama am I seeing right now?"
He looks at her and chuckles again, shaking his head. "I'm no politician. I'm pretty straightforward."
Her smile widens. "Maybe not as straightforward as you think."
He orders them another round.
x x x x
The Commander walks her down a dimly lit garden path that smells of hibiscus and fresh green grass, the path to her overnight room nestled deep inside a secured area of Cloud Nine. She holds on to his arm, the wine doing a number on her head, turning her deliciously dizzy.
Laura’s carrying her heels in her free hand, dangling them from her fingers by the straps. He kept ordering, and they kept drinking, even though she knew that most likely, she wouldn't be able to walk in her heels by the time the party ended. She was right.
"This place is so gorgeous," she says, her eyes scanning the overhead dome. It's been darkened for an evening effect and she can see the stars overhead, almost like it's nighttime on a real planet and they're real people walking through a real garden.
Sometimes she questions what her reality is nowadays.
"Yes, it is," he responds, stepping over a rut in the path and placing a firm hand on her forearm as she tiptoes around it. "I'm pleased they were able to repair it after the attacks. It's nice to have a place to go that’s a reminder of home, if only for a few days at a time."
She feels a warm breeze on her face, hears it rustling in the trees, and is in awe for an instant. "Can you hear it?" she asks immediately, tilting her head.
"The wind?"
"Yes." She stops and pulls at his arm, closing her eyes. She listens to the rustle and tries to pretend it's not a machine making the wind whisper through the trees. She feels his hand move down her forearm and wrap around her palm. She blushes, yet keeps her eyes shut.
"It sounds too real," she murmurs.
He squeezes her hand and she opens her eyes. He's looking at her, and it's too dim to see the true expression in his gaze, but she imagines they're feeling the same thing--a mixture of appreciation and apprehension at how something so fake can seem so true. There is far too much of that these days.
Her toes are twiddling, digging into what she wants to believe is solid ground. His thumb brushes over her palm, tracing her life line.
"Shall we walk?" he says quietly, tugging at her hand.
"Mhmmm," she murmurs, giving her shoes a swing.
Laura follows his lead. It wasn't too long ago that she would have felt a bit apprehensive about strolling along the gardens with her arm entwined with someone else's--she didn't necessarily like to be led, and she wouldn't have let herself enjoy it nearly as much as she is right now.
But tonight there's a pleasure she's finding in simple things and she is in the mood to embrace it. She laces her fingers with his, indulging in the comforting warmth of his hand.
They pass armed guards at the entrance to the corridor to her room. Nobody's taking any chances after the initial threat on her life, she knows this, but she can't help but feel a little put-off by the military presence. To him it makes no difference--his reality is uniforms and arms and the threat of force. She's still not used to this reality.
She starts to feel remorseful as their walk is about to end. She sees her room near the end of the corridor, easily identifiable by yet another pair of guards standing watch. She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek.
"It's for your protection," he says.
"I know," she answers with a slightly indignant air that surprises her. "That doesn't mean I like it. Or that I'm used to it, or that I even want to have to get used to it."
They arrive outside her door and she eyes the men at her door, feeling uncomfortably under scrutiny even though the guards' eyes are directed forward.
She leans in, her mouth brushing against his ear. "This is awkward," she whispers. "Please come in. Just to say good night."
"Of course," he says. She feels a wave of relief and slips her room keycard out of her pocket, sliding it through the lock. The door opens with a click and she pushes it open, pulling him gently by the hand.
Laura flicks on the light and glances around the room--it's gorgeously appointed, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook more gardens, decor of brown and red and dark green, original paintings on the walls.
"This is nice," he says as they stand inside her door, side by side.
"Yes, it's quite extravagant," she comments, tossing the keycard atop the entryway table and her shoes underneath it. "Very presidential. Apparently, I fit the bill for these accommodations."
"Beats the hell out of my rack," he says, and she glances at him, observing his immediate blush. She blushes herself, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Thank you," she says, squeezing his hand again. She wants to hold his hand all night. She would be completely satisfied with just that, the simplicity of his palm pressed against hers, strong and steady. "For the conversation, for walking me home. Well, back here."
"I wanted to makes sure you were safe," he says. He runs his thumb in circles over the curve of her palm.
She turns to face him, butterflies in her stomach. "I am," she says.
He nods and suddenly she feels it as she looks into his eyes, searching them for something--she doesn't even know what, but whatever it is, she wants to find it and hold it close, even after he leaves her room tonight.
He squeezes her hand. "Good night, then."
She parts her lips for words that struggle to emerge. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she feels so silly, so charmed by him. "Good night... Bill."
They don't move, looking into each other's eyes, and she licks her lips without thinking, and touches his face without thinking, her thumb stroking his cheek, unexpectedly soft. He smiles and glances down to his feet, then suddenly pulls their hands toward his side, bringing her body closer.
She gasps right before his lips meet hers, warm and gentle. She closes her eyes, breathing in his scent, wool and cologne, tasting the slightest hint of whiskey on his lips.
He holds her hand against his hip and his other hand meets the small of her back. She relives their dance earlier and it sends a shiver up her spine.
She pulls his head downward as their lips part slowly to curious, tentative exploration. She presses her body into his chest and is overwhelmed by the soothing, solid feel of his body against her own.
He pulls away, their lips grazing, feather-light. "I'm going to go now, Laura," he murmurs.
"I know," she whispers, opening her eyes to look into his, observing a softer blue than she's used to seeing. "Good night."
He lets go of her hand and they step away from each other. They exchange another smile and she lets her hand drop from its place on his cheek.
"Thank you for a wonderful evening," he says. "It's been too long since I enjoyed myself."
"Let's do it more often?" She answers in question, hope spreading warmth through her abdomen.
He nods and opens the door. "Another time."
She grins, inwardly relieved. "Absolutely. Be safe on your way home."
He chuckles. "Sweet dreams."
He exits the room and she leans her back against the door, closing her eyes.
She’s glowing.
Also, CONGRATS to larsfarm77 and i_am_davnee for their wins. Rock it, ladies!