Respite (1/5) by larsfarm77 and icedteainthebag
Title: Respite (1/5)
Authors: larsfarm77 & icedteainthebag
Summary: She wondered if he remembered what it felt like to bury his face in her hair; it wasn't so long ago.
Spoilers: Through The Road Less Traveled
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5,778
Authors' Notes: More than three months ago, icedteainthebag posted this little drabble in rememberlaura. As can be read in our responses, it inspired much laughter, a wonderful friendship/collaboration and, eventually, this 20,000+ word fic. Huge thanks to tjonesy and somadanne for beta awesomeness.
Link to Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapters will be posted daily until finished.
***
She was sleepless, waiting, alone.
The ticking of the clock matched Laura’s pulse. She felt the throb at her temples in time with the jerky movement of the second hand, always moving forward.
Soon this rhythm deviated, yet for a moment she was unsure whether time was speeding up or her heartbeat was slowing down.
Her eyelids fluttered.
Watching the clock as restless minutes passed began to wear on her as she lay in his rack. She turned out to face the dimly lit room. For a moment, she felt small, surrounded by so many pieces of him and so very few of her.
Bill had gotten off duty a couple of hours earlier, as far as she knew. She wanted to think it was work keeping him from coming back to his quarters. Something could have come up-nothing significant, or she would have heard about it, she was sure.
Just one day of treatment left. This round.
She didn’t want to think about returning to sickbay in the morning, didn’t want to have to walk past Emily’s empty bed.
Sleep had become a precious commodity for her since she’d started the diloxin treatments. At times, it was her body that was the distraction from peaceful slumber-stomach twisting, muscles aching, head spinning. Other times, it was the endless string of thoughts that filtered through the consciousness of someone too exhausted to rest. She thought of her family, of Caprica before the attacks, and everything since, sometimes scrutinizing decisions and conversations in such exacting detail that her mind literally ached.
Bill knew this, and he usually came right back to his quarters to help her sleep, something she gradually accepted as helpful. The few nights she’d spent in sickbay, she hadn’t slept at all. He would slip his arm around her waist and pull her back against his chest firmly, and would leave his lips pressed against the back of her headscarf as their breathing slowed together.
She wondered if he remembered what it felt like to bury his face in her hair. It wasn’t so long ago.
She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, feeling the dry burn underneath, another protest against relenting to the elusive slumber she pursued.
There was a noise outside the hatch, and at first, she thought it was merely the Marine stationed at the door shifting his weight on the-check the clock-sixth hour of his watch. But then she heard the low timbre of Bill’s voice on the other side of the thick metal between them. She felt an anticipatory flutter of her stomach before a dull anger settled there instead.
She watched the hatch swing open, careful to move only her eyes as Bill’s bulky frame came into view. He swung the hatch shut carefully, his gait unsteady. The pungent scent of alcohol and smoke drifted toward her as he crossed the room to the sofa.
Not again.
It hadn’t been work that had kept him away. And there was nothing to celebrate this time. Lee was passing the honeymoon phase with the Quorum. Kara had yet to transmit a single report on the welfare of the Demetrius mission, and there hadn’t been a DRADIS contact in days.
She turned away from him, onto her side, wincing at the contractions of her empty stomach, the numb tingle in her hands.
His hand was too heavy on her blanket-covered hip. “Hey.”
She considered feigning sleep, but it was pointless. They had shared this space on and off for almost a month, and unlike most men she’d been with, Bill seemed almost too aware of her. He’d know.
“Someone get their wings?” she asked, wincing a little at the dry harshness of her own voice.
He chuckled. Her stomach roiled audibly at the smell of alcohol on his breath. “No, Saul had a few people over for cards.”
“What did you lose this time?”
“What makes you think I lost?” he replied, trying to sound wounded.
“You forgot to tell the maid you wouldn’t be returning with that weird half-man, half-dog statue you had on your bookshelf.”
There was a pause during which she assumed he was assessing the scene of the crime. “How the frak did you notice that?”
“You know how the nausea gets so bad, I can’t move my head?”
“And you ended up looking-” He gestured toward the empty shelf.
“-for almost two hours before I rolled over. Did you know that dog-man was hung like a horse?”
He rubbed his hand over her hip, a smile in his voice. “Maybe I got rid of it because I didn’t want you making comparisons.”
She snorted and reached back to push his hand off her. She felt his reluctance and pushed more firmly. “Get in the shower, Bill. You smell like a… dog-man.”
She couldn’t help thinking that, at this point, licking the bulkheads in Saul’s cabin would probably be enough to get anyone drunk.
“You all right?” he asked, pushing the free end of her scarf out of the way to kiss her cheek. The reek was on his hand, in his hair.
She pulled away from him. “Shower.”
He stood still next to the rack.
Go, just go, get out.
“Okay.”
He padded away and she pulled at the blanket, catching it in her fists.
He doesn’t deserve this.
She knew part of her anger shouldn’t be directed at him, that a large part of it had to do with how the cancer combined with the constant demands-from him, from everyone-were wearing her down, physically, at times, mentally. Gods, she was feeling stifled. It seemed every time she turned around there was someone at her elbow. Some people wanted advice or simply to argue a point, others wanted decisions, favors, a sound bite.
None of these demands were new, but now she found herself increasingly intolerant of them. When she finally had a few minutes to sit alone, it was in a starchy bed in sickbay, a constant din of people and machinery in the background, a needle shoved into her arm.
Her stomach muscles were sore from retching. Exhausted, her skin was oversensitive to the slightest touch and it was all catching up to her, fraying already taxed nerves, even as the treatment schedule waned.
These quarters should have been a refuge, an open space in a ship full of cramped corners, yet it felt like the walls were closing in on her. Even the affection that Bill tried to show her was becoming too much.
It isn’t his fault, but you’re acting like it is.
Still, he didn’t have to drink. Not because of her, not to try and dull his feelings over her distance and her increasing toxicity around him. She’d rather he ask her to leave than have him become another Saul Tigh.
She brushed an angry tear from her cheek.
***
Four days later.
The treatment had gone as expected, with all forewarned side effects. In the first few days, there were times she couldn’t move. There were times she didn’t want to, and a few fleeting moments in which she wondered, as Bill silently caressed her aching stomach while she shivered herself to fitful sleep despite his warmth, if it was worth it after all.
When sleep finally came, it was restless and disorienting.
It was dark when she woke, the orange glow from the desk lamp still casting long shadows against the bulkheads. Bill shifted against her back, blowing out a long, even breath. His skin was warm and slightly sweaty against hers in the cramped space.
She turned to face him. Her stomach growled, but the wave of nausea she expected didn’t come. The pounding in her head was distant. Bearable.
Taking a deep breath, she reached out and placed a hand on Bill’s bare chest. For a few seconds she let it rest over his breastbone. She felt the ridge of his scar against her palm, the thudding of his heart. The beats were as strong as hammer strikes under her hand.
He sighed gently, but didn’t wake as she ran her fingernails through the soft hair around his nipples. She traced the contours of his muscles, the long bones of his ribs, the softness of his belly. Gods, he felt good. And it felt good to touch him. For the first time in a long time, she felt an inkling of desire somewhere deep in her belly.
Emboldened, she followed the light smattering of hair below his navel until she reached the edge of his boxer briefs. Sliding her hand lower, she caressed the warm swell of his morning erection through the soft fabric. Groaning lightly, he shifted toward her, pressing against her hand in his sleep.
She stroked him, reaching a little farther down to brush her hand over his balls. She started when his hand slipped under her pajama top, sweeping upward along her skin to palm her breast. Her eyes, already adjusted to the low light, met his searching gaze.
“I’m fine, Bill,” she whispered before he asked. She took the hand that cupped her breast and pulled it down and away from her body. “I don’t want anything, just let me touch you.”
It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good when he touched her-it had sent a weak pulse of arousal throbbing between her legs, but it was fleeting. It took too much concentration to focus on that now. Her body was still weak and thin, wholly unfamiliar when she looked at herself in the mirror. It felt different, looked different. She couldn’t face the frustration of trying to relearn it in this moment, didn’t want to disappoint him by not reacting the way he expected.
You’re scared, Laura, admit it.
“You still too sensitive?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. She felt a rush of affection at his offering her such an easy out.
“Jack said it would take some time.” She hooked a thumb under the waistband of his boxer briefs and tugged gently. “Doesn’t mean you have to wait for me.”
“Laura-”
She slipped a hand into his shorts and stroked the bare length of his shaft, knowing full well that it was a dirty ploy. And it worked, drawing a needy groan from him.
“Lift your hips,” she whispered, urging him on.
His head fell back against the pillow, and he shifted to lay on his back as he helped her to shed his underwear.
It had been a long time. He was rock hard, which in itself wasn’t that unusual for the morning, yet the taut muscle reacted to even the slightest brush of her fingernail, the lightest stroke of her hand. It wasn’t going to take much.
She knew it must have been driving him crazy to have her living this close and not be able to touch her how he wanted. He hadn’t asked for anything in a while, and she’d noted that his routine had sometimes changed to include a second shower.
It was the only place he had privacy anymore. She didn’t want what he was doing to bother her so much, but it did. It made her feel selfish. It made her long for him and what she wanted them to finally have together.
He would come out of the head and they’d go about their business, both not wanting to acknowledge what was really happening on the other side of the door.
Not having eaten well in too long, she felt a wave of disappointment that she was too lightheaded to crawl over his body. She’d missed the feel of him, his musky taste against her tongue. Quickly banishing the thought, she set her head near his ear and ran her tongue along the whorls and curves. “You remember that night on New Caprica? Behind the tents?”
She slid the pads of her fingertips up the underside of his shaft and he shivered with a soft laugh. “I might need some reminding.”
She wrapped her fingers around his cock. The familiar girth of it and the heat of his skin in her hand made her sigh into his ear. She pressed her body into his side and stroked him, one slow stroke up his shaft until her palm rested on the head. “We’d been looking at each other all night over our drinks. I wondered if you could read my mind. If you knew what I was thinking of doing to you.”
She rubbed her palm in circles on the head of his cock and felt a bead of moisture spread sticky on her skin. He hummed low in his throat. How she loved that sound.
“So we left together,” she murmured against his ear, “and there was this path between the tents. It was so late. Hardly anyone around. You stopped me and kissed me. Gods, how you kissed me.”
She remembered the feeling of excitement over the new journey they were taking together and how her entire body seemed to tingle the moment his tongue touched hers under the moonlight. How his mouth took over her own, how she let herself be taken.
She slid her hand down his cock, then back up, drawing a breathy moan from deep in his chest.
Her teeth grazed his earlobe as she slowly stroked him. “Do you remember what I did then?”
His breath was quickly becoming erratic, his hips moving with her caress. “You sucked me off,” he groaned through gritted teeth.
She felt goose bumps spread across her skin at the memory as she cupped his balls and squeezed firmly. “Mhm. I got on my knees and did it right there. You were so hot in my mouth, Bill, so hard, and your fingers twisted in my hair…”
She closed her eyes and tried to picture herself, the way she was then. She was flirty, giggly with him, her skin aglow. He used to love touching her hair, stroking it, urging her on. She used to love teasing him with it, sliding strands over his hard flesh.
Best not to think about it.
She pushed the memory away and tugged at his cock, her strokes quicker, her grip tighter.
“I love it when you touch me like this,” he breathed. He moaned as she pumped him harder, and she moaned back, a swirl of pleasure muted in her abdomen.
“I love it when you come.” Her hand worked faster, the friction of his hot flesh warming her palm.
“Laura.” He panted, his lips parted, and his hips jerked into her hand. She closed her eyes and squeezed the head of his cock with a tug.
“I love it when you come in my mouth,” she murmured, her mouth pressed against his ear. Her body was aching now, pressed against him tightly. “Oh, Gods, so good, Bill, I… I-”
He grunted and his hips twisted up off the bed as he came, his semen slick and hot on her hand.
I’ve missed you.
For a while they lay quietly, Laura’s hand lying wet and sticky over his softening cock.
She felt his hand nudge hers as his breathing evened out. She took the boxers he was offering and wiped her hand, then gently wiped his stomach off before dropping it to the floor.
“You didn’t have anything to make up to me,” he said finally.
“That’s not what this was about,” she said, voice sharper than she intended. But she knew full well that it was, at least in part.
Why can’t you just go back to sleep like every other guy?
She watched him reach out to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“I know some things are different-”
She took a sharp breath in. “Bill, I don’t want to talk about what’s different.”
He turned to her, his chest against hers, and kissed her forehead.
“I want to touch you,” he murmured, his lips pressed against her skin.
She wanted him to touch her. She wanted it so badly, wanted to feel his mouth, his tongue and his hands all over her body. Wanted to feel him inside her, wanted to give herself up to him. But she felt like it wasn’t even her body to surrender anymore.
“I’m not ready,” she whispered. She pressed her face into his neck and bit her lip as a lump formed in her throat.
He didn’t speak again, merely pulled her body more tightly against his and rocked her gently until it lulled her to sleep.
***
It was the end of another long day when she silently slipped into the head for a shower, glancing back quickly at the empty room before she shut the door behind her.
She hadn’t looked in the mirror without her scarf on since she’d removed the rest of her hair. She’d gone without a headscarf or wig only once, in a blatant attempt to shock the once-efficient Tory out of her lingering stupor, to impress upon her the seriousness of her responsibilities in the wake of the upcoming treatments.
She stood in front of it now and ran her finger along the edge of the fabric, down around her ear, where her hair used to fall.
I’m not ready.
There was a part of her she had to start denying existed once she took the oath of office, the part of her that put off uncomfortable things. Conversations, encounters, choices. Like the time when she was nine and stole a candy bar from the grocery store and got caught, and had to tell her mother what she did. Or the time she realized she should end things with Richard, but instead let the relationship break slowly into unidentifiable pieces.
This dormant part of her was rearing its ugly head again, as it always did when she felt powerless, confused, out of control. When she let her fear of consequence start influencing her decisions.
She closed her eyes and slowly pulled the fabric off her head.
This is still you. Still Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies. Caprican, daughter, sister. You still love wine and reading books by candlelight. You still laugh, you still smile, you still have an amazing rack.
She opened her eyes and looked at her reflection. She bit her lower lip and chewed on it as her eyes wandered over the curve of her bare head.
She lifted her hand and ran her fingers over the smooth skin, her brow furrowing at the unfamiliar feeling, at this vision of her that was foreign, nearly unidentifiable.
This is still you.
She pulled her blouse over her head, slid her pants and underwear to the floor. Her legs were smooth to the touch and she let her fingers trail over her skin. Her hand stopped at the apex of her thighs, the skin there warm and hairless as well. She looked down and felt her cheeks flush-it looks so different, too different-and ran her fingers over the smooth, slightly pebbled skin she found there. She felt the trail of sensation her fingers left in their wake, a surprisingly strong sensation, but it had been so long since she’d touched herself. She hadn’t been ready to face what she would find.
She let her fingers slip between her thighs, feather light, and took a soft breath as she felt a twinge of arousal. She looked back at her bald head in the mirror, then over to the shower.
Maybe it’s time to be ready.
***
Laura turned her back to the spray, letting the hot water sluice over her shoulders. The warm pressure felt so good against the sore muscles at the back of her neck. In fact, it was absolutely decadent. Colonial One was never meant as a residence, its jump drives ensuring that passengers wouldn’t need to endure flights longer than several hours. There were showers in the bowels of the ship, designed for the maintenance crew, and a small, slightly more aesthetic washroom for the flight crew above. There were near-constant lines, time restrictions and the water was lukewarm if there was any heat at all.
To just be able to stand in Bill’s shower, enveloped in steam-no one outside and no one expected-made it perhaps the only place that she had to be truly alone. And she couldn’t try this thinking that someone might walk in, might know what she was doing.
In the past few days her appetite had returned sparingly, and the heaviness in her limbs had begun to ebb. She couldn’t help the tender feeling when she thought about how happy it made Bill that she sat and ate with him now. Gods, after all she’d put him through. She didn’t think he had any idea how sick she would get, but he never let on.
He drank.
She pushed the thought and the resulting flare of anger away, grasping the small bar of soap and turning it twice in her hands, careful to use as little as possible. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from the spray and began to soap her body. She forced herself to relax, hands gliding over her skin in long strokes, moving slowly over the less sensitive areas of her legs and arms.
It felt good. It hadn’t felt good in what seemed like such a long time. Bill had let her get away with the hand job a few days ago, and though he didn’t ask or push, she knew he wanted more. Hell, she wanted more. Only ever since the diloxin, her body hadn’t felt like her own, wired wrong somehow.
Don’t, Laura. You can do this.
She stroked a hand idly over her belly.
She just needed something… best to try a favorite…
Kobol. Muted sunlight though branches heavy and dripping with the last days’ rains.
She was as exhausted then as now, and pretty much soaked to the bone, but the sight of him…
She slipped a soap-covered hand over her right breast and began to finger her nipple gently, watching as it hardened under her ministrations, thin trails of warm water running over and around it. She closed her eyes.
His stocky frame covered in blue camo fatigues, a hint of tight, black fabric at the neck and… well… a ridiculously large gun. She hated guns, but there was something about William Adama’s strong hands cradling the heavy piece, the expression on his face giving the impression that he would fight off the whole planet to find her-that was frakking sexy.
Tentatively, she traced the bare skin below her navel, trying to hold onto the image as her fingers explored lower. The bare, pebbled skin still felt foreign. She didn’t linger, pushing her fingers forward to dip experimentally between her folds.
She stroked gently, setting a lazy, familiar pace, the spare moisture that had gathered somehow different from the water that ran over her.
She had been so wet then. Gods, he had slept less than a foot from her. How easy would it have been for him to press up against her, to slip a hand under her sweater and trace the warm skin of her belly? Would he have touched her, stroked her through the heavy cotton of her borrowed pants?
A low moan escaped her lips and was quickly drowned out by the spattering of the water. Releasing her breast, she gently pulled back the hood of her clit enough to expose it. Holding it lightly, she brushed a finger over the hard bud.
“Oh…”
It had to look innocent. If Kara or Lee happened to look over during a flash of lightning, they would see two people huddled for warmth. No one would see his hand in her lap, working past zipper and panties until his thick fingers met nothing but wet, tender flesh.
Her head dropped back into the spray. Her finger circled gently. The sensations were muted, but there was a hint of something, a coil of pleasure that, if she just relaxed…
He would talk to her, that deep, husky voice rasping in her ear as he played with her, telling her that he’d wanted to take her the moment he’d seen her, that he was going to take her now.
Her hips began to rock, a gentle undulation with the motion of her finger, and it was almost too sensitive, almost too much to take. She furrowed her brow and pressed against her clit. A soft whimper escaped her lips.
His cock would be hard against her ass as he slipped two fingers into her and she would moan into the humid night air. He would tell her to be quiet, that nobody could be allowed to hear them, as his thumb rolled lazy circles…
She caught her hood between two fingers and began sliding, applying light pressure, the way she’d always done it. She felt it as she began to pant-the resolution she so desperately wanted just out of reach.
He would work her up, fingers entering her in a more frenzied pace as he pressed his lips against her hair and whispered how hot and tight she felt inside. His fingers would wetly slide up and circle her clit, roughly, forcefully, while she would bite her lip to keep from crying out as she began to fall to him.
She whimpered and bowed her head, chin to her chest, as her fingers worked faster over her clit. She ached so deeply inside it nearly hurt. She slowed her circles with a deep breath. Maybe less stimulation would work. She’d been so sensitive lately…
Her body would go rigid in his arms and she would squeeze her eyes shut, a strangled groan in her throat, the flood of pleasure spreading up her body, centered under his fingers. He would whisper affirmations, how good she felt, how much he wanted to feel her come around his cock.
Tears stung her eyes as she gnawed on her inner cheek. She yanked her hand away and leaned back against the shower wall. She pressed her palms against the cool tile as the throbbing deep inside her ebbed. It had never been a problem before, reaching that edge, letting go. She needed this, she needed to give this to herself, to feel normal in a body that was notably not.
Sore and frustrated, her thighs trembling with the simple effort of keeping her upright, she wanted nothing more than to give up, to bow her head to the spray and let the tears run. At least here, with water cascading over her face, she could deny them.
“Laura?” His voice was muffled, yet every muscle in her body tightened in response to it, her palms slapping wetly against the tile.
You’ve got to be frakking kidding me.
She sniffed, wiping the back of her hand over her nose, and cleared her throat to speak. She wanted to ignore him, but silence would only raise his concern, and she didn’t want him to find her, not like this. Leaning over, she shut off the tap.
“In here,” she called, her voice shaky but clear. “I need a minute.”
“Everything okay?”
Not even close.
“Be out in a minute.” She stepped out and reached for a towel. Rubbing it roughly over her body, she tried to numb the tingling ache that had settled under her skin. She couldn’t deal with this now, with him, with anything. Rubbing furiously over her bare scalp, she was for once happy not to have to endure twenty minutes with a stifling hot hairdryer. She reached for the clothes she’d left on the counter and put them on, the material sticking in places too oversensitive to dry.
The silk of the headscarf was cool against her heated skin. She tied a quick knot, before taking time to hang the towel properly and draw the shower curtain.
The air in his cabin was shockingly cool. She felt her body respond to it, her nipples hardening visibly beneath her blouse.
“There you are.” He gave her an easy, relaxed smile as he set down his glass of ambrosia. She felt a stir of anger, at his ability to drink away his concerns about everything coming down around them and at her inability to accomplish something that was so easy for him. He was smiling, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and she resisted the urge, when his gaze wandered as he approached, to hit something, preferably him.
Maybe that’d make things a little more real for you.
He ran his hand down the side of her arm.
“Laura… is everything okay?”
She couldn’t help but let out a short, intolerant laugh. She stared into his eyes, saw they were a little bit glassy, and it only irritated her more. “Bill, no. No, everything is not okay.”
“Then you need to tell me what’s going on.” He moved to touch her face and she turned her head away sharply, then brushed past him, her shoulder bumping his and nearly knocking her off balance.
“What do you need from me, Bill? A daily briefing on the status of my general well-being, so you can read it at your convenience over your morning coffee? Or whatever the hell it is we drink nowadays?” She kept her back to him as she wandered to his desk and started organizing everything atop it. Papers in a straight pile. Pens in the drawer. Everything needs to be in order. “What’s going on? I’m here, every frakkin’ day, and still you feel it necessary to ask me what’s going on?”
He wasn’t moving behind her. She could sense his stillness and a bit of his shock, yet she kept her back turned. She eyed the hatch.
She heard him take a deep breath and let it out, slowly, something he usually did when he was trying to respond to something rationally, without letting his emotions get in the way.
“Why don’t you tell me what you think’s going on?” she asked quietly. She ran her finger along the edge of his desk.
“I think you’re having a hard time coming to terms with being sick again. With the things that have changed.”
She felt her cheeks flush and her stomach churn at his simple acknowledgments.
“We’ve changed.” His voice was softer. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
You’ve changed, Bill.
She heard him approaching her, his footsteps lighter on the carpet, as if approaching cautiously in anticipation of her next reaction.
“You don’t think I see these things, but I do,” he said, his voice low. She pressed her hands flat against the desk and felt him near her back. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“What way?” she whispered.
The way in which you’re drunk? The way in which I despise you for being healthy? The way in which I hate my body for failing me again?
She felt his hand on the small of her back, warm, tentative.
Now he’s afraid of touching me. Because of what I’ve done to him. Of what I’ve done to us.
“Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out,” he said.
She felt her body tense up. “Oh, that’s funny.”
“Laura.” His voice was more firm when he said her name, with an air of warning.
She pulled away from him and walked to the other side of the desk. She crossed her arms and faced him. “That’s funny, coming from you. You’re always shutting me out.”
Bill was a patient man, but he had his limits, and she knew exactly where that line was that she could cross if she wanted to test them. She had just crossed it, stomped over it really, on purpose and with venom. She could see it in his face, in the way he stared into her eyes and didn’t blink or move, yet she could see his expression harden. She knew that look very well.
“Don’t make this about me.” He folded his hands in front of his body and for some reason, this irritated her even more.
Great, now he’s closing off. Again.
“Oh, but it is about you,” she said. She put her hands on his desk and leaned over it. “You won’t face this, any of it; you stay out late doing Gods know what-”
“Don’t,” he said sharply, his hands moving to his hips. “You need to think about what you’re saying before you say something you’ll regret.”
“It’s about you drinking yourself into oblivion over the fate of this fleet, which, might I remind you, lies entirely in your, no, our hands. And now you’re drunk, and I’m…”
Say it. Just say it.
“Bill, I’m sick.” She brushed a tear off of her cheek. “And you can’t even acknowledge that it’s not something you can just clean off the floor and be done with. You-”
“I don’t wanna do this again.” He turned his back, heading in the direction of the half-full glass on the table in front of the couch.
“Not drunk enough yet?”
He stopped and immediately turned around. “Laura, what the frak is wrong with you?”
I just look at you and I ache so badly and I can’t take that right now because it hurts and I want to frak you anyway but I don’t want to taste the alcohol in your mouth and I don’t want to see the shock in your eyes when you finally see me bare again or the pity in your gaze when you’ve done all those amazing things you used to do to me and I’m sore and shaking and still so far from giving you what you love.
“You know, I’d say I needed some fresh air, but I can walk this whole godsdamned ship, and not find a hint of it.”
“If you need some space, I can leave.”
And wander back to Saul and his bottomless flask?
“No.” She rolled her shoulders back and stood up. “Obviously I’m the one who needs to get my head on straight.”
She walked toward the hatch and spun it open.
“You might want to get your shoes on first. Hallway’s rough on bare feet.”
She snapped her head back at him, then slipped into her shoes hurriedly, jerking them over her feet. “You’re funny when you’re drunk, Bill.”
She didn’t look back at him when she slammed the hatch closed behind her. She didn’t want him to see the tears in her eyes.
Continued in Chapter 2 tomorrow.
Authors: larsfarm77 & icedteainthebag
Summary: She wondered if he remembered what it felt like to bury his face in her hair; it wasn't so long ago.
Spoilers: Through The Road Less Traveled
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5,778
Authors' Notes: More than three months ago, icedteainthebag posted this little drabble in rememberlaura. As can be read in our responses, it inspired much laughter, a wonderful friendship/collaboration and, eventually, this 20,000+ word fic. Huge thanks to tjonesy and somadanne for beta awesomeness.
Link to Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapters will be posted daily until finished.
***
She was sleepless, waiting, alone.
The ticking of the clock matched Laura’s pulse. She felt the throb at her temples in time with the jerky movement of the second hand, always moving forward.
Soon this rhythm deviated, yet for a moment she was unsure whether time was speeding up or her heartbeat was slowing down.
Her eyelids fluttered.
Watching the clock as restless minutes passed began to wear on her as she lay in his rack. She turned out to face the dimly lit room. For a moment, she felt small, surrounded by so many pieces of him and so very few of her.
Bill had gotten off duty a couple of hours earlier, as far as she knew. She wanted to think it was work keeping him from coming back to his quarters. Something could have come up-nothing significant, or she would have heard about it, she was sure.
Just one day of treatment left. This round.
She didn’t want to think about returning to sickbay in the morning, didn’t want to have to walk past Emily’s empty bed.
Sleep had become a precious commodity for her since she’d started the diloxin treatments. At times, it was her body that was the distraction from peaceful slumber-stomach twisting, muscles aching, head spinning. Other times, it was the endless string of thoughts that filtered through the consciousness of someone too exhausted to rest. She thought of her family, of Caprica before the attacks, and everything since, sometimes scrutinizing decisions and conversations in such exacting detail that her mind literally ached.
Bill knew this, and he usually came right back to his quarters to help her sleep, something she gradually accepted as helpful. The few nights she’d spent in sickbay, she hadn’t slept at all. He would slip his arm around her waist and pull her back against his chest firmly, and would leave his lips pressed against the back of her headscarf as their breathing slowed together.
She wondered if he remembered what it felt like to bury his face in her hair. It wasn’t so long ago.
She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, feeling the dry burn underneath, another protest against relenting to the elusive slumber she pursued.
There was a noise outside the hatch, and at first, she thought it was merely the Marine stationed at the door shifting his weight on the-check the clock-sixth hour of his watch. But then she heard the low timbre of Bill’s voice on the other side of the thick metal between them. She felt an anticipatory flutter of her stomach before a dull anger settled there instead.
She watched the hatch swing open, careful to move only her eyes as Bill’s bulky frame came into view. He swung the hatch shut carefully, his gait unsteady. The pungent scent of alcohol and smoke drifted toward her as he crossed the room to the sofa.
Not again.
It hadn’t been work that had kept him away. And there was nothing to celebrate this time. Lee was passing the honeymoon phase with the Quorum. Kara had yet to transmit a single report on the welfare of the Demetrius mission, and there hadn’t been a DRADIS contact in days.
She turned away from him, onto her side, wincing at the contractions of her empty stomach, the numb tingle in her hands.
His hand was too heavy on her blanket-covered hip. “Hey.”
She considered feigning sleep, but it was pointless. They had shared this space on and off for almost a month, and unlike most men she’d been with, Bill seemed almost too aware of her. He’d know.
“Someone get their wings?” she asked, wincing a little at the dry harshness of her own voice.
He chuckled. Her stomach roiled audibly at the smell of alcohol on his breath. “No, Saul had a few people over for cards.”
“What did you lose this time?”
“What makes you think I lost?” he replied, trying to sound wounded.
“You forgot to tell the maid you wouldn’t be returning with that weird half-man, half-dog statue you had on your bookshelf.”
There was a pause during which she assumed he was assessing the scene of the crime. “How the frak did you notice that?”
“You know how the nausea gets so bad, I can’t move my head?”
“And you ended up looking-” He gestured toward the empty shelf.
“-for almost two hours before I rolled over. Did you know that dog-man was hung like a horse?”
He rubbed his hand over her hip, a smile in his voice. “Maybe I got rid of it because I didn’t want you making comparisons.”
She snorted and reached back to push his hand off her. She felt his reluctance and pushed more firmly. “Get in the shower, Bill. You smell like a… dog-man.”
She couldn’t help thinking that, at this point, licking the bulkheads in Saul’s cabin would probably be enough to get anyone drunk.
“You all right?” he asked, pushing the free end of her scarf out of the way to kiss her cheek. The reek was on his hand, in his hair.
She pulled away from him. “Shower.”
He stood still next to the rack.
Go, just go, get out.
“Okay.”
He padded away and she pulled at the blanket, catching it in her fists.
He doesn’t deserve this.
She knew part of her anger shouldn’t be directed at him, that a large part of it had to do with how the cancer combined with the constant demands-from him, from everyone-were wearing her down, physically, at times, mentally. Gods, she was feeling stifled. It seemed every time she turned around there was someone at her elbow. Some people wanted advice or simply to argue a point, others wanted decisions, favors, a sound bite.
None of these demands were new, but now she found herself increasingly intolerant of them. When she finally had a few minutes to sit alone, it was in a starchy bed in sickbay, a constant din of people and machinery in the background, a needle shoved into her arm.
Her stomach muscles were sore from retching. Exhausted, her skin was oversensitive to the slightest touch and it was all catching up to her, fraying already taxed nerves, even as the treatment schedule waned.
These quarters should have been a refuge, an open space in a ship full of cramped corners, yet it felt like the walls were closing in on her. Even the affection that Bill tried to show her was becoming too much.
It isn’t his fault, but you’re acting like it is.
Still, he didn’t have to drink. Not because of her, not to try and dull his feelings over her distance and her increasing toxicity around him. She’d rather he ask her to leave than have him become another Saul Tigh.
She brushed an angry tear from her cheek.
***
Four days later.
The treatment had gone as expected, with all forewarned side effects. In the first few days, there were times she couldn’t move. There were times she didn’t want to, and a few fleeting moments in which she wondered, as Bill silently caressed her aching stomach while she shivered herself to fitful sleep despite his warmth, if it was worth it after all.
When sleep finally came, it was restless and disorienting.
It was dark when she woke, the orange glow from the desk lamp still casting long shadows against the bulkheads. Bill shifted against her back, blowing out a long, even breath. His skin was warm and slightly sweaty against hers in the cramped space.
She turned to face him. Her stomach growled, but the wave of nausea she expected didn’t come. The pounding in her head was distant. Bearable.
Taking a deep breath, she reached out and placed a hand on Bill’s bare chest. For a few seconds she let it rest over his breastbone. She felt the ridge of his scar against her palm, the thudding of his heart. The beats were as strong as hammer strikes under her hand.
He sighed gently, but didn’t wake as she ran her fingernails through the soft hair around his nipples. She traced the contours of his muscles, the long bones of his ribs, the softness of his belly. Gods, he felt good. And it felt good to touch him. For the first time in a long time, she felt an inkling of desire somewhere deep in her belly.
Emboldened, she followed the light smattering of hair below his navel until she reached the edge of his boxer briefs. Sliding her hand lower, she caressed the warm swell of his morning erection through the soft fabric. Groaning lightly, he shifted toward her, pressing against her hand in his sleep.
She stroked him, reaching a little farther down to brush her hand over his balls. She started when his hand slipped under her pajama top, sweeping upward along her skin to palm her breast. Her eyes, already adjusted to the low light, met his searching gaze.
“I’m fine, Bill,” she whispered before he asked. She took the hand that cupped her breast and pulled it down and away from her body. “I don’t want anything, just let me touch you.”
It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good when he touched her-it had sent a weak pulse of arousal throbbing between her legs, but it was fleeting. It took too much concentration to focus on that now. Her body was still weak and thin, wholly unfamiliar when she looked at herself in the mirror. It felt different, looked different. She couldn’t face the frustration of trying to relearn it in this moment, didn’t want to disappoint him by not reacting the way he expected.
You’re scared, Laura, admit it.
“You still too sensitive?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. She felt a rush of affection at his offering her such an easy out.
“Jack said it would take some time.” She hooked a thumb under the waistband of his boxer briefs and tugged gently. “Doesn’t mean you have to wait for me.”
“Laura-”
She slipped a hand into his shorts and stroked the bare length of his shaft, knowing full well that it was a dirty ploy. And it worked, drawing a needy groan from him.
“Lift your hips,” she whispered, urging him on.
His head fell back against the pillow, and he shifted to lay on his back as he helped her to shed his underwear.
It had been a long time. He was rock hard, which in itself wasn’t that unusual for the morning, yet the taut muscle reacted to even the slightest brush of her fingernail, the lightest stroke of her hand. It wasn’t going to take much.
She knew it must have been driving him crazy to have her living this close and not be able to touch her how he wanted. He hadn’t asked for anything in a while, and she’d noted that his routine had sometimes changed to include a second shower.
It was the only place he had privacy anymore. She didn’t want what he was doing to bother her so much, but it did. It made her feel selfish. It made her long for him and what she wanted them to finally have together.
He would come out of the head and they’d go about their business, both not wanting to acknowledge what was really happening on the other side of the door.
Not having eaten well in too long, she felt a wave of disappointment that she was too lightheaded to crawl over his body. She’d missed the feel of him, his musky taste against her tongue. Quickly banishing the thought, she set her head near his ear and ran her tongue along the whorls and curves. “You remember that night on New Caprica? Behind the tents?”
She slid the pads of her fingertips up the underside of his shaft and he shivered with a soft laugh. “I might need some reminding.”
She wrapped her fingers around his cock. The familiar girth of it and the heat of his skin in her hand made her sigh into his ear. She pressed her body into his side and stroked him, one slow stroke up his shaft until her palm rested on the head. “We’d been looking at each other all night over our drinks. I wondered if you could read my mind. If you knew what I was thinking of doing to you.”
She rubbed her palm in circles on the head of his cock and felt a bead of moisture spread sticky on her skin. He hummed low in his throat. How she loved that sound.
“So we left together,” she murmured against his ear, “and there was this path between the tents. It was so late. Hardly anyone around. You stopped me and kissed me. Gods, how you kissed me.”
She remembered the feeling of excitement over the new journey they were taking together and how her entire body seemed to tingle the moment his tongue touched hers under the moonlight. How his mouth took over her own, how she let herself be taken.
She slid her hand down his cock, then back up, drawing a breathy moan from deep in his chest.
Her teeth grazed his earlobe as she slowly stroked him. “Do you remember what I did then?”
His breath was quickly becoming erratic, his hips moving with her caress. “You sucked me off,” he groaned through gritted teeth.
She felt goose bumps spread across her skin at the memory as she cupped his balls and squeezed firmly. “Mhm. I got on my knees and did it right there. You were so hot in my mouth, Bill, so hard, and your fingers twisted in my hair…”
She closed her eyes and tried to picture herself, the way she was then. She was flirty, giggly with him, her skin aglow. He used to love touching her hair, stroking it, urging her on. She used to love teasing him with it, sliding strands over his hard flesh.
Best not to think about it.
She pushed the memory away and tugged at his cock, her strokes quicker, her grip tighter.
“I love it when you touch me like this,” he breathed. He moaned as she pumped him harder, and she moaned back, a swirl of pleasure muted in her abdomen.
“I love it when you come.” Her hand worked faster, the friction of his hot flesh warming her palm.
“Laura.” He panted, his lips parted, and his hips jerked into her hand. She closed her eyes and squeezed the head of his cock with a tug.
“I love it when you come in my mouth,” she murmured, her mouth pressed against his ear. Her body was aching now, pressed against him tightly. “Oh, Gods, so good, Bill, I… I-”
He grunted and his hips twisted up off the bed as he came, his semen slick and hot on her hand.
I’ve missed you.
For a while they lay quietly, Laura’s hand lying wet and sticky over his softening cock.
She felt his hand nudge hers as his breathing evened out. She took the boxers he was offering and wiped her hand, then gently wiped his stomach off before dropping it to the floor.
“You didn’t have anything to make up to me,” he said finally.
“That’s not what this was about,” she said, voice sharper than she intended. But she knew full well that it was, at least in part.
Why can’t you just go back to sleep like every other guy?
She watched him reach out to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“I know some things are different-”
She took a sharp breath in. “Bill, I don’t want to talk about what’s different.”
He turned to her, his chest against hers, and kissed her forehead.
“I want to touch you,” he murmured, his lips pressed against her skin.
She wanted him to touch her. She wanted it so badly, wanted to feel his mouth, his tongue and his hands all over her body. Wanted to feel him inside her, wanted to give herself up to him. But she felt like it wasn’t even her body to surrender anymore.
“I’m not ready,” she whispered. She pressed her face into his neck and bit her lip as a lump formed in her throat.
He didn’t speak again, merely pulled her body more tightly against his and rocked her gently until it lulled her to sleep.
***
It was the end of another long day when she silently slipped into the head for a shower, glancing back quickly at the empty room before she shut the door behind her.
She hadn’t looked in the mirror without her scarf on since she’d removed the rest of her hair. She’d gone without a headscarf or wig only once, in a blatant attempt to shock the once-efficient Tory out of her lingering stupor, to impress upon her the seriousness of her responsibilities in the wake of the upcoming treatments.
She stood in front of it now and ran her finger along the edge of the fabric, down around her ear, where her hair used to fall.
I’m not ready.
There was a part of her she had to start denying existed once she took the oath of office, the part of her that put off uncomfortable things. Conversations, encounters, choices. Like the time when she was nine and stole a candy bar from the grocery store and got caught, and had to tell her mother what she did. Or the time she realized she should end things with Richard, but instead let the relationship break slowly into unidentifiable pieces.
This dormant part of her was rearing its ugly head again, as it always did when she felt powerless, confused, out of control. When she let her fear of consequence start influencing her decisions.
She closed her eyes and slowly pulled the fabric off her head.
This is still you. Still Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies. Caprican, daughter, sister. You still love wine and reading books by candlelight. You still laugh, you still smile, you still have an amazing rack.
She opened her eyes and looked at her reflection. She bit her lower lip and chewed on it as her eyes wandered over the curve of her bare head.
She lifted her hand and ran her fingers over the smooth skin, her brow furrowing at the unfamiliar feeling, at this vision of her that was foreign, nearly unidentifiable.
This is still you.
She pulled her blouse over her head, slid her pants and underwear to the floor. Her legs were smooth to the touch and she let her fingers trail over her skin. Her hand stopped at the apex of her thighs, the skin there warm and hairless as well. She looked down and felt her cheeks flush-it looks so different, too different-and ran her fingers over the smooth, slightly pebbled skin she found there. She felt the trail of sensation her fingers left in their wake, a surprisingly strong sensation, but it had been so long since she’d touched herself. She hadn’t been ready to face what she would find.
She let her fingers slip between her thighs, feather light, and took a soft breath as she felt a twinge of arousal. She looked back at her bald head in the mirror, then over to the shower.
Maybe it’s time to be ready.
***
Laura turned her back to the spray, letting the hot water sluice over her shoulders. The warm pressure felt so good against the sore muscles at the back of her neck. In fact, it was absolutely decadent. Colonial One was never meant as a residence, its jump drives ensuring that passengers wouldn’t need to endure flights longer than several hours. There were showers in the bowels of the ship, designed for the maintenance crew, and a small, slightly more aesthetic washroom for the flight crew above. There were near-constant lines, time restrictions and the water was lukewarm if there was any heat at all.
To just be able to stand in Bill’s shower, enveloped in steam-no one outside and no one expected-made it perhaps the only place that she had to be truly alone. And she couldn’t try this thinking that someone might walk in, might know what she was doing.
In the past few days her appetite had returned sparingly, and the heaviness in her limbs had begun to ebb. She couldn’t help the tender feeling when she thought about how happy it made Bill that she sat and ate with him now. Gods, after all she’d put him through. She didn’t think he had any idea how sick she would get, but he never let on.
He drank.
She pushed the thought and the resulting flare of anger away, grasping the small bar of soap and turning it twice in her hands, careful to use as little as possible. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from the spray and began to soap her body. She forced herself to relax, hands gliding over her skin in long strokes, moving slowly over the less sensitive areas of her legs and arms.
It felt good. It hadn’t felt good in what seemed like such a long time. Bill had let her get away with the hand job a few days ago, and though he didn’t ask or push, she knew he wanted more. Hell, she wanted more. Only ever since the diloxin, her body hadn’t felt like her own, wired wrong somehow.
Don’t, Laura. You can do this.
She stroked a hand idly over her belly.
She just needed something… best to try a favorite…
Kobol. Muted sunlight though branches heavy and dripping with the last days’ rains.
She was as exhausted then as now, and pretty much soaked to the bone, but the sight of him…
She slipped a soap-covered hand over her right breast and began to finger her nipple gently, watching as it hardened under her ministrations, thin trails of warm water running over and around it. She closed her eyes.
His stocky frame covered in blue camo fatigues, a hint of tight, black fabric at the neck and… well… a ridiculously large gun. She hated guns, but there was something about William Adama’s strong hands cradling the heavy piece, the expression on his face giving the impression that he would fight off the whole planet to find her-that was frakking sexy.
Tentatively, she traced the bare skin below her navel, trying to hold onto the image as her fingers explored lower. The bare, pebbled skin still felt foreign. She didn’t linger, pushing her fingers forward to dip experimentally between her folds.
She stroked gently, setting a lazy, familiar pace, the spare moisture that had gathered somehow different from the water that ran over her.
She had been so wet then. Gods, he had slept less than a foot from her. How easy would it have been for him to press up against her, to slip a hand under her sweater and trace the warm skin of her belly? Would he have touched her, stroked her through the heavy cotton of her borrowed pants?
A low moan escaped her lips and was quickly drowned out by the spattering of the water. Releasing her breast, she gently pulled back the hood of her clit enough to expose it. Holding it lightly, she brushed a finger over the hard bud.
“Oh…”
It had to look innocent. If Kara or Lee happened to look over during a flash of lightning, they would see two people huddled for warmth. No one would see his hand in her lap, working past zipper and panties until his thick fingers met nothing but wet, tender flesh.
Her head dropped back into the spray. Her finger circled gently. The sensations were muted, but there was a hint of something, a coil of pleasure that, if she just relaxed…
He would talk to her, that deep, husky voice rasping in her ear as he played with her, telling her that he’d wanted to take her the moment he’d seen her, that he was going to take her now.
Her hips began to rock, a gentle undulation with the motion of her finger, and it was almost too sensitive, almost too much to take. She furrowed her brow and pressed against her clit. A soft whimper escaped her lips.
His cock would be hard against her ass as he slipped two fingers into her and she would moan into the humid night air. He would tell her to be quiet, that nobody could be allowed to hear them, as his thumb rolled lazy circles…
She caught her hood between two fingers and began sliding, applying light pressure, the way she’d always done it. She felt it as she began to pant-the resolution she so desperately wanted just out of reach.
He would work her up, fingers entering her in a more frenzied pace as he pressed his lips against her hair and whispered how hot and tight she felt inside. His fingers would wetly slide up and circle her clit, roughly, forcefully, while she would bite her lip to keep from crying out as she began to fall to him.
She whimpered and bowed her head, chin to her chest, as her fingers worked faster over her clit. She ached so deeply inside it nearly hurt. She slowed her circles with a deep breath. Maybe less stimulation would work. She’d been so sensitive lately…
Her body would go rigid in his arms and she would squeeze her eyes shut, a strangled groan in her throat, the flood of pleasure spreading up her body, centered under his fingers. He would whisper affirmations, how good she felt, how much he wanted to feel her come around his cock.
Tears stung her eyes as she gnawed on her inner cheek. She yanked her hand away and leaned back against the shower wall. She pressed her palms against the cool tile as the throbbing deep inside her ebbed. It had never been a problem before, reaching that edge, letting go. She needed this, she needed to give this to herself, to feel normal in a body that was notably not.
Sore and frustrated, her thighs trembling with the simple effort of keeping her upright, she wanted nothing more than to give up, to bow her head to the spray and let the tears run. At least here, with water cascading over her face, she could deny them.
“Laura?” His voice was muffled, yet every muscle in her body tightened in response to it, her palms slapping wetly against the tile.
You’ve got to be frakking kidding me.
She sniffed, wiping the back of her hand over her nose, and cleared her throat to speak. She wanted to ignore him, but silence would only raise his concern, and she didn’t want him to find her, not like this. Leaning over, she shut off the tap.
“In here,” she called, her voice shaky but clear. “I need a minute.”
“Everything okay?”
Not even close.
“Be out in a minute.” She stepped out and reached for a towel. Rubbing it roughly over her body, she tried to numb the tingling ache that had settled under her skin. She couldn’t deal with this now, with him, with anything. Rubbing furiously over her bare scalp, she was for once happy not to have to endure twenty minutes with a stifling hot hairdryer. She reached for the clothes she’d left on the counter and put them on, the material sticking in places too oversensitive to dry.
The silk of the headscarf was cool against her heated skin. She tied a quick knot, before taking time to hang the towel properly and draw the shower curtain.
The air in his cabin was shockingly cool. She felt her body respond to it, her nipples hardening visibly beneath her blouse.
“There you are.” He gave her an easy, relaxed smile as he set down his glass of ambrosia. She felt a stir of anger, at his ability to drink away his concerns about everything coming down around them and at her inability to accomplish something that was so easy for him. He was smiling, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and she resisted the urge, when his gaze wandered as he approached, to hit something, preferably him.
Maybe that’d make things a little more real for you.
He ran his hand down the side of her arm.
“Laura… is everything okay?”
She couldn’t help but let out a short, intolerant laugh. She stared into his eyes, saw they were a little bit glassy, and it only irritated her more. “Bill, no. No, everything is not okay.”
“Then you need to tell me what’s going on.” He moved to touch her face and she turned her head away sharply, then brushed past him, her shoulder bumping his and nearly knocking her off balance.
“What do you need from me, Bill? A daily briefing on the status of my general well-being, so you can read it at your convenience over your morning coffee? Or whatever the hell it is we drink nowadays?” She kept her back to him as she wandered to his desk and started organizing everything atop it. Papers in a straight pile. Pens in the drawer. Everything needs to be in order. “What’s going on? I’m here, every frakkin’ day, and still you feel it necessary to ask me what’s going on?”
He wasn’t moving behind her. She could sense his stillness and a bit of his shock, yet she kept her back turned. She eyed the hatch.
She heard him take a deep breath and let it out, slowly, something he usually did when he was trying to respond to something rationally, without letting his emotions get in the way.
“Why don’t you tell me what you think’s going on?” she asked quietly. She ran her finger along the edge of his desk.
“I think you’re having a hard time coming to terms with being sick again. With the things that have changed.”
She felt her cheeks flush and her stomach churn at his simple acknowledgments.
“We’ve changed.” His voice was softer. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
You’ve changed, Bill.
She heard him approaching her, his footsteps lighter on the carpet, as if approaching cautiously in anticipation of her next reaction.
“You don’t think I see these things, but I do,” he said, his voice low. She pressed her hands flat against the desk and felt him near her back. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“What way?” she whispered.
The way in which you’re drunk? The way in which I despise you for being healthy? The way in which I hate my body for failing me again?
She felt his hand on the small of her back, warm, tentative.
Now he’s afraid of touching me. Because of what I’ve done to him. Of what I’ve done to us.
“Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out,” he said.
She felt her body tense up. “Oh, that’s funny.”
“Laura.” His voice was more firm when he said her name, with an air of warning.
She pulled away from him and walked to the other side of the desk. She crossed her arms and faced him. “That’s funny, coming from you. You’re always shutting me out.”
Bill was a patient man, but he had his limits, and she knew exactly where that line was that she could cross if she wanted to test them. She had just crossed it, stomped over it really, on purpose and with venom. She could see it in his face, in the way he stared into her eyes and didn’t blink or move, yet she could see his expression harden. She knew that look very well.
“Don’t make this about me.” He folded his hands in front of his body and for some reason, this irritated her even more.
Great, now he’s closing off. Again.
“Oh, but it is about you,” she said. She put her hands on his desk and leaned over it. “You won’t face this, any of it; you stay out late doing Gods know what-”
“Don’t,” he said sharply, his hands moving to his hips. “You need to think about what you’re saying before you say something you’ll regret.”
“It’s about you drinking yourself into oblivion over the fate of this fleet, which, might I remind you, lies entirely in your, no, our hands. And now you’re drunk, and I’m…”
Say it. Just say it.
“Bill, I’m sick.” She brushed a tear off of her cheek. “And you can’t even acknowledge that it’s not something you can just clean off the floor and be done with. You-”
“I don’t wanna do this again.” He turned his back, heading in the direction of the half-full glass on the table in front of the couch.
“Not drunk enough yet?”
He stopped and immediately turned around. “Laura, what the frak is wrong with you?”
I just look at you and I ache so badly and I can’t take that right now because it hurts and I want to frak you anyway but I don’t want to taste the alcohol in your mouth and I don’t want to see the shock in your eyes when you finally see me bare again or the pity in your gaze when you’ve done all those amazing things you used to do to me and I’m sore and shaking and still so far from giving you what you love.
“You know, I’d say I needed some fresh air, but I can walk this whole godsdamned ship, and not find a hint of it.”
“If you need some space, I can leave.”
And wander back to Saul and his bottomless flask?
“No.” She rolled her shoulders back and stood up. “Obviously I’m the one who needs to get my head on straight.”
She walked toward the hatch and spun it open.
“You might want to get your shoes on first. Hallway’s rough on bare feet.”
She snapped her head back at him, then slipped into her shoes hurriedly, jerking them over her feet. “You’re funny when you’re drunk, Bill.”
She didn’t look back at him when she slammed the hatch closed behind her. She didn’t want him to see the tears in her eyes.
Continued in Chapter 2 tomorrow.