rememberlaura SS fic for sira01: Revelations
Title: Revelations
Pairing: Laura/Tom, Laura/Bill
Rating: M
Summary: Set just pre-Occupation, a late night encounter between Laura and Zarek.
Words: 2748
So much love and thanks to tjonesy, somadanne, and icedteainthebag for taking time out of their holidays to beta this. Christmas came for me when I met you guys. Thanks also to i_am_davnee for passing on the title.
Merry Christmas, sira01!
Her request was for: a fic, ficlet, drabble, graphic that is not an icon, vid for any of her favourite pairings (Laura/Lee, Laura/Bill, Laura/Tom, Laura/Cottle). Carte blanche like this tends to go dark on me, so I hope you enjoy sira01!
Revelations
Tom Zarek crouched just inside the small tent and secured the flap tightly. He heard footsteps on the dry, hard ground outside, trusted men walking in predetermined directions, covering his entry.
He turned when the night became quiet again and slipped his hands into his pockets. Light, even breathing filled the space. Blinking, his skin still stiff and cold, he waited for his eyes to adjust.
Fine bars of orange light, emitted by the heater near Laura’s head, defined the contours of her sleeping form. It clicked and hummed as it blew dry air over her face.
The tent smelled of smoke and whatever meager root vegetable she’d cooked for her last meal. The circulating warm air carried something slightly floral, something indefinably her, and he caught himself inhaling deeply.
Except for one chaste kiss on Colonial Day, he’d never been this close to Roslin, not even on Kobol. There, her tireless drive, her commitment to the mission, kept her apart from everyone but her young protector.
Being with her on that journey, he saw the type of woman his mother must have been. And he was proud.
His memories of his mother had always been more impressions than events. Soft features. Dark hair. He was five when she died protesting working conditions at a rally in the capital.
Don’t be afraid to sacrifice today for the promise of tomorrow, your life for the promise of others.
He’d never heard his mother say it. Only read it in a long banned book.
In the warmth of his pocket, he closed his hand around the only tangible piece of his mother’s life that he owned, a token given to him long ago by an uncle he hardly knew. He ran a thumb along the smooth, crafted ivory. It calmed him.
The cot squeaked when Laura shifted to her side.
He stood slowly and crossed to her, his knee brushing her hand where it dangled off the edge of the cot. He waited, but she didn’t wake. Watching her carefully, he sat in the lone chair near her bed.
Slightly yellowed papers sat on top of the table beside him, and he could now almost make out the colourful, vaguely human figures with which her students had filled the pages. One caught his attention. A tall figure with a riot of crayon-red hair held the circle that represented the hand of a small child. Though the young artist had drawn tears on the child’s face, his mouth was a tiny purple curve. A smile.
Looking about the tent, his gaze fell on an oversized military-style jacket, a small pile of books, a tiny box of loose tea bags-all the ways that people paid the ones who helped them, who cared for and educated their children.
You’ve done it. You’ve made a life here. Living for today.
He frowned, shaking his head to clear it and taking his hands from his pockets. He couldn’t afford to delay any longer.
“Laura?” His voice was surprisingly thick.
On his third try, she exhaled loudly, rolling to her back before sitting up. The nightgown was askew on her shoulders, revealing more of her chest than he knew she’d be comfortable with, but she made no move to right the material. A thin hand pushed unruly strands of hair from her face. When he leaned toward her, the old chair creaked noisily.
Her shoulders relaxed. “Gods, I thought you’d never-”
“It’s Tom.” Zarek smiled, holding up both hands when she sat fully upright, bringing the blanket with her. “Who were you expecting?”
She froze for a few seconds, peering into the dimness, before reaching for the small lamp on the crate beside her makeshift bed.
“I’d prefer you didn’t turn that on.”
“I’d prefer that you respect my privacy.” Her voice was firm, yet thick with sleep. She didn’t turn on the light.
“I’m sorry. If there were any other way to do this, I wouldn’t have woken you,” he said. It bothered him that his palms were sweaty, and he placed his hands on his knees.
Relax.
“Hand me my robe, please.” She extended her hand and he looked about, finally realizing that it hung on the back of his chair. He pulled it off, enjoying the rich softness of the expensive material and the brush of her fingers when he handed it to her.
She turned back her blankets. He sat captivated by the image she presented. Without her glasses, her features were soft, the lines more prominent on her face and in the corners of her eyes. Without the well-tailored suit, her bare arms were smooth and vaguely muscular, her hands delicate and feminine. He couldn’t help but notice the shadowed outline of her body, backlit by the heater, as she stood to don the robe.
Glancing around the space, she reluctantly sat back on the bed. Her eyes narrowed. “There wasn’t any other way to do what?”
At her clipped tone, he stopped staring. “You’ve noticed the market tables lately? The reduction in rations?”
He felt a pang of disappointment when she felt for her glasses. She unfolded them and put them on. “Yes. This drought is unfortunate, but word is we should see a break in the weather soon.”
Her ignorance was surprising. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d fought for every detail, every scrap of news in the Fleet.
“Lies.” He picked up the drawings on the table, aware she was watching him as he placed them into a neat pile. “Lies perpetuated by a desperate government to prevent unnecessary panic. There are no rains coming, Laura. Projections are we’ll lose ninety percent of what was planted.”
She nodded, accepting the news with barely a hitch of her eyebrows. “I assume there are contingencies.”
Anger flared. Somehow, it wasn’t enough for him that she was living in virtual squalor here, powerless and without title. He’d won; she’d lost. It was petty, he knew, but he had hoped to find her bitter or at least working to recover what had been taken from her. Instead he found the same even calm with which she’d met the end of the worlds. Even the way she sat gave her a regality that belied her spare surroundings.
“We’re doing everything we can to stockpile what we have, but it won’t be enough. Which brings me to why I’m here.” He continued to finger the pages on the table.
She sat back, her attention fixed on him, the haze of sleep gone from her eyes.
He dropped his voice. “The Sagittaron colony on the east ridge is completely self-sufficient. They’re providing only for themselves for the first time in generations. There’s pride growing there, Laura, a sense of worth that the people are coming to understand and enjoy.”
“I take it their crops aren’t failing.”
“That’s correct.”
A smile turned the corner of her mouth. She dropped her head, holding up both hands. “I’m sorry, I appreciate what you’re saying, I just don’t have much patience for speeches in the middle of the night.”
He nodded in concession, a smile tugging at his own lips, and decided to see how far under her skin he could get. “Now, the anti-Sagittaron sentiment is still strong. It won’t take much. When the gnawing in people’s bellies gets too strong, even the most vague rumor will be impossible to ignore. Hunger will feed hatred and some men will choose to have their dinner at the expense of a few hundred, less than worthy lives. The colony will not survive.”
She looked thoughtful. “And with those innocent people, the knowledge that saved their crops in the first place.”
He was taken aback by the contrast between the softness of Roslin’s appearance and her pragmatic response. “Yes.”
“What is the government doing?”
“People have already started talking. We’re not going to be able to keep a lid on this situation for much longer. What the colony needs is protection.”
“What about the civilian police force? What progress has been made on recruitment and training?”
He looked at her in blatant disbelief. He wasn’t sure whether she was toying with him, already having surmised his request, or whether she was truly ignorant. “You really haven’t been following, have you?”
Her features grew hard. “My responsibility lies with my students. The people made their choice, Tom.”
That doesn’t mean you cease to care, Laura. It doesn’t mean you don’t work to regain what you’ve lost.
He slid his hand into his pocket, rubbing small circles over the token there. “We’re months from that, but even if a police force were established, you and I both know that people aren’t in the habit of lifting a finger for Sagittaron.”
She frowned, but didn’t challenge him on his assertion. “So what have you been able to organize?”
“A few ex-prison guards. They’re trusted men, but it won’t be enough. We need military support.” His voice edged on pleading. He didn’t like the sound.
“We need? Will you be joining this effort, Tom?”
How dare you?
He’d taken his stand long ago, and he’d paid the price for it. He was duly elected, his position earned and more legitimate that hers ever was.
He let out a long breath before answering, realizing that if he were trying to get under her skin, it shouldn’t be surprising that she’d found a way under his. He decided to ignore her questions.
“Look, I know there are things you need. I’ve seen the heating requisition for the school, the supply requests. I can make these things happen, Laura, if you’ll intercede with the Admiral and get these people the protection they need.”
Whisper it across the pillow if you have to.
“And the people of the colony will agree to share their knowledge and what they can spare of their food reserves?”
“Absolutely.”
She nodded. “I’ll try, Tom. But you realize that anything that can be arranged must cross the table of the civilian government.”
“Leave that to me. Baltar’s administration might be terminally distracted, but Felix Gaeta is a good man. We’ll get it through. Just as certain requisitions will find their way to the top of the pile.”
She held out her hand to him. “I would appreciate anything you could do for the children here, but what you do for my school, you do for all the others.”
No obvious favours for you. Nicely played.
He took her hand and shook it firmly.
He didn’t let go.
***
Four months after the Groundbreaking ceremony
Zarek was pleasantly warm and inebriated. His shoulder parted the heavy tarp of the makeshift bar tent, and he slipped into the early morning darkness. It had become habit, since the rapid decline of the Baltar administration, to keep his head covered and his eyes open when he walked the hard packed dirt between the tents.
He didn’t know why he stopped. It might have been the flicker of a malfunctioning running light on the Pyxis, the ship’s bulk lying dormant on the other side of the street, or the movement it partially illuminated.
Her red hair was unmistakable, as was his bowlegged stance, his civilian clothes cutting a trimmer profile in the dark. The light flashed, illuminating a long, pale leg curled around his waist. His hand was under the red fabric of her skirt, pushing its hem up well past decency.
Zarek just stood there, sluggish from the alcohol and mesmerized by the rhythm of their movements, the quiet, yet obvious sexuality. Even when the light flickered off, his eyes tracked the faint outline of their forms. He felt a twinge in his own cock when, despite the din of music and voices from the bar, he heard Roslin gasp sharply.
“Tommy!” A hand clapped hard on his back, and he was almost knocked off his feet. Three more men poured out of the bar, laughing and jostling each other and him. “Frank here’s got a line on some easy pussy. You comin’?” The man burst into gales of laughter at his own joke.
Zarek shrugged them off, managing to express his regrets, though they were so drunk they’d likely forget about him by the time they’d reached the corner. He walked a few steps with them, making sure they moved off in the opposite direction from the amorous couple.
Not that Roslin or Adama would have cared. When he turned back, their movements had not ceased, if anything they had become more frantic, more heated. It was as if the entire colony didn’t exist.
***
It’s not enough to live for today, Laura.
Still clutching her hand, he took his mother’s knife from his pocket, letting his fingers run over the worn, ivory handle. Laura stiffened, her hand twisting in his grip when he reached to place the blade, still folded, on the crate beside her.
“You’re far too vulnerable here,” he began, not lifting his hand from the knife. “No one would say you haven’t earned your rest, your apathy, maybe even a military pity frak, but the truth is, Gaius Baltar will fail. The people won’t sit still for long, their children sick and starving. When the time comes, I know I’ll be ready. What about you?”
You’ll be naked and sweaty, taking it from a man who probably hasn’t seen pussy in years. You’ll go to school the next day believing that there’s nothing left to fight for.
Her eyes widened.
She put her hand over his, squeezing until his fingers wrapped around the handle, and met his eye. “I believe the Sagittaron colony does need help, and I believe you’d sacrifice all of them for your personal ambition. Do what you came here to do. Or not. Either way, everything changes between us.”
He leaned forward slowly. To her credit, she didn’t move. He set his cheek against hers, kissing it gently, before shifting and repeating the gesture on her other side. He enjoyed the feel of her body, tense against his, through her thin robe and gown.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to shave this morning,” he whispered against her skin. He was reluctant to pull away. The energy, the heat between them, even the anger was unexpectedly addictive. And familiar. In prison, you took what you wanted or you had nothing at all. He hated himself for some of the things he’d done to maintain the illusion of power, but after twenty years, it had become instinctual.
The civilian police were a sheet of paper under a stack on his desk. The government was composed of flunkies or those who now owed him favours. He could do whatever he wanted here without consequence.
His gaze fell to the thin strap of her nightgown. It wasn’t so much the idea of having her that excited him; it was the knowledge that he could, if he wanted to.
He hadn’t come for favours or political double talk; he’d come to remove his chief rival when she was most vulnerable, only to find out that, in choosing and building a life here, she’d done it for him.
He picked up the knife and placed it firmly in her other hand. “It was my mother’s. She never stopped fighting for what she believed in. She didn’t rest.”
You’re nothing like her at all.
She merely looked at him, and he ceased to see the woman in bedclothes, choosing instead an image from Kobol, her face drawn and angular, her hair wet.
Sacrifice today for the promise of tomorrow.
He wasn’t sure how he would explain it to the men who’d lost sleep this night providing him this opportunity, but there was momentum on this world that couldn’t be ignored. Organizational glitches, crop failures, starvation, disease-one might call it a hard existence, but Zarek wondered. The universe had a way of reducing itself to the simplest of common denominators. Perhaps they weren’t meant to be here at all. Despite his colony’s dependence on ancient ritual and belief, he was not a religious man. Yet he had seen Kobol, had stood at the threshold of Athena’s tomb with the woman who sat before him.
He didn’t have to believe in Laura Roslin, the prophet. He had only to put a chip down on Laura Roslin, the possibility.
After all, he had plenty more left to play. And he’d come to an unexpected realization.
He loved the smell of fear on her.
***
Fin.
Thank you for reading!
Pairing: Laura/Tom, Laura/Bill
Rating: M
Summary: Set just pre-Occupation, a late night encounter between Laura and Zarek.
Words: 2748
So much love and thanks to tjonesy, somadanne, and icedteainthebag for taking time out of their holidays to beta this. Christmas came for me when I met you guys. Thanks also to i_am_davnee for passing on the title.
Merry Christmas, sira01!
Her request was for: a fic, ficlet, drabble, graphic that is not an icon, vid for any of her favourite pairings (Laura/Lee, Laura/Bill, Laura/Tom, Laura/Cottle). Carte blanche like this tends to go dark on me, so I hope you enjoy sira01!
Revelations
Tom Zarek crouched just inside the small tent and secured the flap tightly. He heard footsteps on the dry, hard ground outside, trusted men walking in predetermined directions, covering his entry.
He turned when the night became quiet again and slipped his hands into his pockets. Light, even breathing filled the space. Blinking, his skin still stiff and cold, he waited for his eyes to adjust.
Fine bars of orange light, emitted by the heater near Laura’s head, defined the contours of her sleeping form. It clicked and hummed as it blew dry air over her face.
The tent smelled of smoke and whatever meager root vegetable she’d cooked for her last meal. The circulating warm air carried something slightly floral, something indefinably her, and he caught himself inhaling deeply.
Except for one chaste kiss on Colonial Day, he’d never been this close to Roslin, not even on Kobol. There, her tireless drive, her commitment to the mission, kept her apart from everyone but her young protector.
Being with her on that journey, he saw the type of woman his mother must have been. And he was proud.
His memories of his mother had always been more impressions than events. Soft features. Dark hair. He was five when she died protesting working conditions at a rally in the capital.
Don’t be afraid to sacrifice today for the promise of tomorrow, your life for the promise of others.
He’d never heard his mother say it. Only read it in a long banned book.
In the warmth of his pocket, he closed his hand around the only tangible piece of his mother’s life that he owned, a token given to him long ago by an uncle he hardly knew. He ran a thumb along the smooth, crafted ivory. It calmed him.
The cot squeaked when Laura shifted to her side.
He stood slowly and crossed to her, his knee brushing her hand where it dangled off the edge of the cot. He waited, but she didn’t wake. Watching her carefully, he sat in the lone chair near her bed.
Slightly yellowed papers sat on top of the table beside him, and he could now almost make out the colourful, vaguely human figures with which her students had filled the pages. One caught his attention. A tall figure with a riot of crayon-red hair held the circle that represented the hand of a small child. Though the young artist had drawn tears on the child’s face, his mouth was a tiny purple curve. A smile.
Looking about the tent, his gaze fell on an oversized military-style jacket, a small pile of books, a tiny box of loose tea bags-all the ways that people paid the ones who helped them, who cared for and educated their children.
You’ve done it. You’ve made a life here. Living for today.
He frowned, shaking his head to clear it and taking his hands from his pockets. He couldn’t afford to delay any longer.
“Laura?” His voice was surprisingly thick.
On his third try, she exhaled loudly, rolling to her back before sitting up. The nightgown was askew on her shoulders, revealing more of her chest than he knew she’d be comfortable with, but she made no move to right the material. A thin hand pushed unruly strands of hair from her face. When he leaned toward her, the old chair creaked noisily.
Her shoulders relaxed. “Gods, I thought you’d never-”
“It’s Tom.” Zarek smiled, holding up both hands when she sat fully upright, bringing the blanket with her. “Who were you expecting?”
She froze for a few seconds, peering into the dimness, before reaching for the small lamp on the crate beside her makeshift bed.
“I’d prefer you didn’t turn that on.”
“I’d prefer that you respect my privacy.” Her voice was firm, yet thick with sleep. She didn’t turn on the light.
“I’m sorry. If there were any other way to do this, I wouldn’t have woken you,” he said. It bothered him that his palms were sweaty, and he placed his hands on his knees.
Relax.
“Hand me my robe, please.” She extended her hand and he looked about, finally realizing that it hung on the back of his chair. He pulled it off, enjoying the rich softness of the expensive material and the brush of her fingers when he handed it to her.
She turned back her blankets. He sat captivated by the image she presented. Without her glasses, her features were soft, the lines more prominent on her face and in the corners of her eyes. Without the well-tailored suit, her bare arms were smooth and vaguely muscular, her hands delicate and feminine. He couldn’t help but notice the shadowed outline of her body, backlit by the heater, as she stood to don the robe.
Glancing around the space, she reluctantly sat back on the bed. Her eyes narrowed. “There wasn’t any other way to do what?”
At her clipped tone, he stopped staring. “You’ve noticed the market tables lately? The reduction in rations?”
He felt a pang of disappointment when she felt for her glasses. She unfolded them and put them on. “Yes. This drought is unfortunate, but word is we should see a break in the weather soon.”
Her ignorance was surprising. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d fought for every detail, every scrap of news in the Fleet.
“Lies.” He picked up the drawings on the table, aware she was watching him as he placed them into a neat pile. “Lies perpetuated by a desperate government to prevent unnecessary panic. There are no rains coming, Laura. Projections are we’ll lose ninety percent of what was planted.”
She nodded, accepting the news with barely a hitch of her eyebrows. “I assume there are contingencies.”
Anger flared. Somehow, it wasn’t enough for him that she was living in virtual squalor here, powerless and without title. He’d won; she’d lost. It was petty, he knew, but he had hoped to find her bitter or at least working to recover what had been taken from her. Instead he found the same even calm with which she’d met the end of the worlds. Even the way she sat gave her a regality that belied her spare surroundings.
“We’re doing everything we can to stockpile what we have, but it won’t be enough. Which brings me to why I’m here.” He continued to finger the pages on the table.
She sat back, her attention fixed on him, the haze of sleep gone from her eyes.
He dropped his voice. “The Sagittaron colony on the east ridge is completely self-sufficient. They’re providing only for themselves for the first time in generations. There’s pride growing there, Laura, a sense of worth that the people are coming to understand and enjoy.”
“I take it their crops aren’t failing.”
“That’s correct.”
A smile turned the corner of her mouth. She dropped her head, holding up both hands. “I’m sorry, I appreciate what you’re saying, I just don’t have much patience for speeches in the middle of the night.”
He nodded in concession, a smile tugging at his own lips, and decided to see how far under her skin he could get. “Now, the anti-Sagittaron sentiment is still strong. It won’t take much. When the gnawing in people’s bellies gets too strong, even the most vague rumor will be impossible to ignore. Hunger will feed hatred and some men will choose to have their dinner at the expense of a few hundred, less than worthy lives. The colony will not survive.”
She looked thoughtful. “And with those innocent people, the knowledge that saved their crops in the first place.”
He was taken aback by the contrast between the softness of Roslin’s appearance and her pragmatic response. “Yes.”
“What is the government doing?”
“People have already started talking. We’re not going to be able to keep a lid on this situation for much longer. What the colony needs is protection.”
“What about the civilian police force? What progress has been made on recruitment and training?”
He looked at her in blatant disbelief. He wasn’t sure whether she was toying with him, already having surmised his request, or whether she was truly ignorant. “You really haven’t been following, have you?”
Her features grew hard. “My responsibility lies with my students. The people made their choice, Tom.”
That doesn’t mean you cease to care, Laura. It doesn’t mean you don’t work to regain what you’ve lost.
He slid his hand into his pocket, rubbing small circles over the token there. “We’re months from that, but even if a police force were established, you and I both know that people aren’t in the habit of lifting a finger for Sagittaron.”
She frowned, but didn’t challenge him on his assertion. “So what have you been able to organize?”
“A few ex-prison guards. They’re trusted men, but it won’t be enough. We need military support.” His voice edged on pleading. He didn’t like the sound.
“We need? Will you be joining this effort, Tom?”
How dare you?
He’d taken his stand long ago, and he’d paid the price for it. He was duly elected, his position earned and more legitimate that hers ever was.
He let out a long breath before answering, realizing that if he were trying to get under her skin, it shouldn’t be surprising that she’d found a way under his. He decided to ignore her questions.
“Look, I know there are things you need. I’ve seen the heating requisition for the school, the supply requests. I can make these things happen, Laura, if you’ll intercede with the Admiral and get these people the protection they need.”
Whisper it across the pillow if you have to.
“And the people of the colony will agree to share their knowledge and what they can spare of their food reserves?”
“Absolutely.”
She nodded. “I’ll try, Tom. But you realize that anything that can be arranged must cross the table of the civilian government.”
“Leave that to me. Baltar’s administration might be terminally distracted, but Felix Gaeta is a good man. We’ll get it through. Just as certain requisitions will find their way to the top of the pile.”
She held out her hand to him. “I would appreciate anything you could do for the children here, but what you do for my school, you do for all the others.”
No obvious favours for you. Nicely played.
He took her hand and shook it firmly.
He didn’t let go.
***
Four months after the Groundbreaking ceremony
Zarek was pleasantly warm and inebriated. His shoulder parted the heavy tarp of the makeshift bar tent, and he slipped into the early morning darkness. It had become habit, since the rapid decline of the Baltar administration, to keep his head covered and his eyes open when he walked the hard packed dirt between the tents.
He didn’t know why he stopped. It might have been the flicker of a malfunctioning running light on the Pyxis, the ship’s bulk lying dormant on the other side of the street, or the movement it partially illuminated.
Her red hair was unmistakable, as was his bowlegged stance, his civilian clothes cutting a trimmer profile in the dark. The light flashed, illuminating a long, pale leg curled around his waist. His hand was under the red fabric of her skirt, pushing its hem up well past decency.
Zarek just stood there, sluggish from the alcohol and mesmerized by the rhythm of their movements, the quiet, yet obvious sexuality. Even when the light flickered off, his eyes tracked the faint outline of their forms. He felt a twinge in his own cock when, despite the din of music and voices from the bar, he heard Roslin gasp sharply.
“Tommy!” A hand clapped hard on his back, and he was almost knocked off his feet. Three more men poured out of the bar, laughing and jostling each other and him. “Frank here’s got a line on some easy pussy. You comin’?” The man burst into gales of laughter at his own joke.
Zarek shrugged them off, managing to express his regrets, though they were so drunk they’d likely forget about him by the time they’d reached the corner. He walked a few steps with them, making sure they moved off in the opposite direction from the amorous couple.
Not that Roslin or Adama would have cared. When he turned back, their movements had not ceased, if anything they had become more frantic, more heated. It was as if the entire colony didn’t exist.
***
It’s not enough to live for today, Laura.
Still clutching her hand, he took his mother’s knife from his pocket, letting his fingers run over the worn, ivory handle. Laura stiffened, her hand twisting in his grip when he reached to place the blade, still folded, on the crate beside her.
“You’re far too vulnerable here,” he began, not lifting his hand from the knife. “No one would say you haven’t earned your rest, your apathy, maybe even a military pity frak, but the truth is, Gaius Baltar will fail. The people won’t sit still for long, their children sick and starving. When the time comes, I know I’ll be ready. What about you?”
You’ll be naked and sweaty, taking it from a man who probably hasn’t seen pussy in years. You’ll go to school the next day believing that there’s nothing left to fight for.
Her eyes widened.
She put her hand over his, squeezing until his fingers wrapped around the handle, and met his eye. “I believe the Sagittaron colony does need help, and I believe you’d sacrifice all of them for your personal ambition. Do what you came here to do. Or not. Either way, everything changes between us.”
He leaned forward slowly. To her credit, she didn’t move. He set his cheek against hers, kissing it gently, before shifting and repeating the gesture on her other side. He enjoyed the feel of her body, tense against his, through her thin robe and gown.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to shave this morning,” he whispered against her skin. He was reluctant to pull away. The energy, the heat between them, even the anger was unexpectedly addictive. And familiar. In prison, you took what you wanted or you had nothing at all. He hated himself for some of the things he’d done to maintain the illusion of power, but after twenty years, it had become instinctual.
The civilian police were a sheet of paper under a stack on his desk. The government was composed of flunkies or those who now owed him favours. He could do whatever he wanted here without consequence.
His gaze fell to the thin strap of her nightgown. It wasn’t so much the idea of having her that excited him; it was the knowledge that he could, if he wanted to.
He hadn’t come for favours or political double talk; he’d come to remove his chief rival when she was most vulnerable, only to find out that, in choosing and building a life here, she’d done it for him.
He picked up the knife and placed it firmly in her other hand. “It was my mother’s. She never stopped fighting for what she believed in. She didn’t rest.”
You’re nothing like her at all.
She merely looked at him, and he ceased to see the woman in bedclothes, choosing instead an image from Kobol, her face drawn and angular, her hair wet.
Sacrifice today for the promise of tomorrow.
He wasn’t sure how he would explain it to the men who’d lost sleep this night providing him this opportunity, but there was momentum on this world that couldn’t be ignored. Organizational glitches, crop failures, starvation, disease-one might call it a hard existence, but Zarek wondered. The universe had a way of reducing itself to the simplest of common denominators. Perhaps they weren’t meant to be here at all. Despite his colony’s dependence on ancient ritual and belief, he was not a religious man. Yet he had seen Kobol, had stood at the threshold of Athena’s tomb with the woman who sat before him.
He didn’t have to believe in Laura Roslin, the prophet. He had only to put a chip down on Laura Roslin, the possibility.
After all, he had plenty more left to play. And he’d come to an unexpected realization.
He loved the smell of fear on her.
***
Fin.
Thank you for reading!