Fanfic: Reflections (Laura/Bill, 1/1)
Title: Reflections
Author: larsfarm77
Pairing/Characters: Laura/Bill
Rating: T
Word Count: 1520
Summary: a twist on The Oath/Blood on the Scales, written for the Month of Love celebrations at adama_roslin, prompt 'history'.
A/N: For wishflsinfl, for taking up the challenge of "angstifying" each other's prompts.
Lots of love and thanks to somadanne for finding time to beta this story. If you notice that a section really should have had some colons, that is MY FAULT entirely for not liking the look of them.
Expectation. Duty. Guilt. Responsibility. The failure of Earth and its aftermath had burned off layer after layer, leaving Laura more exposed, raw and uncertain, seated amidst the ashes of beliefs she had clung to so tightly.
She’d become so detached, so comfortable in that large space, with its warm leathers and woods, with him, that the mutiny seemed to come from nowhere, hitting with enough force to bloody her nose.
***
The room smelled of Raptor fuel, exhaust, and air so stale his eyes watered, but Laura’s lips were soft, her body warm under his hands. He marvelled at how the combination of this ship and this woman had become so comfortable and right, almost without his noticing. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts through her suit, and he took some of her weight, keeping her balance.
He could feel the pounding of her heart. It reminded him that this might be the last time he would ever hear or feel it, the last time he’d kiss her like this, so soon after the first.
If Gaeta and Zarek had any balls, the Marines following them had one directive. A single concussion grenade in the enclosed space of the airlock would end anyone trying to defend the Raptor’s departure.
Her tongue glided softly over his. She swallowed his slight groan and he savoured her taste and feel, not really caring that he was getting so lost in her in front of essentially what was left of his family.
He remembered his son’s words.
She still staying in your quarters?
Now Lee would know the answer.
Yes.
I’m sleeping with her.
I love her.
That’s how it is.
He didn’t like the feeling that everything could end here for him, and no one would remember what she really meant to him, because no one knew.
They broke the kiss, but he couldn’t quite give up the feel of her, his lips brushing her neck, synthetic strands of her hair tickling his cheek.
She talked to him as he held her, relaxed against him but for the pounding of her heart.
He was going to make a last stand here, something that would likely be remembered as somewhere between bravery and suicide, but he knew it was perhaps the most cowardly decision of his life.
As he held her hands and tried to remember every small line on her face, he felt a sense of calm come over him. This was Laura as he would last see her: beautiful and strong, her taste still on his lips. He wouldn’t have to lose her slowly, a piece at a time, as her cancer took her.
He would go first.
“Admiral. Madame President.” Tyrol’s voice was urgent.
The hatch began to lower and the calm he’d found evaporated with a single thought.
He was leaving her to die alone.
***
Love someone.
Elosha’s words to her had sounded so simple, obvious even.
They had only led her to expose a badly scarred heart.
***
President Laura Roslin stood on the rebel baseship as if it were Colonial One. The energy of desperation arced along her nerves. Staring into the neutral faces of the Cylons, she began to play every card, take up every mantle she’d ever worn.
For the Sixes, vulnerability, the shared pain of having to leave someone you love behind. For the Twos, the otherworldly presence of a prophet, a chance at a brush with God. For the Eights, loyalty, memories of a man who’d loved one of them as a daughter, who maybe, just maybe, still did.
And then there was Tory. Her aide had never been able to say no to her, had always bent at the slightest application of force. There were too many stolen glances, too many favours done unasked; Tory had always wanted something more. She had been the same machine then as now, even if neither of them had known. Tory, Laura knew, she could go straight through.
The baseship would remain in the Fleet.
***
“This is the President of the Twelve Colonies.” Zarek’s voice echoed through the nerve center of the Cylon vessel, dripping with pleasure and over-confidence in a victory neither earned nor his. Every muscle in her body tensed and she reached out, placing a hand against the cold metal conduit in front of her, her fingers, eerily backlit in orange, barely brushing the water that flowed through.
And then there was only early morning sunshine. The cool feel of marble under bare feet.
Are you Laura Roslin?
“It’s over Laura.”
I am.
“Saul Tigh was killed while attempting to escape.”
We need to speak with you. May we come inside?
“Bill Adama was tried and found guilty of his crimes.”
We’re so sorry. We have to inform you that there’s been a terrible accident late last night.
“A firing squad executed him this morning.”
Your father and your sisters were all killed.
“It’s done, Laura.”
We weren’t able to verify the identity of the bodies until a few hours ago. The driver of the other vehicle is in stable condition, and preliminary tests indicate he was intoxicated when he sideswiped the car with your father and your sisters.
“You have to think of the people of this Fleet now, and surrender.”
Thank you.
Then there was nothing left of the sunshine, no cool spray of water to layer feeling over numbness, only the harsh flicker of blue and red, the sequentially perfect, untouchable, droplets that rained down around her. And there was only rage.
“No. Not now. Not ever. I will use every bomb, every cannon, every weapon I have down to my own eye teeth to end you. Do you hear me? I’m coming for all of you!”
Please show yourselves out.
Or I will.
***
“Galactica, this is President Laura Roslin. Surrender.”
The Cylons had no DRADIS screens, no viewports, but she could still see Galactica. How many restless nights since the Exodus had she counted the rents and scars on its back? It wouldn’t take that much to bring her down.
Just like you.
Static crackled on the wireless, then a burst of sound. Her hands were both braced on the console now, her knuckles thin and colourless.
“Madame President, this is the Admiral. Stand down. I repeat, stand down.”
She closed her eyes.
“Bill …”
His next words were nothing more than a set of instructions, but Laura could feel the muscles in her neck relaxing, her shoulders slowly dropping, her fingers tingling as blood returned to them. And with feeling came an impression of her surroundings. As alien and artificial as it seemed, the baseship radiated life, from the hybrid at its heart to the organic matter that blended so seamlessly with every mechanical aspect of its design. It was breathing. She realized that she was too, for what felt like the first time since she’d arrived.
You’re alive.
In the end, it was Tory who held her up.
***
Her hands were sweaty, her knuckles white where she clenched the ladder as she eased herself down. The combined twist of fear and desperation had begun to ease, and it no longer felt like she could breathe deeply enough, her limbs shaky and uncoordinated, like a spent runner finishing a marathon in the dead of night, long after everyone had gone home.
She turned, leaning briefly back against the ladder to steady herself, and looked down the causeway.
Her mind was tired, foggy, thoughts slipping randomly over one another, putting the facts together in all the wrong ways.
It was New Caprica, and she was half naked on a concrete floor, her mind providing her the one image she most desperately wanted to see.
It was Kobol, and she was so numb she couldn’t feel the damp of the rain, the chamalla trading a distorted vision for dulling the edges of her pain.
It was Caprica, and the silk sheets were cool against her skin, a slight ache in her head the morning after the baby shower. A sharp rap. And here a man in uniform, bleached a non-descript blue by the sunlight, visible though the glass adjacent to the door.
Are you Laura Roslin?
She pulled off her glasses, rubbing a hand over her face, lost.
It was his warmth she registered first, as he stood close to her, then the faint smell of sweat, blood, the cleaning solvent on his uniform, the engine grease that seemed to permeate even his hair. When she looked at him, he smiled, let her run her hand through his hair, along his textured cheek. His face was blurry, his skin soft and warm, the wool of his uniform worn and scratchy.
On New Caprica, they had been too painful. On Kobol, there hadn’t been time, only purpose. And on Caprica, despite the open wounds that had developed on her heart, they wouldn’t come.
Now her tears soaked into his uniform.
***
Love someone.
Elosha’s words to her had sounded so simple, obvious even.
You came into my heart.
You filled it.
It felt good.
***
Fin.
Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who has made MOL so great so far!
Author: larsfarm77
Pairing/Characters: Laura/Bill
Rating: T
Word Count: 1520
Summary: a twist on The Oath/Blood on the Scales, written for the Month of Love celebrations at adama_roslin, prompt 'history'.
A/N: For wishflsinfl, for taking up the challenge of "angstifying" each other's prompts.
Lots of love and thanks to somadanne for finding time to beta this story. If you notice that a section really should have had some colons, that is MY FAULT entirely for not liking the look of them.
Expectation. Duty. Guilt. Responsibility. The failure of Earth and its aftermath had burned off layer after layer, leaving Laura more exposed, raw and uncertain, seated amidst the ashes of beliefs she had clung to so tightly.
She’d become so detached, so comfortable in that large space, with its warm leathers and woods, with him, that the mutiny seemed to come from nowhere, hitting with enough force to bloody her nose.
***
The room smelled of Raptor fuel, exhaust, and air so stale his eyes watered, but Laura’s lips were soft, her body warm under his hands. He marvelled at how the combination of this ship and this woman had become so comfortable and right, almost without his noticing. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts through her suit, and he took some of her weight, keeping her balance.
He could feel the pounding of her heart. It reminded him that this might be the last time he would ever hear or feel it, the last time he’d kiss her like this, so soon after the first.
If Gaeta and Zarek had any balls, the Marines following them had one directive. A single concussion grenade in the enclosed space of the airlock would end anyone trying to defend the Raptor’s departure.
Her tongue glided softly over his. She swallowed his slight groan and he savoured her taste and feel, not really caring that he was getting so lost in her in front of essentially what was left of his family.
He remembered his son’s words.
She still staying in your quarters?
Now Lee would know the answer.
Yes.
I’m sleeping with her.
I love her.
That’s how it is.
He didn’t like the feeling that everything could end here for him, and no one would remember what she really meant to him, because no one knew.
They broke the kiss, but he couldn’t quite give up the feel of her, his lips brushing her neck, synthetic strands of her hair tickling his cheek.
She talked to him as he held her, relaxed against him but for the pounding of her heart.
He was going to make a last stand here, something that would likely be remembered as somewhere between bravery and suicide, but he knew it was perhaps the most cowardly decision of his life.
As he held her hands and tried to remember every small line on her face, he felt a sense of calm come over him. This was Laura as he would last see her: beautiful and strong, her taste still on his lips. He wouldn’t have to lose her slowly, a piece at a time, as her cancer took her.
He would go first.
“Admiral. Madame President.” Tyrol’s voice was urgent.
The hatch began to lower and the calm he’d found evaporated with a single thought.
He was leaving her to die alone.
***
Love someone.
Elosha’s words to her had sounded so simple, obvious even.
They had only led her to expose a badly scarred heart.
***
President Laura Roslin stood on the rebel baseship as if it were Colonial One. The energy of desperation arced along her nerves. Staring into the neutral faces of the Cylons, she began to play every card, take up every mantle she’d ever worn.
For the Sixes, vulnerability, the shared pain of having to leave someone you love behind. For the Twos, the otherworldly presence of a prophet, a chance at a brush with God. For the Eights, loyalty, memories of a man who’d loved one of them as a daughter, who maybe, just maybe, still did.
And then there was Tory. Her aide had never been able to say no to her, had always bent at the slightest application of force. There were too many stolen glances, too many favours done unasked; Tory had always wanted something more. She had been the same machine then as now, even if neither of them had known. Tory, Laura knew, she could go straight through.
The baseship would remain in the Fleet.
***
“This is the President of the Twelve Colonies.” Zarek’s voice echoed through the nerve center of the Cylon vessel, dripping with pleasure and over-confidence in a victory neither earned nor his. Every muscle in her body tensed and she reached out, placing a hand against the cold metal conduit in front of her, her fingers, eerily backlit in orange, barely brushing the water that flowed through.
And then there was only early morning sunshine. The cool feel of marble under bare feet.
Are you Laura Roslin?
“It’s over Laura.”
I am.
“Saul Tigh was killed while attempting to escape.”
We need to speak with you. May we come inside?
“Bill Adama was tried and found guilty of his crimes.”
We’re so sorry. We have to inform you that there’s been a terrible accident late last night.
“A firing squad executed him this morning.”
Your father and your sisters were all killed.
“It’s done, Laura.”
We weren’t able to verify the identity of the bodies until a few hours ago. The driver of the other vehicle is in stable condition, and preliminary tests indicate he was intoxicated when he sideswiped the car with your father and your sisters.
“You have to think of the people of this Fleet now, and surrender.”
Thank you.
Then there was nothing left of the sunshine, no cool spray of water to layer feeling over numbness, only the harsh flicker of blue and red, the sequentially perfect, untouchable, droplets that rained down around her. And there was only rage.
“No. Not now. Not ever. I will use every bomb, every cannon, every weapon I have down to my own eye teeth to end you. Do you hear me? I’m coming for all of you!”
Please show yourselves out.
Or I will.
***
“Galactica, this is President Laura Roslin. Surrender.”
The Cylons had no DRADIS screens, no viewports, but she could still see Galactica. How many restless nights since the Exodus had she counted the rents and scars on its back? It wouldn’t take that much to bring her down.
Just like you.
Static crackled on the wireless, then a burst of sound. Her hands were both braced on the console now, her knuckles thin and colourless.
“Madame President, this is the Admiral. Stand down. I repeat, stand down.”
She closed her eyes.
“Bill …”
His next words were nothing more than a set of instructions, but Laura could feel the muscles in her neck relaxing, her shoulders slowly dropping, her fingers tingling as blood returned to them. And with feeling came an impression of her surroundings. As alien and artificial as it seemed, the baseship radiated life, from the hybrid at its heart to the organic matter that blended so seamlessly with every mechanical aspect of its design. It was breathing. She realized that she was too, for what felt like the first time since she’d arrived.
You’re alive.
In the end, it was Tory who held her up.
***
Her hands were sweaty, her knuckles white where she clenched the ladder as she eased herself down. The combined twist of fear and desperation had begun to ease, and it no longer felt like she could breathe deeply enough, her limbs shaky and uncoordinated, like a spent runner finishing a marathon in the dead of night, long after everyone had gone home.
She turned, leaning briefly back against the ladder to steady herself, and looked down the causeway.
Her mind was tired, foggy, thoughts slipping randomly over one another, putting the facts together in all the wrong ways.
It was New Caprica, and she was half naked on a concrete floor, her mind providing her the one image she most desperately wanted to see.
It was Kobol, and she was so numb she couldn’t feel the damp of the rain, the chamalla trading a distorted vision for dulling the edges of her pain.
It was Caprica, and the silk sheets were cool against her skin, a slight ache in her head the morning after the baby shower. A sharp rap. And here a man in uniform, bleached a non-descript blue by the sunlight, visible though the glass adjacent to the door.
Are you Laura Roslin?
She pulled off her glasses, rubbing a hand over her face, lost.
It was his warmth she registered first, as he stood close to her, then the faint smell of sweat, blood, the cleaning solvent on his uniform, the engine grease that seemed to permeate even his hair. When she looked at him, he smiled, let her run her hand through his hair, along his textured cheek. His face was blurry, his skin soft and warm, the wool of his uniform worn and scratchy.
On New Caprica, they had been too painful. On Kobol, there hadn’t been time, only purpose. And on Caprica, despite the open wounds that had developed on her heart, they wouldn’t come.
Now her tears soaked into his uniform.
***
Love someone.
Elosha’s words to her had sounded so simple, obvious even.
You came into my heart.
You filled it.
It felt good.
***
Fin.
Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who has made MOL so great so far!