Battlestar Galactica - Admiral Atheist & the Dying Leader
Title: Admiral Atheist & the Dying Leader
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica and its characters do not belong to me, and they never will.
Prompt: #3 This Cancels Out the Hurt
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 4,435
Spoilers: Only up to 4x02. Takes place directly after the scene in episode 4x02 'Six of One'.
Summary: They apologise without words, because she doesn’t back down and he can’t articulate what he feels.
--
As she heard him disappear into the head, she slowly took off her glasses and let the pain wash over her. Tears slid down her cheeks, as though she’d been holding them back her whole life and they’d finally broken free. Thinking back on it, maybe she had. Maybe it was all she needed. It didn’t matter because it was happening and she couldn’t stop it. She covered her face with her hands and let it all go.
Everything hurt. The cancer ate at her insides, and she was having a hard time stopping it from attacking her soul. Her head was pounding and the last thing she wanted to do was massage her scalp, lest her fingers work more hairs free. Most of all there was a strong ache in her chest, and it definitely wasn’t the cancer. She could feel the slow rhythm of her heart, each beat more painful than the last.
So she cried, alone in a room that had quite suddenly turned cold. With each beat in her chest she could hear that dreaded clock ticking, the one that haunted even the most pleasant dreams. Always the slow and steady tick - and she would wait for the chime. Fearing it and, sometimes, pleading for it. That long drawn out chime once they’d gone full circle, and that would be it. She would wake up in a cold sweat, and be grateful that he was on the couch and not beside her. Because it would only be so much worse if she tried to explain it to him. Neither of them wanted her to die, but she hid behind the words of Pythia. He had no escape except to deny the truth, while she spent all her energy on finding the road to Earth.
It was her destiny.
But when all was said and done, Laura Roslin was dying. It didn’t matter what was written in the scriptures, because the only person who really mattered didn’t believe in those words. There was no explanation for her death. There was no greater meaning. She was dying, plain and simple, yet she made it so much more complex - effectively hurting him more than she ever meant to.
--
He staggered past the rack, unbuttoning the rest of his jacket with every intention of hanging it up before he headed for the shower. But as he unclasped the last button he stopped. Everything that had just happened seemed to catch up with his inebriated mind. His shoulders sagged and a sharp breath escaped his lips, as though he’d just been punched in the stomach. Forcing himself to breathe, he continued into the head and pulled the door shut.
In the mirror his reflection stared back at him, almost as if waiting for something. Ignoring the look he saw in his own eyes, he bent down and washed his face in an attempt to sober up. His mind ran through the things they’d said to each other, though each line was followed by him mentally cursing himself. It hadn’t been long since her last treatment that afternoon, and he’d fought with her.
'But it felt good to say it…' As the words drifted through his mind, he let out a low growl and slammed his fist into the mirror. “Frak,” He hissed, pulling away and holding his hand against his chest. For a moment, as the adrenaline pumped through his system, he was grateful that he had simply cracked the mirror and not shattered the damn thing. As the pain suddenly broke out in his knuckles, he cringed and moved forward again to run them under the still running water. Gently he washed away the small streaks of blood, watching as they disappeared so easily. He dried off his hand and opened the door to step back into the room.
All was quiet and, for a moment, he wondered if she’d left. Pulling off his jacket he began to move across the room to check, only to stop when he heard the soft sounds of her crying. 'What have you done?' He took another step forward, stopping when he saw her still seated exactly where he’d left her. Her small frame shaking slightly as she fell apart before his very eyes. Not sure what to do, he took a few steps back and sat heavily on the edge of the rack.
With his head in his hands he listened to that heartbreaking sound, knowing he caused it. A few drinks to avoid the truth, to avoid the mess he was in, and he’d broken her. He’d taken the one thing she’d managed to hold on to, from before the attacks, and ripped it to shreds in front of her. He had learnt early on just how much her beliefs meant to her. Belief was very much a part of who she was, and it was not for him to question.
--
As the tears subsided, and her breathing regulated, she knew she had to say something. It was all her fault. She was the one who commented on his drinking, goaded him with her remarks about his agnosticism. Over the previous nights he had chosen to drink she’d left him alone, and on those nights he did nothing but sit there and mull over those things that had led to the first glass. But then she stepped in. She’d started an argument with him when he was in no condition to hold back.
When all was said and done, she wondered if that’s what she had wanted. She’d pushed them into that position, because she wanted to hear him say it and stop pretending that she was going to survive all over again. He couldn’t save her this time, yet he acted as if he would. Or, at least, someone would. She needed to hear him talk about it, and she knew it was going to sting. Bill Adama always chose the perfect words to do exactly as intended, using a certain finesse that was unexpected by all but those who truly knew him. There was no denying his flawless articulation had been her undoing, in more ways than one.
Standing slowly, she wiped those few stray tears from her cheeks. Quietly she moved towards the head, only to stop suddenly when she found him sitting on his rack. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the image of a broken man. Taking a deep breath she took those last few steps towards him until she was only one step away. But as much as wanted to reach out and touch him, they couldn’t just forget what had been said.
“I’m dying…” She choked on the words as she stood over him, flinching at the way it had come out.
At the sound of those horrid words from her beautiful voice, he paused. Slowly he lifted his head to meet her eyes, taking in the sight of her tear stained cheeks. There was nothing to say. The last thing he wanted to do was start another argument. He wasn’t heartless, he’d heard her crying and it killed him to think he’d caused it. Yet there she was, standing above him and speaking those two simple words. His head was spinning, and as he looked up at her he was amazed at how the light made her look like an apparition.
When it became apparent he wasn’t going to say anything, she took a deep breath and tried to go on. If he stopped her, she feared, it would never be said. “The truth of the matter is,” She spoke slowly, trying to stay calm. “I am dying and it’s going to be painful… for both of us.”
“You’re the Dying Leader,” He replied, his tone a little more gruff than he would have liked. “Chosen by the Gods to lead the Colonies to Earth, isn’t that how it goes Laura?”
Just as she had attacked his atheism, he attacked her belief. But that wasn’t what it was all about. It wasn’t what they were about. “Right now there are no Gods,” She told him hoarsely, stepping that little bit closer to him and desperately trying to find the strength to continue. A steady stream of tears traced the older stains on her cheeks. She was desperate to reach out and touch him, but not sure if she should. Instead she stood there, alone. “There are no Gods, no Prophets, no damn prophecies, and certainly there are no destinies. Right now it’s just you and me, and I’m dying. My hair’s starting to fall out, and you don’t know who or what you should entrust your heart to any more. But here I am Bill. You smell of alcohol and it’s making me sick to my stomach, but I’m here…” She breathed in a deep, and shaky, breath as she viciously tried to wipe away her tears. It was all too hard, too hard to hold together at that moment. The tears fell and the words flowed, causing her heart to cry out in pain. “It’s not because I’m afraid of dying alone, it’s because I’m afraid of living without you. Maybe I am being selfish. I would give anything to just have everything back to the way it was with Kara but I don’t want to see you lose her again. Not when Lee’s gone. Not when I’m dying. I worry about who would pick up the pieces if you did have her back just to lose her…” Her words died as she closed her eyes and let herself truly fall to pieces in front of him. The pain was too much to even try and keep up her trouble-free charade.
There she stood before him, the essence of vulnerability, trying to salvage the wreckage that was their relationship. They were all alone without each other, and he couldn’t do that to her. “Laura…” Her name fell from his lips as he stood slowly, his hands moving beneath hers to gently brush away her tears.
“That’s me. I am Laura Roslin, and I am dying…” She whispered, relishing the feel of his hands resting against her jaw. Her hands moved to hold his in place, unwilling to give up the comfort they provided. Opening her eyes she forced herself to look into his, to allow him to see her pain and in turn witness his. “It’s you and me, alone in this together. Right now there’s no higher power, just a woman who is scared of dying and a man she desperately wants to spend every last second with…”
He stared into her eyes, knowing what he wanted to do but unsure if he should. Without thinking he turned his attention to her hair, and he heard her breathe in sharply as she noticed. Locking eyes with her once more he let his hands slowly slide up into her hair, his thumbs gently massaging her temple. Careful not to upset her more, he slid one hand free and gently ran his fingers over her hair instead of through it. As he reached the ends his hand moved back to her cheek and he pressed a lingering kiss against her hairline.
Once again she closed her eyes, trying to memorise every feeling pulsating through her body in that moment. Sooner or later it would all be over, and he would have to go on without her. He was a great man and she was going to destroy him. But just as he wouldn’t be able to live without her, she couldn’t go on without him. They were one. After years of heartache, they were as they should have been from the beginning.
Tracing the contours of her face, he noticed her tears were beginning to fall again. Nothing pained him more than to see her cry. If he had to stay by her side and catch every tiny droplet, he would. Just to let her know he was there. Softly he kissed her tear stained cheeks, desperate to take away her pain.
As she felt his lips brush against the tip of her nose she slowly opened her eyes and stared straight into his. His crystal blue eyes expressed so much more than his demeanour would ever allow. The pain she saw there made her realise that she couldn’t stop him from hurting when she finally left. Whether she was with him or barred him from her life, he was still going to fall apart without her. Sliding her hands up his chest she bridged the gap between them, kissing him slowly but with a passion neither of them could comprehend. “I don’t want to leave you,” She whispered against his lips, hers hands coming to rest over his heart. As the silence engulfed them she focused on the steady beat she could feel beneath her cold hands.
“Then stay Laura,” The typically gruff tone in his voice gave way as he softly pleaded with her. It was too hard to speak when all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shed the tears he’d managed to hold back, until that moment. “Stay with me…”
Gently she moved her hand up to caress his cheek, brushing away his tears just as he had done for her. Then ever so slowly her hands dropped to the hem of her blouse and began a steady climb, undoing each button. Not once looking away from the pure emotion in his eyes. She was unable, and unwilling, to break eye contact with him even for a moment. An anxious breath escaped as the final button was released. Letting her blouse fall to the floor, she shivered slightly as the cold of the ship caressed her bare skin.
He wanted to make her stop, she needed to be protected from the cold and he was tempted to wrap her up in a blanket. But her hands resting against the waistband of his trousers made him freeze. He wasn’t sure if they should, a million thoughts ran through his mind on why they shouldn’t. But then there was the look in her eyes, the look that begged him to forget it all. After all, she was just Laura Roslin and he was just Bill Adama. There were no Prophecies playing with their lives tonight, no illness tearing at their hearts, they were simply together. With that thought in mind he let his hands slide slowly down her arms, feeling the cold on her skin. Their eyes still locked, he pulled his tanks away from her fingers and deftly pulled them up over his head.
The brief panic she’d felt as she lost sight of his eyes subsided the moment his tanks had been removed. Those brilliant blue eyes stared back at her once more, letting her drown in the emotion they so clearly revealed to her. Her hands slid up his bare chest, lightly tracing the white scar that would forever linger there. A cruel reminder of how easily their lives could be taken away. It was important that they learned from their past, and continued to move forward each day. Take new steps and try new things. She smiled slightly and pressed another soft kiss to his lips, closing her eyes and drawing out the tender touch as her hands dropped once again. As their lips began to part, her fingers worked carefully to unfasten her pants and let them drop to the floor.
Breaking the contact between them, he took a small step back and silently removed the rest of his uniform as she slid her underwear down her legs. He watched her closely, simply content to wait until she was ready to make contact again. But as her hands moved behind her back to unclasp her bra, he stopped her.
For a moment she was scared that he’d changed his mind. Or worse, he was trying to keep a physical barrier himself and the cancer. In which case she had been right all along, her disease would keep them from ever truly being together. She had made a mistake.
Noticing the panic flare up in her emerald eyes, he closed the gap between them once again. Carefully his fingers pushed her bra strap off her shoulder, and he pressed a velvety kiss against the freckles he found there. He followed her soft skin down to the curve of her breast, only stopping to leave a similar trail from the other shoulder. His hands slid up her sides and onto her back, where hers still sat frozen against the clasp of her bra. Their fingers intertwined, warm dancing alongside cold, and suddenly the task was complete. Bringing her hands back to her sides, he let his own trail back up her arms to remove the last piece of material from her delicate figure.
Taking a moment to let it happen, another stray tear slipped down her cheek. She pushed forward, kissing him deeply as he lowered them onto the rack. Desire eluded them as their intimate dance began, content to let their hands explore while their lips refused to part. It wasn’t a pent up yearning that had led them to this moment. There was no need. There was nothing else in the universe but their two souls becoming one, leading each other through the darkness of their days. Embracing their fears and connecting with their strengths.
His hand caressed her cheek as her slender fingers threaded through his hair, their bodies beginning to create a steady motion. Their free hands met, fingers entwined, hidden between them where her stomach arched away from his. As she pulled back he breathed her name, watching the darkness forming in her eyes and the soft smile start to show on her lips. He let his hand fall from her cheek and run smoothly down her body, resting against her hip as he slowly entered her.
As their bodies connected, she closed her eyes and let her head roll back as a low moan erupted from her throat. She exhaled slowly as she adjusted to the sensation. Opening her eyes again, she lay back down against him. Her fingers ran though his hair as she searched his eyes, unsure of what she was looking for if anything. Taking the time to stare deep into his soul, to really see him as he stared back at her and savour the moment. They were one. Two halves forming one perfect entity, and nothing would ever change that. She’d never believed in soul mates before, but it there was no other way to explain their relationship. Her lips found his once more, capturing his breath with hers as she began to move her hips.
Their movement was slow and steady, like the tears that had tainted her cheeks. He allowed his body to submit to the overwhelming sensations that flowed through his veins, sensations that defied all reason. Their tongues dancing in the heat of their combined breath, her breasts pressing against his chest as they moved together, and their hands still firmly clasped between them for fear of letting go. His free hand returned to her cheek, fingers sliding up and cautiously slipping into her hair.
She broke their kiss to lean into his touch. For a brief moment everything seemed to stop as she felt the direction his fingers had taken. She watched him, looking at his fingers as they caressed the auburn strands. Her first instinct, to make him stop, was pushed to one side as she felt his thumb gently massage her temple. There was plenty of time left to wallow in the sadness of her illness, but perhaps not enough time for him to play with those dark red curls that he seemed to adore. And she’d always loved the sensation of someone playing with her hair.
With his fingers gently kneading her head and sinking into her silky hair, he looked into her eyes. She was watching him, and he was content to just stare back at her. Their slow and steady rhythm continued. He wasn’t sure if his fingers were matching the motion of her hips, or if her hips had adjusted to soft movement of his fingers. It was almost as if every move they made was perfectly choreographed, an intricate dance. With her it always came back to dancing, a constant association in his mind.
She could feel her muscles beginning to tense, her hand clenching his as they pushed each other to the very edge. A low moan, more resembling a cat-like purr, escaped her lips as she rocked her pelvis harder. She pressed her forehead against his, fingers sliding behind his neck and into his hair, and she suppressed a giggle as their noses touched. Eskimo kisses had always made her giggle. They reminded her of her childhood. Moving slightly, she pressed a kiss against the end of his nose and smiled brightly as she noticed the amused look in his eyes. One day she would tell him why she loved Eskimo kisses. She would tell him any and every little detail she could think of. Because this time - until the very moment the clock chimed - they were going to live a lifetime together.
He thrust up harder, driving them both towards the release they desperately needed. The tension building as they moved silently in the dim light of their rack. Hot breath expelled against flushed cheeks, hands sliding through hair and across heat-kissed skin, as they tried to take in every inch of each other. The two perfectly hidden hands tightened their hold on each other. They brought everything they had to the surface, sacrificing it all on the sacred altar that defined everything they were and everything they would be. Two hearts beating in time, flooding every feeling and emotion through their veins. Anger and sadness intertwined, released with their tension, leaving an untainted path flowing with the sweetest devotion.
Movement stilled.
With their eyes closed, they felt the persistent rhythm of their hearts beating furiously between them. She focused on his heavy breath against her jaw, as she tried to calm her own. As everything began to settle she carefully slid into the small gap between his body and the wall, not letting her body break contact with his for a moment. Their clasped hands moved to rest above his heart and she lay there staring at them. They hadn’t let go once, and she doubted he would. If he could have his way then he would probably hold her hand every moment, of every day, until her days ended - until the very last words of their final book. For a moment she wished they’d met when they were younger, if only so they could spend days together just holding hands. A single act of commitment she had always loved. She needed that. The Dying Leader needed him to hold her hand, because she was scared of dying without him by her side.
Lights filtered through the darkness from the other room and he was temped to get up and turn them all off. But darkness was not their friend. In fact, it would only allow them to question their reality. Was she really curled up against him, or was she still crying at her desk? No, she was there. He could see her, and feel her warm breath against his chest. The last thing they needed was more darkness in their lives. He pressed a kiss against her forehead as his free hand moved slowly up and down her back, letting his fingers trace the curve of her spine beneath her silky skin. Every now and then he could feel a flicker of pain as the skin around his injured knuckles stretched, and he was glad she hadn’t seen what he’d done - yet. He’d broken the mirror. It would be hard for her to not notice that fact. Somewhere in the back of his mind his Grandmother’s voice reminded him it was seven years bad luck. But at that moment he didn’t care. A lifetime of bad luck was nothing compared to a life without the woman lying next to him. In fact he would welcome bad luck in her absence. Nothing should go right if she wasn’t there. Nothing should, yet he knew it didn’t work like that. With that thought he gently squeezed her hand, relishing the feeling of her fingers entwined with his. He didn’t want to let go. Let go of what they had, what they could have, and what they would ultimately lose in the end. He wanted to hold her hand when no one was watching, and even some time when they were. Admiral Atheist needed to hold her hand, because he was scared of the moment when he no longer could.
Their silence continued as he moved to pull the blanket up over them, mostly her, and even if they knew what to say in that moment they wouldn’t be able to find the words to express it. But words were not needed, and never had been, between them. Lying there together they had apologised without words, because she doesn’t back down and he can’t articulate what he feels. Yet it’s not because there’s a breakdown in communication, or their relationship, even though the rumour mill has been ripe with speculation. They ask for forgiveness by putting themselves in such a vulnerable state, showing that they need each other more than words could ever say. He knew that was how it worked for her, and she knew it was easier for him. Actions spoke louder than words, and always would, for two leaders that connected with their very souls.
She tries to move closer to him, if that’s even possible, and she can feel his arm hold her tighter. He doesn’t want to let go of her and she knows that. Those words he had uttered, his voice pleading, lingered in her mind. To stay with him forever would be the most magnificent of dreams. To spend eternity feeling their hearts beat in time and lying in his arms under a sea of stars, who could ask for anything more? If she could have it all her way she would never leave his side for a moment.
Pressing one last kiss against his chest, allowing one last tear to slide down her cheek, she whispered the words that her heart refused to say for so long.
“I will always be with you.”
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica and its characters do not belong to me, and they never will.
Prompt: #3 This Cancels Out the Hurt
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 4,435
Spoilers: Only up to 4x02. Takes place directly after the scene in episode 4x02 'Six of One'.
Summary: They apologise without words, because she doesn’t back down and he can’t articulate what he feels.
--
As she heard him disappear into the head, she slowly took off her glasses and let the pain wash over her. Tears slid down her cheeks, as though she’d been holding them back her whole life and they’d finally broken free. Thinking back on it, maybe she had. Maybe it was all she needed. It didn’t matter because it was happening and she couldn’t stop it. She covered her face with her hands and let it all go.
Everything hurt. The cancer ate at her insides, and she was having a hard time stopping it from attacking her soul. Her head was pounding and the last thing she wanted to do was massage her scalp, lest her fingers work more hairs free. Most of all there was a strong ache in her chest, and it definitely wasn’t the cancer. She could feel the slow rhythm of her heart, each beat more painful than the last.
So she cried, alone in a room that had quite suddenly turned cold. With each beat in her chest she could hear that dreaded clock ticking, the one that haunted even the most pleasant dreams. Always the slow and steady tick - and she would wait for the chime. Fearing it and, sometimes, pleading for it. That long drawn out chime once they’d gone full circle, and that would be it. She would wake up in a cold sweat, and be grateful that he was on the couch and not beside her. Because it would only be so much worse if she tried to explain it to him. Neither of them wanted her to die, but she hid behind the words of Pythia. He had no escape except to deny the truth, while she spent all her energy on finding the road to Earth.
It was her destiny.
But when all was said and done, Laura Roslin was dying. It didn’t matter what was written in the scriptures, because the only person who really mattered didn’t believe in those words. There was no explanation for her death. There was no greater meaning. She was dying, plain and simple, yet she made it so much more complex - effectively hurting him more than she ever meant to.
--
He staggered past the rack, unbuttoning the rest of his jacket with every intention of hanging it up before he headed for the shower. But as he unclasped the last button he stopped. Everything that had just happened seemed to catch up with his inebriated mind. His shoulders sagged and a sharp breath escaped his lips, as though he’d just been punched in the stomach. Forcing himself to breathe, he continued into the head and pulled the door shut.
In the mirror his reflection stared back at him, almost as if waiting for something. Ignoring the look he saw in his own eyes, he bent down and washed his face in an attempt to sober up. His mind ran through the things they’d said to each other, though each line was followed by him mentally cursing himself. It hadn’t been long since her last treatment that afternoon, and he’d fought with her.
'But it felt good to say it…' As the words drifted through his mind, he let out a low growl and slammed his fist into the mirror. “Frak,” He hissed, pulling away and holding his hand against his chest. For a moment, as the adrenaline pumped through his system, he was grateful that he had simply cracked the mirror and not shattered the damn thing. As the pain suddenly broke out in his knuckles, he cringed and moved forward again to run them under the still running water. Gently he washed away the small streaks of blood, watching as they disappeared so easily. He dried off his hand and opened the door to step back into the room.
All was quiet and, for a moment, he wondered if she’d left. Pulling off his jacket he began to move across the room to check, only to stop when he heard the soft sounds of her crying. 'What have you done?' He took another step forward, stopping when he saw her still seated exactly where he’d left her. Her small frame shaking slightly as she fell apart before his very eyes. Not sure what to do, he took a few steps back and sat heavily on the edge of the rack.
With his head in his hands he listened to that heartbreaking sound, knowing he caused it. A few drinks to avoid the truth, to avoid the mess he was in, and he’d broken her. He’d taken the one thing she’d managed to hold on to, from before the attacks, and ripped it to shreds in front of her. He had learnt early on just how much her beliefs meant to her. Belief was very much a part of who she was, and it was not for him to question.
--
As the tears subsided, and her breathing regulated, she knew she had to say something. It was all her fault. She was the one who commented on his drinking, goaded him with her remarks about his agnosticism. Over the previous nights he had chosen to drink she’d left him alone, and on those nights he did nothing but sit there and mull over those things that had led to the first glass. But then she stepped in. She’d started an argument with him when he was in no condition to hold back.
When all was said and done, she wondered if that’s what she had wanted. She’d pushed them into that position, because she wanted to hear him say it and stop pretending that she was going to survive all over again. He couldn’t save her this time, yet he acted as if he would. Or, at least, someone would. She needed to hear him talk about it, and she knew it was going to sting. Bill Adama always chose the perfect words to do exactly as intended, using a certain finesse that was unexpected by all but those who truly knew him. There was no denying his flawless articulation had been her undoing, in more ways than one.
Standing slowly, she wiped those few stray tears from her cheeks. Quietly she moved towards the head, only to stop suddenly when she found him sitting on his rack. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the image of a broken man. Taking a deep breath she took those last few steps towards him until she was only one step away. But as much as wanted to reach out and touch him, they couldn’t just forget what had been said.
“I’m dying…” She choked on the words as she stood over him, flinching at the way it had come out.
At the sound of those horrid words from her beautiful voice, he paused. Slowly he lifted his head to meet her eyes, taking in the sight of her tear stained cheeks. There was nothing to say. The last thing he wanted to do was start another argument. He wasn’t heartless, he’d heard her crying and it killed him to think he’d caused it. Yet there she was, standing above him and speaking those two simple words. His head was spinning, and as he looked up at her he was amazed at how the light made her look like an apparition.
When it became apparent he wasn’t going to say anything, she took a deep breath and tried to go on. If he stopped her, she feared, it would never be said. “The truth of the matter is,” She spoke slowly, trying to stay calm. “I am dying and it’s going to be painful… for both of us.”
“You’re the Dying Leader,” He replied, his tone a little more gruff than he would have liked. “Chosen by the Gods to lead the Colonies to Earth, isn’t that how it goes Laura?”
Just as she had attacked his atheism, he attacked her belief. But that wasn’t what it was all about. It wasn’t what they were about. “Right now there are no Gods,” She told him hoarsely, stepping that little bit closer to him and desperately trying to find the strength to continue. A steady stream of tears traced the older stains on her cheeks. She was desperate to reach out and touch him, but not sure if she should. Instead she stood there, alone. “There are no Gods, no Prophets, no damn prophecies, and certainly there are no destinies. Right now it’s just you and me, and I’m dying. My hair’s starting to fall out, and you don’t know who or what you should entrust your heart to any more. But here I am Bill. You smell of alcohol and it’s making me sick to my stomach, but I’m here…” She breathed in a deep, and shaky, breath as she viciously tried to wipe away her tears. It was all too hard, too hard to hold together at that moment. The tears fell and the words flowed, causing her heart to cry out in pain. “It’s not because I’m afraid of dying alone, it’s because I’m afraid of living without you. Maybe I am being selfish. I would give anything to just have everything back to the way it was with Kara but I don’t want to see you lose her again. Not when Lee’s gone. Not when I’m dying. I worry about who would pick up the pieces if you did have her back just to lose her…” Her words died as she closed her eyes and let herself truly fall to pieces in front of him. The pain was too much to even try and keep up her trouble-free charade.
There she stood before him, the essence of vulnerability, trying to salvage the wreckage that was their relationship. They were all alone without each other, and he couldn’t do that to her. “Laura…” Her name fell from his lips as he stood slowly, his hands moving beneath hers to gently brush away her tears.
“That’s me. I am Laura Roslin, and I am dying…” She whispered, relishing the feel of his hands resting against her jaw. Her hands moved to hold his in place, unwilling to give up the comfort they provided. Opening her eyes she forced herself to look into his, to allow him to see her pain and in turn witness his. “It’s you and me, alone in this together. Right now there’s no higher power, just a woman who is scared of dying and a man she desperately wants to spend every last second with…”
He stared into her eyes, knowing what he wanted to do but unsure if he should. Without thinking he turned his attention to her hair, and he heard her breathe in sharply as she noticed. Locking eyes with her once more he let his hands slowly slide up into her hair, his thumbs gently massaging her temple. Careful not to upset her more, he slid one hand free and gently ran his fingers over her hair instead of through it. As he reached the ends his hand moved back to her cheek and he pressed a lingering kiss against her hairline.
Once again she closed her eyes, trying to memorise every feeling pulsating through her body in that moment. Sooner or later it would all be over, and he would have to go on without her. He was a great man and she was going to destroy him. But just as he wouldn’t be able to live without her, she couldn’t go on without him. They were one. After years of heartache, they were as they should have been from the beginning.
Tracing the contours of her face, he noticed her tears were beginning to fall again. Nothing pained him more than to see her cry. If he had to stay by her side and catch every tiny droplet, he would. Just to let her know he was there. Softly he kissed her tear stained cheeks, desperate to take away her pain.
As she felt his lips brush against the tip of her nose she slowly opened her eyes and stared straight into his. His crystal blue eyes expressed so much more than his demeanour would ever allow. The pain she saw there made her realise that she couldn’t stop him from hurting when she finally left. Whether she was with him or barred him from her life, he was still going to fall apart without her. Sliding her hands up his chest she bridged the gap between them, kissing him slowly but with a passion neither of them could comprehend. “I don’t want to leave you,” She whispered against his lips, hers hands coming to rest over his heart. As the silence engulfed them she focused on the steady beat she could feel beneath her cold hands.
“Then stay Laura,” The typically gruff tone in his voice gave way as he softly pleaded with her. It was too hard to speak when all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shed the tears he’d managed to hold back, until that moment. “Stay with me…”
Gently she moved her hand up to caress his cheek, brushing away his tears just as he had done for her. Then ever so slowly her hands dropped to the hem of her blouse and began a steady climb, undoing each button. Not once looking away from the pure emotion in his eyes. She was unable, and unwilling, to break eye contact with him even for a moment. An anxious breath escaped as the final button was released. Letting her blouse fall to the floor, she shivered slightly as the cold of the ship caressed her bare skin.
He wanted to make her stop, she needed to be protected from the cold and he was tempted to wrap her up in a blanket. But her hands resting against the waistband of his trousers made him freeze. He wasn’t sure if they should, a million thoughts ran through his mind on why they shouldn’t. But then there was the look in her eyes, the look that begged him to forget it all. After all, she was just Laura Roslin and he was just Bill Adama. There were no Prophecies playing with their lives tonight, no illness tearing at their hearts, they were simply together. With that thought in mind he let his hands slide slowly down her arms, feeling the cold on her skin. Their eyes still locked, he pulled his tanks away from her fingers and deftly pulled them up over his head.
The brief panic she’d felt as she lost sight of his eyes subsided the moment his tanks had been removed. Those brilliant blue eyes stared back at her once more, letting her drown in the emotion they so clearly revealed to her. Her hands slid up his bare chest, lightly tracing the white scar that would forever linger there. A cruel reminder of how easily their lives could be taken away. It was important that they learned from their past, and continued to move forward each day. Take new steps and try new things. She smiled slightly and pressed another soft kiss to his lips, closing her eyes and drawing out the tender touch as her hands dropped once again. As their lips began to part, her fingers worked carefully to unfasten her pants and let them drop to the floor.
Breaking the contact between them, he took a small step back and silently removed the rest of his uniform as she slid her underwear down her legs. He watched her closely, simply content to wait until she was ready to make contact again. But as her hands moved behind her back to unclasp her bra, he stopped her.
For a moment she was scared that he’d changed his mind. Or worse, he was trying to keep a physical barrier himself and the cancer. In which case she had been right all along, her disease would keep them from ever truly being together. She had made a mistake.
Noticing the panic flare up in her emerald eyes, he closed the gap between them once again. Carefully his fingers pushed her bra strap off her shoulder, and he pressed a velvety kiss against the freckles he found there. He followed her soft skin down to the curve of her breast, only stopping to leave a similar trail from the other shoulder. His hands slid up her sides and onto her back, where hers still sat frozen against the clasp of her bra. Their fingers intertwined, warm dancing alongside cold, and suddenly the task was complete. Bringing her hands back to her sides, he let his own trail back up her arms to remove the last piece of material from her delicate figure.
Taking a moment to let it happen, another stray tear slipped down her cheek. She pushed forward, kissing him deeply as he lowered them onto the rack. Desire eluded them as their intimate dance began, content to let their hands explore while their lips refused to part. It wasn’t a pent up yearning that had led them to this moment. There was no need. There was nothing else in the universe but their two souls becoming one, leading each other through the darkness of their days. Embracing their fears and connecting with their strengths.
His hand caressed her cheek as her slender fingers threaded through his hair, their bodies beginning to create a steady motion. Their free hands met, fingers entwined, hidden between them where her stomach arched away from his. As she pulled back he breathed her name, watching the darkness forming in her eyes and the soft smile start to show on her lips. He let his hand fall from her cheek and run smoothly down her body, resting against her hip as he slowly entered her.
As their bodies connected, she closed her eyes and let her head roll back as a low moan erupted from her throat. She exhaled slowly as she adjusted to the sensation. Opening her eyes again, she lay back down against him. Her fingers ran though his hair as she searched his eyes, unsure of what she was looking for if anything. Taking the time to stare deep into his soul, to really see him as he stared back at her and savour the moment. They were one. Two halves forming one perfect entity, and nothing would ever change that. She’d never believed in soul mates before, but it there was no other way to explain their relationship. Her lips found his once more, capturing his breath with hers as she began to move her hips.
Their movement was slow and steady, like the tears that had tainted her cheeks. He allowed his body to submit to the overwhelming sensations that flowed through his veins, sensations that defied all reason. Their tongues dancing in the heat of their combined breath, her breasts pressing against his chest as they moved together, and their hands still firmly clasped between them for fear of letting go. His free hand returned to her cheek, fingers sliding up and cautiously slipping into her hair.
She broke their kiss to lean into his touch. For a brief moment everything seemed to stop as she felt the direction his fingers had taken. She watched him, looking at his fingers as they caressed the auburn strands. Her first instinct, to make him stop, was pushed to one side as she felt his thumb gently massage her temple. There was plenty of time left to wallow in the sadness of her illness, but perhaps not enough time for him to play with those dark red curls that he seemed to adore. And she’d always loved the sensation of someone playing with her hair.
With his fingers gently kneading her head and sinking into her silky hair, he looked into her eyes. She was watching him, and he was content to just stare back at her. Their slow and steady rhythm continued. He wasn’t sure if his fingers were matching the motion of her hips, or if her hips had adjusted to soft movement of his fingers. It was almost as if every move they made was perfectly choreographed, an intricate dance. With her it always came back to dancing, a constant association in his mind.
She could feel her muscles beginning to tense, her hand clenching his as they pushed each other to the very edge. A low moan, more resembling a cat-like purr, escaped her lips as she rocked her pelvis harder. She pressed her forehead against his, fingers sliding behind his neck and into his hair, and she suppressed a giggle as their noses touched. Eskimo kisses had always made her giggle. They reminded her of her childhood. Moving slightly, she pressed a kiss against the end of his nose and smiled brightly as she noticed the amused look in his eyes. One day she would tell him why she loved Eskimo kisses. She would tell him any and every little detail she could think of. Because this time - until the very moment the clock chimed - they were going to live a lifetime together.
He thrust up harder, driving them both towards the release they desperately needed. The tension building as they moved silently in the dim light of their rack. Hot breath expelled against flushed cheeks, hands sliding through hair and across heat-kissed skin, as they tried to take in every inch of each other. The two perfectly hidden hands tightened their hold on each other. They brought everything they had to the surface, sacrificing it all on the sacred altar that defined everything they were and everything they would be. Two hearts beating in time, flooding every feeling and emotion through their veins. Anger and sadness intertwined, released with their tension, leaving an untainted path flowing with the sweetest devotion.
Movement stilled.
With their eyes closed, they felt the persistent rhythm of their hearts beating furiously between them. She focused on his heavy breath against her jaw, as she tried to calm her own. As everything began to settle she carefully slid into the small gap between his body and the wall, not letting her body break contact with his for a moment. Their clasped hands moved to rest above his heart and she lay there staring at them. They hadn’t let go once, and she doubted he would. If he could have his way then he would probably hold her hand every moment, of every day, until her days ended - until the very last words of their final book. For a moment she wished they’d met when they were younger, if only so they could spend days together just holding hands. A single act of commitment she had always loved. She needed that. The Dying Leader needed him to hold her hand, because she was scared of dying without him by her side.
Lights filtered through the darkness from the other room and he was temped to get up and turn them all off. But darkness was not their friend. In fact, it would only allow them to question their reality. Was she really curled up against him, or was she still crying at her desk? No, she was there. He could see her, and feel her warm breath against his chest. The last thing they needed was more darkness in their lives. He pressed a kiss against her forehead as his free hand moved slowly up and down her back, letting his fingers trace the curve of her spine beneath her silky skin. Every now and then he could feel a flicker of pain as the skin around his injured knuckles stretched, and he was glad she hadn’t seen what he’d done - yet. He’d broken the mirror. It would be hard for her to not notice that fact. Somewhere in the back of his mind his Grandmother’s voice reminded him it was seven years bad luck. But at that moment he didn’t care. A lifetime of bad luck was nothing compared to a life without the woman lying next to him. In fact he would welcome bad luck in her absence. Nothing should go right if she wasn’t there. Nothing should, yet he knew it didn’t work like that. With that thought he gently squeezed her hand, relishing the feeling of her fingers entwined with his. He didn’t want to let go. Let go of what they had, what they could have, and what they would ultimately lose in the end. He wanted to hold her hand when no one was watching, and even some time when they were. Admiral Atheist needed to hold her hand, because he was scared of the moment when he no longer could.
Their silence continued as he moved to pull the blanket up over them, mostly her, and even if they knew what to say in that moment they wouldn’t be able to find the words to express it. But words were not needed, and never had been, between them. Lying there together they had apologised without words, because she doesn’t back down and he can’t articulate what he feels. Yet it’s not because there’s a breakdown in communication, or their relationship, even though the rumour mill has been ripe with speculation. They ask for forgiveness by putting themselves in such a vulnerable state, showing that they need each other more than words could ever say. He knew that was how it worked for her, and she knew it was easier for him. Actions spoke louder than words, and always would, for two leaders that connected with their very souls.
She tries to move closer to him, if that’s even possible, and she can feel his arm hold her tighter. He doesn’t want to let go of her and she knows that. Those words he had uttered, his voice pleading, lingered in her mind. To stay with him forever would be the most magnificent of dreams. To spend eternity feeling their hearts beat in time and lying in his arms under a sea of stars, who could ask for anything more? If she could have it all her way she would never leave his side for a moment.
Pressing one last kiss against his chest, allowing one last tear to slide down her cheek, she whispered the words that her heart refused to say for so long.
“I will always be with you.”