Two Roads Diverged : Chapter 3
Title: Two Roads Diverged (3/10)
Author: icedteainthebag
Word Count: 34,420
Rating: MA
Pairings: Ellen Tigh/Saul Tigh, Laura Roslin/Bill Adama
Warnings: None, just some sexin'
Summary: Sometimes we make mistakes when we think we're doing the right thing.
Notes: See Chapter One, thank you to my frakking awesome betas.
Artist: MrsDrJackson
Link to Art: banner can be found here.
x x x x
A month later
It had taken Laura a long time after she set foot on New Caprica to get used to not living under lock and key. There were no Marines stationed outside her door. Tents had flaps, not hatches, and some nights she'd lie awake waiting for someone to enter. She laughably kept a large stick right under her cot, one she'd found in the hills on a hike one day, just in case an intruder invaded her makeshift sanctuary.
It was lonely in this cot in the middle of "tent city." She'd thought she was lonely up on Colonial One with nothing to look at but the stars surrounding them, but stars were beginning to seem more appealing than canvas walls. She would bury herself under several Fleet-issue blankets-more layers, more protection-and breathe in the chilled night air, staring off into the darkness of the cramped space she tried to call her home.
At times when sleep was hard to come by, she'd imagine Bill walking into her tent. How surprising that would be. She knew better-he couldn't just drop by like it was a casual afternoon visit, on some sort of day pass from Galactica to visit her for a few hours. Not anymore.
But sometimes she let herself think about it.
She shifted onto her back in the cot and sighed, closing her eyes. Her fingers played along the waistband of her pants, the softest of touches. She always slept fully clothed when she was alone. She felt safer that way, and more importantly, it kept her warm on the nights she could see her breath's fog in the air.
Before the occupation, she and Bill would always find themselves back in her tent, no matter where they started out. They both knew why they'd ended up there together. She tried to overcome the feeling that it was forbidden-she was no longer President, just a civvie, he’d tell her when he teased her about her formality. But there was still an air of restraint in the way they conducted themselves in public. It felt right that way.
Inside her tent, though, that was different. As soon as the tent flaps closed, their mouths would meet in a frantic kiss. His large, soft hands would glide up the inside of her sweater as his mouth covered hers and gods, that first, beautiful moment in which they let their guard down was always the sweetest relief.
In her cot alone, she slipped her hand into her pants and cupped herself, biting her lip as she thought about the suck of his mouth on her neck, the rub of his thumbs over her nipples, his hardness against her thigh. He would growl in her ear that he'd been waiting for weeks just to touch her body all night long.
She felt a warm flush across her chest merely thinking about the vibration of his voice on her skin.
Undressing him was a guilty pleasure, plucking at the buttons, pulling at his tanks until he was exposed to her. She would run her hands along the muscled curves of his chest and arms until she heard the softest of moans from his throat. Then she would undo his pants and press her palm along his cock, hot and hard through the fabric, and he would hold close and kiss her, his hand tangled in her hair.
She'd pull him down on the cot it would be his fingers, no, his tongue, gliding through her wetness. The slow, methodical rhythm he always started with would make her moan into the darkness until, quickly, he shed all inhibitions and began lapping at her roughly, his hands clutching at her hips.
He felt so good, from his tongue to the brush of his mustache across her skin to his thick fingers gliding into her, two at first until she begged him for more, harder, faster.
She slid two fingers inside herself, her palm grinding her most sensitive spot, no substitute for the touch of his mouth. She panted, her hips responding instinctively to the movement of her hand.
She wanted to pull him close with her heels, lock her legs around his neck, make him lick her until she came, writhing, her back twisted and a strangled cry trapped behind her bitten lips.
Returning the favor, she'd rise on all fours and eye the expanse of his body as he lay upon her cot. Sliding his length into her mouth just to hear that low groan of his sent a sizzle up her spine. She would suck him deep, watching his expression, hearing his encouragements and touching herself at the same time. Sometimes she'd come again that way, whimpering around his cock in her mouth, her fingers swirling herself into ecstasy.
Laura's fingers switched position, circling more quickly, ready for some sort of resolution. It felt good, so good, and the thoughts running through her head made her body twinge in anticipation.
It's been so long since I let myself feel this…
She'd climb over his body, straddle him, grab his cock firmly and take him inside her-a moan escaped her, alone on her cot, as she thought of his thickness filling her completely. His hands would grip her ass, the sound and sensation of their bodies meeting over and over making her shiver.
Laura felt the cold night air against her face as she pressed harder, so close to the elusive peak she was desperately seeking. She shuddered as her fingers slid across her clit, circling faster, her flesh warm and soft to her touch.
Come on, come on, come on…
He'd come buried inside her and she'd arch her back and growl his name through her teeth, trying to stay quiet, so happy to be with him, so completely sated.
But he isn't here.
She cried out in frustration, louder than she expected, and clamped her mouth shut. Her breathing was ragged as she pulled her hand from between her legs. The strain of trying to hold back her tears ached in her throat and eyes.
We may have given them an earful, he once told her afterward as they lay spent across each other.
All she wanted was to cry without being heard.
All she wanted was to feel something good.
She bit her lip, her chest shaking, until the taste of iron tainted her tongue. She steadied her breathing and stared at the ceiling.
x x x x
It was a bright, sunny day when Saul went to the pyramid game and never came home.
It grew darker, a blood-red sunset on the horizon, and Ellen started to panic. He knew better than to leave her alone for this long, to worry her like this.
She hoped he'd passed out drinking. But she was certain, if that were the case, that somebody would have hauled his stumbling ass home.
She waited and nobody came.
Night settled upon the camp. She sat at the simple wooden table inside their tent. Saul had built it, as rickety as it was, and she fondly recalled how he was so proud to present it to her that day. It was all she could do to keep herself from frakking him right there on it, but she was afraid it'd break.
She traced the grain of the surface with her chipped fingernails, nervously tapping her feet.
The wail of the siren startled her, sending her stomach sinking. He had to come home now, or he'd be arrested, or worse, for violating curfew.
She waited, tracing the grain, over and over, grooves smooth under her fingers.
She peered out of the tent when the moons were high in the sky. She rubbed her eyes, exhausted, and closed the flaps, tying them firmly together.
She began to pace, cursing under her breath. When that didn't miraculously produce her husband, she started grabbing everything she could find and throwing it at the ground. Cups, his comb, his clothes, their books, angrier with every throw.
"Frakker," she growled. "You stupid, stupid frakker."
It was easier to get angry than to be afraid. She'd learned this long ago. She tossed his extra pair of boots out of the tent, crossed her arms over her chest, and took a deep breath.
She convinced herself he was coming home. When he did, she would scream at him, hit his chest, and then kiss him as hard as she could. She could hear his chuckle already.
Easier to be angry.
She settled into their cot with a deep sigh. She lay awake, the smell of him on the sheets, and pulled his pillow tightly to her chest.
x x x x
Ellen woke up with a start to a loud clatter outside their tent. She was shivering, the night air having left her skin clammy and damp. There was a chill about this place that settled into her bones every morning no matter how many blankets she used.
He hadn't come home.
She pulled on her boots and her coat and exited the tent, nearly tripping over Saul's discarded boots. Picking them up with more care than she wanted to admit, she set them just inside the tent flap and tied it closed.
Then she made her way to Galen's tent-they were drinking buddies and often went to the games together and got sloshed.
"Galen," she called hesitantly from outside the tent. There was no way to knock, and she hated that she had to announce her arrival like that. It seemed so impolite.
There was a grumbling inside the tent. "Yeah?"
"Don't you ever get a frakkin' break?" She heard Cally hiss.
"It's Ellen," Ellen said, her nerves bundled in her stomach. "Listen…I'm looking for Saul."
She heard a rustling inside the tent and backed away. Galen nudged open the tent flaps and she saw he was clad in his underclothes. She felt awful for interrupting them so early in the morning, Galen and his little family. "I'm sorry, it's just…did you go to the game with Saul yesterday afternoon?"
"He was there," Galen said, squinting his eyes slightly at the rising sun. "He left early, said something about wanting to get home because the game was frakkin' pathetic."
Ellen felt her chest tighten. "He didn't come home, Galen."
Galen stared at her, then cocked his head. "He never made it home?"
Ellen blinked away the threat of tears. "No, he didn't. He left for that game and he hasn't been home since."
She could see the hint of fear developing on Galen's face-he was never one who was able to contain his emotions. She'd heard it from Saul all the time, even saw it in Galen herself sometimes at the games or at the union rallies.
Galen was afraid, though the realization seemed to be hitting him slowly. His brow furrowed.
"Maybe he passed out somewhere. Ellen, your old man's a drunk-"
"Tell me something I don't know," she spat back. "But it's been what, eighteen hours since the game? I highly doubt Saul's been lying in a ditch that long."
Galen took a deep breath and Ellen looked down at her feet. "Damn it. I'm sorry, Galen. I'm just worried sick. You know why."
Because I can't live without him.
The thought jarred her.
"Yeah," he said. He ran his hand through his hair. "I know why."
Galen looked back into the tent, then into Ellen's eyes. She felt a mixture of guilt and satisfaction and smiled thankfully at him.
"Listen I'll…I'll get a few guys together and we'll go out looking for him. If that frakkin' husband of yours is passed out with a bottle in hand somewhere, we'll give you the first kick of his ass."
She laughed, pulling her hair behind her ear. "Okay."
x x x x
People had set up farms almost immediately upon colonization, as if rooting plants in the ground would root their bodies and spirits just as easily. Everybody was so desperate for something real to eat. The land wasn't the best, and what plants grew weren't very productive. But Laura remembered the first fresh tomato she'd eaten in a year. Its skin slick on her teeth, it had burst in her mouth and she'd remembered, for an instant, what life, real life, was like.
The market was the most public place on New Caprica. It had been the place all Colonists frequented at least once per day to get food and supplies. After the occupation, the market was still crowded, but bustling with humans and Cylons alike. Laura knew this made it the prime target for both Cylon patrols and resistance activity-if arrests were made, or alternately, if Cylons were attacked, all of these things would be done in the presence of civilians in the most public arena possible, to either instill fear or hope into the populace.
Her heartbeat had always raced when she went there, nightmarish possibilities running through her head. She heard the stories, knew some of them were true-increasingly, people "of interest" were plucked up like apples from a basket, then tossed into a cell to rot, if they were lucky.
Laura had started to avoid the market entirely after Saul disappeared, only venturing out of her tent to teach at the school. She had Tory or Maya pick up her necessities-they'd volunteered. She'd never have asked them to do it for her. It was a miserable existence, this self-imposed exile from society, but she'd convinced herself it was better not to tempt fate.
She was journaling when she heard a rustling outside of her tent and felt her stomach sink.
"Hello?" she called tentatively.
Don't let this be it. Please, don't let this be it.
"Laura?"
It was Ellen's voice. Laura let all of her breath out at once.
"My gods, you scared the frak out of me," she said, standing up. "Come in."
Ellen entered the tent and paused just inside, flashing Laura an apologetic smile. "I just thought I'd check in on you. Must be terribly lonely spending all your time by yourself. When you're not at the school, that is."
It was lonely, but she wasn't about to tell Ellen that.
"Any news on Saul?" Laura asked.
Ellen's reaction was immediate, her face falling slightly. Laura bit the inside of her lip and berated herself for being so glib about his disappearance.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it."
"Why? It's nice that you care."
Laura tilted her head at Ellen's biting tone. "I do. Saul is Bill's best friend, Ellen, and your husband, and of course I'm concerned about his welfare."
Ellen kept her gaze. "Any word from Bill?"
The words stung her. Touché, Ellen.
"No," Laura said after a moment to collect herself. "No word from Bill." Laura adjusted her sweater and rolled her shoulders back. "I'm sure they're busy implementing an evacuation plan."
Ellen raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure."
She didn't sound so sure. Laura took a deep breath to try and relieve some of the tension she felt building. She beckoned to her table and chairs. "Have a seat. I can run and get us some water, see if I have something to put into it somewhere around here." She smiled, embarrassed by her inability to host a guest. "It won't be much, but it'll be something."
"Oh, it's all right," Ellen said absently. "I was just checking on you. And Bill."
Laura hummed, nodding. They stood in front of each other for an awkward moment, during which Laura wished she could read minds.
"It's best Bill jumped," Laura said.
Where did that come from?
Ellen's look was questioning. "Why do you say that?"
Laura faltered for a moment. "I…I don't know, I've been trying to convince myself of it. And I don't want people thinking he abandoned anyone." She picked up her pen and tapped her journal, her nerves fraying. "He didn't abandon anybody."
Laura didn't know why she said it-she hadn't voiced her opinion to anyone else before, hadn't even really weighed these statements in her own mind. For some reason, she felt the need to justify his actions to Ellen. But Ellen's face, as her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, led her to believe she'd erred.
"I just wonder who's really looking after all of us down here," Ellen said with a shrug. "The Fleet jumped away and well, come on, Laura. They left us here to die."
What the-
Laura felt a surge of anger. "No. You know Bill better than that, Ellen."
"Well, who's looking after us, then? Saul used to, but he certainly isn't able to do that anymore. At least, not right now."
"Oh, please," Laura said, growing more irritated. "You can't blame Bill's split-second military decisions for Saul's disappearance."
"I can pretty much blame anything I want to, since I don't even know what the frak happened," Ellen said, her voice rising in pitch. "Because the honest truth is, if the Cylons did take Saul, they should've taken Bill instead, Laura. It should be Bill in that detention center, not Saul."
"Ellen." Laura immediately felt sick to her stomach.
"Think about it."
She's angry, with nobody to blame, so she's acting out on those she can trust.
"I've thought about it a lot. The entire thing. I don't have any answers for you. What's done is done."
"Isn't that the truth," Ellen snapped back, her jaw set. "No point in even thinking about it, really. Maybe Bill's alive, maybe he's dead. Maybe Saul's alive, maybe he's dead too. What's done is done."
Laura watched Ellen as she turned and started out of the tent. She hesitated with her hand on the flap. "We'll all die here, you know."
"Get out."
Ellen looked back at her. Laura crossed her arms, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Get out."
She watched Ellen leave and bit her quivering lip.
Nobody is dead. Everyone's alive, and he's coming back, godsdamn it.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
Author: icedteainthebag
Word Count: 34,420
Rating: MA
Pairings: Ellen Tigh/Saul Tigh, Laura Roslin/Bill Adama
Warnings: None, just some sexin'
Summary: Sometimes we make mistakes when we think we're doing the right thing.
Notes: See Chapter One, thank you to my frakking awesome betas.
Artist: MrsDrJackson
Link to Art: banner can be found here.
x x x x
A month later
It had taken Laura a long time after she set foot on New Caprica to get used to not living under lock and key. There were no Marines stationed outside her door. Tents had flaps, not hatches, and some nights she'd lie awake waiting for someone to enter. She laughably kept a large stick right under her cot, one she'd found in the hills on a hike one day, just in case an intruder invaded her makeshift sanctuary.
It was lonely in this cot in the middle of "tent city." She'd thought she was lonely up on Colonial One with nothing to look at but the stars surrounding them, but stars were beginning to seem more appealing than canvas walls. She would bury herself under several Fleet-issue blankets-more layers, more protection-and breathe in the chilled night air, staring off into the darkness of the cramped space she tried to call her home.
At times when sleep was hard to come by, she'd imagine Bill walking into her tent. How surprising that would be. She knew better-he couldn't just drop by like it was a casual afternoon visit, on some sort of day pass from Galactica to visit her for a few hours. Not anymore.
But sometimes she let herself think about it.
She shifted onto her back in the cot and sighed, closing her eyes. Her fingers played along the waistband of her pants, the softest of touches. She always slept fully clothed when she was alone. She felt safer that way, and more importantly, it kept her warm on the nights she could see her breath's fog in the air.
Before the occupation, she and Bill would always find themselves back in her tent, no matter where they started out. They both knew why they'd ended up there together. She tried to overcome the feeling that it was forbidden-she was no longer President, just a civvie, he’d tell her when he teased her about her formality. But there was still an air of restraint in the way they conducted themselves in public. It felt right that way.
Inside her tent, though, that was different. As soon as the tent flaps closed, their mouths would meet in a frantic kiss. His large, soft hands would glide up the inside of her sweater as his mouth covered hers and gods, that first, beautiful moment in which they let their guard down was always the sweetest relief.
In her cot alone, she slipped her hand into her pants and cupped herself, biting her lip as she thought about the suck of his mouth on her neck, the rub of his thumbs over her nipples, his hardness against her thigh. He would growl in her ear that he'd been waiting for weeks just to touch her body all night long.
She felt a warm flush across her chest merely thinking about the vibration of his voice on her skin.
Undressing him was a guilty pleasure, plucking at the buttons, pulling at his tanks until he was exposed to her. She would run her hands along the muscled curves of his chest and arms until she heard the softest of moans from his throat. Then she would undo his pants and press her palm along his cock, hot and hard through the fabric, and he would hold close and kiss her, his hand tangled in her hair.
She'd pull him down on the cot it would be his fingers, no, his tongue, gliding through her wetness. The slow, methodical rhythm he always started with would make her moan into the darkness until, quickly, he shed all inhibitions and began lapping at her roughly, his hands clutching at her hips.
He felt so good, from his tongue to the brush of his mustache across her skin to his thick fingers gliding into her, two at first until she begged him for more, harder, faster.
She slid two fingers inside herself, her palm grinding her most sensitive spot, no substitute for the touch of his mouth. She panted, her hips responding instinctively to the movement of her hand.
She wanted to pull him close with her heels, lock her legs around his neck, make him lick her until she came, writhing, her back twisted and a strangled cry trapped behind her bitten lips.
Returning the favor, she'd rise on all fours and eye the expanse of his body as he lay upon her cot. Sliding his length into her mouth just to hear that low groan of his sent a sizzle up her spine. She would suck him deep, watching his expression, hearing his encouragements and touching herself at the same time. Sometimes she'd come again that way, whimpering around his cock in her mouth, her fingers swirling herself into ecstasy.
Laura's fingers switched position, circling more quickly, ready for some sort of resolution. It felt good, so good, and the thoughts running through her head made her body twinge in anticipation.
It's been so long since I let myself feel this…
She'd climb over his body, straddle him, grab his cock firmly and take him inside her-a moan escaped her, alone on her cot, as she thought of his thickness filling her completely. His hands would grip her ass, the sound and sensation of their bodies meeting over and over making her shiver.
Laura felt the cold night air against her face as she pressed harder, so close to the elusive peak she was desperately seeking. She shuddered as her fingers slid across her clit, circling faster, her flesh warm and soft to her touch.
Come on, come on, come on…
He'd come buried inside her and she'd arch her back and growl his name through her teeth, trying to stay quiet, so happy to be with him, so completely sated.
But he isn't here.
She cried out in frustration, louder than she expected, and clamped her mouth shut. Her breathing was ragged as she pulled her hand from between her legs. The strain of trying to hold back her tears ached in her throat and eyes.
We may have given them an earful, he once told her afterward as they lay spent across each other.
All she wanted was to cry without being heard.
All she wanted was to feel something good.
She bit her lip, her chest shaking, until the taste of iron tainted her tongue. She steadied her breathing and stared at the ceiling.
x x x x
It was a bright, sunny day when Saul went to the pyramid game and never came home.
It grew darker, a blood-red sunset on the horizon, and Ellen started to panic. He knew better than to leave her alone for this long, to worry her like this.
She hoped he'd passed out drinking. But she was certain, if that were the case, that somebody would have hauled his stumbling ass home.
She waited and nobody came.
Night settled upon the camp. She sat at the simple wooden table inside their tent. Saul had built it, as rickety as it was, and she fondly recalled how he was so proud to present it to her that day. It was all she could do to keep herself from frakking him right there on it, but she was afraid it'd break.
She traced the grain of the surface with her chipped fingernails, nervously tapping her feet.
The wail of the siren startled her, sending her stomach sinking. He had to come home now, or he'd be arrested, or worse, for violating curfew.
She waited, tracing the grain, over and over, grooves smooth under her fingers.
She peered out of the tent when the moons were high in the sky. She rubbed her eyes, exhausted, and closed the flaps, tying them firmly together.
She began to pace, cursing under her breath. When that didn't miraculously produce her husband, she started grabbing everything she could find and throwing it at the ground. Cups, his comb, his clothes, their books, angrier with every throw.
"Frakker," she growled. "You stupid, stupid frakker."
It was easier to get angry than to be afraid. She'd learned this long ago. She tossed his extra pair of boots out of the tent, crossed her arms over her chest, and took a deep breath.
She convinced herself he was coming home. When he did, she would scream at him, hit his chest, and then kiss him as hard as she could. She could hear his chuckle already.
Easier to be angry.
She settled into their cot with a deep sigh. She lay awake, the smell of him on the sheets, and pulled his pillow tightly to her chest.
x x x x
Ellen woke up with a start to a loud clatter outside their tent. She was shivering, the night air having left her skin clammy and damp. There was a chill about this place that settled into her bones every morning no matter how many blankets she used.
He hadn't come home.
She pulled on her boots and her coat and exited the tent, nearly tripping over Saul's discarded boots. Picking them up with more care than she wanted to admit, she set them just inside the tent flap and tied it closed.
Then she made her way to Galen's tent-they were drinking buddies and often went to the games together and got sloshed.
"Galen," she called hesitantly from outside the tent. There was no way to knock, and she hated that she had to announce her arrival like that. It seemed so impolite.
There was a grumbling inside the tent. "Yeah?"
"Don't you ever get a frakkin' break?" She heard Cally hiss.
"It's Ellen," Ellen said, her nerves bundled in her stomach. "Listen…I'm looking for Saul."
She heard a rustling inside the tent and backed away. Galen nudged open the tent flaps and she saw he was clad in his underclothes. She felt awful for interrupting them so early in the morning, Galen and his little family. "I'm sorry, it's just…did you go to the game with Saul yesterday afternoon?"
"He was there," Galen said, squinting his eyes slightly at the rising sun. "He left early, said something about wanting to get home because the game was frakkin' pathetic."
Ellen felt her chest tighten. "He didn't come home, Galen."
Galen stared at her, then cocked his head. "He never made it home?"
Ellen blinked away the threat of tears. "No, he didn't. He left for that game and he hasn't been home since."
She could see the hint of fear developing on Galen's face-he was never one who was able to contain his emotions. She'd heard it from Saul all the time, even saw it in Galen herself sometimes at the games or at the union rallies.
Galen was afraid, though the realization seemed to be hitting him slowly. His brow furrowed.
"Maybe he passed out somewhere. Ellen, your old man's a drunk-"
"Tell me something I don't know," she spat back. "But it's been what, eighteen hours since the game? I highly doubt Saul's been lying in a ditch that long."
Galen took a deep breath and Ellen looked down at her feet. "Damn it. I'm sorry, Galen. I'm just worried sick. You know why."
Because I can't live without him.
The thought jarred her.
"Yeah," he said. He ran his hand through his hair. "I know why."
Galen looked back into the tent, then into Ellen's eyes. She felt a mixture of guilt and satisfaction and smiled thankfully at him.
"Listen I'll…I'll get a few guys together and we'll go out looking for him. If that frakkin' husband of yours is passed out with a bottle in hand somewhere, we'll give you the first kick of his ass."
She laughed, pulling her hair behind her ear. "Okay."
x x x x
People had set up farms almost immediately upon colonization, as if rooting plants in the ground would root their bodies and spirits just as easily. Everybody was so desperate for something real to eat. The land wasn't the best, and what plants grew weren't very productive. But Laura remembered the first fresh tomato she'd eaten in a year. Its skin slick on her teeth, it had burst in her mouth and she'd remembered, for an instant, what life, real life, was like.
The market was the most public place on New Caprica. It had been the place all Colonists frequented at least once per day to get food and supplies. After the occupation, the market was still crowded, but bustling with humans and Cylons alike. Laura knew this made it the prime target for both Cylon patrols and resistance activity-if arrests were made, or alternately, if Cylons were attacked, all of these things would be done in the presence of civilians in the most public arena possible, to either instill fear or hope into the populace.
Her heartbeat had always raced when she went there, nightmarish possibilities running through her head. She heard the stories, knew some of them were true-increasingly, people "of interest" were plucked up like apples from a basket, then tossed into a cell to rot, if they were lucky.
Laura had started to avoid the market entirely after Saul disappeared, only venturing out of her tent to teach at the school. She had Tory or Maya pick up her necessities-they'd volunteered. She'd never have asked them to do it for her. It was a miserable existence, this self-imposed exile from society, but she'd convinced herself it was better not to tempt fate.
She was journaling when she heard a rustling outside of her tent and felt her stomach sink.
"Hello?" she called tentatively.
Don't let this be it. Please, don't let this be it.
"Laura?"
It was Ellen's voice. Laura let all of her breath out at once.
"My gods, you scared the frak out of me," she said, standing up. "Come in."
Ellen entered the tent and paused just inside, flashing Laura an apologetic smile. "I just thought I'd check in on you. Must be terribly lonely spending all your time by yourself. When you're not at the school, that is."
It was lonely, but she wasn't about to tell Ellen that.
"Any news on Saul?" Laura asked.
Ellen's reaction was immediate, her face falling slightly. Laura bit the inside of her lip and berated herself for being so glib about his disappearance.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it."
"Why? It's nice that you care."
Laura tilted her head at Ellen's biting tone. "I do. Saul is Bill's best friend, Ellen, and your husband, and of course I'm concerned about his welfare."
Ellen kept her gaze. "Any word from Bill?"
The words stung her. Touché, Ellen.
"No," Laura said after a moment to collect herself. "No word from Bill." Laura adjusted her sweater and rolled her shoulders back. "I'm sure they're busy implementing an evacuation plan."
Ellen raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure."
She didn't sound so sure. Laura took a deep breath to try and relieve some of the tension she felt building. She beckoned to her table and chairs. "Have a seat. I can run and get us some water, see if I have something to put into it somewhere around here." She smiled, embarrassed by her inability to host a guest. "It won't be much, but it'll be something."
"Oh, it's all right," Ellen said absently. "I was just checking on you. And Bill."
Laura hummed, nodding. They stood in front of each other for an awkward moment, during which Laura wished she could read minds.
"It's best Bill jumped," Laura said.
Where did that come from?
Ellen's look was questioning. "Why do you say that?"
Laura faltered for a moment. "I…I don't know, I've been trying to convince myself of it. And I don't want people thinking he abandoned anyone." She picked up her pen and tapped her journal, her nerves fraying. "He didn't abandon anybody."
Laura didn't know why she said it-she hadn't voiced her opinion to anyone else before, hadn't even really weighed these statements in her own mind. For some reason, she felt the need to justify his actions to Ellen. But Ellen's face, as her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, led her to believe she'd erred.
"I just wonder who's really looking after all of us down here," Ellen said with a shrug. "The Fleet jumped away and well, come on, Laura. They left us here to die."
What the-
Laura felt a surge of anger. "No. You know Bill better than that, Ellen."
"Well, who's looking after us, then? Saul used to, but he certainly isn't able to do that anymore. At least, not right now."
"Oh, please," Laura said, growing more irritated. "You can't blame Bill's split-second military decisions for Saul's disappearance."
"I can pretty much blame anything I want to, since I don't even know what the frak happened," Ellen said, her voice rising in pitch. "Because the honest truth is, if the Cylons did take Saul, they should've taken Bill instead, Laura. It should be Bill in that detention center, not Saul."
"Ellen." Laura immediately felt sick to her stomach.
"Think about it."
She's angry, with nobody to blame, so she's acting out on those she can trust.
"I've thought about it a lot. The entire thing. I don't have any answers for you. What's done is done."
"Isn't that the truth," Ellen snapped back, her jaw set. "No point in even thinking about it, really. Maybe Bill's alive, maybe he's dead. Maybe Saul's alive, maybe he's dead too. What's done is done."
Laura watched Ellen as she turned and started out of the tent. She hesitated with her hand on the flap. "We'll all die here, you know."
"Get out."
Ellen looked back at her. Laura crossed her arms, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Get out."
She watched Ellen leave and bit her quivering lip.
Nobody is dead. Everyone's alive, and he's coming back, godsdamn it.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10