Variation 17: Unsettled, Weary and Wise

Bill Adama leaned against the bulkhead at the foot of his rack and watched Laura Roslin sleep. She was exhausted and sleeping off a headache undoubtedly induced by stress related to Gaius Baltar.

Despite her decision that they give the twitchy frakker a fair trial, Bill had half a mind to secret him off to an airlock and introduce him to the amenities of life in a vacuum. The man didn’t deserve the meager comforts of Galactica’s brig and he damned sure didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Laura and the others who survived New Caprica.

It would have been better for everyone if the scientist had had the decency to die on that hellhole he managed to convince the fleet was the future of humanity. But he hadn’t and now his presence, his very existence was grating on Laura. Since his return, she’d been angry, stressed, and hell-bent on getting Baltar to admit his guilt.

Bill had been determined as well, straying into morally questionable territory in hopes of getting the answers she sought regarding Baltar’s involvement in the destruction of the Colonies and complicity with the cylons on New Caprica. She deserved those answers, so did the people, and Bill wanted them himself so they could be rid of Baltar once and for all. He knew the scientist was guilty of something, and he believed Laura when she said she remembered seeing him one of the cylons prior to the attack on the Colonies. The subsequent horrors of New Caprica spoke for themselves.

Laura still had nightmares about it, Bill knew. She didn’t speak of them, but he could always tell when she’d had them. There was a weariness about her then, the lines around her mouth and eyes tighter, her gaze a bit distant and pained. Sometimes, when they were alone in his quarters working, he would look over to see her lost in thought, frowning or her eyes closed. He never tried to break the spell, letting her work through whatever she needed to work through, but the instant he had her attention again, he would look at her knowingly. And, depending on how he gauged her mood, he might offer her his hand, or even a kiss of comfort. She always gave him a smile then, never a big one, but one that said she understood what he was doing and was grateful.

More than that, though … well, there hadn’t been a chance for more. Not since that night after they’d found the Eye of Jupiter. There had been too many fires to put out, civilian unrest growing by the day as everyone struggled to get used to the algae diet, living in even more cramped spaces than before, and dealing with the fact that the cylons were back in pursuit of them.

And tensions weren’t limited to the civilians. His own crew was struggling. He was struggling and so was Laura. They just couldn’t show it. They had to maintain the appearance of being confident in where they were going and what they were doing even though they didn’t really know anything for sure.

It was damned exhausting. But Bill trusted Laura’s lead when it came to finding the rumored home of the 13th colony, even though he did not believe in the gods who’d supposedly appointed her to lead them. From day one, she had led them on the right course and he had faith that she would continue to do so. She was determined to, that was for sure, as determined as she had been to get Baltar to talk. What she’d done earlier in the day…

Bill had known she was a strong woman, had known she could play ruthless and rough when necessary, but she had gone after their prisoner with a fury. Saul had said she was a sight to behold, had Baltar damned near pissing his pants. Perhaps perversely, Bill took pride in her ability to make the ninny quake in his boots, but he hadn’t liked the toll it’d taken on her. She clearly hadn’t enjoyed indulging her rage even though it had been justified. Confronting the bastard hadn’t been cathartic for her. Neither had his interrogation.

All of it had left them unsettled, so much so that when she’d touched him earlier, he’d been … not surprised, but he hadn’t expected it, fleeting though it was. And they hadn’t touched since, even though they’d shared a small, quiet dinner before she’d asked if she could lay down for a while because her head was still pounding. He’d offered to call Cottle, but she’d refused, saying she just needed dark and quiet. Bill had granted her both, dousing the lights around his quarters as she settled on her side, facing the bulkhead.

As she let sleep claim her, he had occupied himself with a few reports, sitting at the far end of his couch, beneath a single lamp and out of sight of the bed. He’d nursed a whiskey as he read and then signed off on the papers. That done, he’d shut off the light and wandered to where he now stood.

Lifting his glass to his lips, Bill took a sip and sighed, eyes raking over Laura’s form. He had missed her these last few weeks but seeing her in his bed now wasn’t the balm it should have been, that he wished it was. The day’s events, his own actions particularly, had left him disconcerted. He felt out of balance, at cross purposes with himself. It was one of those days he wished he was anyone other than who he was, wished he could live a life free of the responsibilities he carried. He longed to be just a man so that he could spoon with the woman he loved. But not tonight. It simply wasn’t the right time.

With a sigh, Bill pushed away from the bulkhead and wandered to the lavatory, draining the last drops of his whiskey as he went. Setting the glass on the counter, he stripped down and took a shower, a long one. He spent most of it with his arms braced on the wall, head bowed and eyes closed, letting water run over him, drowning out sound and leaving him in warmth and darkness. He tried to shut off his thoughts, to just exist in the moment. He had some success, but not a much as he needed. He gave up after a while and shut off the water.

He used his last clean towel to dry off then shrugged on his robe. Belting it, he ran his fingers through his hair, arranging it somewhat. He picked up the small washing cloth beside the sink and wet it, wringing out the excess water. Turning then, he exited the lavatory, flipping the switch on the light as he passed.

Laura was still asleep but had turned onto her back. She had one arm laid across her brow. He eased up to the bedside and gently coaxed her arm away before carefully laying the cool cloth over her brow and eyes. She started at the sudden change in temperature, but settled when he shushed her, rasped, “Go back to sleep,” as he smoothed a hand over the top of her head.

She mumbled a thank you then sighed heavily.

Bowing further, Bill pressed his lips to her hairline, breathed a gentle command. “Rest, Laura.”

He eased away then and made his way to his closet. He opened the door as quietly as possible and retrieved an extra pillow and blanket before moving into the outer area of his quarters. He made up a place to sleep on his couch then stretched out on the leather cushions.

Sleep took him eventually, not as soon as he would have liked, but it was welcome all the same. The dreams weren’t though, a surreal retelling of the days events with variations that made them true nightmares. He saw himself doing terrible things as Laura watched him in horror. He saw Baltar trying to grab a gun from a marine and the weapon going off and hitting her. He saw…

The images wrested him to heart-pounding consciousness and he woke to find Laura standing over him, could see worry marring her features in the faint lighting of the room.

“Nightmare?” she asked.

He didn’t reply, his mouth unable to do anything other than suck in air as he tried to calm his heart.

“Me, too,” she whispered then bent and reached for the blanket covering him. She lifted it and climbed under, laying atop him, cuddling close.

He wrapped his arms around her and shut his eyes, trying to erase the vision of her laying on the deck in an ever-expanding pool of her own blood by focusing on the feel of the living and breathing reality of her in his embrace.

She had an arm between them, a hand pressed over his heart. He knew she could feel it pounding when she whispered, “Are you okay?”

He managed to muster up a “yeah” for her but no more. She caressed him tentatively, her hand sliding up under the lapel of his robe. Her fingers curled around the curve of his shoulder and held to him. She didn’t relax, though. There was an uneasy tension in her, he felt it in the press of her fingertips into his flesh and the length of her body along his. It made him wonder just how bad her dreams had been, if her headache was still troubling her, or if she was as troubled as he was about the things they’d done.

He had his answer when, after a short while, she whispered, “Today… Are we okay?”

Bill considered her question for a few moments, seeking a truthful reply. Thing weren’t okay. They’d crossed an ethical line that they probably shouldn’t have, but he only had one answer to the question she was asking. He gave it to her as he hugged her tighter and tilted his head to breathe a kiss atop hers.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “We’re okay.”

< Variation 16: Good Night | Variation 18: Burden of Guilt >