The Good Fight III

Bill’s eyes tracked the streaming of raindrops down the tall glass window in front of him but his attention was actually elsewhere, on Laura, who stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest.

They were waiting for President Adar to see them, so that she could inform him of her cancer. Bill hadn’t really expected to be here, had suspected she’d want to do this alone to avoid any awkwardness. She obviously knew, as he did, that Adar still cared for Laura, even if he had no designs on her. But she’d asked him to drive her over from her office, not wanting to ride with security or to drive herself. He wasn’t sure, though, if she wanted him to go in when she told her former lover.

He sensed for the first time a sort of awkwardness in her where Adar was concerned — not that she wanted to be with him because Bill knew that wasn’t the case, but a few things she’d said last night and again this morning as they’d driven over indicated that she wasn’t sure how Adar was going to react to the news and she didn’t like not being able to prepare herself for whatever he would say or do. That left her feeling vulnerable in a way she wasn’t comfortable with at all.

Bill wished he could ease her, make all the unpleasantness go away, make the cancer go away, but he couldn’t. All he could do was be with her, be here for her and love her. Just love her.

Keeping his voice low and soft, pitched for her ears only and not those belonging to Adar’s obviously curious secretary, he asked, “You want me to go in with you?”

There was a soft sigh, then, “I don’t want to do this at all.”

Bill’s heart ached at her words. He knew she didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to do any of it. He knew it would suit a part of her just fine if he whisked her away somewhere to live in complete denial, to leave behind jobs and shut themselves away in Port Thetis, in their new home, sleeping in, spending afternoons on the back deck watching the waves, evenings in the den reading, and nights in their bed making love.

He would confess it was an appealing fantasy, wished it were a possibility — without the need for denial. He wanted the cancer out of her beautiful breast and out of their lives. But they both knew it wasn’t that easy. She particularly knew, having been caregiver for her mother through the battle with the same disease.

Last night, as they lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the distant waves, she’d talked just a little about that experience, enough for him to know that watching her mother slowly waste away had left a profound mark on her. It was at the root of her fear and he knew whenever she thought about her own cancer, that she was seeing herself in place of her mother in her memories. She knew what might be ahead of her and she was terrified of it.

So was he. The thought of losing her…

“He could ask for my resignation.” There was a tremor in her voice.

“He won’t,” Bill said automatically. He didn’t purport to be an expert on Richard Adar, but he no longer dismissed him as an idiot politician. If Bill knew what Laura brought to her job then you can bet Adar did, and knew it wasn’t easily replaceable, nor was he without compassion. Adar would no more fire her for having cancer than he would his own wife. Of that, Bill was certain, as certain as he was that Laura’s brilliant mind was currently churning through every possible scenario of how this meeting might play out, realistic or otherwise, trying to anticipate, to prepare herself.

Frankly, Bill hoped she would let him go in with her. He wanted to, not out of fear or worry about Adar, but because he wanted and needed to be with her, especially when she was feeling vulnerable. If she needed him, he wanted to be right there, within arm’s reach, so he could protect and take care of her.

Carolanne had hated that about him after a time, which is why he would respect Laura’s wishes on this, just as he had with her desire to talk to her doctor alone initially. He didn’t want her to feel crowded or to smother her with his worry for her. She was worried enough and he didn’t need to add to her stress.

Her next words confirmed that, as she whispered, her tone slightly strained, “I need to work. I’ll need to focus on it.”

She stepped around, partially in front of him and he met her gaze. Her eyes were earnest, pleading for his understanding. “You’re going to need it, too,” she continued, unfolding her arms and resting her hands on his chest. “Galactica?” she breathed, eyes searching his. “Do you want her?”

Bill didn’t know what to say. He had tentatively decided that he wanted the command and had intended to discuss that with Laura before making a final decision, but the discovery of the cancerous lump in her breast had pushed any further thought of it from his mind, in all except the most cursory capacity. Laura had been his priority and still was.

Did he want the command? Yes. Did he want it more than her or to leave her? No.

But he did understand what she was saying. Work could focus one elsewhere, provided a degree of disconnection from the most personal of things, become a refuge from the relentless emotional barrage of heartache and tragedy.

He just didn’t want it to become her sole refuge, or for her to disconnect entirely, as she apparently had after the death of her family. For that reason, he feared taking command of Galactica. If he was here, with her, he could ground her, give her a refuge that didn’t involve shutting herself down or closing herself off, or lead to her neglecting herself. If he was not, the cancer could take her in an entirely different way than death.

As for himself and what he wanted…

He wanted to be whatever she needed him to be and wherever she needed him. It was that simple. And yet not.

His instinctive response was to drop everything and take care of her. But he knew she would fight him on that — the way she was looking at him now told her as much. She was too independent to be comfortable with being constantly nursemaided, even by him. She would need her space at times, and so would he, and they would both need the distraction that work could afford so that the disease would not consume them in another, even more insidious manner than death.

Despite all that, he was still hesitant to take the command. He didn’t like the idea of being too far away, for many reasons, not the least of which, he wanted to be close in case she needed him. He did not want her to go through this alone any more than he wanted to stifle her with his presence and affection. He knew she didn’t want to be alone either, any more than she wanted to be coddled.

He wasn’t sure where the balance lay in all of it. They needed to talk. Things needed to be said. But not here, outside the office of the president of the Twelve Colonies, whom they were waiting to see.

Bringing his hand up, he covered one of hers and held her gaze. “We’ll talk tonight,” he said simply and offered her a smile, which she returned when he added, “We’ll bundle up and sit on the sand.”

He squeezed her fingers, leaned in and kissed her temple, lingered until Adar’s secretary announced that the president was ready for them. Laura let out a little hum at the interruption, half amused, half annoyed, then she eased away from him with a gentle grazing of her fingers along his forearm, one that beckoned him to follow.

He did, striding a step behind her as she headed for the large doors at the opposite end of the room.

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