Verse 1: Flying Solo

Admiral William Adama carefully closed the burned binding of Searider Falcon and slipped off his glasses. He rubbed at his eyes then scanned the stars outside the raptor cockpit. Nothing. Just pinpoints of light, an ocean of them, silent, unmoving. No baseship. No Laura Roslin.

Bill sighed. The fleet had jumped away seven hours earlier and he’d been reading ever since, his eyes occasionally straying to the stars or the controls, the steady pulse of the DRADIS his only companion besides the book.

He was tired. It had been a long day. Before boarding the raptor he’d spent most of it prowling CIC and Galactica’s corridors, furious and worried after the rebel baseship jumped away with half the viper wing and the president of the Twelve Colonies aboard.

It had taken every ounce of discipline he possessed to stay calm when Pike’s raptor jumped into Galactica’s shadows, pilot aboard, dead, and the book Bill currently held. And when they’d found the battlefield littered with baseship fragments, indications of resurrection technology, disabled raptors and vipers, he’d…

Bill couldn’t give up hope, even though everyone else believed it a lost cause. Laura was alive. She had to be, and if she wasn’t, as he’d told his son, he couldn’t live without her. That hope and his willingness to risk everything for her had compromised his objectivity and thus the fleet’s safety.

That’s why he was out here alone. As long as there was a chance he was going to wait for her and the only life he was risking now was his own. He trusted Saul and Lee to lead the people should his mission prove fruitless. He doubted his president would approve of his choice, but he thought maybe, just maybe, Laura would understand it.

Laura…

He missed her, was concerned for her. The break in her cancer treatments aside, she was out there somewhere surrounded by people who may or may not be their enemy. He knew she could take care of herself, but bullets… He hoped her marines were being diligent, that Helo would be who she needed him to be and not let his loyalty to his wife blind him to potential threats amongst their so-called allies.

Bill frowned, squinted and scanned the area again, leaned his head back and peered out the viewports above him. Still nothing. Not a frakking thing but stars. Glancing at the life support indicators, he saw he had roughly eighteen hours of oxygen remaining, which translated to eighteen hours of life should…

Bill vehemently shook that thought away. He wasn’t going to think about death, his or Laura’s. She was alive and she was coming back and he was going to be here waiting for her because he frakking loved her.

Leaning over, Bill placed the book in the co-pilot’s seat, rested his glasses atop it. He then unbuckled the harness. He punched in a few commands into the computer, turning on the autopilot and directing it to fire maneuvering jets to help the craft maintain a steady position at his present coordinates. He didn’t want it to drift on solar winds while he tried to get some shuteye. He also set the DRADIS alarm then made his way to the back of the little ship, taking the book and his glasses with him.

The back cabin was cramped compared to his quarters and he knew his old back was going to protest sleeping across the jumpseats, but it wasn’t really a worry beyond impeding his speed in rising. He’d slept in worse places in worse conditions with much less at stake.

Setting the book on the ECOM console, Bill shed the gun-belt then unzipped his flight suit and proceeded to pull out the jumpseats and create the one bed the craft afforded. He pulled out the emergency supplies kit and unpacked the small pillow and blanket, and the urine receptacle. The latter was a blessed find.

After arranging his bed, he shrugged out of the upper half of his flight suit and relieved himself, closing his eyes and sighing as the pressure eased in his lower abdomen. As he did, he was reminded of his younger years as a pilot, remembering particularly the long mission he’d told Lee about and how nerves and fear had initially left him sitting in the cockpit a lot longer than probably was necessary. As much as he missed being a pilot, it was the little comforts like a head to himself and the freedom to go pretty much whenever he wanted that made him glad to be a command officer. Especially at his age when the body wasn’t as forgiving any more.

When Bill was done, he dumped the waste out the recycler and re-secured his flight suit, not wanting to be caught unawares. Next, he pulled out the emergency rations. They were some of the last in the fleet, but he was honestly glad for the bland fare considering the alternative was some sort of algae.

Opening the packet, he took a bite of the wafer then sat on the bunk and ate. As he chewed, he wondered if the cylons had thought to feed Laura and the other humans on board. He wasn’t sure if the skinjobs needed to eat or if they ate to blend in, to mimic humans.

Bill suspected Laura probably wouldn’t eat even if they did feed her. Her appetite had dwindled to nearly nothing in recent weeks, as Cottle poured more diloxin into her system. She barely ate enough to stay alive, that’s what the doctor had said, and Bill agreed. She had lost so much weight that her ribs and hipbones were painfully visible. She had been careful in the last few weeks to not let him see her much, allowing him just glimpses. He knew it bothered her, what was happening to her once supple body, and knew that she worried about his reaction to it. She wasn’t vain, just a woman and human, who feared the loss of desirability.

It was a natural fear, but she didn’t have anything to worry about. Bill still desired her, had come to terms with the fact he always would no matter what the frakking cancer or diloxin did to her body — or his age for that matter.

Bill reached for the book and his glasses. As his fingers slid over the charred cover he wondered what had made her take it with her to the baseship. It wasn’t as if she’d needed it over there; she’d just been going to speak to the hybrid. But she’d taken the book and it had survived the battle.

Opening the cover, he looked at the inscription he’d made. He wondered if she’d seen it yet. A few days earlier, he’d been doing reports when the notion had struck him to write the little note before going to sickbay to read to her. It wasn’t much really, just the sentiments of a love-struck old man.

To Laura

May The Real Journey Never End

Bill

As he read it now, he smiled, imagining the school teacher in her cringing at the lack of proper capitalization or punctuation, while the woman in her…

He wanted so badly to touch her heart. Sometimes, she allowed him in, really in, but it was only briefly, usually during physical intimacy. She always retreated after, rarely let him that close at other times. She wasn’t distant, but she was closed to him in some ways, closed to others in every way. The recent slate of betrayals, constant bickering and whining of politicians and civilians, and the fight with the cancer had only reinforced the wall she put around herself.

There was a brittleness settling into her and Bill couldn’t miss it. He hated it. She was a beautiful, caring and compassionate woman but her job was killing that part of her, as effectively as the cancer was eating away at her life. He wanted to kill everything that was killing her. He wanted to reach into her and soothe the aches that extended beyond muscle and bone. But she kept him just far enough away to prevent him from doing so with any degree of effectiveness.

But not any more.

When Bill saw her, she was going to know how he felt once and for all and he didn’t give a flying frak who else knew, didn’t care what his crew, the quorum, the press or the fleet thought. He was going to be what she needed him to be, what he could be for her and he wasn’t going to hide it away any longer. He had no desire to flaunt it or write a press release for the Colonial Gang, mind you, but it wasn’t going to be a secret. It was going to get the light it needed to grow into what she needed it to be, what he needed it to be.

Bill knew they were on borrowed time and he wasn’t going to waste another moment subjugating it to coddle a populace that had done everything possible to destroy her, them, and everything they’d worked for. Frak ‘em all if they didn’t like it. He and Laura would do what they’d promised to do and they would do it while loving each other in the process — at least Bill would love her. He didn’t know if she’d ever let him in but he wasn’t going to give up on her in that either. He needed her and she needed him, whether she would ever admit it or not.

Finishing off the ration wafer, Bill opened one of the canteens in the rations package and drank it down. He wished he’d brought along some whiskey or ambrosia, but knew it was best he hadn’t. He needed to keep a clear head since he was flying solo.

Capping the bottle, he set it back in the pack then leaned back on the bunk, head propped on the pillow. the material of his flight suit creaked as he moved. It was a snug fit, snugger than he liked, but so were his trousers and uniform tunics. He clearly needed to get back to the gym.

He also needed new glasses, but that wasn’t a new revelation. The lenses were scratched and the prescription was no longer strong enough for his aging eyes. But he made do, just like everyone else was making do as they ran through the stars. He hoped to hell Earth had eye doctors when he got there. He’d love to see things in sharp relief again.

With a sigh, Bill opened the book and began reading again. Sleep eventually overtook him and he managed to get in a few hours of exhausted, dreamless rest. When he woke, he had a horrible taste in his mouth, groaned when his back protested him sitting up. He caught the open book as it fell from his chest, just barely got his finger between the pages to mark his place.

“Frak,” he groaned as he stretched his arm out to set the book back on the ECOM panel. He’d known his back was going to protest and it was now, loudly. He was getting too damned old to sleep just any place. Hell, his own rack was ceasing to be as comfortable as it once had been and he knew he couldn’t attribute it all to the inevitable breakdown of his mattress.

With some effort, Bill pushed himself up, wincing as his knees and spine popped. That bed he often fantasized about seeing Laura in was rapidly becoming a fantasy for more practical reasons. Once standing, he eyed his shaving kit. It was a waste of water to shave, making him question why he’d packed it in the first place. Then he considered his toothbrush and his last precious tube of toothpaste.

He’d been sharing the latter with Laura, her last tube having ran out a month earlier. They used it sparingly, hoping to make it last to Earth. It made him feel a bit guilty about using it now without sharing it with her, but he did use it and he cleaned as best he could, using as little water as possible. He packed everything away when he was done, relieved himself again then returned the cockpit for another watch.

For a while, he stared at the stars, trying to pick out patterns and not think about stargazing with Laura on New Caprica and in Galactica’s starboard flight pod. Eventually, he grew tired of sitting still and got up to move around in the back of the raptor. When he grew tired of that, he laid down again and read. He had just finished a chapter when the DRADIS alarm sounded and he saw a sudden burst of light.

His heart leapt into his throat and he shot to his feet, quicker than he’d managed earlier, as hope swelled within him. He eased forward, trying to temper his expectations even as his eyes took in the familiar shape of the damaged basestar, and yet he knew … he knew.

She was there. Right there, within reach. And he was going to get her.

Verse 2: Sweet Surrender >