Slide 20: A Stray Thought

Under the cover of night, Laura Roslin stomped her way from the tent that would serve as the classroom for her students to the raptor scheduled to take her back to Galactica for the night. A pair of armed marines followed in her wake, double-timing to keep up with her rushed pace.

Had the sun still been shining and people been out and about and not tucked into their tents out of the cold, she would have restrained her reaction. But she didn’t even bother with darkness cloaked around her.

“Frakking weasel,” she muttered under her breath on every third step.

She could not wait to get off this frakking hellhole of a planet for the day. It had started out so well, a handful of Galatica’s crewmen had volunteered to help her set up the school, putting up tables, chairs, lugging boxes of supplies and such, and she’d been delighted to have the help.

Then the illustrious Gaius frakking Baltar had shown up and spent the better part of an afternoon looking over the curriculum she’d developed in the last couple of weeks, saying he and the quorum needed to approve it before she could teach it. On the surface, to some, it would have been perceived as being responsible — he’d certainly played it up that way — but Laura knew better. He’d just been pissing on the hydrant.

“Frakking frakweasel,” she swore vehemently yet again as she mounted the side of the raptor and ducked inside. The marines clambered in behind her and took up the other two seats as she buckled herself in. They cast sidelong glances at her as the craft lifted off, but neither of them said anything. She saw their worried looks and felt a twinge of guilt.

She offered them an apology. “I’m sorry for my outburst, gentlemen. It wasn’t very professional of me.”

“No worries, ma’am,” one of them said, the other nodding in agreement.

The rest of the trip passed in silence, though, Laura did sigh heavily in relief once the little ship breached the atmosphere and slipped into the cold vastness of space. She honestly could not get back to Galactica soon enough. She wanted a hot shower, a stiff drink and to completely forget about the unpleasantness of the last half dozen hours.

Though her anger lingered even as the raptor touched down in Galactica’s port landing pod, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders — not everything, but enough she could at least walk at a normal pace through the warship’s corridors.

Huddled in the heavy coat Bill Adama had secured for her somewhere, somehow, Laura traversed the distance from the hangar deck to his quarters. Once safely behind the doors there, she chunked the stack of notepads containing Baltar’s edits onto the table and looked at Bill, who was walking out of the lavatory.

“What happened?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“Take a guess,” she groused, gesturing to the notepads, now marred in places with red ink. There weren’t a lot of edits, but the sheer audacity of that moron to correct facts she’d found in the only available texts in existence. It was enough to make her blood boil. And the more she thought about it, the madder she got.

“Baltar,” Bill correctly guessed, though, she was sure it wasn’t a hard guess to make. Only one person riled her to her current extent.

“That man can’t keep his fly zipped, is an utter imbecile, and he has the nerve to mark up my lesson plans like I was a frakking third grader,” she seethed, exasperation coming to full bear now that she didn’t have to keep up appearances. “For frak’s sake, I was the secretary of education. I didn’t just make this stuff up!”

Bill just looked at her for many long moments, his expression grave. She watched a muscle in his jaw tick, and then he did something that made her burst into laughter. He looked down at the front of his trousers, glanced back up at her and asked, “Do you want the keys to the airlock?”

Laura didn’t know what to do or say in the face of his deadpan delivery. All she could do was laugh and she knew that was his intent as she watched his eyes sparkle with amusement and a smile break free.

And just like that, the tension of the day ebbed. She would revisit it, no doubt, but suspected her frustration would be scaled back to more manageable proportions and she would approach the situation with more perspective, and find a plan of action to deal with Baltar.

Reining in her laughter, Laura closed the distance to Bill and touched her lips to his. “Thank you,” she said softly and with complete sincerity.

In return, he asked, “Hungry?”

She nodded. “Starving and I could use some of that ambrosia I know you have stashed around here,” she told him. “But shower first,” she said, easing past him toward the lavatory. “After the last few hours alone with Baltar, I feel the need to scrub off a layer or two of skin.” Turning before entering, she said, “Oh, and before you start worrying, Admiral, the marines were in sight at all times.”

Bill visibly relaxed at her assurances. “Good,” he replied then walked over to the comm unit by the door. He picked up the handset and asked for the galley.

Laura took that as her cue and ducked inside the head to clean up. She took a much longer shower than normal, standing under the hot water until her pale skin shone was generous shade of pink, and long enough for dinner to have been delivered.

Wrapped in her robe and her hair secured in a towel, she joined Bill for the meal. To her relief, conversation centered not on matters of the fleet or Gaius Baltar, but books, mystery books to be exact, each of them sharing recollections of books that no longer existed. The synopses of the lost volumes were brief but each time they shared one, she noticed they began trying to up the ante in the retelling, going for dramatic effect at times. It was delightful, companionable and easy, and she enjoyed it.

Afterward, Laura sank onto the couch while Bill secured her requested glass of ambrosia. He sat beside her, not bothering with any distance between them. She welcomed his warmth, tucking her toes under the edge of his thigh as she sipped her drink. He didn’t react at all to the action, as if it were something she did every day.

Reaching out, Laura feathered her fingers through his hair, just above his ear. His locks were getting a little long, curling now behind the appendage. She wrapped one curl around the tip of her finger, observed softly, “You’ll get it cut soon.”

“Yeah,” he replied, turning slowly to face her. Her hand fell away and she smiled when his eyes met hers. “I don’t let it get much longer than this.”

“Mmm,” Laura replied, her eyes flitting to the way his hair just brushed his collar. “I like it this length,” she told him, though not really sure why she had. But she really did like it at its current length.

Her gaze returning to his face, she took in the emerging stubble and tried to imagine him with a beard. She shook her head inwardly at the image. She couldn’t see him with a beard. Maybe a mustache, but not a beard. “Have you ever grown a mustache?” she asked.

He looked at her oddly. “Why do you ask?”

She met his gaze, smiled demurely. “Just curious,” she told him, and it was the truth. She was curious but damned if she knew why.

He gave her a crooked smile. “I did for a while. Carolanne hated it,” he said.

“Why?”

He shrugged, a cloud passing briefly over his face. He took a swig of his ambrosia. “She didn’t get into specifics and I didn’t ask. Just shaved it off.”

Laura reached out and touched his hair again. “Do you have a picture?”

Though he wasn’t looking at her, she could see his expression become one of bemusement again. “I might have,” he said and pushed up from the couch. He made his way to the back of the cabin only to return a minute later with a book in hand. It was a photo album. He handed it to her as he sat again beside her.

Laura opened the book and smiled at the first picture that greeted her. Two young boys, blue-eyed and grinning brightly, both dark haired and sporting a pair of shiny viper pilot wings on their definitely non-military-issue shirts. She recognized Lee instantly. The other boy she had never met but knew all the same. Zak. Bill’s dead son. His features were less fine than Lee’s, sturdier like his father’s.

“Good looking boys,” she said softly.

“Yeah.” Bill’s reply was a rasp filled with emotion. She glanced up at him and saw him looking at the picture as well. A wistful smile had settled on his lips but his eyes glistened with unshed tears. One thought prevailed in her mind as she watched him: This is a man who loves his children, unequivocally.

It didn’t come as a surprise and seeing it so suddenly, so openly at the moment rendered Laura breathless. She had met many a parent in her years as a teacher, but she had seen few look upon their progeny with the same degree of affection she saw in Bill’s gaze now. It was humbling.

Laura wanted to ask him to tell her about them but decided now wasn’t the time when one of his tears slipped free. He wiped at it quickly and sat back against the cushions, draining his glass as he did.

Turning the pages, Laura got a glimpse into the history of the man beside her. Most of the pictures were of his sons. And there were also ones of a blonde woman.

Laura didn’t have to ask who the woman was. She knew. This was Carolanne, Bill’s ex-wife. There was a story to the beautiful woman whose eyes held something that Laura could not completely define. Whatever it was, it wasn’t kind or pleasant and it was present even in photos where she appeared happy. It was a darkness and every time Laura ran across a picture of her, Bill shifted, almost imperceptibly, beside her, prompting her to skim past those quicker than the others. She didn’t want to discomfit him, sensing that whatever had happened between them had left him with more than a few unseen scars.

And then Laura found it, on the next to the last page, Bill in a merchant shipman’s gear, sporting a thick, black mustache. He stood shoulder to shoulder with a younger Saul Tigh. The camaraderie she frequently witnessed between the two men was clearly visible in the photograph.

“I sometimes forget he used to have hair,” came Bill’s voice from beside her.

Laura giggled in response and tapped the tip of her finger on his picture, atop the mustache she’d been curious about. “I’ll wager you had more hair in your mustache than he had on his head in this picture.”

Bill chuffed a laugh. “You’d be right,” he replied, getting to his feet and meandering back over to the service cart.

As he refilled his glass with ambrosia, Laura took a closer look at the mustache and then held the photo book out at arm’s length, studying it from a distance. She had never really been a fan of mustaches, but she decided it didn’t look bad on him. If he thinned it out a little…

“I think you should grow it again,” she found herself saying aloud.

He gave an amused scoff as he dropped back down beside her. “What for?”

Laura looked over the top edge of the book at him. “Did you like it when you had it?”

He seemed to think about it a moment then replied, “Yeah, I did.”

Laura smiled at him. “So grow it back.”

He stared at her for several heartbeats then shook his head, chuckling softly. “This is one hell of a conversation,” he took another drink. “How did we get onto this subject anyway?”

Laura laughed with him as she closed the photo album. “It was just a stray thought.”

His chuckle became a full-bodied laugh at her words. It resonated within the metal bulkheads of his quarters. Laura thrilled at being treated to his carefree joviality. It was a rare display and it warmed her heart.

Leaning forward, Laura touched a kiss to his cheek. He slowly turned to look at her and she beheld a dizzying array of emotions in his eyes. It left her breathless.

“Stay tonight?” she asked softly.

Tenderness overtook amusement. He lifted his chin just the slightest bit when he gave his answer — a quiet, humble “Yes.”

< Slide 19: Come Undone | Slide 21: The Question of a Mustache >