Slide 16: Balance and Counterbalance

Laura Roslin stood silently next to Bill Adama in CIC as the first of the civilian ships began their descent to the surface of New Caprica. The monitors of the DRADIS console showed the crafts breaking from orbit and entering the atmosphere one by one and Laura’s heart sank further with each that left the sheltering wings of Galactica and Pegasus.

This was it, the moment she’d been dreading for weeks, nearly two months to be exact, and it was all she’d expected to be — hollow. She didn’t feel an ounce of joy, only emptiness as the vessels made their way to the large landing area the military’s engineers had prepared.

This wasn’t where they were supposed to be, and yet they were, and Bill and Laura could do nothing. The people had spoken and Baltar had turned their silver-lined dreams into reality. But it wasn’t reality, not the way they hoped, not even close, and they were about to find that out.

Bill was right. It was difficult to let your children, even metaphorical ones, make a choice you know is wrong. It was heartbreaking.

With a sigh, Laura looked away from the monitors to the lighted console that was directly beneath. It was littered with an array of folders and charts, maps and photographs of the surface. They were the ones she’d been going over with Bill and members of his crew for weeks. She was tired of looking at them, so she looked elsewhere, to the faces of the crewmen and women around Galactica’s command center.

Many were serious, focused on their jobs. Some held the same hope, in varying degrees, that she’d seen in many of the civilians over the last few weeks. Some … it was hard to tell what they were thinking.

Laura didn’t have to look at Bill to know that he felt as awful as she did. Of course, looking at him would be a moot point. The man was largely unreadable when in military commander mode. Only extreme personal circumstances could crack that veneer and this situation, though disappointing in the extreme, wasn’t personal enough to garner that sort of response from him. He would seethe quietly, worry silently and vent later in some fashion when he didn’t have an audience to his every move.

It was the lot of leaders to suffer in silence, she surmised. It was the lot of leaders to stand tall and strong, confident even when they were coming apart on the inside or felt like screaming “Frak you, Gaius Baltar!” at the top of their lungs in frustration.

“You don’t have to stay here for this,” came Bill’s voice from beside her. It was a low, soft rumble, loud enough for her to hear, but not loud enough to draw attention. There was no coddling to his tone, just a statement of fact steeped in understanding.

Laura shook her head slightly. “If you’re here, I’m here,” she told him, not wanting him to suffer through this insanity alone. They’d stood together since Kobol and, though she wasn’t president any longer, she wouldn’t feel right leaving him to bear this burden by himself.

So she endured, watched and gritted her teeth, tension settling in her neck when Colonial One began its trek to the surface. She found herself praying bad things and quickly cut off that line of petition — it wasn’t right, even if Baltar and his stupid plans were all wrong.

By the time the last ship had touched down on the atmosphere of New Caprica, Laura had a pounding headache and was going to need a deep-tissue massage to relieve the knots in the muscles of her neck.

She looked over at Bill then at Col. Saul Tigh, who’d kept vigil with them, standing across from Bill. “I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but I need a drink.”

The colonel’s dour expression cracked a bit at her words, one corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “Sounds like a good idea to me, Bill,” he said, looking to his commanding officer.

Beside her, Bill sighed. Laura glanced over, saw him take off his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose briefly before reseating the spectacles. He looked to his XO then her. “Yeah.”

The three of them left CIC together, Laura leading the way, arms folded over her chest. Bill caught up with her, walked at her side to his quarters. Once inside, Laura took a seat on the couch and buried her face in her hands. The colonel took a seat on the opposite end of the couch while Bill went over to the service cart. Filling three glasses, he handed one to Laura and then one to Tigh before taking a seat next to her.

Laura took the glass with gratitude and did something she never did — she gulped it down, in three swallows. The whiskey set her throat on fire. She ignored the sensation and reached over and took Bill’s glass from him as he lowered it from his mouth. She drained what remained of the amber liquid in his tumbler, a little slower this time but with similar efficiency.

“Thirsty?” Bill asked, his tone one of surprise.

She shook her head. Suicidal was more like it considering the fact she was pretty sure there was a fire in her chest and that flames would shoot out her mouth if she opened it any time soon. It reminded of exactly why she didn’t drink all that much and definitely why she didn’t put it back like a seasoned barfly when she did drink.

When a too-deep breath set off a fit of coughing, Bill took the tumblers from her and left her side only to return a few moments later with a glass of water.

Laura took off her eyeglasses and wiped at her eyes before taking the tumbler gratefully. After getting down a swallow, she looked at Bill in apology and gratitude. “Thank you,” she rasped, her throat clearly not yet recovered from the assault of alcohol. As he sat beside her again, she noted he’d refilled his glass.

He gazed down into the whiskey, swirled it slightly then lifted it to his mouth, mumbling, “Gaius Baltar.”

Several feet away, Col. Tigh let out a contemptuous snort. “Gaius frakking Baltar.”

With a sigh, Laura pushed herself up off the couch and began pacing, occasionally sipping her water between bursts of worrying thoughts about what the future held for her people. They weren’t new thoughts. They were the same ones she’d been entertaining ever since she’d lost the election, the ones that’d had her preparing for possibilities and probabilities in the weeks since. But even with all the work she’d put into plans for potential eventualities, she was no closer to feeling better about any scenario, still could not resolve the feeling that this planet was–

“We’ve done all we can, Laura.”

Laura stopped pacing and looked at Bill. He was looking at her through the lenses of his glasses, head cocked at an angle. It didn’t surprise her that he knew where her thoughts had headed. He’d been witness to her worry for quite some time now. At the moment, it annoyed her that he read her so well, sparking a sardonic, “Have we?”

He sighed and broke their eye contact, pursing his lips for a moment. He then looked over at Tigh. “Saul, would you excuse us.”

The colonel nodded and rose. He walked over and placed his glass on the dining table then nodded to Bill. “I’ll be in CIC.” He turned to Laura and nodded as well. “Madame President.”

Laura tilted her head in acknowledgement. “Colonel.”

Tigh departed quietly, shutting the hatch behind him, leaving Laura and Bill alone.

Laura watched Bill set his glass on the chest in front of the couch then rise. He walked over to where she stood. He met her gaze levelly. “You know that we have.”

Anger, frustration and a vivid imagination drove her response. “Do I? Do you? There were other options and there are options still.”

“No.” It was a simple statement, uttered in a soft rasp devoid of anything other than truth and concern, and totally in counter to her own biting tone. That blue gaze, so steady, held hers. “Some things are not options. They can’t be if we are to lead this fleet again.”

His words appealed to her sense of reason, but she let the negative train of though continue, needing to vent, to hear his arguments, to be convinced again that they’d done the right thing and were doing the right thing now. “Do you seriously think we will?”

“We will,” he stated without hesitation. “I wouldn’t have let that frakwit take the oath otherwise.”

Laura blinked. “You would have helped steal the election?”

Bill’s reply, gentle in timbre, came with a faint smile and an unexpected caress, a light brushing of his knuckles across her cheek. “That cost would have been too high,” he said simply before letting his hand slowly drop away.

He didn’t say any more and neither did she, the anger she felt bleeding away in the face of such an honest admission, one that touched her in a way few things in her life had. And he was just as right now as he had been that night some weeks ago — compromising her ethics would have exacted too high a price from her personally, even if it had been undertaken with the noblest of intentions. She was grateful Bill had stopped her, that he held fast even now in the face of her distress over what was to come. A part of her truly feared that without him as a balance she would, with the safety and survival of her people foremost in mind, cross a line that would damn her.

Later that evening, as she conducted her evening prayers, Laura sought forgiveness for her pride and thanked the gods for Bill. He had gone to CIC for a while after their exchange only to return to have dinner with her. Since, he’d been ensconced at his desk, working on his log and fleet reports. He was still there now. She could hear the scratch of his pen on paper every so often, but she knew when he wasn’t writing that he was watching her, as he always seemed to do when he was present during her prayers.

It was impossible to not know when Bill Adama was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze was palpable. She felt it now, wondered at his thoughts, why he was so intrigued at the sight of her praying. She didn’t ask him, but when she opened her eyes, she met his across the distance and gave him a knowing smile. He looked down and away, an action patently his, a smile spreading across his face as he did.

Blowing out the candles and putting away her prayer items, Laura then rose and wandered toward him. He glanced up briefly at her approach then went back to writing. There was something decidedly attractive about the studious side of him, she decided, watching the lines on his brow deepen as he concentrated on the words he was scrawling in the log book. His penmanship was immaculate, the school teacher in her noted.

His head was tilted slightly as he wrote, presenting her with a partial view of his profile with a better view of the dark waves that graced his skull. He had luxurious hair for a man his age — a wealth more than Richard Adar’d had — distinguished salt and pepper, thick and soft, but not too soft.

Without thinking, Laura reached out and slowly drew her fingers through it, from the front of his head back and down to the curls that just brushed the collar of his uniform tunic. Idly, she fingered them, caressing the nape of his neck as she did, enjoying when he sighed deeply and relaxed at her touch.

Laura wasn’t sure why she’d touched him just now, other than she knew she could, wanted to and that he would allow it, would welcome it. There was something heady in being close to him while knowing that, and that he would stay the night if she asked. She didn’t ask often; neither did he. In fact, it had been more than a week since they’d last shared a bed, even a kiss. She could count on three fingers how many times they’d been physically intimate. They weren’t truly lovers, and yet she could not deny that they were … something.

Whatever that something was, it freed the woman in her in ways she’d never explored in past relationships. She felt she could be whatever she wished with him, seek whatever she wanted and needed and he would provide. Whether it was a hug, a kiss, a snuggle under the blankets, or a fevered frakking against the bulkhead or over his desk.

Her hand dropping to his shoulder, she gently urged him to sit back in the chair as she moved behind it. He set the pen down, obeying without question. Her hand returned to his hair, the other joining it. She drew her fingers through it again and again, following the same path, tousling the orderly state.

Under her touch, his head tilted back slowly until she could see his brow, his glasses sitting on his nose. His eyes were closed, his expression was … she couldn’t think of a word to describe it, but knew he was enjoying what she was doing. She continued, enjoying when he eventually leaned his head back against her, coming to rest just below her breasts.

Bowing, she pressed a kiss into his hair, her lips touching his scalp. He didn’t make a sound, but she felt him tremble, watched his hands tighten on the arms of the chair. She felt a rush of heat at knowing she was effecting him strongly enough to cause the reaction.


Her hands sliding down, she feathered them over his ears and along his jaw, thumbs lingering briefly at his temples, rubbing gently, then descending across his cheeks in a tandem sweeping stroke over emerging stubble.

His whispered “Laura” reverberated with desire, sending shivers through her, racing across her skin in tingling waves of excitement.

The air was thick and Laura suddenly couldn’t get enough of it into her lungs, her breaths coming increasingly more rapidly then normal. Bill’s chest rose and fell in sync with hers. She dropped her hands to smooth over his pectoral muscles hidden beneath the thick material of his jacket.

“Take this off,” she breathed, surprised at the boldness of her request and yet not — she had rarely been a timid lover. She watched him comply, hands releasing the chair arms to come up and unbutton the tunic. Her hands eased inside as he parted the garment’s sides, fingers splaying against him over the fabric of his tanks. His hands covered hers, held them against him. His body was so warm.

Bowing again, Laura rested her cheek against his head, shut her eyes and tried to calm herself as his fingers stroked hers, thick digits sliding over them, the back of her hands, up to her wrists.

“Gods, Bill,” came her voice unbidden, a breathless, thready sound that audibly broadcast the desire coursing through her flesh. His unquestioning acceptance of what she wanted, feeling the reality of it under her hands, seeing it with her own two eyes … it was a powerful thing.

Pulling her hands from his body, he tugged, murmuring, “Come around here.”

She did, moving around in front of him. He let go of her hand and his eyes met and held hers when she stood between his legs. Strong hands came up to rest at her hips then slid to the belt of her robe. The knot surrendered to his fingers instantly.

Laura’s breath quickened and so did Bill’s when the fabric fell open to reveal she wore no nightgown beneath, only one of his tanks and a pair of delicate white panties.

“Laundry day,” she whispered in explanation, seeing his surprise.

He simply nodded as his hands slid beneath the top. She gasped at the grazing caress of his fingertips up over her belly and ribs to cover her breasts. Her eyes fluttered shut when his lips touched the heated skin of her stomach. She felt the brush of his glasses against her as he trailed kisses down to her navel, knew the lenses would be smudged.

Gently, she took hold of the arms of the spectacles and he eased back to let her remove them. As she sat them aside, onto the bookshelf beside his desk, he took a moment to shrug out of his uniform jacket then returned to her, mouth finding her skin as his hands again found her breasts beneath the shirt. He held and kneaded her flesh, rubbing the peaks with his thumbs, making her shudder and gasp while his lips glided softly over her belly.

Laura’s fingers made their home in his hair, followed him as he kissed lower, and lower still, until his mouth brushed the fabric of her panties. At her deep moan, his hands descended her body, to her thighs then back up, to ease beneath the edges of her underwear, fingers curling up to the waistband and then gently drawing the material downward.

Laura’s hands went to the edge of the desk behind her, gripped tightly as his breath rushed over her, at the light kisses, the gentle touch of fingers and careful exploration of a warm tongue. It was all she could do to remain standing, breathing. Thought was impossible. She could only feel, him, the spinning of her world, exquisite pleasure in a swirl of heat and liquid reality.

“Bill,” she hummed, eyes falling shut, head falling back on her neck as he touched and tasted, tender and unrelenting. She hadn’t asked for this, but he gave it anyway, with the dedication she knew so well. He gave and gave until she gave to him what he sought.

He then rose and kissed her, a hand in her hair, drawing her mouth to his while his other kept her on edge, made her want him with an intensity that startled her. He soothed her with languid kisses that tasted of herself, breathed her name into the cavern of her mouth.

And then he was sliding her robe from her shoulders and divesting her of the tank, shucked his own and took her in his arms. Turning, he walked her back to the bed, eyes holding hers. So intense, so full of…

“I’m going to frak you, Laura,” he said and eased her down onto the mattress.

She could only moan in response and present herself to him in a way that another man might have misunderstood. But Bill didn’t. He freed himself and hooked his arms under her legs while she put him where she wanted him.

He took her without restraint. And she took him, hands gripping his shoulders, her body bowed as he found her depths again and again, claiming her as his wonderfully, endearingly familiar face hovered in the shadows above her. She called for him to kiss her and he did, first her lips and then her cheek, slowing as he did, prolonging the pleasure until Laura was strung tight, a wire ready to snap from too much tension.

Hands in his hair, she gasped a plea against his neck, “Please, Bill. Please.” Lips then teeth grazed his skin, then sank into firm flesh when she suddenly came undone on the heels of his unleashing.

Her body jerked hard and she moaned long and deep, held to him as he quaked against her and filled her. His breaths came in rough, uneven gasps in her ear and his voice was a hoarse rasp when he uttered two words filled with more meanings than she could divine in her state. They sounded, though, with absolute clarity in the depths of her being — and she understood them because they were on the tip of her own tongue.

“Thank you.”

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