Slide 9: Brains and Beauty

Laura Roslin idly tapped her pen between her fingers as she brainstormed. She was studying maps, charts, reports and photographs from the surface survey of New Caprica, had been for hours now, putting her mind to work on the problems her people were going to be facing.

There were a lot of them. Some solvable. Some not so solvable. Some impossible to solve. They simply didn’t have the resources or means to do what needed to be done — at least not with any speed. It would be years, possibly decades, before some things were even close to what the civilians would be expecting. Particularly in terms of housing and other infrastructure.

Leaning in for a closer look at one of the photos of the site Baltar had selected, Laura reseated her glasses on her nose, cursing her nearsightedness and knowing someday the prescription lenses weren’t going to be a help.

At the moment, the backlight on the War Room table wasn’t any since there were other pictures beneath the one she was examining. She picked up the photo she was interested in and righted herself. A hand on her hip, she perused it, shaking her head as she studied the muddy, graveled plain where the nitwit president thought they should make their home.

Bowing back over the table, she put pen to paper and made a few notes, just barely refraining from writing “Baltar’s an idiot” a thousand times. If she honestly thought it would make her feel better, she’d have given it a shot. But she had no hopes of that working, ever.

“Find anything interesting?”

Laura set down the picture and pushed her hair back behind her ear as she looked over the rim of her glasses at Bill Adama as he entered the room. Her pen never left the paper.

“Did you think I would?” she asked, feeling decidedly sardonic at the moment.

“Not really,” he admitted as the marines closed the door behind him. He moved around to stand beside her.

Laura resumed looking at the pictures, picking them up one at a time, propping on her elbow, her other hand still holding the pen to paper. She squinted, trying to imagine the tent city that was going to be erected in the coming week.

Tents.

Laura mentally rolled her eyes at the thought. She hated tents. Loathed them. People who thought they were fun were just plain nuts. What was so fantastic or romantic about sleeping on the cold, hard ground with a layer of canvas, maybe a blanket, between you and said cold, hard ground? Not to mention the elements? Nothing. Not a frakking thing.

With a sigh, she looked to the paper and wrote down two words.

He read them. “Disaster drills.”

Swiveling her hips to the side, Laura peered up Bill. “It’s a good way to keep the people ready for whatever comes.”

“Earthquake or Cylons,” he nodded, pursing his lips.

“We’ll need block captains, people who can keep their head in a crisis,” she said then, her thoughts flowing.

“Who won’t be rattled by explosions or gunfire,” Bill defined.

“Yes,” Laura agreed sadly. They had spent part of last evening discussing that very subject, certain that the Cylons would find them in time. It seemed inevitable when one considered how relentlessly they’d pursued the tiny human fleet, clearly not satisfied with having destroyed billions. A chill went down Laura’s spine every time she thought about it.

“I’ll have Saul work up a list of potential candidates from Galactica.”

Laura’s eyes widened, surprised that he would pull from his crew. He held her gaze, said, as if he’d heard her thoughts, “I’ve got some who want to settle.”

It shouldn’t have shocked her, but it did. She shook it away, though, turned back to her notepad, and wrote down block captains. “I’ll have Tory do the same from the civilian fleet,” she said, asking, “Maybe she and the colonel can work together on this?”

“They’ll have to be discreet,” Bill replied. “Baltar’s people are sniffing around.”

Laura snorted. “I wouldn’t be too worried. They can’t have much of a sense of smell else they wouldn’t be working for him.”

Bill gave a short, chuffing laugh but made no comment. He did, however, ask her if she was ready for dinner.

“It’s that late?” Laura asked, looking up at him again, seeking confirmation that she hadn’t passed most of the day in the windowless room staring at pictures of the godsforsaken planet below.

In answer, Bill took her pen out of her hand, picked up her notepad, then offered her his arm. She took it, not knowing what else to do, and he escorted her from the room, giving the marines an order to seal the door and keep it locked.

As had become their habit — and cover — when in public, they discussed her plans for the school. It was also a welcome break from the bleakness of other discussions about New Caprica. Laura was actually getting quite excited about the prospect of teaching again.

“I spoke to Dee today. She has found some extra tables aboard Pegasus,” Bill told her as they strolled through the corridors of his ship. “They’re not ideal but they should do for your classroom.”

“That’s fantastic. Chairs?”

“Still looking. But Kara did procure you a large writing board.”

“From where?” The only ones Laura knew of were too small to be of use or bolted to a bulkhead.

As they stepped across the threshold to his quarters, Bill looked over at her. “I don’t know and I didn’t ask.”

Laura giggled as she kicked off her shoes just inside the door. “Plausible deniability?” she teased.

“An admiral’s best friend,” he replied, laying her pad and pen on the table. He then went over to the service cart and poured a couple glasses of water.

After handing her one, he sat his on the table and unbuttoned his jacket. He shrugged it off, tossing it over the back of the chair, then picked up his glass and wandered over to the couch. He sank into it with a sigh, scrunching his face briefly into a frown as he stretched the muscles in his neck before relaxing back against the cushions.

“You’ve had a long day,” Laura said as she ditched her own jacket.

He took a drink of his water, then leaned his head back further. “We both have.”

Laura set her water on the chest, next to where he’d propped his feet then leaned over to pull his eyeglasses from his face. He looked up at her as she did. “It’ll help your headache,” she explained.

“How’d you know I have a headache?”

Laura smiled at him as she folded his glasses and set them on the chest. Picking up her water, she stepped over his legs and dropped down on the cushions beside him. “Because you only do that thing with your neck when you have one.”

He rolled his head to look at her. “Do I?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He turned his head back and closed his eyes. “Remind me to never play Triad with you.”

Laura hummed softly in amusement and matched his position, putting her bare feet up on the chest next to his.

They sat that way in comfortable silence for a number of minutes before Laura heard the hatch being shut. She laughed, imagining the picture they’d presented to the young marines who stood outside the door. She had the distinct feeling they were being looked after like a couple of doddering old folks.

They probably think we’ve fallen asleep, she mused.

“What are you laughing at?” Bill asked as she suddenly busted out into a full-fledged fit of giggles.

She leaned forward with a peal of laughter, feet dropping to the floor as she sat her water out of harm’s way.

Beside her, Bill was moving his own feet to the floor and watching her in amusement, his face slowly breaking out into a huge smile, chuckles rising in his chest.

“What?” he asked again.

She waved her hand at him, unable to speak. He caught the flailing appendage, still laughing at her laughing, shaking his head and watching her, eyes bright and teeming with wonder.

With some effort she finally gained a modicum of control over herself. Then Bill’s hand was there, touching her face, fingertips feathering along her cheek in a caress that gave her further sway against her amusement and incited a different feeling altogether.

She hummed softly and watched his eyes move leisurely over her face. He then spoke, lifting his chin just slightly and uttering with gentle earnestness three words she hadn’t heard in a very long time.

“You are beautiful.”

< Slide 8: When the Morning Comes | Slide 10: Daydream Believer >