Slide 30: Breathe

“That doesn’t sound good.”

Those were the words that greeted Laura Roslin and Bill Adama as they arrived in sickbay. Bill was coughing as they stepped through the doorway, which drew the immediate attention of Doc Cottle, who, thankfully, didn’t have a cigarette in hand.

The physician took one look at Bill and pointed to a bed. “Take a seat and get that coat off.”

Bill didn’t protest since this last round of coughing seemed persistent. It had begun when they exited the flight deck and lingered as they made their way to the ship’s main medical station.

Coat laid across the foot of the bed, Bill unbuttoned his uniform tunic as Cottle neared him with a stethoscope. The doctor had his patient breathe in and out while he listened, jerking away whenever Bill’s breaths turned into coughs.

After several minutes, Cottle shook his head at Bill and reached over to an oxygen tank. He switched it on, adjusted the saturation then handed Bill the mask.

“I’ll be back,” the doctor mumbled, wandered away.

Laura stepped up beside Bill as he bowed his head and drew in the pure, clean air. She reached up and ran her hand through his hair, noting bits of ash amongst the locks and also that his cough was easing.

“Better?” she asked.

“Yeah.” His reply was muffled by the mask, but she made it out clearly.

After a short bit, Cottle returned, turned off the oxygen and groused more orders. “Come with me. I want an x-ray, hero.”

Laura let her hand fall away from Bill as he stood and tailed after the physician. She followed them, concern for Bill at the fore even though Cottle didn’t seem overly worried. The physician, if anything, was unhappy that he had to render medical treatment to the ship’s commander — and not just because Bill was a notoriously horrible patient, like herself. No, Cottle’s irritation stemmed from Bill’s having risked his life. Neither the doctor nor Col. Tigh were happy when Bill did that. She wasn’t particularly happy about it either, but she knew Bill. What he’d done was just … him.

Stepping into an auxiliary medical lab, which Laura was unfortunately familiar with, Cottle directed Bill to the x-ray machine and ordered his patient to take off his tunic.

Bill did. Cottle reacted.

“What the hell is that?” the physician all but shouted when he caught sight of the series of red love bites on Bill’s arm.

Laura blushed and then it began — the giggles. It was an entirely juvenile reaction. She tried to smother them, but her hand was not an effective barrier. It came out a rather choked but decidedly amused sound.

Bill, for his part, just bowed his head, a grin spreading across his face as Cottle stood there virtually pointing at the marks on Bill’s biceps.

That image was the final straw for Laura. She dissolved into a fit of the giggles like she’d had before that damned debate with Baltar. Bill’s chuckles chimed in, which turned to coughs, which pissed off Cottle.

The doctor glared at her. “Okay, out. I can’t shoot an x-ray with him laughing and coughing. Out.”

Laura did as he ordered without quibble — a first for her — but damned near fell over double in laughter when she heard him continuing to fuss, “You two are worse than a pair of godsdamned teenagers.”

Later, Laura was still amused.

As she stood behind Bill in his shower enjoying the hot water, she ran her hand over his arm and succumbed to yet another round of giggling. She felt Bill’s body shake with responding laughter, which inevitably became coughs. They were sounding better, though. Cottle had given him an inhaler, which was loosening the congestion, and kept him in sickbay on oxygen for a couple hours, which also helped. Smoke inhalation, a mild case, had been the diagnosis.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized with a kiss to her lover’s shoulder, before succumbing to giggles again.

Bill managed to rein in his coughs and laughter enough to say, “Don’t be. Good to hear you laugh.”

Laura eased her hand around to his chest, caressed him gently, fingers grazing along the length of his surgical scar. “It’s good to laugh,” she said, her giggles tempering in the face of his confession. “We haven’t had much of that, have we?”

He took one of his hands down from the wall, where’d he’d braced both earlier, and covered her hand. “No.” That was all he said as he laced his fingers with hers.

He ducked his head back under the spray and let it wash through his hair, Laura brought her other hand up and ran her fingers through his wet locks. She’d already washed it, but she liked how silky his hair felt when wet and couldn’t resist touching it again. The way it curled at the nape of his neck was damned sexy, too.

Turning her head, Laura rested it against his upper back, her hand sliding down from his neck to his waist. She closed her eyes and enjoyed just being close to him, thankful he was alive and whole, had survived the early morning madness to be with her now. She hadn’t dwelt on how dangerous it had been, tried not to think about how he’d rushed into that flaming tent in an attempt to save that woman. It was terrifying to contemplate what could have happened, so she didn’t think about it. She shoved the thoughts aside and concentrated on the warmth and solidity of him, the sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

Laura had no idea how long they stood that way but, eventually, Bill turned off the water and they exited the shower. Once dried off, he put her in his robe then donned a clean pair of boxes and tanks. Together, they went into the other room and ate a small breakfast. His rack was their next and final stop of the morning. She shed the robe and crawled under the covers. He eased in behind her.

Laura leaned back into his chest as he gathered her close, spooning his body against hers. She ran her hand over his forearm, spoke softly a thought that came to mind, “What did Cottle say?”

“Not much.” A kiss to her shoulder accompanied the reply.

“Was he shocked?”

“No.” Bill’s arm drew her closer. She felt his smile against her skin when he kissed her again. “He just said no breathing-intensive activities for the next twenty-four hours.”

There was a slight pause, the span of a heartbeat … and her giggles were back.

He laughed with her, at least until the comm unit above his bed let out an unwelcome buzz. He removed his arm from around her and rolled onto his back, grabbed the handset.

“Adama.” He listened to whoever was on the other end of the line then offered a subdued “thank you” before returning the handset to its cradle. He lay there a moment then exited the bed.

Laura turned over, watched him walk to the service cart where he poured whiskey in a tumbler. He lifted the glass to his mouth but didn’t take a drink. He set the tumbler back down next to the decanter and went into the lavatory.

When he flipped on the light and picked up his shaving mug and brush, she didn’t have to ask what the call was about. When he’d gotten out of bed, she’d suspected. When he began lathering, she knew — the woman he’d pulled from the fire had died.

With a silent prayer to the gods for them to take care of the woman humanity had just lost, Laura curled on her side and watched Bill shave. Briefly, she considered getting up and going to him but ultimately decided against it.

He needed to put things into order for himself, his thoughts and feelings, and shaving with a fury was, she’d learned, how he usually did it. It was a therapeutic ritual, one she understood because she had one of her own — she paced and swore.

From the recesses of his bunk, Laura watched him clear away the stubble from his cheeks, then his chin, jaw and neck. When he finished, he rinsed his razor and shaving mug before bending and washing his face. She watched the tension leave him — most of it anyway — when he righted himself, took a deep breath, which spawned a short cough. He then picked up a hand towel and dried his face, hands and the water trekking down his forearms. As he did, his eyes sought out her reflection in the mirror.

Laura didn’t bother to hide her observation of him, figured he’d known all along that she was watching him. And she continued to do so as he tossed the towel onto the counter then exited the lavatory, turning off the light.

As his shadowy form approached the bed, Laura lifted the covers. He slid beneath them, stretching out on his back. Laura snuggled against his side without a moment’s hesitation and he welcomed her, an arm easing around her to hug her close.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered as she wiggled her head against his shoulder, getting comfortable.

Laura shut her eyes and ran her hand across his chest and up to his opposite shoulder. Caressing him gently, she replied, “You too, Bill.”

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