Slide 10: Daydream Believer

“Bill?” Laura called out as she exited the lavatory and headed into the main area of his quarters. She was fighting with the clasp on her necklace, trying to remove it before going to bed but was having difficulty with the normally easy task for some reason.

Eyes catching Bill’s questioning gaze as he stood by the hatch, a hand on the wheel, she asked, “Can you help me with this before you go? I can’t seem to get…”

He looked at her but a moment before moving to help. She turned her back to him and pulled her hair up and out of the way, offered him a preemptive “thank you” while casting a smile over her shoulder.

He was quiet as he went about the task, which wasn’t unusual — he wasn’t often verbose. But that silence in conjunction with the light brushing of his fingers, then knuckles, against the sensitive nape of her neck was suddenly and unexpectedly erotic.

Laura felt her skin tingle to life at the touch, little frissons spreading out from the point of contact, gliding over her body. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She shut her eyes and bit her lip to head off the shiver of delight that threatened. She wasn’t very successful.

Behind her, Bill stilled. Then touched her with intent. A gradual, sweeping graze of his thumb from the top of her spine upward, to her hairline. Laura was unable to suppress the hum that light touch elicited, or the one that followed when she felt his exhalation stir the fine hairs there … a warm, soft, quickened breath. He lingered and she held completely still, then felt the brush of his nose, then the touch of his lips. Just barely, hardly a kiss at all. But so powerful, owing to the intensity of the giver.

He said something then, but she couldn’t make out the words, only registered the rumble of his voice. And then his fingers went back to work, unfastening her necklace. She felt them trembling as he fumbled a few times before the clasp finally slipped free.

He released the chain to her then eased his fingers under the collar of her robe, slid down just a little ways then eased the garment slowly back, giving her ample time to protest. She didn’t, couldn’t. She let him draw the material down to expose her shoulders, bare but for the thin straps of her nightgown. He stopped then and she sensed a hesitation in him. For many long minutes, they both just stood there, breaths clearly audible, coming harder, shallower than normal, and then his hands began moving again, gliding down over her back, traveling the silk of her bedclothes to her waist.

Laura was breathless and thoughts were hard to come by when his hands began moving again, to her sides then up, up, stopping when his fingertips just touched the sides of her breasts. Then they moved again, smoothing down and around her until he was embracing her, pulling her back against him.

His lips touched the rim of her ear as her hands fell to cover his. “I’m having a hard time being a gentleman,” he murmured low then nuzzled into her hair.

Laura stroked his fingers with hers, slid her hands along his forearms, then reached up and back, cradling his head in her hands. She turned her head toward him. He kissed her cheek softly. She whispered, “Don’t be.”

“Don’t be what?” came Bill Adama’s voice from the other room.

Standing in front of the lavatory mirror, Laura Roslin started and saw her cheeks flame red. The question was innocuous enough, but her daydream sure hadn’t been. Who was she kidding? That had been a full-fledged sexual fantasy — one that should have come with a content rating.

She’d been known to have them and had them on occasion about Bill, but never quite so vividly, and definitely not while he was in the vicinity. Usually, she kept her mind tightly reined, focused on business at hand because there usually was business to be discussed. But it was late now, business having been finished hours ago, dinner thereafter. Then they’d just sat and read, each with a book on his couch.

After a while, she’d decided that her suit had to go, so she’d showered, donned her nightgown and robe, and then found herself in front of the mirror trying to get her necklace off when thoughts of…

“How’re you feeling?” It was a soft rasp, closer. She glanced up to see Bill’s reflection in the mirror. He stood just outside the lavatory doorway, a glass of fine whiskey in hand, glasses perched midway on his nose. The other hand held a book. He was looking at her with concern. “You look feverish.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, letting go of the necklace and moving to the sink. She turned on the water, splashed a little of the cool liquid on her face, hoping to cool her skin and her thoughts. When she was done, she reached for the hand towel … there wasn’t one … and then there was … in Bill’s hand, presenting it to her.

She took it from him with a meek “thank you” and blotted her face dry. As she finished, his thumb brushed lightly across her temple. Her eyes darted to him but he just looked at her, stone silent as his intense eyes searched and, she realized, saw what she foolishly could not hide — the silly schoolgirl embarrassment.

He said nothing, though, just leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her brow. He then turned and wandered out of the tiny room, picking up his book from the counter on the way out, a corner of his mouth quirking. The sight of that self-satisfied almost-smile and the swagger in his step made Laura laugh.

Shaking her head, she turned back to the mirror, unfastened her necklace and laid it on the counter. She blow dried her hair then ran a brush through it, working out the tangles. After a thorough brushing of her teeth, she exited the lavatory, switching off the light.

Strolling into the main area of Bill’s cabin, she came to a stop seeing the flesh-and-blood counterpart of her dream lover was sacked out, slouched back on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him. His feet were propped on the heavy wood chest, ankles crossed. His chin rested on his chest and his eyes were closed, his features relaxed in sleep. On the cushion beside him lay the book he’d been reading, one hand on the open pages, fingers loosely holding his glasses. His other hand rested on his belly, fingers curled just slightly.

Something in Laura stirred at seeing him like that. He didn’t look particularly comfortable and yet he did. Which wasn’t really an odd thing. Bill was, in many way, a bundle of contradictions.

Easing from the shadows of his sleeping area, she made her way over toward him, lowering to her knees when she reached the chest. On the smooth wood surface sat her prayer candles and icons. Quietly, she arranged the small white stones, lit the candles, and opened the prayer book. Closing her eyes, then, she began her nightly prayers.

She lifted up to the gods her people, praying for peace and courage in the days to come. She prayed for Bill, a smile finding its way to her mouth as she called for his strength to be renewed, his wisdom to continue to temper them, his vigilance to never wane. She prayed peace for him, too, and for his crew, the steadfast protectors of humanity. She prayed then for herself, seeking forgiveness for failings and offering thanks for blessings, asking for guidance.

When Laura was finished, she opened her eyes and found Bill watching her. His gaze was hooded but she could tell sleep did not hold him. She wondered what he thought of her prayers. He seemed to accept and respect that she believed even though she knew he did not — and this was his home.

“Does it bother you?” she asked softly.

A gentle rasp. “No.”

Laura smiled at him then set about dousing the prayer candles, a hand cupping the backside of the flame then blowing it out. Next, she placed the white stones back into the small brass dish and closed her prayer book. Her fingers lingered on the binding out of memory. The book had been a gift from Elosha, her spiritual guide early in their journey, for too short a time. Laura missed the kind but tough priest. And Billy, who’d also been a wise counsel — wise beyond his young years. Laura prayed wherever he was, he was happy. He deserved it after having his life cut so short.

We all do, Laura thought, tears threatening, and couldn’t help but genuinely hope they might get a little of it on New Caprica, since settlement seemed inevitable at this point. She still didn’t think it was where they were supposed to be — though they would be within the week — but if the people, if she and Bill and his crew, could find an interim of peace, Laura wanted them to have it.

Hearing Bill move, Laura looked to see him rising to his feet. He’d marked his place in the book, left it laying on the couch, and was walking around the chest. He stopped beside her and held out his hand. She took it and he guided her to her feet.

Once she was standing, he caught her chin in hand, much as he had that one time on Colonial One. His blue eyes searched her green ones then, ever so slowly, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a soft, luxurious kiss, the kind that made a woman’s toes curl in ways like nothing else could. And Laura’s did.

When he finally released her mouth, Laura asked breathlessly, “What was that for?”

“Food for thought,” he replied with a wink then eased around her to the hatch.

Humming in amusement, Laura turned and eyed him coyly. “You’re not going to be insufferable, are you?”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her, deadpanned, “I’m aiming for irresistible.”

Laura was helpless to stop the short, lilting laugh that bubbled to the surface, and the words that followed. “You just might succeed, Admiral.”

He threw her a broad grin then exited with a chuckle and heartfelt, “Goodnight, Madam President.”

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