Slide 25: Last Day

Laura Roslin slept in for the first time in ages on her last full day as a resident of the Battlestar Galactica. She enjoyed it though, admittedly, she would have enjoyed it more had the ship’s commanding officer not had an early morning duty shift. She’d actually groaned in protest when he’d crawled out of bed, taking his heat and comfort with him.

“Let someone else play admiral today,” she’d groused without opening her eyes.

A soft chuckle had been his response. That and a lingering kiss to her bare shoulder, along with a humor-tinged whisper. “Fat chance. Job has lost its glamour. No one else wants it.”

Laura had giggled, and it’d taken every ounce of self discipline she possessed to not latch onto him when he climbed over her to exit the rack. It had been tempting, so unbelievably tempting to just seduce him. But she hadn’t, and he’d risen, gone through his morning ritual then slipped out of his quarters after depositing a kiss to her cheek as she dozed in and out of a languorous sleep.

After his departure, Laura had drifted off again and slept deeply, cocooned in his bedding, which smelled of him and held a residual measure of his warmth. Had those two things been the reasons she stayed put it might have seemed romantic. But they weren’t the motivation, at least not solely. Rather, she hadn’t want to get up, thinking that she could stave off the approaching morrow if she delayed starting her day. It was a fool’s errand, but Laura let herself pursue it for a while, ‘til midmorning, when the buzzing of the comm unit above the bed woke her.

“Yes,” Laura replied after reaching up, fumbling for and pulling down the receiver. She juggled it on the descent, muttering “frak” and a few other choice expressions as she struggled to get a sure grip on the handset.

“Madame President.” It was Bill. His tone was respectful but laced with obvious amusement. She could visualize the slight smirk on his face on the other end of the line. She was okay with that. After what they’d done the night before, he’d earned the right to grin like an idiot if he so chose.

“If I were still president, I could have you airlocked for waking me up,” she teased, a grin lighting her face.

A faint laugh came through the speaker at her ear. “Good thing you’re not then.”

“Yes. A good thing,” Laura giggled, asked, “What can I do for you, Admiral?”

“Tory sent a message and a package with one of the supply raptors,” he replied, his voice a crackling rumble across the line. “Said she needs you to take a look at the papers and get them back to her on one of the later runs.”

Laura sighed. “She’s too efficient.”

Another light chuckle. “I’ll have a crewman bring them to you.”

“No, that’s all right. Just have someone sit them aside, I’ll come get them,” she replied. “The walk will do me good.”

A half-beat, then, in a voice laden with rare but unmistakable smugness, he asked, “You sure you can?”

Laura didn’t know whether to laugh or call him an ass. She settled for an amalgam of the two and earned an equally rare full laugh from the normally inscrutable Bill Adama. She imagined his crew giving him odd looks, and the thought made her smile brighter. If only they knew she was naked in his bed, where he’d spent the night, frakking her into another plane of orgasmic existence. And that thought brought with it heat that made her long for his presence, here, now.

She issued a challenge. “Why don’t you come down here make sure of it?”

Dead silence on the other end of the line, followed by a slow, deep breath, a low whisper, “Don’t start things you aren’t prepared to finish, Madame President. First rule of any military action.”

His voice sent shivers of delight through her. She shifted under the covers, enjoying the feel of them sliding across her skin, wishing it was his body instead. Gods, it was insane how much she wanted him. She’d always had a healthy sex drive, but whatever he’d done to her last night seemed to be … lingering. It felt good. Very good.

“What makes you think I’m not?” she whispered huskily into the receiver, a part of her surprised at how blatant she was being over an unscrambled comm line. It wasn’t smart. At all. She was usually much more sensible and was actually thankful Bill seemed to possess his faculties. Despite her desire, she was grateful for his “We’ll discuss this later” and the click of the line being disconnected.

A cool shower served to ease her passions and brought with it clarity of thought, and recognition of how foolhardy she’d been. She might not be president any longer, but the press would have a field day if they heard the blatantly sexual flirtation between her and Bill. That could cause all sorts of issues with the plans they’d made and they couldn’t afford that.

Dressed in a pair of jeans and a thick, gray sweater that Tory had found somewhere, Laura departed Bill’s quarters and headed toward the flight deck. She stopped at the galley along the way and procured a fresh cup of coffee. She sipped the pungent brew as she walked through the corridors. In no rush, she strolled leisurely, saying hello to people she passed along the way, pausing to talk to some who wanted a bit more of her time. Her marine guards were alert to any potential threat, but were also patient with her frequent stops and slow pace.

When she arrived at the flight deck, she flagged down one of the crewmen, asked about the package that had been sent up from the surface for her.

“Yes, ma’am. The admiral has it in there,” the young man pointed in the direction of one of the workshops along the inner part of the deck.

Laura looked where the deckhand was indicating then back to him in confusion. “The admiral’s here?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s making something in the machine shop,” he replied then held up the tools in his hand and started walking. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to…”

Laura gave him a smile. “Oh, by all means. And thank you.”

Once the orange jump-suited crewman was gone, Laura headed toward the machine shop where the ship’s commander was … making something. In the two years she’d known Bill, the only thing she’d seen him build was a model ship, which made her wonder just what he was making. This ought to be interesting, she decided, as she dodged passing crew on her way to her destination.

Stepping through the doorway, she saw Bill’s uniform tunic tossed over the back of a stool and he stood just beyond, his back partially to her. He wore a welder’s helmet and was sparks were flying in a spray as he worked. His body shielded her eyes from the bright light where the welder met metal, so she leaned just inside the doorway and watched him work, admiring the play of muscles in his arms and across his broad shoulders as she continued to sip her coffee.

After several minutes, the sparks stopped and he shifted, sitting aside the tool, and pushing the visor back from his face.

“I didn’t expect to find you down here.” At her statement, Bill looked over his shoulder at her. His mouth curved into a slow grin when she added, “What are you doing down here?”

“Making something,” was his answer.

“So I hear,” she countered and pushed away from the doorway and walked over to get a look at what he was making. It didn’t look like much to her, but it was definitely something. It consisted of a hand-crafted barrel that had an opening in the side as well as on one of the ends. A short piece of metal was welded to one end and two other similar pieces were nearby. There was also a section of wide piping, along with a piece of grating and a couple other pieces of metal that had no readily identifiable purpose or function — but she was sure they had one. “What is it?” she finally asked after her eyes raked over the parts a second time.

His answer came with a soft laugh. “Something to keep you warm on New Caprica.”

Laura looked up at him, to what he was building, and then back to him as what he said sunk in. She smiled. “A heating stove.”

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but it will do the job,” he assured her.

Laura was touched at his gesture. She’d been complaining now for weeks about the inhospitable conditions — especially the cold — and he’d said nary a word in return. That wasn’t unusual; he often listened without commenting. But this … gift … it was very considerate and endearingly sweet.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Laura sat her coffee aside and laid her hand on his upper arm, raised on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered softly, unable to resist a lingering caress to his biceps as she slowly lowered onto her heels.

Memories of the night before flooded her as her fingers lightly mapped the contours, remembering how she’d anchored herself to them, holding so tight. Her eyes dropped to where she was touching, to see if she’d left bruises. She hadn’t, but she could see the bites from her nails, faint but there for anyone to see if they looked close enough.

Laura brushed a fingertip over one of marks, heard him take a steadying breath. In all other respects, he was stone still, letting her trace each of them in turn in a display of intimate familiarity that was quite bold for her considering they weren’t locked safely behind the door to his quarters. The politician in her was appalled at her lack of restraint. The woman in her… she felt something else entirely. And she wanted to feel more.

Her hand easing slowly down his forearm, Laura lifted her gaze to his and felt the breath leave her lungs. She wasn’t alone in what she felt, any of it. The warmth, the tenderness in those blue depths made her wish, intently, that they were behind the door of his quarters so she could kiss him, slow and deep, sink her hands into his hair and muss the lush waves. She was fairly certain she’d never wanted to ravish a man more than she wanted to ravish Bill Adama at this moment. And he knew it. She saw it in his eyes, felt in the flexing of the muscles her hand was traveling over.

If she were anyone else. If he were anyone else. Caution would be thrown to the wind. They would indulge in the age-old rite of lovers to have an impulsive tryst. There was a time when she would have attempted it. She had so many times with Richard Adar. But this was different. She was different and Bill was nothing like Richard. A quick, hard frakking with the thrill of getting caught wasn’t Bill’s thing and, she was learning, it wasn’t really hers. She preferred the slow burn, the steady building of passion to the point it could not be denied. That was what Bill gave her, flavored with his unique blend of intensity and tenderness, and a measure of devotion that should have frightened her but didn’t.

Patience. He has such patience, she realized as she skimmed her fingers over the back of his hand, tracing the prominent veins. He has such strong hands, she thought then slowly moved away from him as breath and cognitive thought became almost impossible to come by.

“You have the papers Tory sent up for me?” she asked, her voice desperately breathless despite her attempts to school it into something more formal.

“On the bench,” he said, nodding to somewhere over her shoulder.

Reluctantly, Laura turned away from him and made her way over to the small stack of folders that were bundled together. She undid the cord that bound them and opened the top one. She glanced at the note Tory had put inside. She needed signatures on the finalized curriculum, approved by the quorum. Tory had noted that the quorum rejected Baltar’s revisions and went with the documented facts she’d originally included. She smiled brightly at being vindicated, even if it was by a group of people who had seemed intent on driving her completely mad when she’d been in office.

Picking up the folders, keeping the one on top open, Laura faced Bill again and shared the news.

He replied with a rumbled “Good” as he turned the barrel and then positioned another of the small pieces of metal near the rim, which would obviously serve as legs for the stove.

“Yes, very,” she agreed, wandering back over to watch him work. She found it fascinating to see him doing something so … well, different from what she usually saw him do. She was accustomed to seeing him handle papers and pens, maps and charts, handsets and books, even firearms — though, thankfully, that hadn’t been often. But this was a side of him she’d never seen before so she propped an elbow on the stack of folders that she’d set on the table, then rested her chin in her palm to watch as he clamped the metal into position.

“Don’t look at the arc,” he said as he pushed the visor down and picked up the welding tool. She looked away as it sparked to life, her eyes drawn inevitably to him. As heat built, she watched a bead of sweat form and run down the side of his face. When he set the tool aside again, she looked to see the metal glowing where he’d forged the two pieces.

He flipped the visor up again and wiped at the light sheen on his brow. “Been a long time since I’ve done this kind of work,” he confessed, glancing at her before reaching for the next piece of metal.

“You like it though,” she noted, taking in the contentment in his features.

Not a word in reply. Just a crooking at the corner of his mouth.

Laura felt herself adopt a similar expression as she commented, “Physical labor can be very therapeutic.”

“Less stressful than paperwork,” he replied with a nod to the stack of folders she was propped on.

“Much less,” Laura agreed then sighed as she looked down at the folders. She really didn’t want to do paperwork today, not with it being her last day on the ship. But Tory was expecting the papers back, which meant she had to do them. “Do you have a pen?” she asked Bill, filled with a sudden determination to dispatch them as quickly as possible if for no other reason that to be done with it and the rest of the day be hers to do with as she pleased.

Her admiral just looked at her and it hit her, he never carried a pen. Whenever someone needed a report signed, they always brought one with them … unless he was at his desk in his quarters, which he wasn’t at the moment, which meant no pen.

“Never mind,” she said with a wave of her hand.

He cast her a knowing smile, offered, “Try one of the pilots. They usually have several. Or they should have.”

“Required equipment?”

“Yes.”

Laura nodded and headed out to the machine shop and back into the hangar. She waved down a familiar face, a pilot known by the call sign “Hot Dog,” and inquired about borrowing a pen. The young man was only too happy to provide, to the point he told her to “not worry about it” when she said she’d get it back to him shortly. She started to protest, but decided not to, recognizing that the gesture was one of pride — and possibly bragging rights.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she told him instead, which garnered her a bright, boyish grin from him.

“You’re welcome, Madam President,” he replied then sauntering off to a group of his comrades who were teasing him all the way over.

There were times when Galactica’s flight deck reminded her of a playground at recess and the pilots of mischievous boys and girls. Now was one of those times.

Ducking back into the machine shop, she found Bill had returned to his project and was welding the third leg into place. She avoided looking at the arc and concentrated on her papers, making her way through one folder at a time, scrawling her signature in each place Tory had marked.

The sounds of Bill’s working provided a strangely soothing backdrop for her thought processes. Or maybe it was just being with him.

In the last several months, they’d worked together often in the same space and she’d come to enjoy voicing questions when they occurred to her and answering his, sharing thoughts with him and having him there to listen and share his with her. It was comfortable, easy, and infinitely satisfying.

Just like now.

Here she sat, in a place she’d never imagined herself being, and she was completely content just being here, near him, working as he worked, the sound of turning paper blending with the sharp crackles of welding. There was no place she’d rather be, a realization that struck her hard.

Glancing up at Bill, Laura felt the prick of tears. She was going to miss this very much — almost as much as she was going to miss him.

< Part 24: Just Feel | Slide 26: Last Night >