Slide 34: Shelter from the Storm

Rain.

It seemed there was no shortage of precipitation on New Caprica. Nor mud. It was everywhere, thick and clinging to shoes, boots and the hems of trousers, the result of melting snow and the rain that came behind it.

Laura Roslin stood just inside the canvas classroom and watched the downpour. Behind her, students were taking a test under the watchful eyes of her assistants, Tory and Maya.

For nearly three weeks, the sky had sought fit to shower them daily, to varying degrees. For nearly three weeks, Laura had slept each night huddled alone under the blankets in her tent, as near to the heating stove as she dared, to ward off the damp, bone-deep chill that seemed to have permanently settled into her flesh. Sleeping, however, was probably a generous way to look at it. She really wasn’t resting well, hadn’t been since Bill had returned to Galactica.

Laura missed him in more ways that she could count. But responsibilities kept him in orbit. More of his crew was moving to the surface daily. She had new neighbors, former marines from his personal guard. She had a suspicion as to why they were taking up residence so near her but didn’t ask them. It was probably better she just let it be. So she did, choosing instead to worry about the fact that the military’s ranks were thinning at a time when the fleet’s safety was less than certain.

Sighing, Laura looked up into the heavy, overcast sky, wishing for the slightest hint of blue. Her wish was ignored. There was only gray. And rain.

Laura hated camping and even though they weren’t really camping on this planet, that’s what it felt like. So she hated it. Oh, there were good things to be sure. She liked the fresh air. She liked solid ground under her feet. She liked fresh water. But she was already weary of the monochromatic existence that New Caprica seemed to specialize in, which didn’t bode well for her morale considering she’d only been on the surface a month.

One month and there had maybe two fully sunny days. It was enough to make Laura long to be staring out a window at an endless sea of stars, where she could at least see that they existed.

Turning away from the dreary landscape, Laura rejoined Tory and Maya in watching over the students. She passed the rest of the day in a sort of daze, going through the motions, her attention there and yet not. It was, sadly, a habit she’d developed in the last year, one that had got her through some particularly contentious quorum meetings.

In penance for her premature mental checkout, once the students were dismissed for the day, Laura sent Tory and Maya home early and went about straightening the classroom. She milled about at her own pace, in no rush to finish the task or leave when what awaited her was solitude.

She could socialize, of course. There were always community things going on, informal dances, dinners and the like. She’d heard about them from Tory and Maya, and others. But Laura didn’t go. She couldn’t really pinpoint why exactly though she did fear, on some level, that it might put a damper on spirits, that people might think they had to behave differently if she was in attendance. It was probably vanity to even entertain the notion, but she’d seen it happen and honestly didn’t want to inhibit anyone from enjoying themselves. She wanted them to have fun, relax, for as long as they could.

Laura also wanted it for herself but despaired that New Caprica would ever offer her fun of any sort. It felt too much like a waiting room to her, a place you paced or sat, waiting for what was to come, anticipating the worst to prepare yourself in case the worst was on the horizon. The only things missing were the pastel colors, racks of outdated magazines and the smell of antiseptic.

As Laura gathered up a stack of submitted essays, she sighed yet again. She hated waiting rooms more than she did camping. Personal experience had taught her to not just anticipate the worst, but to expect it — especially in regards to her health and the cylons.

Speaking of which, she had an appointment on the morrow with Galactica’s physician. It was a scheduled checkup, or rather a followup, the doctor insisting on making sure that her cancer was staying away. She really didn’t want to go — well, going to Galactica would be nice, but she could do without the reason for it. She’d never been fond of doctors or the whole medical circus. She really didn’t like it when she was in the center ring, even for just routine checkups. It always felt like a violation of her personal space, which, she supposed, it was on some level. She didn’t handle it well when that was breached, even for the sake of her health.

Picking up her satchel, Laura safely tucked away the children’s writings and sealed the bag against the rain. It wasn’t a long walk to her tent, but it felt like miles as the rain began coming down in ice-cold sheets. She trudged through the mud and moved as fast as she could without sacrificing footing in the muddy terrain. She was glad there wasn’t a great layer of topsoil on the plain beneath the settlement or else they’d have been neck deep in the muck by now.

As Laura neared her canvas abode, one of the former marines came out to meet her. He held up his poncho over them both, shielding her from the rain.

“Thank you, Corporal,” she told him. It wasn’t the first time. He had met her each day during these downpours, somewhere along the path from the school to her tent, and protected her best he could from the weather. She was immensely grateful for the effort he made.

“I meant to get to the school sooner, ma’am,” he said in reply.

“That’s all right. I finished sooner than I expected,” she said with a genuine smile. “And I’m thankful you came out at all in this.”

He threw her a sheepish grin. “The admiral would have my hide if I didn’t.” He said no more and gave Laura no time to respond as he ushered her inside her tent.

Once across the threshold, Laura quickly turned to try to speak to him further only to see him heading to his own abode, feet sloshing in the puddles, muddy water splashing up on the sides of his black military boots. As the tail of his shirt flapped up, she saw a holstered pistol on the young man’s hip.

It was the last piece of the puzzle, or rather the last bit of evidence she needed to confirm her theory on why she had new neighbors and why they were there. To protect her.

There had been a time when she would have chaffed at the very thought that she needed protection, from anything, but that time seemed like it was from another life. Since the destructions of their home worlds, she’d come to realize that everyone needed protection in some way or another. And there were very real concerns regarding her security on this planet — and they weren’t limited to Gaius Baltar’s paranoia or Tom Zarek’s scheming. She was a former president living amongst the populace, the majority of whom had not voted for her in the last election. She had made choices that didn’t sit well with many people and who knew what grudge someone might be nursing out there.

Laura didn’t dwell on those sorts of thoughts, though. They weren’t productive. But she would be lying to herself if she pretended she didn’t have them from time to time. She’d seen some of the looks people had cast her way, knew that not everyone cared for her. Some even hated her, which she didn’t like but knew was the way of things when it came to the hotbed of politics, power and public perception. People tended to fall to one side or another, few choosing the middle ground of opinion and understanding.

Truth be told, though, Laura was more concerned about this planet and its frakked up weather. It was the greater threat, to all of them. Keeping warm and dry were essential to human survival, and so far, they hadn’t managed much of either. That didn’t bode well for the health of the people. She made a mental note to talk to Doc Cottle about the situation when she saw him in the morning.

Sitting her bag on the chair at her “desk,” Laura began shrugging out of her drenched overcoat only to stop when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. It startled her. She looked up to see what it was only to let out a sigh of relief when her eyes landed on a familiar form standing in her doorway … Admiral Bill Adama.

“Hi,” she said somewhat nonsensically, a smile emerging.

He mirrored the expression as he ducked inside her tent, pulling back the hood of his poncho. The hat came off next, leaving his hair in decided disarray. There was something sexy about that, she concluded before he reached up and ran his fingers through it, seeking some order.

The action made Laura somewhat self conscious of her own appearance. Her mass of hair was wet and virtually plastered to her skull. Drops of cold water were trickling down her back beneath her clothing. She figured she looked about as good as she had back on Kobol, albeit without the shroud of cancer weighing on her.

A hand rising, Laura brushed at a tendril of hair that clung to her cheek, watched him as he watched her. His smile was an easy one, hinted at the growing intimacy between them, while his eyes looked at her with a tenderness that she’d only ever known with him. It was almost the same look he gave her when he departed her tent a few weeks earlier. Then, though, there had been concern, briefly, not for the many worries they had regarding the fleet, the settlement or the cylons, but for what he’d confessed in a moment of passion and emotional vulnerability.

It had been clear he hadn’t meant to say the words. It had also been clear that he didn’t regret that he had, but did fear that she regretted hearing them. There had been no need for him to say a word. His trepidation had been palpable in those moments immediately after and again the following morning when, both times, he’d been reluctant to meet her gaze. It had seized her heart the first time. The second had nearly broken it. She hadn’t known what to say so she’d just kissed him as softly as she knew how, wishing she was a stronger woman.

Bill, bless him, had simply accepted the kiss and, with a nimbleness that never ceased to amaze her, turned it into his to her, making her long for the night to renew so they could undress again, sink back down to her bed and enjoy each other one more time before the sun rose.

When the kiss had finally ended, all trace of his fears had been gone and in its place had been the rock-steady calm with which she’d grown familiar, and a level of understanding that put her at ease. She’d been grateful for that, was grateful still.

“It’s good to see you,” he said when he stopped in front of her.

Laying a hand on his chest, Laura pushed up onto her toes and brushed a quick kiss to his lips. “It’s good to see you,” she told him then resumed shedding her coat.

“You might want to keep that on.”

Laura stopped and looked at him, eyebrow raised in question, unsure of why he would want her to stay in wet clothes.

His voice was devastatingly soft when he explained, “I heard you have an appointment with Cottle aboard Galactica in the morning.” There was so much in that tone, hidden behind the words. Desire, need, affection, even concern.

She addressed the latter first. “It’s just a routine followup.”

He looked at her, a faint smile still hovering around his mouth and lighting his eyes. “I thought you might enjoy a decent meal and a hot shower before slipping into a warm bed.”

Laura warmed at the thought of all three, held his gaze for several moments before boldly, tenderly adding, “Then you’ll slip into me…”

His smile bloomed brighter but his eyes fell from hers in a moment of adorable shyness. “If you wish,” he said, his voice so soft again.

Heart thudding wildly behind her ribs, Laura touched him, skimmed her fingers along the line of his jaw, guiding his gaze eventually back to her. When she was again looking into his eyes, she breathed without hesitation, “I do wish.”

His gaze flickered and she saw acknowledgement there in those blue depths.

“I need a few minutes to pack some things,” she told him.

He smiled. “Take all the time you need.”

She didn’t need long and he patiently waited while she packed a small bag with a couple changes of clothes and her ever-dwindling toiletries. Zipping it up, she started to sling it over her shoulder but Bill stopped her. Taking the bag by the strap, he set it on the floor then stripped off his poncho. He straightened it out then held it up for her, muttering a soft, “Here.”

With a smile, Laura let him slip the waterproof covering over her head. He settled it on her shoulders and together they tugged it down and into place. “Thank you,” she said when they were done.

“It’s a little big,” he noted, frowning slightly.

It was; the hem of the poncho almost touched the ground. Laura didn’t care, though. So long as it helped keep her dry she would deal with it. But she worried now about him getting wet and told him so.

He shook his head, picked up the bag from the floor. “Landing field’s not that far and I’m starting out dry.”

Laura couldn’t argue with the logic but no matter how dry he was now, he wouldn’t be in a matter of minutes, not with the way the rain was coming down. She’d feel guilty if he caught cold.

“Bill–” she began but he cut her off with a two-word command that made her giggle instead.

“Stop thinking.”

She threw him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

He broke out into another grin as he situated the heavy strap of her bag on his shoulder. She reached for the satchel that contained the children’s essays, which she needed to grade over the weekend, and tucked it under the poncho for extra protection. While she did that, Bill pulled up the hood over her hair. He then put on his hat and led her out of her tent.

One of the former marines approached them as they exited. Bill ordered him to seal the tent and Laura asked the young man to let Tory know that she would be staying aboard Galactica for the night. He nodded affirmatively to both. She and Bill then set out for the landing field.

It was a short walk but Bill was drenched by the time they reached his waiting raptor and was clearly cold by the time they reached orbit. Not that he complained. But she could tell. He kept rubbing his hand on the leg of his pants to generate friction only to stop almost as soon as he started, the wet material impeding the efforts. When he reached back for the controls, she leaned over and laid her hand atop his, felt the damp coolness of his skin. It surprised her even though it should have. She’d come to think of him as always warm, had even told him so. But he was not warm at the moment.

“Think a hot shower will be in order when we get to your quarters,” she said softly, meeting his curious gaze.

He chuckled softly then activated the comm, requesting permission to land. Granted, he piloted the small craft into Galactica’s starboard landing bay. He set it down gently and they waited until the craft was lowered to the flight deck, then taxied to the service area.

Bill exited first then helped her down. They took her bags and made their way to his quarters. The marines shut the hatch behind them and Laura sighed as she dropped her bag then wrangled off the poncho. Bill took it from her and made his way to the head. Laura followed him, shedding her coat and then her other drenched clothes while Bill did the same.

Bill turned on the water, reached for her hand and drew her into the jets of steadily warming water.

“Gods, that feels good,” Laura all but moaned at the massaging heat. She did moan when Bill embraced her from behind and turned them to the side so they could both enjoy it. They did, immensely, and they enjoyed each other, hands unable to resist the temptation to reacquaint themselves with familiar territories. Mouths followed suit when Laura turned in his arms and the rest of them were well on their way to doing the same when the comm unit buzzed.

“Frak,” Laura swore under her breath when Bill began easing his embrace.

“Hold that thought,” he murmured, kissed her again then exited the shower.

In spite of her frustration, Laura giggled and turned back into the water while Bill took the call. When he returned several minutes later, he pulled back the curtain a bit and handed her her shampoo and soap. He was, she noted, wearing a dry pair of trousers and his boots.

“I have to go for a bit,” he said, irritation plain in his voice.

“CIC?”

He shook his head then wandered away, muttering under his breath, “The Tighs.”

“Again?” Laura asked as she sat her shampoo and soap down in the floor of the shower. She peeked her head out from behind the curtain, saw Bill pulling on a clean set of tanks. “Don’t they ever stop?”

“Ellen doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Bill grumbled as he tucked the shirt tails into the waist of his trousers. “She’s been going pretty hard at Saul. Wants him to muster out and move to the surface.” He shrugged on his uniform tunic, met her gaze in the mirror as he did up the buttons with practiced efficiency. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Laura nodded her understanding. She knew his bond with Saul Tigh was a strong one and that Bill worried about Ellen’s influence on the man — and with good reason. The woman was dangerous and the colonel was as intoxicated by her as he was the copious amounts of alcohol they consumed together.

“I’ll order supper,” Laura told Bill as he put on his glasses.

He cast her a look that said a multitude of things then departed, leaving Laura to finish the shower alone. She did, then slipped into her nightgown and robe, and took the time to dry her hair before calling up the galley and ordering a couple of plates. The repast arrived in short order but she waited a while to eat, hoping Bill would return soon and they could enjoy the meal together. Eventually, though, she had to give into her growling stomach and eat.

Bill still hadn’t returned by the time she was done, which made her wonder how bad the Tighs were going at it this round and if Bill was being drafted as a referee. But even as she considered it, she shook off the thought. Bill would not get into their relationship on that level. He’d speak his piece, maybe throw one or the other them in the brig or sickbay to sleep it off, then he’d go. He wasn’t one to insert himself into people’s personal lives to that degree, unless the safety of the ship and fleet was in question — and it wasn’t so far as she knew.

Picking up her satchel from the floor by the door, Laura pulled out the small stack of student essays. She took them and her cup of coffee and made herself at home in one of the leather armchairs in the back area of Bill’s quarters. She was about four essays into the stack when he finally came in. He made a beeline for the service cart and Laura watched him pull the stopper on the whiskey bottle only to replace it after a brief pause. He sighed heavily as he did and turned to the table and poured a mug of coffee instead.

Pen in hand, Laura peered over the top rim of her glasses at him. “That bad?”

Mug in hand, he wandered toward her, his free hand unbuttoning his jacket as he did. “You don’t want to know,” he said as he sat his mug next to hers on the small table between the chairs.

Laura believed that. She imagined the private life of the Tighs to be harrowing at times. “Want me to order a fresh plate for you?” she asked, watching him take off his jacket and hang it in the closet.

“I think I’ll pass. Don’t feel much like eating.” He sat in the other chair and began taking off his boots. He glanced up at her. “Sorry I took so long. I needed to take a walk after … that.”

Laura gave him a sympathetic smile. “Quorum meetings have been known to cause a similar reaction.”

A corner of his mouth quirked. “Not much room to walk on Colonial One,” he noted.

Laura shook her head. “No, I came over here to do that … and to make it harder for Tory to find me sometimes,” she confessed.

Bill smiled outright at that. “Not very professional, hiding from your aide, Madam President.”

Laura shrugged as she threw him a guilty grin. “Well, as you’ve pointed out, she’s too damned efficient. There have been times I thought I might actually have to order her to schedule me time to breathe.”

Bill picked up his coffee and leaned back in the chair, making himself comfortable. He looked down into his mug before raising it to his lips and taking a sip. He sighed as he swallowed then looked at her again, his eyes falling to the papers she held in her lap.

“What’re you working on?”

“Grading essays,” she told him, “which, I can tell you, are far more interesting than quorum meeting minutes and fuel supply reports.”

Bill looked down into his coffee again, a wistful expression descending when he spoke. “Zak and Lee wrote some interesting ones when they were in school.”

Laura propped an elbow on the chair arm and cradled her chin in her palm, watching Bill’s smile steadily grow in the silence that followed his statement. After a few moments, she prodded, “Wanna share?”

He glanced at her, a quick darting of his eyes to hers then back to his coffee. He began softly, “When Zak was about seven…”

Laura listened as Bill related a story about his lost son’s first school essay, on what he wanted to be when he grew up. Unlike the rest of the children, who appropriately extolled the virtues of the occupation to which they aspired, young Zak penned a two-page missive on how he wanted to be tall and have a mustache like his dad. The memory was a good one for Bill. He beamed with paternal pride and affection as he shared it with her. It touched her that he had.

When Bill finished, he looked up at her, eyes shimmering with unshed tears that she knew were not solely the product of laughter. Shifting, Laura set her pen on the side table then stretched out her arm toward him, hand open in invitation. He accepted it, clasping her slender fingers with his thicker ones as she gave him an understanding smile.

After a few moments, he nodded to the papers she held. “Any good ones?”

“Only read a few so far,” she said, gently extracting her hand from his. She picked up one of the essays she’d already graded and handed it to Bill. “But I think you’ll like this one. I had them write about their hero.”

Laura watched Bill’s face as he read the subject of the student’s essay. He smiled then frowned then shook his head and smiled again.

“Didn’t know you were a hero, huh?”

He gave a light, scoffing laugh. “I’m no hero.”

“Of course you are, especially to these children,” Laura countered.

He looked at her dubiously.

“You are their protector, Bill. They know that,” she said softly. “They’ve witnessed you putting yourself and your ship between them and the cylons with their own eyes, countless times. You have made an indelible impression.”

His gaze moved from hers to the papers again. “How many?”

“Most.” She’d skimmed most of the papers when the students had turned them in. It hadn’t surprised her to him as the subject of so many, but it clearly shocked him. And it bothered him.

For all his pride, stubbornness and powerful bearing, Admiral William Adama was a genuinely humble man. He was appreciative of praise but was never really comfortable with it. He was too conscious of his own mistakes and failures to have the ego many in power developed. He carried the burden of them with him always. She had seen that early on in their association and, now that they were closer, she saw it even clearer.

Right now, she could see him chewing over the concept of young, impressionable minds being so keenly aware of his successes without having the bounding knowledge of his failures. Never mind that the youngsters didn’t have the age or experience or even the desire to understand all the layers and subtext involved in leadership and military command.

All the children knew was Bill was the one who stood up to the cylons — the ultimate playground bully as far as her students were concerned — and punched them in the nose on a regular basis. That was enough for them to deem him a hero, and she told him so.

He laughed softly at the analysis and said no more on the subject. He did read the remainder of the essay, however, and she passed him the others as she finished them.

Eventually, Laura’s eyes tired out. She still had a few essays to go, but she set them aside, gathered up the others and stacked them all neatly on the corner of Bill’s desk. She set her glasses atop them then ducked into the lavatory to brush her teeth.

When she reemerged, Bill was where she’d left him, relaxed into the soft leather cushions of the chair. His head was leaned against the back and his eyes were closed, but he was awake. She could tell by the crease in his brow.

Shutting off the lavatory light, Laura walked over to him. He opened his eyes when she neared, looked up at her through his eyeglasses. His voice rumbled between them with a question that made her smile, again.

“Ready for bed?”

Laura nodded. “You?”

He smiled and shed his glasses, laying them next to hers. He sat up slowly then, hands moving from the arms of the chairs to her hips. He moved his thumbs along the curve of her, looked up into her eyes. “Do you still…?”

Placing a hand on either side of his face, Laura mirrored his caress, thumbs grazing his cheekbones. “Do you?”

He nodded. She issued a command.

“Sit back.”

He did and she reached for the belt on her robe. She watched him watched her untie it then ease the garment off, letting it flutter to the deck. Her gown followed suit and he looked her over, eyes moving from hers down her body with heated appreciation.

Laura warmed under his scrutiny. Her breaths came shallower. Her heart picked up its pace. And she was not the only one affected. Bill sat still as stone but she saw the subtle evidence — the flush on his cheeks, the set of his jaw, the darkening of his gaze to the color of the sky at midnight. What more, he radiated need and desire, as powerfully as he radiated calm and control when he was handling a crisis in CIC. It buffeted her in an almost tangible caress, one that threatened to make her moan just as if he had touched her someplace sensitive.

Without a word, Laura leaned forward and reached for his shoulders, intending to ease into his lap. But he stopped her, hands taking hold of her forearms and guiding her back upright. He stood then, hands gripping her hips, guided her back around and down into the chair she’d vacated earlier. She sat, watched as he retrieved the chair from in front of his desk and placed it directly in front of hers. She pulled her legs up into her chair, out of the way, only to part them at his behest once he sat.

Strong, purposeful hands guided her feet to prop on his knees, which touched the edge of her chair. She trembled at the flagrantly erotic positioning. She was completely exposed to him, vulnerable in a way that she’d rarely allowed herself with a lover but could not deny she wanted with Bill. It excited her and yet she was surprisingly calm, her trust in him overriding fears, insecurities and ingrained habits when it came to intimacy.

Sex with Bill was different. It was more than physical. There were thoughts and feelings, the depth of which astounded her at times, and needs and desires that were new and yet somehow familiar, as he was familiar, a soul that she irrationally felt hers had always known. She had never felt that more strongly than she did at this moment, as they sat so close, breaths coming already in ragged pants.

Laura struggled to breathe as Bill ran his hands boldly over her legs, covering every inch, front, back, the sides, hips to toes and back again. He watched her, eyes searching hers intently then gentling as his touch gentled, sliding down from her knees to her inner thighs, coaxing her to…

She did, instinctively and saw his pleasure then experienced her own when he trailed fingertips over her deliberately, lightly, not teasing so much as a display of familiarity and fondness. His voice was a heavy rasp when he spoke.

“I dreamed of you last night … like this,” he told her, hands moving again, gliding up over her belly to her breasts. He molded them gently, his expression one of lustful confidence and an innate sweetness. It was a startling mixture that made Laura smile and her heart skip a beat. It was so … Bill.

Covering his hands with hers, Laura held him to her and arched into his palms, her body warming exponentially when he leaned forward and dropped a soft kiss above her navel. One of her hands left his, delved into his hair as he nuzzled her, lips grazing her skin, his breath hot against her skin.

Neither of them said a word as he worshipped her body. Not an utterance of a name. Not even an invocation of the gods. There were only the sounds of intimacy — the soft smack of lips, labored breaths, gasps and moans, that of wetness being caressed, tasted.

Laura’s ears were filled with the sounds and the pounding of her own heart, her nostrils with the smells, her hands with his hair. She hummed with sensation, thrummed with a pulsing heat that erased all thought and memory of New Caprican cold.

Eyes shut, Laura pushed her head back into the soft cushion behind it and gave herself over to the naked sensuality, to the meticulous attention of her lover … to him. She was a woman lost in the loving of her man, a creature of the heart and flesh, thought far, far away, as her body rose and fell at his direction.

She gave him all he asked and more, moving fluidly into his lap when he pulled her up. She took him in, not caring when or how he’d freed himself for her. Such things were irrelevant when she could feel him inside her, taste his mouth and knew the sanctuary of his embrace.

His passion, his need, his love — they flooded her. She took hold of his face and poured all she felt into him. Measure for measure until he was spilling deep inside her. Feeling it, she called out to him and clutched him close, her body’s surrender readily secured in response to his own.

< Slide 33: A Time To Feel | Slide 35: Good Morning, Good Night >