Slide 8: When the Morning Comes

Bill Adama’s heartbeat was strong and steady. Laura Roslin listened to it, her head resting on his chest, as her fingers traced the shape of his dogtags. His hand rested warmly on her shoulder, occasionally making forays across her back or up under her hair to her neck.

They hadn’t said much since exiting the shower, only a few words in fact. There hadn’t seemed a need to talk. They’d just dried off and crawled into his rack together. They hadn’t even bothered with bedclothes, dictated by an unspoken need for no barriers, of any sort, between them. It was appropriate, a continuation of the intimacy begun earlier.

With a sigh, Laura slid her hand across Bill’s chest to his shoulder.

“Regrets?”

The question surprised her. She pushed up on an arm and looked at the man beside her. She could just make out his features in the faint illumination provided by the status displays that lined the back wall of his cabin. But she knew he was watching her.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“That was–” he began, but she cut him off, sensing where he was going.

“It was what we needed, Bill. Both of us,” she said, cushioning the directness by laying her hand over his heart. Thumb stroking his skin, crossing the ridge of the long scar that divided his chest, she continued, softer, “And right then, under the circumstance, it was the only way it could be … we both know that.”

His hand came up, brushed across her cheek, pushing her hair back from her face. “Come ‘ere.”

Laura’s heart trembled at the beckoning, at the feel of his fingers sliding into her hair, reaching for the back of her head as she did as he asked, leaning up toward him until her face was almost hovering over his.

When he kissed her, it was tender and affectionate, everything their kisses had not been earlier. There was a sweetness to it, a simplicity and earnestness that was uniquely…

“Bill,” she hummed when his mouth released hers.

Blue eyes peered out of the shadows. “Next time.” It was a whisper, a promise.

“Next time,” Laura echoed softly.

He touched his lips to hers again then guided her down to rest her head on his chest. She went without protest. It was where she wanted to be.

For the longest time, they just lay quietly hands touching this way and that, fingers lacing and unlacing, thumbs trailing across palms. Laura found comfort in the intimacy of the exchange, in touching him and have him return that touch, seek it out even, thick fingers pursuing hers when she moved away even a hairbreadth.

There was such a bone-deep serenity in connecting in such a basic, tactile way, an ease to it that she’d never really achieved with Richard Adar in any capacity, and they’d been involved for years. With Bill, though, it seemed as natural as breathing, and Laura liked that, and that she would wake with him in the morning — a simple joy that was a rare occurrence in an affair with a married man.

Touching the gold band that surrounded Bill’s ring finger, Laura wondered why he still wore it but didn’t ask. This wasn’t the time, though it didn’t stop him from making a query of his own.

“Does it bother you?”

Laura shook her head, rubbing her cheek against his chest. “No,” she replied. And it didn’t.

He said no more, simply let her hand continue to explore his, tracing each of his thick digits with her own slenderer ones, and then the prominent veins that marked the back of his palm. She let him do the same, his touch both sure and gentle, a reflection of him.

Sleep took them in due course and Laura welcomed it, drifting into dreams that were surprisingly peaceful considering the day’s harrowing events. She awoke when Bill’s alarm sounded. He slapped it off but made no move to exit the bed, which was fine with her. She didn’t want to leave the warm cocoon of his body’s embrace. It was peaceful and safe, two things she hadn’t felt all that often in the last year, or in her life.

When Bill did eventually move, it was first to kiss her shoulder then to sit up on the side of the bed, the clank of his dogtags clearly audible in the quiet of the room.

Rolling over, Laura watched him rub his face then prop both hands on his knees, bracing himself up.

“All right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied then pushed to his feet, mumbling, “Just not looking forward to this day.”

“Me either,” Laura sighed as her eyes tracked his progress across the room. She saw him squint against the sudden brightness when he turned on the light in the lavatory. He then disappeared from view and she gave him a few minutes to tend to nature before she threw off the covers and followed him. He was turning on the shower when she entered.

Memories flashed, vivid, fresh in her mind. She found herself staring at him and he was staring back. They shared a moment and there was no awkwardness in it, only that familiar awareness. She found that rather amazing since they were both standing stark naked in lighting that hid nothing and revealed the undeniable effects of time.

Were he any other man, she probably would have tried to hide herself out of modesty or, more likely, wouldn’t have trailed after him at all, not with this part of their relationship so new. That level of casualness and relaxation took time, and yet she hadn’t thought twice about following Bill. She knew why when she looked into his eyes.

They knew and accepted each other, just as they are. Wrinkles, scars, paunches, gray hair and sagging breasts were nothing to be ashamed of in the face of that; they were just a part of the deal, a part of life and being human. And, if there was anything they’d learned in the last year it was that humanity was precious, and the joys that came with it endangered and fleeting.

Yesterday’s events had been a cruel reminder of that. What Bill did next, though, was a beautiful one — he simply held out his hand, palm up and open.

There was no frakking this time. He just held her as they stood under the water and she turned her face up into the spray, leaning her head back on his shoulder. She felt the burn of his whiskers when he pressed his cheek to hers, hummed when he kissed her temple and held her hands.

Minutes or hours, Laura couldn’t say how long they spent like that. But no matter how long it was, it was peaceful, the most peaceful she feared the day would be.

The sudden buzzing of the comm unit on his lavatory wall only confirmed it.

She felt Bill’s reluctance to release her. He drew away so slowly that she couldn’t miss it. But then he was gone, yanking a towel from the rack and wrapping it around his waist, leaving her to the warm water. She washed her hair, listened to him talking to whoever had called. She couldn’t make out his words, but she could tell from the tone of his voice that it wasn’t an emergency, but he wasn’t happy about whatever was being said.

Shutting off the water, she pushed the curtain back and strained to reach the second towel rack, where the other clean towel hung. He saw her and grabbed it for her. She towel-dried her hair while still standing in the shower, then wrapped the now-damp material around her. She could hear Bill better now and understood his frustration — Baltar’s people were pressuring him.

“You can tell President Baltar we’ll proceed with the settlement once we have supplies mobilized not a minute sooner.” And with that, he hung up the handset.

Laura watched him take a deep breath then turn and pick up his shaving cup. She watched him get out the soap, apply a little water and whip up a lather. He then briskly applied it to his face, the act almost violent.

Easing up to him, Laura laid a hand on his bicep, slid it up his forearm to the back of his hand. He stilled under her touch, met her gaze in the mirror.

“Let me,” she whispered.

He surrendered the brush to her, turned and let her take over. She took her time, slowly painting his face with the white foam. He tilted his head back, watching her through hooded eyes as she ran the bush over the whiskers on the underside of his chin and jaw, his neck.

It was thoroughly erotic, desperately intimate, and Laura didn’t want to stop. She retraced the path of the brush and he let her, his hands coming up to her waist as she instinctively moved closer to him.

On the third revolution, he stopped her, thick fingers rising to close around her wrist. She felt the evidence of why.

“I’m going to make a mess of you if you don’t stop,” he told her.

Direct. Always direct. Staggeringly, seductively direct. And so rigidly contained.

“I think I’d like that,” she found herself whispering.

He moved, slow, prowling, like one of the great cat species, shifting until she was between his body and the counter. He bypassed her mouth, sinking to her neck, still holding her wrist with one hand while the other brushed her hair out of the way.

He kissed her tenderly, where her neck and shoulder met, then nuzzled. It was slick and warm, abrasive, smelled of him and soap, and made her go weak in the knees. She sank her hand into his wet hair and tilted her head back further, inviting him to continue, knowing she was going to be a mess and not caring. She heard her breaths quicken, felt her heart race and was more aroused than she’d ever been in her life.

“Gods, Bill,” she panted and heard him chuckle.

He pulled back slowly and she met his gaze, saw him grinning. She couldn’t suppress the giggle that erupted when she saw she wasn’t the only one who was a mess. He had shaving cream in places that weren’t traditionally shaved, like his forehead and nose, some even clung to his eyelashes.

He looked incredibly silly and infinitely adorable, such a contrast to the stoic military commander she’d first met. So different than he’d been just minutes ago.

Shaking her head in wonder, Laura used her thumb to wipe at the smears of lather on his brow. As she did that, he grabbed a hand towel from the counter and worked on cleaning up her neck.

Once they were satisfied with the job, she kissed his brow then eased from the lavatory in search of her clothes while he finished shaving.

They were both dressed by the time breakfast arrived. Col. Tigh made an appearance shortly thereafter, a stack of reports in hand. The three of them went over them together, more convinced than ever that Baltar was an idiot and that it was a serious mistake to settle on the planet they were orbiting.

“This is frakking insane, Bill,” Laura said, tossing her glasses on top of the folders in disgust, her eyes falling on Bill who was continuing to look at a map. “Saying it’s going to be like camping is woefully optimistic.”

“Frakking civilians will be whining within the month, you can bet on it,” Col. Tigh gruffed, glancing up at her. “No offense, Madam President.”

Laura waved her hand dismissively. “None taken, Colonel,” she said. “And I’m not president any more.” The words stung even though she was the one to speak them.

“You’re still more president than that lunatic and his terrorist pal ever will be,” Tigh grunted. “You can bet they’d be none too happy to know you’re looking at these reports.”

“Which is why no one’s going to tell them,” Bill said, eyes darting up to his XO, peering over the rim of his glasses.

“Well, that suits me just fine,” Tigh replied, a sneer curling his mouth. “I like the idea of having one over on the frakkers.”

Laura watched the exchange between the two men. They were an odd pairing of friends but the bond between them was undeniable. The colonel’s support touched her.

“I want you close on this, Madam President,” Bill suddenly said to her, his tone all business. Her admiral was talking to her now. “Baltar might hold the office, but he doesn’t have the power or strength to make his ‘vision’ a reality. Neither does Zarek. This planet is going to fight us tooth and nail. We need to make preparations. I would like your advice.”

Laura nodded, grateful for his trust and belief, for the chance to still make a difference for her people.

“You’ll have it,” she told him and watched pride light his eyes.

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