A Good Day

It was a good day.

Admiral Bill Adama knew it was when he walked into his quarters and found the bathrobe- and kerchief-clad president of the Twelve Colonies humming and dancing barefoot as she hung her suit in his closet. Her moves weren’t robust or exaggerated, but showcased an energy that she seldom had these days as the diloxin treatments for her cancer sapped her strength more often than not.

The sight brought a smile to his face, effectively banishing the stoic mask he’d worn much of the day. It was good to see her happy and it reminded him of the more carefree times of New Caprica, when he’d had the chance to learn the private idiosyncrasies of the woman behind the office—including her penchant to dance a little dance when she was happy and cuddle when she was content. He’d also been introduced to her more intimate proclivities during that time, learning there was a remarkably delicate and decidedly sensual side to the tough-as-nails politician. He’d gotten to know that side quite well on the planet, and it was one that frequently made an appearance here in the safety and privacy of his quarters.

“Things went well at the quorum meeting, I take it?” he asked after spending several moments indulging in the sight of Laura Roslin in such a jubilant mood.

She stilled and looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide in surprise. He watched a flush rise on her cheeks but she didn’t bat an eye when she replied with a mischievous grin, “It was cancelled.”

Well, that explains it, he thought.

Bill laughed softly as he walked over to where she stood. He unbuttoned his uniform jacket as he went and shrugged it off when he reached her. She unexpectedly took the garment from him and slipped it onto an empty hanger. A smile hooking one corner of his mouth, Bill leaned in and brushed a kiss across her cheek as she hung it in the closet next to her suit. She looked over her shoulder at him, her smile softening.

“Thank you, Madame President,” he said softly then wandered over to the service cart, where he proceeded to pour her a glass of water and one for himself.

“Thank you, Admiral,” she replied when he turned and handed her the drink. She then walked over to his desk and sank into his chair.

Bill watched her, his smile irrepressible as he contemplated the domesticity of the last couple of minutes—hell, of the last few months. Since she’d begun staying with him, they’d gone from careful to comfortable to effortless. Just as they’d done professionally, they’d fallen into step with one another behind the door to his quarters. There’d been a few rough days early on over Starbuck and his decision to send her off in search of Earth, but otherwise, he and Laura had found a natural balance in sharing the same living space.

Bill liked that, and he liked how she’d settled in and made herself at home in his home. He even liked that she’d commandeered his personal workspace for her own. Stacks of yellow folders emblazoned with the official seal of her office covered two corners of his desk, and several open ones spread across the center.

As Laura picked up her glasses and put them on, Bill walked over and sat in the chair on the front side of the desk. A companionable silence descended as she worked and he sipped his water, mentally reviewing the day’s events. It had been a rather mundane day, the type he used to loathe but now welcomed. Spending nearly three years on the run for your life will do that to a person.

Glancing over at the woman beside him, he knew she understood his relief at having an uneventful day. She was his partner in power and between them they shared the burden of responsibility for what remained of the human race. Even still, he freely admitted that he got a break more often than she did, and he had loyal officers under his command to help keep his ship running smoothly. She, on the other hand, had to deal with a boatload of nitwits who spent all their time scrapping for a piece of a non-existent pie.

Personally, he’d prefer to face a firing squad than do her job. In fact, if he had her job, the quorum would face a firing squad. As it was, he wanted to shoot them anyway for the unnecessary stress they heaped on the one person to whom they all owed their lives. It was amazing how people seemed to forget that.

As Bill continued to look at her, he found his thoughts moving to more personal observations, noting how the green of the kerchief brought out her eyes. Admittedly, he missed her mass of red hair but the current look she sported suited her. It showcased the delicate features of her face and brought out her eyes.

She had beautiful eyes.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked her, knowing that he often had to remind her to do so. As well as her beautiful hair, the diloxin had robbed her of her appetite.

She glanced up at him over the rim of her glasses, every bit the schoolteacher as she gave him a knowing look. “I waited for you.”

Bill nodded, finished off his water, and then set the glass on the desk. He got to his feet and wandered over to the wireless. He asked for the galley and ordered their usual repast — algae in whatever creative form the chefs had managed to come up with this time — and some tea. He then sat back on his bunk and began removing his boots. Once those were shed, he headed to the lavatory.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Enjoy,” Laura told him as he passed her.

“I plan to,” he countered before shutting the door behind him.

After placing his glasses on the counter, he stripped off the remainder of his clothing, put them into the hamper, and got into the shower. He noted the air still smelled of the soap that Laura used. It was a soft floral scent, not at all overpowering and definitely feminine. It was pleasant and blended well with the scent of his own soap as he lathered up.

The water was hot and eased the tension from his body. He placed both hands against the tile and bowed his head as he let the heated jets run over his back. It felt good, but not wanting to waste a valuable resource, he didn’t indulge at length. He let Laura do that more often than not as she had the greater need. The treatment for her cancer left her cold and aching, which a hot bath could ease quicker than anything else. He took shorter showers to make up the consumption difference.

Righting himself, Bill washed his hair quickly then shut off the water. He toweled himself dry then exited the tub. Beside the door hung his usual bedclothes, a pair of soft cotton sleep pants and a clean set of tanks. He donned them and shrugged on his robe and belted it up. He didn’t bother to put on his glasses, but picked them up from the counter before making his way back into the other room, grabbing a hand towel on the way out and draping it around his neck to catch the water still dripping from his hair.

Laura was still working at his desk when he emerged, making notations in the margin of the document she was reviewing. As he passed by he set his glasses next to his empty water glass, which sat at the edge of the desk, then wandered over to his bed—though he supposed it was more her bed these days … and often ours, he mused as he turned down the covers.

When Bill had invited her to share his quarters for the duration of her diloxin treatments, he hadn’t expected them to share a bed. The invitation had been extended to provide her with a place where she could rest with a greater measure of privacy and safety than Colonial One afforded, and help her conserve her much needed energy for more important things than a daily commute. Plus it would get her out of that snake’s nest of politicians and press, who seemed hellbent on giving the cancer a run for its money in who would take her down first.

Frankly, Bill had been thrilled to put himself and his armed marines between her and the frakwit contingent, but he had never presumed it would be anything more than that. But it had been and was. Not every night, but often, when she requested it, he would share the rack with her, and gave her whatever she indicated she needed. Sometimes they just slept together, the need for a human connection paramount. Sometimes he would gather her close to his body and warm her after a diloxin treatment left her cold and aching. Sometimes … sometimes she needed more.

Whatever the nature of her request, Bill was humbled by each and every one the fiercely independent woman made, and he respected those times when she wanted her space. The latter wasn’t always easy. He wanted to be close to her, but the choice was hers and always would be.

He loved her. He wasn’t sure exactly when or how it happened, but she held his heart as surely as he was commander of the last battlestar. He was downright smitten, to tell the truth, which was an interesting state for a man his age. She made him feel … well, she made him feel. After years of living in an emotional vacuum, he felt everything, intensely. She stirred in him tenderness that he hadn’t known he possessed. And the desire to protect her was fierce, especially now as she battled the disease that threatened to take her life a second time. So he did what he could for her, remained close and steadfast in his attentiveness, giving her a place she could feel safe and secure, where she could rest in peace and find what she needed when she needed it.

Yes, Bill Adama definitely loved Laura Roslin, and he was smitten enough to want to scrawl it across the Galactica’s hull like a love-struck adolescent.

He laughed softly under his breath as he shook his head at himself.

“What’s so amusing?”

At the question, Bill looked back over his shoulder at her, unable to keep the grin from his mouth. “Silly thought.”

Her expression lackadaisical,she replied, “You mean they let admirals have those?”

“Only if we keep them to ourselves,” he replied and was treated to the sound of her laugh. It was a delightful sound, filled with a joy they rarely experienced in these troubled times. It always pleased Bill when he could bring that to her.

He watched her set her pen aside then rise to her feet. She shed her glasses, hooking them at the neck of her pajama top as she walked over to him. Amusement glinted in her gaze and a brilliant smile curled her mouth.

When she reached him, she laid a hand on his shoulder then reached up and brushed her knuckles against his cheek. Her expression softened. “Thank you for that,” she said softly before her eyes drifted up and her hand followed, fingers slipping slowly through his still-wet hair.

Bill struggled to keep his eyes open at the touch. There was something pleasurably hypnotic about the pacing, in the bold tenderness behind it. But he wanted to see her face, to watch the emotions play across her features even as his heart threatened to come to a complete halt in his chest. He saw a lot, but the moment ended all too soon thanks to a sharp rap on the hatch. Their dinner had arrived.

Laura’s eyes flickered to his, amusement returning to the fore. He returned her smile and caught her hand as it drifted away. He gave it a brief squeeze then headed to the door.

At Bill’s command, Private Jaffee entered bearing a tray. Bill directed him to the table. “Just leave it there, son.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaffee said and carefully set his burden on the polished surface.

Bill smothered a smile when the soldier surreptitiously glanced up toward the direction of the sleeping quarters. Bill looked, too, and saw that Laura had retreated again to the desk and resumed her work, presenting the perfect picture of professionalism. He knew there was a great deal of curiosity among his crew about the president’s presence in their CO’s quarters, but they had remained respectful, and he trusted his XO, Colonel Tigh, to quash any inappropriate scuttlebutt that might arise.

Frankly though Bill didn’t give a frak what anyone thought about the situation. She needed what he could provide and he was determined she have it, rumors and appearances be damned.

His attention returning to Jaffe, he said, “Jaffe, inform the galley to not worry about retrieving the tray tonight. I’ll have it ready in the morning.”

The young man turned back to Bill, his face giving away his happiness at being addressed by name by his commanding officer. He gave Bill a crisp nod and reply. “Yes, sir.”

Bill allowed a bit of his smile to show when he responded, “Thank you, Private.”

After a quick salute, the young man departed and the marines sealed the hatch behind him.

Bill looked back over at Laura, who continued to work on her papers. “Do you want to eat in there?” he asked.

“No, I’ll just be a minute or two more,” she replied without looking up. “Just let me finish this one.”

Bill didn’t reply, but set about arranging the table, divesting the tray of the plates and carafe of tea. He then retrieved the water dispenser from his service cart.

When Laura finally closed up the folder and wandered to the table, she brought his water glass, and hers, with her. He held her chair out for her then took his own once she was settled.

As they dined, Bill noted that Laura didn’t eat much but that she ate more than usual. He was pleased. She had lost a number of pounds in the last couple of weeks thanks to the diloxin treatments for her cancer, which had decreased her appetite tremendously and caused her stomach to expel most of what she did manage to get down. It was an ugly, vicious cycle, at times leaving her weak and trembling on his lavatory floor. But she never cried, not even when Bill helped her clean up then put her into bed. A remarkably strong woman, she endured without complaint but always thanked him for being there..

After dinner, Bill retreated to his couch, settling into the corner with his log book. Pen in hand, he recorded the day’s events while Laura returned to his desk and her official paperwork.

Despite the mountain of folders she had beside her, she finished before him, mainly because his mind, and gaze, kept wandering over to her. He found himself just watching, mesmerized by the tilt of her head as she read, the flourish of her hand when she signed her name, the softness of her features in the lamp light.

Bill didn’t bother to guiltily hide where his attention had been when she rose, ditched her glasses, switched off the desk lamp and made her way over to the couch. She gave him a knowing smile but said nothing as she sat down beside him. He closed up his log, incomplete as it was, and set it on the coffee table. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked over at her when she touched his cheek.

“Am I really that interesting?” she with an impish smile.

Bill grinned. “Yes.”

She tilted her head in that way that said his answer touched — and amused — her. He laughed softly and watched her lean toward him. His smile persisted, though, even when he moved to meet her for a gentle kiss. It wasn’t much. No trumpets sounded. The ship didn’t shake beneath him. But it was sweet and fulfilling.

When she withdrew, she was smiling tenderly. Her hand found his and, eyes twinkling, she breathed, “Come to bed.”

Bill’s smile changed from one of amusement to one of joy as he looked away, casting his eyes toward his neglected logbook, which was going to remain neglected.

Laura’s soft laugh from beside him drew his gaze again.

“Am I that amusing?” he asked.

“Yes,” she confessed with a smile, “but it’s endearing.”

Bill’s grinned. He couldn’t and didn’t even bother to hide the happiness he felt in that moment. Holding her hand gently in his, he stood then leaned over and doused the lamp behind the couch. He then guided Laura to her feet and tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm before escorting her to the sleeping area of his quarters, which was lit by the single lamp above the bed.

Touching the shade, he angled it to lessen the light cast upon the bed. It wasn’t vanity that made him do so, but a desire to reduce the harshness. They had enough of that in their lives and did not need it here, now.

His eyes caught Laura’s when he turned back to her. They were positively luminous, radiating a myriad of emotions. He searched them as he lifted a hand to caress her cheek. He smiled gently at her then leaned in and kissed her, just touching his lips to hers. Her eyes slowly fell shut and he felt her take a faint, trembling breath when he lingered.

Unconsciously, he mirrored it, his own eyes closing as her hands came to rest against his chest. He covered one of them with his, cupping her fingers, and softened his mouth against hers. He kissed her as a lover, taking his time, leisurely caressing her lips with his to draw a silky hum from her. Her trembling hand turned beneath his to lace their fingers and he gripped them with the same reverence he adored her mouth.

In his younger days, Bill wouldn’t have appreciated the moment and probably would have missed it entirely rushing to get to “the good part.” But he wasn’t a young man anymore. The vigor of youth was long gone from his flesh and bones and in its place was wisdom and experience, which afforded an appreciation for the slow burn of quiet passion and the tenderness that came only in the presence of love.

He drank from that cup now with Laura. He drank of her, forgetting all but the taste of her, the smell of her, the gentle warmth of her. It was immeasurably easy to lose himself in her. There was no awkwardness. No timidity. No fear. It was just natural, an involuntary reflex, like breathing … like loving her.

His mouth moving from hers, he brushed a kiss to her brow then met her gaze once again, offering her a smile, which she returned. His hands sought out the tie on her robe and deftly loosed the knot she’d made. His fingers then glided up along the lapels to ease the soft fabric back and off her shoulders. He slowly guided it down her arms then tossed it onto the chair behind and to the left of her.

Her hands found the closure of his robe and did the same. He let her guide the heavy maroon fabric from his body until it fell to the floor with a soft thump. It was the same sound his heart must have made in his chest when her fingers touched his wrists in tandem then skimmed slowly up over his arms to his shoulders. When she reversed her course, firming her touch, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the frissons of sensation she evoked.

The soft press of her chest to his and then the touch of her lips to his throat had him drawing her into an embrace, which she returned. He let her nuzzle and explore as he pressed soft kisses to her temple. He basked in the gentle desire she exuded, in the feel of her hands sliding under his shirt and up to wander over his back. At her ear, he whispered her name and stroked his hands along her spine, eliciting a soft, feminine sigh from her.

After a moment, she eased her hold on him and put a bit of space between them. He allowed it and held her gaze as she undid each button of her pajama top. When she reached the last one, he gently caught each side of the fabric between his fingers and slowly, gently drew them back. His eyes never left hers as he carefully divested her of the garment. As it joined her robe on the chair, her hands pushed the bottoms from her hips to fall in a pool at her feet, baring her to him.

Bill looked, his gaze traveling intently from her beautiful eyes down to her toes. She had indeed lost weight, but she remained breathtakingly woman, elegant curves and rounded in all the right places, stirring in him a primal male possessiveness he’d never felt for another lover. His hands literally ached to stake claim to every inch of her as his and his alone, driving out the cancer that vied for purchase in her flesh and sought to steal away her vibrancy and life’s breath, that conspired with the treatment to take her from him.

Unable to keep the distance between them, Bill touched her, his hands finding hers, lifting them up and directing her arms to wrap around his neck. When he released them, his own eased around her waist and drew her to him as his mouth descended on hers in a tender onslaught. She hugged him tightly and pushed up onto her toes, pressing closer to him as he kissed her.

The soft, whimpering hum that rose in her throat prompted him to turn them both until her back was to the bed. He lifted her and sat her at the edge before slowly easing her down onto the mattress. Her hands began pushing his tanks up his chest and he reluctantly left her mouth to help her. He caught hold of the material and stripped them off. His dog tags clanked together and swung free as he leaned back over her, braced on his arms. She smiled wistfully and caught the tags in her hand. He returned the expression as she eased them around to rest on his upper back, moving them out of the way. She never asked him to take them off.

“Military protocol,” she whispered then slowly traced her fingers down the long scar that bisected his chest, a vivid reminder of a personal betrayal and of his own mortality.

As his smile fell away, he lifted a hand to brush his fingers across her brow. His eyes drifted up to the kerchief that hid away the nakedness of her skull, the most visible sign of the battle being waged within her body.

They had only been intimate a few times since the loss of her hair and she had worn the cloth each time. It had never bothered him, still didn’t, but tonight he didn’t want it there.

Gently, he slipped his fingers to the edge and began to slide the kerchief off. She stilled beneath him and he paused to meet her gaze. He saw fear in her eyes and the beginnings of tears. He sought to ease her.

“I want to see all of you,” he whispered then waited for her consent.

It didn’t take long. Laura was a woman with many fears, but she never let them dictate her choices. Rather she chose to face them head on and make her choices in spite of them. It was one of the many things he loved and respected about her.

On the heels of her soft “okay,” Bill eased the kerchief from her head with infinite care, exposing her completely. He then glided his hand over her smooth scalp in a slow, tender caress. Her eyes fell shut and she let out a shaky breath as she gradually relaxed under him. He smiled then brought his mouth to hers, kissed her once, softly, then whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

At his words, he watched a smile blossom across her face and light her eyes when she opened them to look up at him. His heart lifted high in his chest at the sight of it. Her hands cradled his face and her eyes searched his, her expression gradually becoming one of tender affection and more.

After a moment, she voiced the more, her tone filled with need. “I want you.”

His smile fading away, Bill kissed her yet again. It was a languid caress of lips then a slow, sweet exploration with his tongue. She gasped softly when his mouth left hers and traveled to her neck. Her hands moved, one sliding up and into his hair, the other splaying across his upper back, both guiding him downward. He complied, trailing warm, wet kisses between the valley of her breasts before ascending each mound, first one and then the other, then back again, and again.

She hummed and keened, arched under him when he brought his hand down to cup one, the one that bore the cancer. He paid it special attention, nuzzling, kissing, then suckling reverently until both her hands fisted in his hair, and drew him back with a soft cry of his name.

He looked up at her in concern. “Too much?” he asked, fear seizing him.

She slowly opened her eyes and caught his gaze. She shook her head as one corner of her mouth inched upward. “Too good,” she breathed.

Bill laughed softly. His voice was deep and thick with his desire when he spoke. “First time I’ve been stopped for that reason.”

She giggled, but it was tempered by the truth in the confession she next made. “I’m only going to have one in me, and I want…” she breathed, her voice trailing off. That was all right. She didn’t need to say the rest. He understood.

With a slow nod of his head, Bill moved back up, bracing himself on both arms over her. He gazed down at her a moment then whispered, ever the pragmatist, “Let’s get more comfortable.”

Righting himself, Bill helped guide her until she was laying in the bed properly. He then shed his sleep pants and joined her. She welcomed him immediately into the cradle of her body, her hands sliding down over his chest, one traveling lower, past his middle-age paunch to the sensitive flesh below. His eyes fell shut at the skimming caress of her fingertips along his length, then trembled at her gentle grip as she guided him to where she wanted him.

“Yes,” she breathed out in a hiss of a sigh as he sank slowly into her. She gripped his hips and lifted her own to meet him, welcoming him to settle in her body. He did so, his heart beating a tattoo against his ribs, his eyes feasting on the sight of her under him. He was certain he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

Her hands moved up to his back and drew him down until his chest was against hers. Her legs fluidly eased up to hook over his hips in an unmistakable invitation that he could not refuse.

With a whisper of her name, he moved, falling into a slow, steady pace, determined to prolong the joining, to build it to a perfect crescendo. She was patient and let him guide them, met him in flawless counter, her eyes opening and finding his.

“Yes, give me your eyes,” he breathed in joy, wanting to see her and wanting her to see him.

The full measure of what he felt for her rushed to the fore in the face of such open intimacy. He was unable to keep it from her in moments like these. She feared it, he knew, the intensity of it, but she never looked away. She never ran from it but let it wash over her. He could always feel when she accepted it, her body would shudder and her eyes would fall shut. He would not look into them again until the aftermath, when she could again raise the veil she kept between them.

Though he wished she no longer did so, he accepted it as he accepted her, without condition. He simply loved her, his body moving within hers, his mouth falling to hers, where he kissed her deeply, one hand cradling her bare head and lifting her to him.

He lovingly plundered and she surged under him, fingers curling tightly over his shoulders. She held to him as she urged him on with her hips and soft, desirous hums into his mouth.

He felt hot tears fall to his wrist. They were hers, slipping from the corners of her eyes, filling the delicate wrinkles and following their path to fall on his flesh. He moved to kiss them away. His mouth gently touching the corner of one eye.

“Bill,” she rasped and pressed her face into his neck. He felt her breath hot against his throat, coming in ragged pants. He felt the intensity of what she felt in how she clung to him. It fueled his need of her, for that moment of unblemished connection of man and woman, with this woman.

Bill took her then, without mercy, with tender mercy, and she surrendered everything to him on a thick whisper that carried so much more than his name. He echoed it at her ear, his love saturating every syllable of hers as he emptied into her.

Cliche as it was, time seemed to stand still then and Bill welcomed the hiatus, the chance to just be with her. He held her close, both arms around her and slowly rolled them to the side, taking his weight from her. She sighed and drew back to look at him. She smiled and he returned it, a hand sliding up to touch her cheek. He kissed her then, pressing his lips to hers and lingering several long moments.

When he withdrew, she fixed him with a look of knowing, a smile emerging and then a soft laugh, so soft as to be almost an apparition. But he heard it and laughed, too. She gently caressed his chest as her eyes searched his. He ran his hand over her head again, watched her gaze flicker down to where her hand played. Leaning in again, he kissed her brow, then guided her into the crook of his neck.

They lay together for a while, until he felt sleep begin tugging at her. He eased out of her then. The action stirred her, prompting her to reach down between them and cover herself. He smiled at her reaction and kissed her quickly.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered and carefully eased out of the bed. When he returned a few moments later, he bore a warm washcloth. With infinite gentleness, he moved her hand and cleaned her up with the cloth. He glanced up at her as he did, saying softly, “I’m sorry about the mess.”

A tender smile lighting her face and eyes, she lifted a hand and touched his forearm, grazed her fingertips against his skin. “Don’t be,” she said. “It’s a joy, and we don’t have nearly enough of those.”

Bill nodded in agreement, replied, “It’s been a good day,”

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes twinkling with unshed tears. “It’s been a good day.”