In Death’s Wake, Love Grows

The mood aboard the Battlestar Galactica was solemn. 

The hangar deck, usually a hive of activity, was quiet and still. Only a handful of the crewmen were going about their jobs. The rest sat here and there, atop crates and on the open floor, shoulders slumped and eyes red-rimmed. 

Death always hit this tight-knit family of military men and women hard, but today it had landed a particularly bruising blow. One of their dearest had been lost. Kara Thrace. Starbuck. The ballsy, beautiful and fragile Viper jock with a laugh that would light any darkness and who could be counted on to pull off the impossible via the unconventional when the chips were down. She was gone, lost in a fiery explosion in the atmosphere of the planet below.

President Laura Roslin hurt for each and every soul she encountered as she made her way through the corridors of the great warship. Their shock and grief was palpable. It hung in the air, thick and choking, undoubtedly magnified by Starbuck’s association with the ship’s commander, Admiral William Adama, and his son, Lee.

Kara Thrace may not have been born an Adama, but she was a part of their family nonetheless, a much beloved one. Laura wasn’t sure what the exact nature of things had been between Lee and Kara but she knew love when she saw it and it was definitely there, fiery and contentious. There was no mystery, however, surrounding the admiral’s feelings. He loved Thrace as a daughter, the one he’d never had, and as the last connection to his lost son, Zak. 

Laura was worried for both the Adamas, but the admiral was foremost in her mind and the reason for her late evening trip to Galactica. 

Unlike Lee who had his wife, Dee, to lean on, the admiral had to bear his grief alone and also that of his crew. It was a heavy enough burden for someone to shoulder if they had no personal stake in the loss but for someone who did and who loved as deeply and completely as Bill Adama the weight had to be crushing. He would bear it, Laura knew, but she worried at what cost.

That concern had been with Laura since hearing the news that afternoon. She’d slipped out of a quorum work session to quickly call the admiral and formally offer her condolences as president but more than that had been denied her by the squabbling rabble that called themselves representatives of the people. She’d had to listen to them bitch and moan for another three hours and then handhold a pair of them on other matters afterward, practically feigning interest in their petty concerns while she silently pondered more vital matters of the heart … one heart in particular. 

By early evening, Laura had finally had enough and sent them packing back to their ships. She’d then contacted the Galactica and spoke to the ship’s executive officer and Bill Adama’s long-standing friend, the abrasive Col. Saul Tigh, who promptly set over a raptor. The man’s concern for Bill had been evident over the wireless, as had his own grief.

Laura understood it. She wasn’t immune from the grief herself. She felt the loss of any soul in the fleet, of course, but Thrace’s hit close to home for her, too. Laura had admired and respected Thrace, and cared for her because she was so special to Bill. She winced as she recalled the time when the vibrant young officer had chosen her side over her surrogate father’s, an act that had led to a military coup. 

Laura’s heart tightened in her chest as she remembered Bill’s reaction on the surface of Kobol when he’d been reunited with Thrace after her mutiny. It had been a touching and powerful moment, the magnitude of what he felt for Kara had radiated off him like a nuclear blast. All had been forgiven in a blink of an eye as a father gave thanks for his life and the chance to put things right with a prodigal child — with both of his children, and an errant president. 

Laura had decided then and there that Bill Adama’s heart was perhaps the biggest in the galaxy. He loved without strings attached and in full measure. If he loved you, you got all his love. And it was a hell of a lot, as deep as any ocean that existed. 

Laura Roslin knew what it felt like to be in swept away by that steady, thrumming tide of his affection. It was a powerful feeling to be on the receiving end of a love so encompassing, even when it was restrained, held back by propriety and prudence. She often wondered how he kept it all inside without bursting, but she knew that love was why his crew adored him. It was impossible, if one had a beating heart, not to return that kind of love — which made her wonder about Carolanne Adama, Bill’s late ex-wife. But that was a thought for another day and time.

Tonight Laura’s thoughts were for the man who was her partner is this journey, who shared the burden of responsibility with her, and who also was her friend — and, sometimes, her lover. 

And he’s even more than that, she admitted as she stepped into the short hallway that led to his quarters. She just didn’t have a word to define exactly what he meant to her, exactly what role he played in her life. Companion was a close match and yet didn’t seem to convey the whole nature of what had come to bind them since Kobol. If she had to put it all in conventional terms that others would understand, she’d simply say that she loved him, and yet that was a wholly inadequate description by her account. 

No, bound is what they were. Deeply. Completely. As president and military commander. As man and woman. As human beings. It was a connection that Laura counted as the most important of her life, past and present, and fundamental to her future. She honestly couldn’t imagine a life without him in it — just the thought of it made her go cold inside.

Laura folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her hands over her upper arms to ward off the psychological chill as she met the gaze of one of the marines who stood guard outside the hatch to Bill’s quarters. 

The young man’s expression was as solemn as those of his crew mates but she noted a look of relief came over him upon seeing her. She offered him a small smile of understanding and acknowledgment as her marine escort fell in to flank their comrades. 

Though she and Bill were discreet, she knew these armed young soldiers were aware that the relationship between their leaders was more than a professional one. Frankly, they were too smart to have missed that she sometimes stayed the night with their commander, even with a change of shift. 

Whatever they knew, though, they appeared to keep to themselves, or it at least remained confined to Galactica, otherwise, she was sure she’d have heard something from the press or quorum by now. 

“It’s good to see you, ma’am,” the guard said as she neared. His simple pleasantry was anything but routine politeness. Usually, the guards didn’t speak at all, only nodded with respect to her when she arrived. For this young man to actually give voice to his relief at seeing her told her that he was worried about “the old man.” His next words and action only confirmed it. 

“He said not to let anyone in,” he said but reached for the wheel on the hatch anyway, prepared to let her inside in direct contradiction to the order from his superior officer.

Laura gave him an understanding smile when she replied. “I’ll take care of things, Corporal.”

The soldier gave her a crisp nod then opened the hatch. 

Bill’s quarters were mostly dark and grew darker when the door closed quietly behind her. The only illumination came from the small lamp on his desk.

Slipping off her shoes by the door, Laura padded barefoot toward the desk, her eyes drawn to the mangled model ship that sat atop it. As she neared, though, her eyes fell upon the broken man. 

Bill Adama sat in his chair, bent forward at the waist, his head in his hands and shoulders shaking with silent sobs. 

Laura’s heart ached at the sight. She whispered his name softly. He started, clearly unaware that she’d entered the room. She caught his tear-filled gaze, saw a flash of anger and then pain. So much pain in those blue depths that it almost knocked the breath out of her. She watched him quickly try to shutter it away, rein in his grief as he looked away then stood. But Laura would have none of that. She understood all too well the need for emotional release and how hard it was to come by as a leader whose actions were constantly under scrutiny. 

“Bill, don’t,” she said, shaking her head. He looked over at her, prompting her to move determinedly and quietly around the desk to stand in front of him. His eyes followed her. 

Reaching him, she lifted a hand and touched his cheek, her thumb brushing through the wet trails of his tears. “I’m not here to intrude,” she said softly. 

“They were ordered not to let anyone in.” His voice was deep, thick and rasping, telling her he’d not spoken in a while.

She gave him a very brief, gentle smile when she whispered, “I pulled rank,” but sobered as she continued, “And I’ll go if you want me to. But I wanted to see you and tell you how very sorry I am about Kara.”

He looked down, hiding the churn of emotion in his gaze. She brought her other hand up to his chest, laid it over his heart. After a few moments, Laura tilted her head and raised up on the balls of her feet to press a kiss to his brow. His arms slowly came around her then, drawing her into an embrace. She wrapped her own around his shoulders, hugging him as he pressed his cheek against hers. 

A day’s growth of whiskers burned against her skin but did not mark her as strongly as the heat of his tears, which continued unabated. Grief radiated off him. She could feel it in the tension in his arms, in the slight tremble in his frame every time he took a breath. And the heaviness of his heart — it was in how he all but leaned against her, as if it took every ounce of strength he had to remain upright.

In the span of a few years, this man had lost one child of his blood and now one of his choice, and he was frequently at odds with his only remaining progeny. Frankly, she wouldn’t blame him if he collapsed completely; some people had and would over far less. She could not imagine how difficult it was for a parent to bury their child — it had been hard enough for Laura with her young aide, Billy. 

Closing her eyes, Laura held onto Bill tighter. He mirrored the action, clutching her so close that she could feel the press of his dog tags into her breast. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. He needed someone to hold on to and that’s why she was here. It’s why Col. Tigh had sent the raptor immediately to fetch her from Colonial One. It’s why the guards had let her into their commander’s quarters without a moment’s hesitation despite their orders.

They stood that way for a long while. Laura couldn’t say exactly how long, though. In time, however, he eased his hold on her and drew back to look at her. His expression was open and tender, one she’d first been introduced to on New Caprica, in the dark of her tent one cool night. Grief and pain still swam in the cobalt depths of his eyes, but it was banked now, tempered. It would be back in force again at some point — grief was like that — but probably not tonight and probably not for an audience, even of one.

Gently, Laura cradled Bill’s face in her hands, her thumbs wiping at his tears. She gave him a tender smile as she did so and he returned it, though only slightly. He leaned in and kissed her, just touching his lips to hers and lingering. Laura kissed him back and was pleased to see his smile was brighter when he looked at her again. It never ceased to amaze her that such a simple kiss could render him happy. 

Honestly, there were times Bill Adama was as guileless as a child. Now was one of those times. There was something infinitely charming — sexy even — about that streak of simple sweetness in him, a seasoned military leader with a light-year-wide pragmatic streak. And when he looked at her the way he was at the moment … she was hopelessly smitten, unable to think, and breathing was a tricky prospect considering her heart and lungs had a tendency to flutter erratically. It made her long for simpler times, likes those last few months on New Caprica before the Cylons came.

Sliding her hands down and across his shoulders, Laura asked, “Have you eaten?”

He shook his head, his smile fading. “I wasn’t hungry.”

She understood that but ventured, “Would you have a little dinner with me?” It was almost an unfair question — she knew he would never turn down the opportunity to dine with her, even if only out of courtesy — but he needed to eat.

True to form, he nodded then eased his arms from around her. He started to move around to the communications receiver, but Laura stopped him, a hand on his chest. His gaze met hers.

“I’ll call it in,” she said softly. “Why don’t you go take a shower. It will help.”

He didn’t say a word. Just covered her hand with his and leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple. Laura hummed softly and smiled at him when he withdrew. He shook his head at her, casting his gaze down and away, a smile tugging at his mouth as he wandered toward the lavatory. She drew her hand down his arm as he passed, caught his fingers. He returned the gentle squeeze and held her hand until distance forced them to part. 

Laura watched him until he disappeared into the head, drawing the door closed behind him. She then wiped at the tears that adorned her face as she turned and picked up the receiver that hung over Bill’s bunk. She asked for the galley and placed an order for a couple of plates and a carafe of coffee to be sent to the admiral’s quarters. 

That done, Laura sank into his desk chair and eyed the wreckage of his model. She knew he had spent hours crafting the ship, patiently perfecting every little detail, and now it was a mess. But Laura didn’t think it would stay that way as her eyes fell upon the figurehead, the small golden image of Aurora that Kara had given him a day earlier. It lay separate from the rest of the wreckage, salvaged as if he was already planning to rebuild. Laura hoped he did, believing it would be cathartic for him.

Settling back into his chair, Laura reached into her jacket pocket and extracted her eyeglasses. She set them beside Bill’s, which lay near the Aurora figure. She shut her eyes then and whispered a prayer for Kara’s soul, wishing her peace and happiness. Laura also said a prayer for Lee, and then Bill, asking the gods to bestow the same upon them, most especially Bill. His burdens were as great as hers and he needed the strength to bear them

When she opened her eyes again, she had to blink away tears. She took a slow deep breath then rose and unbuttoned her jacket. She slid it off and draped it around the back of his chair to keep it from wrinkling. That’s when she spotted his. It lay crumpled in the floor under the desk. 

Reaching down, Laura picked it up. She ran her hands over the fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles as she stood. She went to his closet and pulled out a hanger. She arranged his tunic on it then hung it in the closet next to his dress grays. Unable to help herself, she ran her hand over the latter, smiling as she did. 

Laura liked his daily blues; they were familiar and comfortable and what he’d been wearing when she first met him. But the grays … they held a special place in her memory. He had been wearing those the first time she really *saw* Bill Adama, when he gave that unscripted speech during the decommissioning ceremony for Galactica. 

It seemed like a lifetime ago since that fateful day when their worlds came to an end. The fleet had traveled a long way since then and, gods knew, she and Bill had come a long way from their rocky start, coming to respect and trust one another implicitly and, in some things, exclusively.

Pulling herself away from memories, Laura moved into the main area of his cabin and switched on the lamp that adorned his dining table. She then turned on a couple others around the room, casting the area in a warm glow. 

Laura found it interesting that such a cozy haven was to be found in the inner recesses of a war vessel, but knew that any perceived warmth had little to do with the lighting — or furnishings — and had everything to do with the tenant. It was Bill Adama’s warmth that made this nook within Galactica’s metal bulkheads a home and her favorite place in the fleet. 

Laura always felt welcome on Galactica. The crew was respectful and quick to step up and accommodate whatever President Roslin needed. But it was here, in these quarters, that Laura Roslin felt most welcome, and wanted. Bill made sure of that. 

As Laura returned to his sleeping area, he emerged from the lavatory wearing his heavy maroon robe and a towel thrown around his neck. His hair was wet and tousled. She noted he looked tired but more at ease as he carried his boots over and dropped them beside his bed.

Spying a smear of shaving cream near his sideburn, she walked over to him as he turned. She grabbed the end of the towel and brought it up to gently wipe away the lingering evidence of his shave. “Dinner’s on the way,” she told him.

“Okay.”

That was all he said but his eyes said much more, that intense gaze settling on her with gentleness and gratitude. She smiled as she smoothed the towel back into place, then reached up to run her hand through the wet, curly waves of his hair. It was a decidedly sexy look on him and she told him so. He actually blushed a little at the compliment and looked down as he often did, the hint of a smile tweaking the corners of his mouth.

It always amused Laura when he responded like that to any mention of his appeal. He always seemed a little surprised, which she found interesting considering he was a confident lover, a man sure in his masculinity. His only vanity, she’d discovered, was his desire to appear every bit the pressed and proper military officer, which was understanding given his rank and responsibilities of leading what remained of the Colonial forces. He wasn’t obsessive about it, mind you, but it was important to him that he present the right image to his crew and the populace.

Here, though, in his quarters, he let his hair down — both literally and figuratively — and Laura enjoyed that, seeing him relaxed and burdens put aside, not worried about putting up a front for others. It was something Laura was distinctly familiar with, which made her welcome the opportunity to lay aside the president for a while and just be a woman. The only place she felt comfortable doing that was here, with Bill. She wondered if he knew how was grateful she was for the refuge. She suspected he probably did. He didn’t miss much.

A knock sounded at the door and Laura flinched. She couldn’t help it. There weren’t many doors on Colonial One so it wasn’t a sound she heard all that often. She laughed softly at her reaction, making Bill’s smile widened. He looked up at her again, amusement glinting in that cobalt gaze. 

“I’ll get it,” she said.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Laura considered making small talk but he didn’t seem inclined to speak so she let silence reign as they ate. 

Once they were finished, Bill wandered over to his desk and stared at the mess he’d made of his model. Laura watched him for a few moments before joining him. She slipped her hand into his and he gripped it securely. He then asked a question.

“Can you stay?”

Laura felt the prick of tears at the words, at the trepidation behind them. He feared her answer would be negative. Keeping hold of his hand, she moved in front of him, breaking his eye contact with the model. 

“Yes,” Laura breathed in answer, knowing this was one of those times when political prudence was going to have to go frak itself. Bill was more important than anything else at the moment, and if anyone had any issues with that then they could go frak themselves, too. She and Bill didn’t often ask for anything for themselves. They always put responsibilities and the fleet first, but not tonight. Unless the Cylon fleet jumped on top of them, the remnants of humanity would just have to get along without them.

“What can I do?” Laura asked, holding his gaze.

He shook his head gently, his voice infinitely soft when he spoke, “I don’t know.”

Laura matched his tone, carefully venturing, “Do you want to talk?”

He seemed to consider it a moment before answering with a definitive “No.”

Laura respected that. Grief hit different people in different ways. Some found comfort in talking. Some didn’t. Sometimes there was just simply a window of time that needed to pass before they could talk about the loss. Laura suspected Bill just needed that time, and she wanted him to have it. She wouldn’t push him to discuss such a deep hurt before he was ready, but asking the question let him know that she was there and willing to listen when that time came. And even if that time did not come, she would still be there.

With a squeeze to his hand, Laura hoped to communicate to him the depth of her commitment to that and knew she’d succeeded when he lifted his other hand to touch her cheek. He caressed her tenderly even as his eyes searched hers with clear intent. She saw his need before he began leaning toward her and felt it when his mouth covered hers in a slow, soft kiss.

It was one of those kisses that triggered a woman’s heart to open completely and Laura felt hers do just that, an innate reaction to the wounded heart that was reaching out to connect with hers. She understood the need for that, the desire to know something beautiful when everything else around you was ugly, to feel something other than pain, to reaffirm life in the face of death, to take control in one part of your life while the rest fell apart around you.

Laura sensed Bill asserting that control now, mastering his emotions, channeling them into the caress of his lips, the sweeping of his thumb against her cheekbone, the secure hold he had on her hand. Earlier, he’d been content to let her care for him but now he was taking command and she surrendered, no negotiations needed. Whatever he asked of her, she would give, willingly and without hesitation.

He kissed and kissed her until they were both breathless and trembling. He then leaned his forehead against hers, her name a whisper on his lips as he slid his hand into her hair. In response, Laura slipped her hand inside his robe to find his heart. She pressed her palm to his chest as his mouth found hers again.

There were times sex was just sex, purely for pleasure or physical release, lust-driven and without subtlety, and there were times sex was about love, a physical expression of the emotion that bound two people. But there were also times when sex surpassed even the latter and spilled over into the realm of the spiritual.

Laura Roslin felt that for the first time in her life under Bill this night. Every look, every touch, every thought resonated with a purity that could only come in the presence of the divine. She opened herself to it and, utterly humbled, wept at being in such perfect sync with another soul — his soul. 

Later, Laura lay close with him in his bunk, watching him sleep. Sometime earlier she had lulled him into dreams by repeatedly running her fingers through his hair. She continued her ministrations even now, mesmerized by the texture of the wavy locks. Her eyes absorbed every detail of his face, which rested only inches from her own, noting that he looked at peace, his features lax in repose. It was so different from the mask of granite he wore as commander of the Galactica that she was sure most people wouldn’t recognize him. But she did. This was the man beneath the soldier’s armor, the gentle soul that loved so deeply it was almost frightening, the father and loyal friend, the tender lover and husband. 

With an involuntary whisper of his name and her heart trembling in her breast, Laura brought her brow to rest against his. She closed her eyes and rubbed her nose alongside his, wishing she could slip into his dreams and know him there, too. It was a silly wish but she wished it anyway. 

“Go to sleep, Laura.”

The rumbled murmur made Laura smile. She shifted, brushed her lips against his in a breathy kiss, then made herself more comfortable, snuggling down under the covers with him. As she shut her eyes, he drew her closer, a hand sliding under the mass of her hair. He gently directed her into the crook of his neck and she felt the muscles in his cheek bunch with a smile when she hummed softly in response. A soft kiss was pressed to her temple, then to her cheek.

“Rest now,” he whispered at her ear. “Just rest now.”

“You, too, Bill,” she breathed. “You, too.”