The Battle Lost, The War is Won

Laura stirred in bed. She felt nauseous and knew she needed to get up and make her way quickly to the bathroom despite the fact that her stomach was empty. The diloxin, along with her hair, had taken her appetite.

Carefully, so she would not wake him, Laura moved Bill’s arm from her chest and pushed back the covers. With what little strength remained, she used her arms to move to a sitting position and then forced her legs over the side. Since the treatments had started, which resulted in frequent risings from bed, Bill had insisted Laura sleep on the outside of the rack. The admiral had not made a big deal of it, but she saw in that small gesture genuine affection. Yes the change made sense, but for a military man to give ground spoke volumes.

The president padded to the bathroom as swiftly as her cancer riddled body would allow. She closed the tiny door and flipped a switch. As light filled the space, Laura was affronted with her reflection in the mirror. The face that stared back looked beyond death. She had lost so much weight that the pasty skin hung loosely from her body. The ever present dark circles around her eyes only added to the dreadful sunken appearance of them. And then there was her bald scalp. While the wig served her well to hide the hair loss from others, it also acted as a constant reminder of her body’s betrayal.

Laura had never thought herself vain, but before the cancer, she had been what some might consider pretty. Bill had even called her beautiful a few times. While he still insisted she was, Laura knew it was love blinding him.

Oh how she missed her former self. Gone was the sparkle in her eyes, the rosiness of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips. It had all been stripped away piece by piece with every drip of the deloxin.

Her hand lifted to brush through the hair that had once been present. That was what she missed most of all. Before the drug claimed it, Laura’s hair had been beautiful, long, red locks. Sometimes she could still feel the soft curls kissing her skin. Her eyes now shut, she pictured all the times Bill had run his fingers through it, smelled it, kissed it. The times it hung down and brushed against his bare chest when they made love, and how it blanketed both of them as he held her after.

She was so ugly now.

Laura was sick, not just from the nausea, and needed to sit. Quickly, she wet a washcloth and slid her back down the wall to the floor. Laura placed the cool damp cloth over her face. It helped ease the nausea, but also muffled her cries.

For several minutes, she remained like that until she heard the bathroom door open. Laura tried to choke back the tears, but it was too late. Bill already knew. Why did he have to be so caring? Without fail, every night, every time she rose from bed, as soon as he discovered her gone, Bill would seek her out to ensure she was okay.

It was useless, but Laura tried to compose herself. Bill was already beside her, as he pulled her into his arms. She wanted to push him away, convince him, and herself, that she was fine. But she was so weak from the treatments, and he felt so good. Instead Laura tried to refuse her tears access again. But that too was a futile effort.

How long did she have left? A week? Two? This time there would be no miracle. This time she would truly die, so what was the point of false strength? So she stopped. Laura allowed all her pain to surface and laid it before the man she loved.

The gods had a perverse sense of humor. If it were not so sad, it might even be funny. For so long Laura and Bill had both been alone. Not just since the initial attacks, but long before. Yes, each had been involved with others over the years, but none of those relationships had compared to what they now shared.

For the two of them to get to this point had been almost painfully slow. They had both been afraid to open their hearts, but sometimes the heart does what it wants regardless of the wish of the owner.

And now she was dying. It had taken all their lives to find each other and they were going to lose it. That was the worst thing about her cancer: it was going to cut short what had taken ages to create.

Bill had once, and only once, told Laura he could not live without her. It seemed cliché, but it was true none the less. She had seen it in his eyes a few times when both of them would suddenly remember this would happen. She would die and there was not a damn thing anyone could do about it.

Sometimes Laura thought she was the lucky one. She was the one who would die, but at least she would not be forced to endure life without Bill.

Tears fell to Laura’s cheek, but they were not hers. Then she realized she was not the only one shaking. Bill was crying too.

“I love you,” she said, but like always it did not seem to be enough. How could three words possibly convey everything she felt towards him? As her cancer claimed more and more ground, Laura found herself saying the words with increased frequency. But every time, it had always seemed lacking. It was impossible to articulate the depth of her love.

Of course Bill had a certain way about him. He could read her like one of his books. Laura had been able to conceal so much from everyone else, but never from him. And in these last few weeks, she had been grateful for that, because he knew. Bill knew exactly how much he truly meant to her and how lost she would now be without him. Her words were merely the messenger which transported her feelings. Once taken in, Bill was easily able to decipher their meaning.

“I love you too,” was his response to her declaration. Immediately Laura was worried. Always before, when she had said those words, he had provided some off the wall remark. The first time Bill had replied with ‘About time.” Since then he had used various phrases: ‘I know’, ‘Damn straight’, ‘As you should’, ‘Good’, and once even ‘So say we all’. At times Laura thought he sat around thinking up new remarks, but always, she understood his reply.

Bill had been the one to put his love out there first and waited patiently for her to do the same. Never once had he hidden his feelings, so it was not necessary to voice them. He showed them, conveyed them with unspoken words every day.

His responses were his way of playfully torturing her for making him wait so long. And she would not have it any other way. For him to return the words would have been easy. But to take his feelings and twist them into his little joke took effort, careful thought. And every time, it made her smile, because it showed how much he cared.

But never once had Bill said what he just had. And that was the problem, because it meant his strength was gone. He no longer had the energy or desire to continue as they had. It was time to force the words to take on their true meaning. Time to say ‘I love you’ before it was too late, before she was gone and he could never say them to her.

Laura raised her head from his chest. There in his eyes she saw it: he was afraid. It was as if until this moment he had never truly accepted what would happen.

She moved closer and pressed her lips to his. It took every ounce of strength Laura had, but somehow she willed the energy. She then pulled back and spoke in a near whisper the only words that came to her. “I’m sorry…”

What else could she say? Her sorrow for doing this to him was beyond measure, but it was in the hands of the gods. Her death had been foretold centuries before her birth and try though she might, she could not change it.

Laura did not want to leave him, would give anything, and she meant anything, to be able to stay with Bill. But that was not her path, their path. This was the end.

Her head fell back to his chest but not before she saw the pained look flash through his eyes. Laura felt his lips press to her scalp followed by a few raspy breaths. Then he laid his head on hers and said, “Marry me.”

It was not a question. Bill would not give her the opportunity to say ‘No’. Laura wanted to ask him ‘Why?’ Why do this now when her time was almost up? Why put himself through the torture of being a widower? But that was the answer.

It would sanctify their relationship. It would bring forth for everyone to see the love, respect, and devotion they had for one another. No one would ever be able to deny what they shared. They were not just two people who sought out companionship: there was genuineness in the partnership.

And Bill would be allowed to grieve for her as a husband should grieve for his wife. For the remainder of his days, he would be able to carry around with him what they had meant, what they did mean, to each other.

“When?” she asked as a smile crept across her face.

“Now.”

Laura looked up into those determined blue eyes. “Now?”

“Now.”

And why not? Hadn’t they waited long enough? “Now.”

~~~~~~~~~

Ten days later, President Laura Adama passed away. Her husband had never once left her bedside during the entire stay in sickbay. The memorial service was not held in the hanger bay, but in the temple just as she had wanted. And afterwards, there was no ejection into the cold, dark, blackness of space. Instead Bill decided Laura deserved to be buried in the rich, warm ground on the planet that would become his, their, home.

So Laura traveled on Galactica, as the shell of a man lead the way, until such a place was found. The admiral searched the planet almost two weeks for the right spot, but when he saw it, Bill recognized it immediately. It was a clearing, by a stream where the water was as clear as glass.

There he laid his wife to rest. And there he built a cabin, their cabin, just exactly as she had described it to him a hundred times over. He had retired, leaving the fleet to the next generation, so he could be always near her. Bill never ventured far from Laura, she was all he had ever needed.

Finally the day came, when her name was the last breath that passed over his lips, and he was able once again to be with her for always.