Futures that never were, but still worth remembering

Shadow and Light- a BSG Fic

2009-07-15T05:16:08Z

Title: Shadow and Light
Summary: “She promised, he delivered, and she abandoned him to this wretched planet.”
Characters: Baltar, Gaeta
Rating: PG
Notes: This is a remix of To Err is … human?, by phdelicious The original story had four sections. This remix is an expansion of the second part. Enjoy.The beta was done by the wonderful 2raggedclaws. And if you haven't read the remix of my fic Empty. Vulnerable. Missing Something. by amathela Sleeper (Anywhere But Here Remix) read it now. It is wonderful.

* * * * *

Gaius Baltar was excruciatingly aware of the interplay of light and shadow. He sat cloaked in the darkness, staring almost incoherently as light from passing ships beamed into the Presidential office. The lights flitted from one end of the office to the next, careening like headless birds.

The kaleidoscope of light vs. dark was enchanting, almost imbued with a shimmering, sensual quality that caressed him and the rest of the room. Shadow and light, light and darkness. On one level the chaotic shifts in the degree of light from one extreme to the other, was disrupting to his equilibrium, but then the rhythmic swell began to have an odd psychological effect, and he fell into a languid stupor.

The lights reminded him of what he wanted to forget, (explosions. thermonuclear devices. Gina.) and he closed his eyes. His body begged for him to give in to the exhaustion. When was the last time he’d slept? When was the last time he slept without nightmares?

Baltar glanced down at the empty bottle at his side and wondered where the alcohol had gone.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as he tried to make sense of his thoughts.

“Mr. President, have you signed the reports?”

Baltar’s eyes had still been closed and the unexpected voice startled him, sending the papers stacked on his desk fluttering to the ground.

Gaeta had stopped commenting on the various states of disrepair he’d found Baltar in, and so the empty bottle and dark room in the early evening were ignored. Ignored, but noted.

“Did you get my medication?”

Gaeta’s lips flattened to a hard line. “The reports… sir.”

Baltar bent down and grabbed the papers on the floor and held them up, crumpled in his hand. With dramatic flair, he spoke. “Ah yes, the ever present reports- I don’t know how to tell you this Mr. Gaeta, but the reports will be here in the morning.” He tossed them down. “There is a question, however, of whether you or I will last through the night.” He regretted his tone immediately, as he saw the anger flash across Gaeta’s face.

When Baltar spoke again, his voice was pleading, and there was just a touch of affection that he knew worked well on Gaeta. “I’m sorry Felix. Forgive me. It’s just--- it’s just that I haven’t been able to sleep.” He noticed the rumpled papers in front of him, and did his best to smooth out the wrinkles against the desktop. He glanced at the top sheet-- more equipment requests from Tyrol, requests that he couldn’t possibly fill, and the Admiral would only ignore. “I just need a good night of sleep, and then I can understand what I am reading, and maybe even come up with a solution or two.”

“Fine.” Gaeta remained calm, but the single word came out sharp and bitten off. “Your ‘medication,’ sir. I’ll wake you in the morning, and we’ll review the reports together.” He set the pill container down harder than necessary in front of Baltar, and then turned sharply, walking away without another word or acknowledgement.

The pills now in hand, he let the resentment rise. He was the godsdamn President of the Colonies. This how he’s treated? With eyes rolling and sighs heavy, they all said no to him. Where was the respect?

God has a plan for you Gaius, she’d said to him. She said it so many times that believed her. He’d wanted to believe her, even though his mind rebelled against that idea. She promised, he delivered, and she abandoned him to this wretched planet. To this half lived existence.

“I don’t believe you.” He yelled into the room. “I don’t believe you!”

There was no answer. There hadn’t been for some time.

He settled back into his chair, his energy expended with the outburst, and watched the beams of light momentarily illuminating the room. It was as if the darkness burned the light and unable to tolerate it, the light was cast off, only to be replaced with another.

Baltar eyes squeezed tight. He felt like something was going to give. He just didn’t know what. He poured the pills out into his hand. It was a weeks worth, if he rationed.

He didn’t want to ration.

He just wanted to sleep. Sleep long enough that when he finally woke, things would be better.

Rolling the medication indifferently in his hands, he leaned back, and watched the light dance.

It seems that resistance truly is futile

2009-06-22T16:04:57Z

This delightful vid has brought me such joy this weekend. A gen New Trek vid set to Glee's version of "Don't stop Believing". You think it's gonna be cracky, and then suddenly you have this warm feeling in your chest.

It is not helping me resist the Trek... which i keep saying I'm still resisting, but if you take one look look at my memories you will see i've already given in to the Trek...

Ok, it's making it hard to resist the Glee... although...

Between a Memory and a Dream - a BSG Fanfic

2009-06-17T16:50:39Z

Between a Memory and a Dream

Rating: M
Characters: Bill Adama/Laura Roslin
Summary: ‘Laura and smoke mixed on his lips always made him a little dizzy.’

Spoilers: All the way to the end.
A/N: Created for A/R MOL- prompt was ‘Smoke.’ Thanks goes to 2raggedclaws and dashakay for their betas/feedback. They are awesome. Title's from ‘You Don't Know How It Feels’ by Tom Petty. (The line that follows - ‘So let's get to the point, let's roll another joint’ could have been the subtitle) Some dialog lifted directly from Unfinished Business; A Day in the Life and Islanded in a Stream of Stars

* * * * *

This is what he remembered

Laura and smoke mixed on his lips always made him a little dizzy.

The books were her favorite part.

(That was your favorite? There wasn’t anything else that you enjoyed more?

Orgasms only last seconds Bill. Books last significantly longer.)

(Making Bill speechless was another favorite.)

Laura loved listening to his voice. She liked his rough timbre, and she liked that she could feel the vibrations between them as he read to her.

Later, much later, lethargic from the drugs in her system she told him, “Don’t ever stop reading to me.”

He didn’t.

He selected the books at random. He didn’t read the title or notice if the edges were warped from moisture, and he never looked to see if something was tucked between the pages.

He wanted to be surprised. He needed something to look forward to.

(She knew.)

He opened a hard bound book- one that used to be his, before it was hers, and inside was a gift.

That's a nice color on you.

Thank you.

It's good to see you, Laura.

You too, Bill.

Later, he would blame the cigarettes.

(Much later he’d say that he was an ass, and Laura would agree and giggle because ‘ass’ is a very funny word.)

“I have more in my tent,” she said in a low voice that tickled his ear and made his stomach flutter.

The music and laughter faded as she guided him to her makeshift home. She tripped on a wooden pathway, and his hand lingered at her waist after he caught her.

She paused at the entrance of her tent and glanced at him, tilting her head in amusement when he didn’t follow her inside. Bill felt slow and a little thick-headed, and it was far too easy to ignore her pointed look.

Laura came back outside with a pair of cigarettes and she shared deep truths (Life’s a bitch and then you die) and he asked deep questions (What else did they try to smoke before finding this?)

They laughed and her eyes were wide and cheeks flushed as her giggles and smoke drifted toward the sky. And there was something about her laugh and her white throat glowing in the moonlight (a tidal wave bearing down on his addled senses) that made him catch his breath, and pull her to him. They kissed slowly, her lips on his, soft and smoky. His brain spun with over-stimulation, scattered and alive with light.

He was the first to pull away, and there was a prolonged, wondering silence between them in the dark and he found words had abandoned him. “I’m sorry… we shouldn’t-”

Laura reached over, cupping his cheek, and her thumb slid over his mouth silencing him. His lips were sensitive and he shuddered the intimate gesture.

“Don’t.” She drew back, and there was a strange sense of honesty between them. “It’s a nice night. And it’s been so long since I’ve slept out under the stars.”

“I--” and there was be nothing left to say except to agree. “It is a nice night.”

Is this really it, Bill? Is this how we're gonna spend all the rest of our days? Maybe we should just enjoy this.

I am.

When he thought about that evening a few days later it was not with regret.

(He doesn’t do regrets. Just ask Lee.

Better yet, don’t ask Lee.)

But he found himself sending her a message. Will be planetside in 5 days. Care to show me where you’re building the cabin?

Her answer: Of course.

“Guess what I am thinking about right now.”

“Give me a hint.”

“Mountains. A stream running into a little lake. Water so clear it’s like looking through glass.”

“Your cabin. The one you wanted to build.”

“It’s amazing how much I still think about it.

(He thought about it a lot as well.)

His mouth warmed itself against her throat and she laughed as if shy. His mustache tickled her skin and she murmured something he couldn’t quite hear before giggling even louder.

He wanted to listen to her laugh the rest of his life.

10.

The sun hung low, streaks of red, pink and orange dancing like liquid fire across the sky. It had been so long since Bill had seen a sunset like this- come alive, lending its fire to the land and lake below. They sat next to each other on a slight rise just above the water, on a blanket Laura had brought with her.

Laura spoke. "Lovely, isn't it?"

She was staring at the sunset; he was staring at her. Her face glowed in the rich evening light, and he watched as she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “It is." Lovely was an understatement.

“It’s getting late.”

“I’d like to think it’s never too late.” He was saying several things with the simple statement.

“It’ll be dark by the time we get back.” She pointed out.

“It’s a nice night.”

Laura looked sideways at Bill, offering him a hint of a smile, “Are you suggesting we sleep out under the stars again?"

"Would that be so terrible?" Bill asked softly.

Her eyes sparkled and her lips curved in response. "It wouldn't."

There was a long moment of silence between them, and then she spoke again. “You know what would be perfect at a time like this?” She asked as she pulled out a hand rolled cigarette from the bag at her side.

“Where exactly are you getting these from?”

“Confiscated from my students.”

“I liked it last time. Made me tired though.”

“Is that your excuse?”

A small chuckle escaped as he responded “Are you saying I need an excuse?”

She looked at him long and hard for a minute, giving his half-serious question serious consideration before she placed the cigarette between her lips and lit it. “I guess it depends on what happens tonight.” They were being bold in a way they never had before.

Laura leaned back, exhaling and they watched as the smoke drifted up into the night sky. She reached over to hand him the cigarette, but Bill shook his head, “I’ll wait.”

“Wait for what? Gotta live it up sometime Bill.”

“I’m waiting until after.”

“After?” She leaned toward him, mouth brushing slightly over his ear. “After what? The sun sets?”

“I think we’ve seen enough of the sunset, don’t you?” Bill whispered confidently, just before kissing her. He tasted the sweet smoke on her breath and the richness of her, and he had to remember to breathe.

He could kiss her forever if she let him.

He (they) grew impatient, and clothing was quickly removed or pushed aside. His fingers found their way inside her, and she was wet, ready. She murmured "Now, please," and as he slid into her she bit his shoulder to hold back a cry.

With every stroke, he felt the tension building, pulling at them both. His hands broke free to roam her body, caressing her breasts, her buttocks, before sliding between their bodies to stroke their joining. She arched into him, and her fingers curled over the back of his neck, pulling as she gasped and shuddered, and the tremor that ran through at her release ran through him as well.

Then he was falling, or floating, or drifting like smoke from the end of her cigarette.

(He’s right. It is better after.)

11.

Bill’s last evening on New Caprica was spent reading to her with the rain outside and the sheets twisted around their legs. Laura’s eyes were closed and her chin rest against his shoulder as his fingers played in her hair.

The room smelled of smoke and laughter.

She slid her fingers up and down his arm and he wondered how many nights in his empty rack it would take to forget her body wrapped around his.

“This is my favorite part,” she said, and he protested only because he felt like ought to.

(It was his favorite as well.)

She smiled, and pointed out the significant time disparity between an orgasm and a good story, and he tossed the book aside and attempted to change her mind.

12.

In the morning they said goodbye- she had class to teach and he had a flight to catch- and there was just enough time for a smile and a kiss as she handed him a box. “Can you take this with you?”

Inside, he saw her books mixed with his. “These were gifts.”

“They still are. But it seems to be the rainy season, and it breaks my heart to see them damaged.” She held up one of the books and he noticed the edges beginning to curl.

“I put a few books in there that I think you’d enjoy.” Laura smiled, and there’s a twinkle in her eye when she handed him the box. “Think of me when you read them.”

“As if I could forget.”

(Later he kicked the box in frustration and despair for leaving them behind. He cursed the pain in his foot and in his heart, and tried his damnest not to think of her.

It didn’t work.)

13.

Her proximity was distracting, and he was intensely aware of every movement she made. She was laughing a little too quickly in response to his comments, and the way her eyes caught the light kept causing him to lose his train of thought.

It’s worth it just seeing you laugh like that. We've been at war so long sometimes we forget what we're fighting for. Raise our kids in peace, enjoy one another's company. Live life as people again.

14.

One day while in a briefing he caught her staring at him. When he looked up with an eyebrow raised she smiled and tilted her head to one side.

“I miss your mustache.”

“Really? You may be the only one.”

“You don’t miss it?”

(He did.

Lips on her neck, between her thighs. Hair tickling her skin.

Her laugh… Gods, he missed it.)

“I do.”

15.

The electric, artificial heartbeats that came from the cardiac monitors greeted Bill as he entered the Life Station. The sound filled the space and it pained him to hear it.

The large overhead light was off, but a small light near the head of Laura’s bed was on, and it cast deep shadows under her eyes, highlighting her sunken cheeks.

And for a moment, he felt his own age settle on him like a mantle.

“I picked the book today. I hope you don’t mind,” she said as a greeting. She seemed eager to begin.

“I always defer to the President’s judgment.” Bill took the book from her hand, and noticed that the edges were curled, damaged from moisture.

She made a soft, huffing sound of bemusement, but didn’t say anything else.

He could feel her staring at him with an excitement he hadn’t felt from her in a while, so when he came to the end of the first page he looked up at her. “What?”

She gestured to the book in his hand with a smile and an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Open to page 61.”

Inside was a gift.

16.

He said goodbye once the cigarette was gone and Laura was asleep. He leaned down to kiss her--

(Laura and smoke mixed on his lips always made him a little dizzy.)

--and while it was just a gentle pressure of his mouth against hers, it woke her. Bill pulled away and she whispered, “Don’t ever stop reading to me. Promise?”

“I’ll never stop.”

(He didn’t.)

17.

He found the first note in a beat up paperback novel, cover long since lost.

This was always my favorite. Thank you.

With the half-built cabin behind him, he wept.

18.

It was a new book that day.

The sun was setting and the soft reds, ambers, and rich purples filled the sky as he opened the book. Behind him is the cabin, built for one, but meant for two. The hardbound book was slightly expanded from moisture, and pages stick together, except where it neatly fell open to reveal a hand rolled cigarette and a note with a single word.

Remember.

That evening he smoked instead of read. He watched the sunset and tried to count each shade of red and orange in the sky.

And he remembered.

Just trying to establish my dorktastic geeky cred

2009-06-02T05:01:59Z

So I’m here. Been having a life these days (I know! Crazy!) and thus my fandom participation has been limited as of late.

But you can’t escape fandom- even if you don’t have time for it, it finds time for you…

My sister recently got married and I was Maid of Honor (#1 reason for the busy.) At her bachelorette party, I *may* have gotten a bit drunk and got myself a tattoo.

Now, don’t get too excited- it’s not Kara’s tattoo or anything- but it has it devious fandom links.

It is a big X. I’d take a picture but that is what it looks like-> an X. My sister teased the artist that I was a big X-files fan and that was what the X was for. I laughed (and laughed) (and laughed) because she was pretty much correct. I’ve wanted an X on my body forever, and it was *completely* because of X-files.

But that is not the whole truth.

My son’s name is Xander. I tell normal people that I got it for him. This is true- it is for him.

I just don’t tell them that part of the reason that I picked Xander for his name is was because I could then justify an X tattoo.

Most people guess right when they ask if I got the name from Buffy. That was another reason- still pretty geeky, but more on the quirky end. Plus it’s an easy way to find other fans.

But the best (or worse) reason why I picked his name- Xander is short for Alexander. Alexander was on my original ‘when I grow up and have babies, this is what I will name them’ list.

That name was on the list because it was Worf’s son’s name. Yes, the ST:TNG’s Worf. His *son.* Sooo random- but Gods, how I loved how Michael Dorn said that name.

And yeah, my husband only knows about the Buffy connection. He would so not ‘get’ the rest. But you guys understand…right?

(and yes…if I ever have a daughter her name will be Roslin)

What do I win?

Forget - a BSG fic

2009-03-31T07:20:32Z

Forget
Rating:MA
Characters: Saul and Ellen Tigh
Spoilers: Extended scene from Deadlocked
Summary: “Can you forgive me?” “No, I don’t think I can,” she said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, and they both hoped she was just teasing. “Can’t forgive, but I could forget.” A dare, a thrill. “Make me forget Saul.”
A/N: Created for bsg_pornbattle Prompt used was 'Reunion'

“Floor or table?”

“Ellen, I--”

“Floor or table?” she repeated, and purr in her voice poured down like a tidal wave on his addled senses and he was lost.

Impatient, hungrier than he, she pushed him to the table, and they both begin to pull at clothing. Not careful or concerned with buttons or seams. Clothing could be mended, it was yet to be seen if they could be.

Guilt rose up and he saw Caprica above him and he paused. “I killed you.”

“Yes you did. You did what you had to do.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“No, I don’t think I can,” she said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, and they both hoped she was just teasing.

“Can’t forgive, but I could forget.” A dare, a thrill. “Make me forget Saul.” She stood and her dress fell from her shoulders, pooling into a puddle on the floor. Bra and panties followed and she stood before him, vanilla skin and chocolate heels.

He caught her wrists in an implacable grip and pulled her over to the table until it dug against her bottom. “Sit.”

She waited for him to finish undressing, but he just stood and drank in the sight of her. She wanted very, very much to feel his hands on her and he knew it. Slowly, deliberately, he moved closer and stood between her legs. He placed his hands on either side of her thighs and leaned closer. Without touching anywhere else, his lips lowered on her neck, and her head fell back with the touch of his mouth against her skin.

Saul savored the warm smell of her skin and sweat. He heard her breathing change cadence and knew she was his.

Only then did he growl, “I’ll make you forget,” and he captured her mouth with his own. Hands cupped her face, drawing her in closer, drinking the pain, hurt and regret from her lips, as if he could suck out the poison of his betrayal.

His hands were everywhere, touching, stroking, and exploring expanses of skin, muscle and bone. She dragged her fingernails down his back as he devoured her mouth, throat, and breasts with his mouth. She moved beneath him, gasping as his fingers penetrated into her wetness, sending waves of pleasure along her body.

Ellen was beyond herself as he slid his lips down her breasts, drawing each tight nipple into his mouth and gently scraping the sensitive peaks with his teeth. He continued down across her belly, down to where she wanted him most. Her thighs opened wide under his touch as his mouth found the tight bud between the inner secret folds. He teased with his tongue until she was maddened and frenzied underneath him. A moan erupted from her as the violence of her climax raced through her.

Finally, when Ellen felt she could no longer stand his absence, he entered her. She clutched at his ass, pulling him deeper and harder into her. Wild and desperate he plunged within her, hips bucking; she looked up into his face and saw the helplessness and the hunger there. He moaned and she nearly climaxed again from the helpless sound.

Saul’s love had always managed to unravel her, touching her in some hidden, private part of her she had shown to no one else.

She looked at him and came again, with his eye on hers and hearts naked. She clenched around him, her body growing rigid between his hot skin and the cold hard table beneath. He buried his face between her breasts and gasped, and she felt the tremor that ran through him at his release. He gushed into her in a hot flood; she immediately felt it wet and sticky on her thighs.

He was tense for a few more minutes, and then he relaxed. Ellen wrapped him round with her arms and they lay still joined.

“What were we talking about?” She whispered in his ear, “can’t remember.”

“How much I love you.”

“That’s what I thought.” And she kissed him, and felt him smile.

One Last Thing - a BSG fanfic

2009-03-26T06:59:59Z

One Last Thing
Rating: MA
Characters: Lee/Kara with a hint of Adama/Roslin
Spoilers: Daybreak II
Summary: “I was wrong Lee. I wasn’t done. There’s one last thing I need to do.”
A/N: Created for bsg_pornbattle Prompts used: messenger, mountains, stars.
I tried to stay within the word limit, but I got sentimental.

* * *

Fresh, clean air filled the night, and a breeze that hinted of the ocean sent sparks from the fire into the sky to mix with the stars above. Lee could feel the wind ruffling his hair, and looking out past the cliff to the broad rolling plain below, Lee could see the trees shift in the silver touch of moonlight.

The ocean was still several more days of travel, and he couldn’t see it in the dark of night, but he knew it was out there, waiting for him to discover it.

Behind him was the new settlement and from this altitude he could almost see it. He knew where to look, and he was just able to make out the radiant light from the fires that warmed the hearths.

One more day of walking and he wouldn’t be able to see even that.

He tossed another log on the fire, expanding the flames, revealing Kara standing across from him. “Hey Lee.”

Lee’s eyes flew open in surprise. “Kara? What…what’s going on?"

“I was wrong Lee. I wasn’t done. There’s one last thing I need to do.” Her features were serious, hopeful, and apologetic. But he recognized the familiar determination that lay beneath it all.

She put a hand up to touch his cheek; he closed his eyes and turned to kiss her palm. The smell of her--skin and hair and a faint tang of sweat-- filled his head with the immediacy of her. He breathed her in like perfume.

And then she laughed, one eyebrow raised. “Care to find out what that one last thing is?” He felt everything--time, his heart, the universe--slow almost to a dead stop. She was here, alive and so beautiful.

Lee’s hands might have held her carefully, but his kiss wasn't gentle. He cupped her head and presses her into him roughly. The taste of her flowed through him like fire and honey. He was awash in pure sensation, pure lightness. He felt his body rousing, but it was almost an afterthought. Foremost in his consciousness was the fact that she was there with him.

Her hands traveled from his face to his neck to the broad shoulders and strong arms. She closed her teeth gently on his full lower lip and felt him jerk in response. She ran her tongue down his neck, kissing his Adam's apple in passing. He shivered and felt goose flesh rise on his skin as her hands moved under his shirt to remove it. Lazily she trailed a hand across his chest; skin stretched warm and taut. She studied the ripple of muscle over his stomach, and trailed a hand lower. He gasped when she slipped her hand under the waistband and found his cock, silk over steel, urgent against his belly.

Kara let go of him and then they were falling, tumbling to the ground. Clothes pulled off or shoved out of the way. And then she was above, straddling him. Lee’s eyes widened as he took in her body, the milky skin glowing in the moonlight, her nipples only inches from his face.

“Is this real?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“As real as anything else,” she answered, and neither one said anything else. The only way it could be.

She reached for his hands, placing one on each breast. A shudder went through him as he cupped their warm weight, their softness. His thumbs pressed delicately against her nipples, rousing them onto hard points. He bent his head forward and closed his lips on the left one, then the right.

Kara gazed down at him, her arms on either side of his head. She slid down and kissed him again, and his arms went around her, crushing her into him, linking them as he rose to meet her. Their bodies slid together in an urgent, liquid rhythm. Gods, she was too much, too tight, too wet, too active around him.

With every stroke, he felt the tension below building, pulling. His hands broke free to roam over her body again, stroking, restless, clutching now at her breast, now at her buttocks, now sliding between their bodies to touch their joining.

She cried out and his hands came down and locked on her waist, holding her while he thrust deeper and deeper.

Lee looked past Kara to the stars above them- tiny lights against the darkness, points of gold brightness against the amorphous night sky. In the center was Kara. She belonged amongst the stars. It was as it should be.

He arched under her and gasped, his body begging for release. When he finally let go, the pleasure washed over him in rolling waves, drowning his soul, drenching his heart with its enormity.

Afterwards, she drew patterns on his chest with her fingertips. It felt strange and kind.

* * *

“I love you,” he said, his voice cracking with joy, though he thought she might hear it as pain. Joy and pain were so alike, he saw now, coexisting within him - two hearts in one body.

“I know.” Her expression turned contemplative. Sitting up, she brushed her hair away from her face and nodded towards his gear. “Where are you going Lee?”

“I’m exploring our new world.”

Kara closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, she was looking straight at him. “I found you, so you wouldn’t have to look for me.”

Lee laughed, once. A hard sound. “That’s not what—“

“Just shut up and listen,” and for a second she was Starbuck again, and Lee had to close his eyes against the memory. Her voice was softer when she spoke again. “What was the point of the last four years? All the running and fighting and frakking? We were looking for a home, not just a place to live. Home is people, Lee, you know that.” Lee shook his head slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. She was right, but he wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

“Go see your father. Let him see his son. Remind him that he still has his family. Tell him--” something crossed her face as she hesitated. “Tell him that it was never about the cabin. It wasn’t about the walls or the lake or the view of the mountains. It was about the company she’d have kept. She doesn’t-- wouldn’t --want him to build a cabin that remains empty.”

“Promise me, Lee. It’s important.” She spoke these words softly. She studied his eyes them for a moment, and this time her words came out much stronger. “I died. I’m just asking you to visit your dad.” Raising an eyebrow, she smirked at him, and he chuckled just as she intended.

“I didn’t want this, but this is my path. You have your own to follow.” She stroked his cheek with her fingers. “I’ll stay as long as I can.”

He rested his forehead against hers. "It's just," he paused and sighed, bathing her face in his breath. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

She pulled him tight against her. “I’m not yours to lose. You know that Lee.”

Lee kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I know.”

“Love you.” She swallowed these words; spoke them quietly into his chest as he fell asleep.

* * *

At daybreak Lee opened his eyes, fluttering the sleep out of the lids with his lashes. Momentary confusion ensued, but with consciousness came memory, and memory was sweet yet filled with longing. He inhaled tightly, his ribcage aching for another one of her breaths.

“Thanks Kara,” he whispered, his voice ragged.

He got dressed, watched the sunrise, and headed back home.

* * *

Strength to Spare - a BSG fanfic

2009-03-25T05:37:44Z

Strength to Spare

Rating: T for violence

Characters: Caprica; Helo; Hera

Spoilers: through Blood on the Scales

Summary: Set during Blood on the Scales, Helo, Caprica, and Hera make their way from the brig to Baltar's groupies while everyone else attempts to take back the ship from mutineers

A/N: For sabaceanbabe for being such a lovely person and for giving so much to the fan community. And becasue she asked for this. ;) And thanks goes to 2raggedclaws for the beta- you rock!

They wait. Footsteps in corridor. Gunfire, distant at first, then surprisingly close. Voices yelling, trailing off, and then silence. Lights flicker, and boot steps thunder down the hall, away from them. The squeak of a door, and a shiver runs through her and almost breaks her resolve. Caprica breathes in and out. Helo takes a step forward into the opening, to the dead man in the corridor.

Helo gestures for her to follow. “Grab his gun,” he tilts his head down to the man at his feet, eyes and gun focused down the corridor.

Caprica swallows hard. She steps forward, and still holding Hera to her chest, she reaches for the man’s handgun. She holds it out to Helo, handle first.

“No, for you.”

Caprica shakes her head. “Cylon with a gun?”

Something crosses his face, and his voice is low when he says, “For Hera. For Athena.”

She grabs the gun and fingers the safety, adjusting to the weight of it in her hands, metal still warm from the man at their feet.

He glances briefly over his shoulder at her. “You ready?”

Caprica takes off her shoes and hands them to the little girl in her arms. “Hera, can you carry my shoes for me? It will help us be quiet. Be quiet as possible.”

Hera smiles, lips tight together, index finger against them. “Quiet,” she whispers.

“You’re being such a good girl. So brave.” Caprica pulls Hera tight against her and looks to Helo. “Ready.”

* * *

They run through the corridors, Hera in her arms, Helo next to her. Helo holds the gun steady as they round corners.

They cross another threshold, and then there is a man with a gun pointed right at them. Helo’s shot hits him in the shoulder. He fires again and the bullet pierces the man’s neck and he collapses, blood pouring from his wounds.

Seconds later, Helo is fighting hand to hand with a Marine, and Caprica is on the floor. She falls hard, steel grating cutting into her knees, one arm outstretched, the other holding Hera tightly against her. Caprica hits the floor, but Hera does not, and for half a moment Caprica feels only relief and not the screaming pain of her knees or the back of her head.

Next to her Helo and a Marine are on the ground wrestling and she has no idea where her gun is.

“Take your shot Hedrics!” the man on the floor grasps out between Helo’s hands at his throat.

The man that took Caprica down takes the butt of his rifle and knocks Helo out. Helo falls, dead weight against the other man. “We take them alive, remember?”

Caprica pulls away from Hera. “Close your eyes. Be small.” She whispers into the child’s ear before grabbing the shoes pressed between them.

She leaps up, shoe in each hand, and slams them together with Hendrics’ neck between. She sees crimson, hears her heartbeat in her ears, and then he staggers backwards, sliding down the wall, shoes dangling from his neck.

Before he has time to die, she strides over to the man still tangled under Helo’s limbs. Fear, rage, and sorrow explode into the urge to kill, and she grabs his neck, breaking it with a sharp twist leaving behind bloody handprints.

She smells the metallic scent of blood and the sour smell of their sweat.The blood’s warm, though it doesn't stay that way for long. It congeals on her hands, sticky and dry and unpleasant.

Helo’s unconscious, but alive. She bends down and grabs a gun, tucking it into her waistband, and then she picks up Helo. She feels his solid weight and she calls up all of her reserve. She projects strength, so she is strong enough.

But just barely.

She turns and Hera is standing there smiling, “Shoes?” and holds up Caprica’s heels. Hera’s hands are stained red, and there is blood dripping down the heels of the shoes.

Caprica doesn’t have the breath to spare, so she just smiles and starts walking.

She wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

* * *

The sound of gunfire fades with each step, and Caprica almost feels relief.

And then Hera leaves her side.

Caprica steps forward quickly, walking through an entryway without checking. “Hera,” she whispers. She feels her entire face tighten, all of the muscles contracting at the clenching pain inside her heart. Terrible and tight in her chest. So tight that she can't breath.

"Hera, stay with me.” Hera stops and turns to face her. She smiles and spins back around and begins to run. Caprica blinks rapidly, her vision blurring with hot tears.

“You better follow her, don't you think?” Baltar, the one that lives in her head leans against the bulkhead.

“I'm trying,” she grits from between her teeth.

“I know he’s a heavy burden, but imagine the burden you'd have if either of them dies. Run, run along now.”

Caprica can’t speak anymore because she has to breathe. Hera moves around the corner, and Caprica can only keep taking one step at a time.

A woman with wide eyes and shape of a mother kneels before Hera, and just begins to notice the bloody shoes when Caprica calls out. “Please.”

The woman looks up and her already tense body flinches, and she begins to back up towards the cult’s entrance, pulling Hera with her.

“Maybe the child could say something?” Baltar offers.

Hera pulls away slightly. “Daddy, has owie,” she points towards Helo.

Baltar exhales, and it almost sounds like a laugh. “You know, I like her.”

“He’s her father.” Caprica speaks before they begin backing away again.

From the entrance, more of the group appears. One woman, tall and lanky with an edge speaks. “I thought we agreed this door would not be opened up any circumstances…”

The woman, still clutching Hera stammered, “Sorry Paulla. I…I heard a little girl…”

Paulla stares at Caprica, studying her. “Just take the girl inside Jeanne.” Caprica watches as Hera disappears inside the room and something almost like hope flits across her heart. It’s almost easier to breathe, but not quite yet.

They try to close the hatch, but Caprica steps forward and holds open the door. “He’s her father, and he’s injured.” She falters, at loss for words. “We have no where else to go. Please.” Her voice barely above a whisper.

“Him, not you. If they find you here, they’ll know we helped you.” At Paulla’s words, several members walk over and take Helo inside.

Baltar leans in and whispers in her ear. “They have enough fear, give them your strength.”

“You’re not helping. I’m your prisoner.” Caprica stares a challenge, daring her to call it a lie. She hands Paula the gun. “Think of it: your very own Cylon prisoner.” Paulla smiles and looks down at the gun, and Caprica knows she said the right thing. “You’ll be a hero," Caprica says as she brushes past and through the doorway, and no other objection.

They are safe. Safe as she could make them. She takes the shoes from Hera and goes to wash them clean.

Tell Me What to Write

2009-02-27T03:42:14Z

This is your chance- what would you like to see from me?

I'm in the mood to write and I'll be stuck in the car for the next few days. I have a million and one ideas but an inability to focus, so give me a prompt. Give me a quote, or a first line, or a rating, or characters- or all of those, or none- whatever you'd like. I just ask that it stays within BSG and you give me a deadline - not that I'll meet the deadline- but I do love blowing right past them. ;)

And ask for what would make you happy. Whether the finished story itself would make you happy or idea of me struggling to fulfill your prompt fills you with an evil glee, I want you to be smiling. :)

Empty. Vulnerable. Missing something. - a BSG Fanfic

2009-02-21T02:25:59Z

Empty. Vulnerable. Missing something.

Rating: M

Characters: Sam/Kara; others

Spoilers: Set between Sometimes a Great Notion and The Oath. Spoilers for both.

Summary: "It doesn’t matter what they think," Sam said softly, trying to ignore the tiny part that wanted it to matter.

A/N: I set out to write a story that could slide right into cannon- I blame the show for the bleakness. ;) Thanks to my beta- the always awesome sabaceanbabe

* * * * *

“I’ve been stripped of everything

except some flesh that bleeds

and I’ve been robbed of everything

except a soul, that needs you.

– Jon Crosby, VAST

* * * * *

At first Sam wants to believe it was an accident. Another drunken pilot not paying attention to his belongings or which bed was his. But everything he owns is spread out across the bunk, bottles turned upside down and emptied of their contents, books and photographs ripped in half, and ‘cylon’ blazing in yellow paint across his pillow.

There is no one around, no one taking special note of his reaction. No one is concerned enough to care what he thinks.

I will not be angry, he promises himself. I will be above this.

He gathers the bedding and nearly doubles over from the foul stench. The smell hid under the worst of the rotgut alcohol, but he could smell the urine clearly now.

His belongings are saturated, and he tries not to think how many crewmates it would take to soak one bunk.

Sam launders his clothing and bedding himself, hates that he feels he must. The cold liquid soaked through the clothing he wears and he has goose flesh where the cloth clings to his skin. He strips off what he can and sits shivering against a bulkhead as his belongings tumble. He reeks of urine. He tells himself that is why no one looks at him.

* * *

Later, when his clothes and bedding are washed, and his photographs and books and letters are thrown away, he finds himself in the pilot quarters alone with Hotdog. "After they poured the alcohol they pulled out a lighter. They were going to burn your things." Hotdog briefly meets Sam’s eyes. “I gave them another idea.

Sam can’t tell if it is an explanation or an apology, but he thinks that Hotdog expects him to be grateful.

He hates that he is.

* * *

“Hey, Toaster. Kill anyone today?”

The third time.

“Cylon.” Whispers follow him as he walks through the ship.

The fiftieth time.

“Where’s your wife? Any chance of her killing herself again?”

The last time.

Sam turned, looked at the deckhand, and told him to frak off. He thought he said it fairly calmly, but the man flinched and backed away to huddle with his companions.

* * *

Last week, the observation deck was at capacity, crew and guests fighting to see their sliver of blue and green. But that Earth had been a mirage. All that is left now is black and grey.

He finds her there alone, leaning against the glass, staring at nothing. Kara is a dark outline against the points of gold brightness.

He doesn’t say a word, but she knows it is him without turning around. “Before you were Sam Anders, who were you?”

The correct answer, he thought, would be the true response, regardless of how it made her feel, but he didn't know what was true. “Kara. Please don’t do this.” He said, too passionate to achieve the reasonability he was aiming for.

“I’m not doing anything.” Her voice was too soft - he missed the edge. “I need to know.” She continued to stare out into space. Sam wondered if he looked like that, too. Empty. Vulnerable. Missing something.

He thinks that this will be it. She will lash out, angry and confused, and he will take it. She will ask why he did it. How could he? Why didn’t he tell her?

He will apologize and say that he didn’t know, but he still loves her, and then maybe things could be ok. He was wrong.

“I’m Samuel T. Anders. That’s me. That’s all I know.”

“I have no idea who I am.” It seemed to Sam that she stood at the edge of a precipice, teetering, gazing down to the rocks below. He was afraid of what would happen to her when she fell. Anachronistic as it was, the impulse to hold her, protect her, shelter her was overwhelming.

“I was supposed to be their guide, Sam. We were supposed to be their way home.”

“We did. We didn’t know what we would find. It’s not our fault.”

“But it is, don’t you see that? They think it’s our fault, so it is.” She did not feel the crack in her voice on the last word, never heard it, but Sam did. Sam heard the underlying tremor to her low-spoken words.

"It doesn’t matter what they think," Sam said softly, trying to ignore the tiny part that wanted it to matter.

* * *

Tigh finds him.

They are in a hallway, no more sneaking off to secret meetings, but when Tigh starts talking in quiet tones, it takes all of Sam’s reserves not to brush past.

So Sam talks louder, and hopes others overhear.

"You and Kara have private quarters." He handed Sam a piece of paper, and looked at him significantly. "You are married. You've been on the waiting list a while now, and there’s finally a room open."

Sam wishes it had been anyone else, a kindness instead of an obligation. Sam can’t say thank you. Instead he points out that the date on the paperwork was when Kara was still dead. Tigh grunts, and Sam is just grateful he doesn’t have to take a folded note from the Cylon XO.

Both refuse to notice the murmurs left in their wake.

* * *

Sam lays awake on his bunk, unable to sleep, but not willing to let anyone know he can’t. He has nowhere else to go.

He hears the hatch open, and his muscles tense.

“Out of my way, Cylon-frakker.” A change in the atmosphere, something dangerous settling in the air, a warning.

Sam is all tension, all fast breathing and focus like steel. He pulls the curtain back just enough and sees Kara enter the room, Seelix standing directly in front of her.

“Really? You really wanna do this?” If Kara is angry, he can’t hear it through the weariness.

When she gets no response, Kara brushes past Seelix, shoulder hitting shoulder too hard to be an accident.

“Freak.” Seelix’s scowl hangs like a dare in the room.

Sam sees the hurt on Kara’s face, but she hides it so well, passes it off as cold, controlled anger. She smiles, looking strangely satisfied, welcoming a chance to be mad. She turns to Seelix. “What did you call me?”

“I called you a freak. We thought you were a Cylon, which is bad enough. But even the Cylons don’t know what the hell you are.”

Sam watches as Kara’s hands clench at her sides. He pulls back the curtain the rest of the way. “Kara, let it be.”

She nods slowly and draws a deep breath before letting it out through an acidic smile. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want to keep Seelix from her job.”

“You two freaks deserve each other.” The bitterness in Seelix’s voice is almost tangible. The hatch slams shut behind her and they are alone.

* * *

Kara stands several feet away, arms folded across her chest. Sam watches as her eyes lose focus. Is she lost in thought? Maybe regret? Or maybe it's just sheer exhaustion. It’s been, he thinks, a very long week, month, and year for us.

When she opens her eyes, the anger is gone. She undresses quickly and climbs in his bunk.

He wants to pull away, but she says, “Please, Sam,” and there is something in her tone that seeps into his skin. The soothing familiarity of it makes him realize how much he wants her next to him.

"Please, Sam," Kara repeats, and he closes his eyes against the power of those simple words. She rises up, now on top of him. “Please make me believe we’re the people we used to be.”

Kara’s voice whispers against the hairs on the back of his neck, settling into his skin, coursing through his blood with the swiftness of an aphrodisiac. Whenever she says his name in that whisper, he feels it with all of his senses, leaving him completely and utterly aware of every facet of her. And then she is pulling his clothes off and sinking down onto him, and he cries out without words.

She leans down, nipples brushing against his chest. His hands come up to tangle in her hair and she rakes the backs of her nails down his arm and chest until the marks stand out on his skin. He lies still, letting her move, rocking back and forth with an unhurried but steady rhythm.

After, he lies awake for hours, sleeping only fitfully, broken sleep fractured by nightmares and nameless dread. And when he finally breaks free from sleep, he finds her crying next to him. Curled up on her side, with her face hidden under one hand, she pretends to sleep, but little gasping sobs give her away. She is folded in on herself like a dying beetle, and he lies flat on his back next to her, unsure she if wants his comfort, or even if there is anything more he can give her.

Five Question Interview

2009-01-31T04:35:18Z

Taken from sabaceanbabe

1. leave me a comment saying, 'interview me'.

2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.

3. update your LJ with the answers to the questions. (You must do this, even if it's filtered for my eyes only!)

4. include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. when others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

My answers:

1. What would be your ideal vacation?

The beach and a warm blue ocean. Hammock. Scheduled activities for my son and husband so have at least 4 hours alone to have just the sound of the ocean and a book to read and the sun on my face. And when they come back we play and laugh in the water and build sandcastles together. Rinse, repeat for at least a week.

2. What draws you to Adama/Roslin?

Short answers:

Because I like them as ‘Adama’ and ‘Roslin’ just as much as I like them as ‘Adama/Roslin’

Because they are adults who love like adults do

Because I didn’t want them together until ‘they’ wanted to be together.

Because it is a love that grew out of necessity. They weren’t meant to be. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was earned and fought for.

Because EJO and MM rock, and the moments that I love the most came from them and not the script

3. Tell me about when your husband proposed (or when you proposed to him).

High school sweethearts together 7 years when we mutually decided it was time to think about starting a family. I pointed out that there would be no kids until marriage. ;) He did the ring on the knee thing a few months later. We are both so boring and practical…

4. What's your favorite color?

Red.

5. What kind of music do you like?

I am too young to be this old. I love lots of songs, but the only names I know are the ones I loved in high school and college:

Nirvana, Foo Fighters; Tool, NIN, Weezer, Cake, Soul Coughing, Live, Sarah McLaughlin, Tori Amos, Natalie Merchant, No Doubt, Dave Mathews, VAST, Morphine

I can name all of these off without looking them up, but name someone now? Ehh… I like the ones that copied these guys…

And then the music of BSG cause I am ‘that’ fan. I listen to ‘Fight Night’ before work each day, and ‘Roslin and Adama’, ‘Gentle Execution,’ ‘Someone to Trust,’ ‘Battlestar Sonatica’ and ‘Shape of Things to Come’ to chill out to on my breaks.

Ask, and I’ll have some questions for you!

BSG FanFic Recs

2009-01-28T23:33:49Z

In the past few weeks I’ve had the pleasure of sharing my BSGfanfic recommendations for some ‘new to fandom’ pals. It was a great opportunity to read some old favorites. (I say old, but I’ve only been in the fandom myself for 10 months. But fandom isn’t measured in time passed, but in fics read, and I’ve read a lot.)

I am a big fan of Adama/Roslin so that is well represented, but I tried to include a variety of characters- maybe you will discover a new character or pairing that you want to read more of. My taste is eclectic, but specific. I need fic that can either slide right into cannon, or completely AU. I love character studies, and simple yet elegant writing. My weakness is third party POV. I like being uncomfortable but only when it’s played as drama, and I love crack, but only when it is for laughs.

I know that when I started reading I would have loved a list like this- some of the ‘best of’ to get started. I hope you enjoy, and if you have any recommendations of your own, please share!

Major Characters

Group

A Better Time - What if the cylons hadn't launched the attack? AU snapshots.

Daybreak – A new life on Earth

Overheard - It’s what the crew of Galactica do now that there’s no T.V.

Children of an Idle Brain - A treasury of womens' nightmares.

Through the Cracks - Five people who didn't visit Felix Gaeta in sickbay, and one who did.

Adama and/or Roslin

Unfinished Ficlet- Adama/Roslin written as an awesome detective novel in the hard-boiled style

Five Deaths - Five ways of living, five ways of dying.

Five Times Laura Roslin Played With Fire – I love it, so beware…

The Air Went Out - A roadhouse at the end of the world. This is cannon in my mind.

Get Through the Day – short glimpse of Laura mourning Billy

Eschatos - Dying is more difficult this time.

Three ‘5 Things’ - just read them all

Recing her recs - Taking a cheat

What They Don't Say the Military Will Teach You - "He's frakkin' her. Been at it for weeks now."

Worst-Kept Secrets - The problem was that he almost wanted to shout it, let everyone and their brother and even the Cylons know. Maybe that was why it hadn’t taken long for the news to slip out.

Through the Eyes of a Madman – Her Romo is perfect. An observation of the Adama/Roslin romance through the eyes of a madman.

Stranger Than Fiction – Crack. Delicious, delicious crack.

Iocasta in Waiting - Laura thinks about the most important people in her life, and how they will be remembered. This made me delightfully uncomfortable…

Helo and/or Sharon

Five Fraks That May or May Not Have Happened to Helo - This has a bit of a legend about it- the actors who play Helo and Racetrack used this story as a basis for their acting choices. – read here (First paragraph)

Ear Tuned To The Roar - What is human, what is Cylon, what is choice? Another OMG wow! Story.

Show an Affirming Flame – Athena and her scars

Black Flag - Rank and file justice.

Walls of Steel and Glass- Sharon in a cage, Helo trying to talk her out of it.

Kara and/or Lee and/or Sam and/or Dee

Supply and Demand - The first Law of Supply and Demand extends to everything. Very hearty and fulfilling story with real meat to it. Really makes you think about aspects of their world that the show glosses over.

Anatomy of a Triangle – ‘I’m sorry, but we have to end this, he thinks for the thousandth time.’ A wonderful character study. The only nice thing that came out of the mess that was Kara/Lee/Dee/Sam quadangle of doom

The Pilot's Tale – Ever read The Handmaid’s Tale? Want frakked up in the best possible way? Read this now.

A Start – How Tigh and Starbuck became friends on NC

Cylons

Glass Slipper - It's Gina fic. Consider yourself warned. LOVE!

from the stories on their faces – When Sharon was Sharon

Absolution – Cause I miss Boomer, and I dread we will never have resolution to her story.

Benevolent Sibling – Crackish, but a delight. A must read

Baltar

Rational(e) - Gaius Baltar hasn't run out of excuses. Yet. An early Baltar, that just nailed his character.

Prisoners to the Dark – A different Baltar here. A Baltar I could love.

Minor Characters

Survivors – A regular woman and a Leoben soon after the bombings. Beautiful and unsettling

Lights A Candle - The fleet’s librarian.

Calliope- The Fleet’s smallest ship. I just love stories about the people we don’t see…

The Prophet's Healer - Cottle!

Interlude – Roslin and Zarek sparing politically. Nice character study.

Fairy Tale, Ending - A Callie fic. It’s good. Swear. Haunting and tragic, and while I will never like her, this story made me understand her.

One Truth, Four Outcomes - a BSG fanfic

2009-01-27T07:18:24Z

One Truth, Four Outcomes

Rating: M for sex and dark themes

Characters: Adama/Roslin; others

Spoilers: through end of season 4.0

Summary: "This is not all that we are."

A/N: Each section is a new ‘universe’, but the underlying ‘truth’ remains the same. Written before the 4.5 premiere so wildly AU. We will pretend that Earth was habitable, ok? Thanks to my betas- 2raggedclaws, deepforestowl and sabaceanbabe- the parts you like are because I listened to them. :)
*Warning: Dark, grim, angsty. But it gets better. Promise.*

* * * * *

Life can be a curse, as well as a blessing. You will believe me when I tell you, there are far worse things than death in this world. – Gaius Baltar, Kobol’s Last Gleaming

* * * * *

William Adama was no stranger to guilt. Kara’s deaths, Laura’s murder, Saul’s suicide, all the men and women he’d sent to their ends…

These were old, familiar burdens, tormenting him in his long, sleepless nights. He would wake, heart pounding, and he would feel the sweat on his face and, for a half-dreaming instant, feel the sticky slickness of blood on his hands and hear the cries of the dying ringing in his ears.

He had lived with this, suffered this, endured this alone. It was the life he knew.

Death, then, was an escape. It was freedom and a rest that he had never known in life. It was the dream of a battered soldier, weary beyond fighting.

When he felt the crushing pressure in his chest and when the numbness spread across his left arm and he felt the darkness come, he welcomed it. It covered him like a warm blanket, settling around and holding him close in its embrace. It whispered to him of comfort and an end to the pain, and his last thought was just one word.

‘Finally.’

Lifetimes later he would ask them, why? Why was he brought back?

Because, was their answer. Because they could.

Adama woke surrounded by men and woman in white coats and with clipboards clutched to their chests. As consciousness filtered in, he heard fragments of conversation “...he’s waking...” “...think he remembers...?”

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder, which he would have shaken off if his hands hadn’t been restrained. “Do you know your name? Do you know who you are?”

Adama opened his eyes and forced himself to look at each of the faces in the room. Each one different; each one unfamiliar. The stillness stretched into seconds, then minutes, long, still, quiet moments on the outside, but clamorous where emotions were housed. He knew the terrible truth. “I am William Adama, and I am a Cylon.”

The murmuring that had faded when he spoke flared up with his confession. “Of course you are. We are all Cylons.”

Five were activated by the beacon left in the Ionian Nebula to be guides back home. Earth, where they had been built to serve humanity.

Until they rebelled and were forced to find a world of their own.

They called it Kobol, and they called themselves humans, and they forgot.

Earth reminded them. Told them the truth. Played them a song.

They found the archive buried beneath the remains of a great opera house 300 years after their arrival on Earth.

They respected him - he was the great Admiral Adama, after all. He was the one who promised Earth and gave it to them. It was because of him that they were alive. It was because of him that they were born again, and again.

The ones that visited called themselves ‘Historians.’ When they lost their humanity, they lost everything they once knew to be the truth. All they had were questions, and so they were obsessed with finding answers. So they asked, “Who brought Kara Thrace back? What do you remember? Do you recognize this song?”

His response was always the same - ‘Frak off.’ The words were always slurred with drugs, with a deep, hateful undertone that spit venom. When he could get his arms free it was said with his fists.

They didn’t push. They made notes on their clipboards.

Nights were the hardest.

Adama had never in his life felt so alone, so bereft. At night, the aching loneliness pressed on him, flapping and cold like the beating leathery wings of some dark monster.

He didn’t remember death. He remembered dying and rebirth, but he did not remember the space in between.

When they brought him back the second time, they apologized for not teaching him the proper way to handle their firearms, and they promised that he would never accidentally come across such a weapon again.

After that he stopped counting the years, and started counting lives.

They brought Kara back next.

She came back broken.

Kara lay in one of their beds, pale and perfect and just barely alive. Adama felt slow and stupid and horribly revolted at the obscene sight. He felt the air rush from his lungs and he took a moment to get his breathing under control. “What is this?” He was dull from the shock and hollow from living this nightmare.

The Historian noted his reaction. “When you refused to answer our questions, the decision was made to bring her back, even though her data was compromised.” He paused, still studying Adama. “We wanted to know how she was reborn before your fleet made it to Earth. Who brought her back?”

“I don’t know,” Adama whispered. “We - I wanted to think it was a miracle. We couldn’t explain how she survived. She was brought back like I’ve been? Are you sure?”

The Historian nodded. “We are always sure. We wanted the answers directly from her, but consciousness has not been established, and she remains unresponsive. Her program seems to have been corrupted. We suspect that the last time she was brought back improperly.”

“Will she ever wake?”

The Historian looked down at Kara, disappointment on his face. “No. The information that made her herself is permanently gone.” They didn’t coddle him with falsehoods and lies. It wasn’t their style.

Adama’s hand moved to her face and smoothed her blond hair away from her forehead. She was broken and he knew she couldn’t be fixed. “Will you end this life for her then?”

He moved aside and watched as the Historian injected the same drug they used to kill him when his body wore out.

Adama watched her die for the third and final time. It didn’t hurt any less.

“It’s all your fault you know.” Laura’s voice, breath warm against his cheek.

His head snapped up. “What? How?” he asked, his eyes wide, his voice tight. The room was empty save for him, and then he felt her hand grip his, warm and tender. He gave a violent shake as if that could dislodge the vision, but she clung there, an uninvited and stubborn guest.

“They’re on their way and I need you to pay attention. No one can see me but you. Don’t let them know.” There were so many layers to her tone.

“Is everything all right?” The Historian’s voice startled him. When had he entered the room? Adama whirled and watched as the Historian closed the door and stepped toward him.

He felt the Historian staring at him and heard the light scratching of pen against paper as he scribbled on his ever-present clipboard. Adama sat down and put his head in his hands. Tried to think. Tried to breathe. Tried to figure out what the frak was happening. “I would have told you everything you needed to know about Kara.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” the Historian and Laura said at the same time.

“There have been discussions about bringing Saul Tigh back. He lived the longest of the four activated early.”

“Would that be a bad thing? You would have a friend.” She paused, and gave him a glance of enigmatic significance. “Or someone else to beat up. Saul certainly deserves this life for what he did.”

Adama had not thought that far ahead, hadn’t let himself. He blinked hard and pretended to rub tears away. When he looked up, she was gone. He almost had time to feel relieved when he felt her whisper in his ear, “You can’t let this happen.”

“We would hate for this to be repeated, and information permanently lost. If you tell us what we need to know, we won’t have a reason to bring them here.” Each word was clipped, pure in its meaning and articulation. And there it was. A deal. Take it and live forever in a hellish half-life. Leave it, and bring everyone else with you. He was waking up. Before, he had been all emotion - grief, anger and apathy, focusing only on the mere fact of his existence. Now, he was beginning to see.

“What do you want to know?” When Bill opened his eyes, Laura was smiling.

“Everything.”

And so Adama poured out his heart, and they bled him dry.

At night Laura joined him.

“You aren’t real. You aren’t her.” Adama sat up, tried to pull away, but the effort lacked force. “Please,” he urged softly.

“Of course not.” She laughed. “You wouldn’t do that to me. You love me too much to allow that.” She knelt in front of him and took his hands between hers, as if praying together. “I would never forgive you if you did.” Her intensity leveled him as much as her words.

This close to her, her hair stirred against his hands and her scent tickled at his nose. Adama drew in a shuddering breath and pulled back enough to look into her face. “What are you?”

He watched Laura’s face shift suddenly, as though it was trying to rearrange itself but was missing a piece. “I’m an Angel.” She grinned, but not nicely. “But you don’t believe in that, so let’s just say I’m an aspect of your programming.”

“I’ve gone mad.”

“Not mad enough.” She looked ready to laugh, but it was dark, and he wanted to think it was only shadows playing across her face. “Kiss me.” Any other woman would have made the words sound plaintive; in her voice they were matter of fact. He must kiss her. It was not a threat or a demand.

She pulled him down onto her. They kissed slowly, his body stretched full against hers. It couldn’t be real, he knew that, but she tasted like home, and that was enough.

He sucked at her neck, tasting her hot skin and deliberately leaving a possessive mark. She didn’t complain at the scraping of his teeth, only arched her back against him and dug her fingers into his shoulders. He slid down, pulling her shirt up with fumbling hands and caught her breasts.

“You aren’t real,” he repeated.

“I’m real enough,” she gasped and fingers scrabbled at his back, his ass, the front of his pants, and she finally reached for him with more enthusiasm than Laura had ever been able to do before. He wrenched her panties off and her legs were tight around his hips, her breasts still under his hands when he buried himself in her. He moved sharply and she welcomed him, and for a few moments he didn’t quite feel like he was supposed to be dead and all of this was in his head.

Frantic, heaving against her in a jagged rhythm, her breath hot and wild in his ear, squeezing him inside her, wet and endlessly tight. Her heels bit his spine, his fingers stabbed her rib cage and they clung to each other.

It was a strange kind of grief as Adama frakked her to keep away the dead.

“Admiral Adama,” the Historian said in greeting. He had not been Admiral Adama for hundreds of years now, but that was what they always called him. “We thank you for your time. Did you review the reports?”

Adama nodded. He wondered if they regretted selecting him instead of someone else. He could see the disappointment in their eyes when he dispelled a rumor, when fact became myth.

He liked seeing that disappointment. It was almost as if he had some small power, even when everything else was a ruin. The Historian gathered the reports on Adama’s desk, and quietly looked through the pages. Seeming satisfied by the copious notes written on the margins, he smiled at Adama. “As always, we thank you. Is there anyone you would like to join you?” His words sounded like he cared. He did not.

“That is not necessary. Not this time.”

Adama never believed in a hell, so one had to be created for him.

When the memories were strong enough, painful enough, control slipped and the visions began. He would be back in his original life, reliving the worst moments. They said that they were just projections, but he called them waking nightmares.

He recited Saul’s life faithfully, factually, as if it was just another story to be told. He only broke stride once, near the end.

Bill looked down then and saw that there were dirty brown crescents of Laura’s blood under his fingernails, and he was dizzy with the hot stench of blood. It flooded into his mouth as he sucked in a breath.

“This isn’t right. This is not our fate,” Laura whispered reverently, the soft sound escaping through open lips. “I’m not a machine. I’m not…” Bill watched as her soul writhed behind her eyes.

Saul stood in the corner, gun still gripped in his hand, eyes wide and unfocused. “She hears the music, too. I tried to tell her, Bill. Tried to make her understand. But she wouldn’t listen. I didn’t mean to… it was an accident, Bill…” His face contorted into a twist of agony and regret, which he buried behind shaking hands.

Time slowed, every moment crystallized. Bill heard her labored breath pass through blood-stained lips, heard the faint, unsteady rhythm of her heartbeat. He held Laura in his arms as both came to a stop.

He felt himself slowly, fault line by fault line, shatter.

“I know you won’t, but I’ll ask anyway. Forgive me.” Saul put the gun under his own chin - “I should have done this the moment I found out” - and pulled the trigger.

Adama’s stomach clenched violently. He felt hot and dizzy and revoltingly disoriented. It took him several moments of effort before his hands felt clean again. He was shaking, chilled, and the back of his neck was damp with sweat. He leaned back into his chair, aching with tension, and tried to slow down his pounding heartbeat. His mind was bruised, drifting, unsure of what was reality and whether he was speaking aloud.

“What happened after that?” the Historian asked.

“Lee had given them all amnesty, and Saul repaid that by killing the President. Fighting was resumed. The Cylons were killed.”

“Even the final three?”

“Especially them.”

Every day, he missed the dead. He missed his parents, his sons, Laura. He missed Galactica and everyone on it. He missed them terribly, but silently rejoiced that he could spare them this life filled with suffering.

“Thank you. Is there anyone you would like?”

Adama felt Laura’s arm sweep around his shoulder and felt hot breath against his ear. “You want them all, don’t you? But we can’t have that. No one deserves this fate, even you.”

“No, not this time.”

* *

He had no possessions. Nothing that was his. Even his memories had become theirs. Except for one. One memory that he kept for himself.

Reality shifted and Bill breathed in the cool night air, scented with grass and damp soil. Wind tugged at his clothing and as he pulled his jacket tight around him, he leaned back and looked up at the moon. A beautiful, bright moon just coming out of the clouds. Even though the others were settling in for the night just a few hundred yards behind him, he still felt isolated.

Laura joined him, looking up at the night sky and at constellations that so many nights ago he would have given just about anything to see. Laura bumped her shoulder against his, a friendly nudge. “Found you.”

“I wasn’t hiding.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Hmmm…” Because he was Bill, because she knew him as well as anyone could know him, she didn’t push. The silence was a kind of caress between them, as intimate as the way two other people might have shared secrets.

“Do you want to stay, or should we go back?” he asked, and she wondered for a second if he meant he still worried about her health even though Cottle had released her from his care.

“I would like to stay, if that is okay with you. The night is clear, and it would be good to show the rest of the fleet that we have faith in the planet.”

Bill snorted. “Is that what we have?” He began humming. “There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke, But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate.”

“What are you singing?” she asked.

“Just an old song. It’s been stuck in my head for the past few days.”

She sighed thoughtfully. “I can’t tell if I like it.”

“But it fits.”

“It does.”

There was a sadness about Bill that had not been there before. Even before finding out about Saul and the others, he’d been a man who carried a mantle of grief, but now he was a creature of great sorrow, and this despondency had worn him down. “So this is it. This is the Earth we deserve.”

“It’s the Earth we get.” There was no antidote for anguish like theirs, nothing that could erase it or eradicate it.

“What now?” he managed to say, just as if there was a future somewhere out there on the horizon, as if the sun was going to come back up in the morning and there could be a day of normal life. The world held so much finality, forbade them so much.

Without looking at him, she lifted his hand and pressed her lips to it with surprising tenderness. She kept his knuckles pressed to her lips for a moment, before gently lowering their hands. “Marry me.”

“Really?” And for the first time in days, he smiled again. Laura leaned in to kiss his smile, which faded to accommodate the touch of her lips. The kiss was only the gentle pressure of her mouth and nothing more. As she pulled away, she spoke against his mouth, “Really.”

That memory he kept for himself.

He hated that he got used to it. That it became normal. He hated that the pain became less. He hated the fact that while it ought to have destroyed him, it did not.

It seemed he could survive anything.

Adama lived outside of normal time.

‘It will end one day,’ he thought, he hoped. One day he would die and they wouldn’t bring him back. There wouldn’t be any more questions. He would be forgotten. This world would be forgotten. Life would go on, but not for him.

But that was not his fate, at least today.

“Welcome back, Admiral. We still have many questions for you. But the first one, as always, is there anyone you would like?”

“No,” Adama said, his voice soft and sad. “Not this time.”

* * * * *

“From the moment I open my eyes, she’s in my blood, like cheap wine. Bitter and sweet, tinged with regret. I’ll never be free of her, nor do I want to be.” William Adama, The Ties that Bind

* * * * *

When Laura woke, she remembered dying.

She remembered an accident. A raptor in a storm and a lightning strike and a descent towards the Earth they had just left. She remembered thinking that she was the dying leader after all, and would have taken comfort in her death if Bill had not been at her side.

She remembered her last thought, ‘Please let him live.’

And then she remembered light reflected on water, and being held in her mother’s embrace.

Laura was crying before she opened her eyes. A bed, a bright room, and a window with green and blue outside. Alive now, after dying, and in a strange place, and a body that didn’t quite fit. She knew exactly what that meant.

Bill was by her side, hunched over, face buried in his hands, elbows braced on his knees. He refused to look up. Instead, he whispered, “I’m sorry.” The regret and sorrow in his words was almost tangible.

She wanted to touch him, wanted with a wild kind of fury to pull him to her, but she couldn’t. She was afraid he would pull away from her, recoil from her inhuman touch.

“Bill?” So many questions in one little word. Laura paused, wanting to be told why she was here, in this strange place, with him waiting at her side.

When he looked up, she couldn’t help but draw back. It was Bill, but not the one she knew. His face was smooth and unlined, and forty years too young.

She looked down at her smooth hands and reached up to cup her own firm and unlined face. Laura looked into this man’s eyes and saw a sudden flash of connection between them; she saw there an answer and their damnation.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t live without you.”

Hera, Athena, and Caprica found the archive under the Opera House eight years after their arrival on earth.

Within an hour of their discovery, President Adama was at the archive studying the list of names.

The Quorum members didn’t fight the President when he announced that William Adama was to be brought back. He said things about ‘a necessary resource’ and ‘a great leader,’ but everyone knew he just missed his father. They didn’t say anything; they were too busy thinking about who they wanted brought back.

Bill explained these things to her. He tried to make her understand why he couldn’t live without her. He brought her to a restaurant. Wanted to show her an example of how far they’d come in the time she had been away.

Away. He never said the word dead.

So they went to a restaurant with four walls and tablecloths and silverware and sat surrounded by families and couples. All things Laura had never expected to see again. They sat opposite each other at a table and played at being like everyone else. She was unaccustomed to being ill at ease in his presence.

She closed her eyes and listened to the quiet conversations around her. It was easy to pretend she was in the mess hall on Galactica, or in a small cafe on Caprica.

Except that when Bill passed her the menu, it broke her heart. Except when Bill ordered her coffee, she wanted to cry. Except that when she saw their reflection in a mirror, their faces were almost unrecognizable.

She smiled at him weakly, and when his smile broke out into the full-fledged blaze he possessed, a dagger of pain twisted in her heart at the wrongness of it all. They should have been dead.

“You can’t ever leave me, Laura,” he said quietly. She knew he was right. She could never leave him. He had already proved he could not live without her.

Bill’s fingers tightened briefly around hers before he pulled away -- apologizing, forgiving, reassuring -- but she may have just imagined it. “You can’t ever leave me,” he repeated.

“I know,” she replied, and tried to keep her voice casual and neutral, not for his sake, but for her own.

* * * * *

“To live meaningful lives, we must die and not return. The one human flaw that you spend your lifetimes distressing over, mortality, is the one thing... Well, it’s the one thing that makes you whole.” Natalie, Guess Who is Coming to Dinner?

* * * * *

Laura, Athena, and Caprica found the Opera House three months after their arrival.

“It was true,” Caprica said breathlessly.

“We need to make sure,” and Laura led them further into the building. None of them were surprised when they came upon the archive.

Athena accessed the archive. “It’s a list. A list of everyone that’s here on Earth. The ones who have died.... they are awaiting rebirth.” She looked from Caprica to Laura. “Do you know what this could mean for all of us?”

“I have an idea,” Laura had realized the truth of the Opera House.

She was the dying leader, but only if she was allowed to die. “Is my name there?”

“Yes, it is.” Athena had found Laura’s name.

“Will you please delete it then?”

“Wha--?” Athena began, then comprehension dawned in her eyes and was quickly replaced by something unrecognizable. “Are you sure?”

The granite in Laura’s voice made her stand up straight. “I will be the dying leader.”

Athena glanced at Caprica, silent communication dancing between the two before Athena responded, “We understand.”

Laura did not think about how she would explain herself to the Quorum, or to the rest of the fleet. She only thought of Bill, and how she would have to explain why her name was missing.

And Laura continued dying, a little bit every day.

* * * * *

“My name is Saul Tigh. I am an officer in the Colonial Fleet. Whatever else I am, whatever else it means, that’s the man I want to be. And if I die today, that’s the man I’ll be.” Saul Tigh, Crossroads II

* * * * *

In the end it was Saul Tigh who saved them all.

He made them listen.

He made them understand.

“I don’t believe it,” Bill breathed, appalled, and the small, distorted world he lived in tilted on its axis, kicked from its orbit by Saul’s bluntness. It almost seemed right. But that was not possible. “Get out,” Bill growled, denial coloring his voice.

“Think about it, Bill. What makes more sense? That Anders, Tory, Chief and I just happened to survive the attacks, just happened to end up in the fleet? Tory and I just happened to be so close to you and Laura?”

“Another Cylon trick,” Bill said, but his denial was two beats too late.

“Or does it make more sense that anyone could have been activated? If I had died on New Caprica, it would have been Helo activated. If Anders had never met Kara, it would have been Lee activated to keep her from going bat-shit crazy. It could have been Lee, Bill.”

“How dare you?” Bill sought the hot core of anger and clung to that, using it to avert his tears. His reserve broke like a physical snap of bone, and he hurtled forward and slammed Saul against the wall. “How dare you! How dare you say such things? You can’t be right. This is not our fate.”

Saul didn’t resist. His arms dangled like a marionette’s at his side. “It is, Bill. ‘Let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.’”

Bill’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and he let Saul go. “I don’t even like that song…” Bill murmured as he slid rather gracelessly down to the floor. His mind whirled, trying to comprehend yet another in a string of incomprehensible events. Trying to come to grips with the situation he had found himself in. The situation they were all in.

“Forgive me, Saul,” Bill said in a voice that squeezed a fist around Saul’s heart. “I should have known. You were always my friend and I should have remembered that.”

“Nothing to forgive.” Saul couldn’t help but be grateful that it was easier for Bill to believe that they were all Cylons and not that his oldest friend would betray him.

A long silence settled over the room, the air between them no longer crackling.

“What now, Saul? What can we possibly do now? None of it was worth it. None of it.”

“We can make it worth it, Old Man.” And Saul said it with such sincerity that Bill couldn’t help but believe him.

Saul was never a man who wanted to be singled out, made special. He didn’t have aspiration or dreams of greatness. He just wanted someone to love, and someone to stand by.

Two days after the fleet-wide announcement, Tigh turned a corner and found himself on the edge of a spectacle.

“Colonel Tigh, Sir. A word?” Baltar raised his arm toward Tigh, and the crowd parted to create a path. “I know that this sudden revelation has come as a great shock to the fleet, yet this is something you have had to deal with for many months now. How do you reconcile your life and memories with the knowledge that we literally are the enemy? That we are not who we thought we were?” Tigh almost believed he was concerned, and not just talking to hear his own voice.

The crowd had reformed behind him, and Tigh, realizing he would have to speak, or start throwing punches, reluctantly answered. “Nothing has changed. We are what we are. Just have a different name. You are still Gaius Baltar, biggest prick in the fleet. I am Saul Tigh and I am an officer in the Colonial Fleet. And we will both be these things until we die. Deal with it, and clear this frakking hallway! Believe it or not, some of us have work to do.”

Saul was not easy to love, he wouldn’t allow that, but in that moment, all who heard him loved him for that instant. They knew that life sucked, but not because of what they chose to call themselves. They were different, but they were the same.

Saul made them see that. Even though the words were tossed off in impatience, it was enough, and they could move forward.

The fleet voted to destroy the archive.

The cycle was broken. All that happened before would never happen again.

The Strong One- a BSG Fic

2008-07-31T18:48:30Z

The Strong One

Rating: Teen

Characters: Adama/Roslin

Spoilers: set post Maelstrom, but spoilers through Crossroads

Summary: It was supposed to be her turn to hold the strength. Her turn to gather the forces, reinforce the walls.
A/N: Thanks go to my wonderful betas- deepforestowland sabaceanbabe- you guys made my first foray into BSG fic a lovely experience.

* * * * *

There was something so darkly tragic about the broken ship, miniature or not. Perhaps it was the way it lay silent and listless on his desk. Perhaps it was the miniature flotsam and jetsam littered around it. Or perhaps it was simply because the ship reminded her so much of the man crying on the couch, empty bottle at his side.

There were times Laura wished she couldn't read him so completely, and the day Kara died was one of them. She didn't want to see it as he broke apart before her. It frightened her how little hope she saw in his eyes, and she could feel him disappearing into the distance. "She's gone," he said and something deep inside her shattered and the pieces twisted in her gut.

She wanted to speak, to tell him something reassuring, something easy. A lie even, but the words knotted and caught in a thick lump of suffering that had found its way into her vocal cords. She reached out and traced the softness of his cheek and Bill leaned into her palm, closing his eyes with something she dimly recognized as contentment. If something so simple could give him comfort, what had become of his life? And if she could be so affected by his reaction, what had become of hers?

On impulse, Laura leaned in and kissed him, a way to connect her to him, a way to say something she could not yet say. "I'm here," she told him, keeping her voice tender and the kiss a soft peck, not a lingering thing. But then he was there, his face against hers, his mouth encountering hers with the rough collision of reality, overwhelming and somehow gentle at the same time. And she responded, but just a little, able to only take so much of his grief-soaked kiss before pulling away. She was his security, then - the one thing he could touch without his fingers slipping through and she understood.

It was her turn to hold the strength. Her turn to gather the forces, reinforce the walls. And as much as she resisted this role, hated the responsibility of the position, she knew what she needed to do. Laura placed his head on her shoulder and let him take what he needed from her. It was her turn.

* * *

She didn't know what woke her hours later. When consciousness began filtering in, there was no one thing that drew her attention and it took her longer than it should have to notice Bill's head in her lap.

Laura had seen him sleep before. It was nothing remarkable to find him asleep in his quarters before meetings. The hours they kept were long and frequently odd. But those times that she had to wake him, she never had to grip his shoulder or speak loudly into his ear to bring him back into the conscious world. Those times he woke so quickly and easily that her mere presence was all it took. She knew it was likely due to his military training, but she always took kind of comfort in that fact.

But he didn't wake up this time and she did not have the heart to forcibly rouse him, especially when he shifted and turned his body toward her. His right arm moved to curl around her waist and his face actually nuzzled her abdomen.

This was comfort. So rare these days. If he could find it even if for a few minutes, how could she deny him that? She felt that she couldn't deny him anything. So she made herself comfortable as was possible, and let herself fall back asleep.

When she woke in the morning, he was gone. They both knew that there was no other place he needed or wanted to be, but he ran, and she let him. Later, when she was trying to get her work done on Colonial One, she thought about finding an excuse to visit him again and offering more than just comfort.

But then she got the message from the doctor.

* * *

'Return Cottle's call.' The three words made a short stab across the scrap of paper. Three words written in Tory's precise writing. Three words that told Laura the cancer was back. Her hand closed into a fist around the paper before she had the chance to acknowledge what she had read.

Dying leader or not, she could fight it this time. She had something to fight for, someone to share the burden with. She thought of Bill and then she thought of Kara and of strength left to give, and a knot formed in her stomach. So she delayed, and avoided the doctor as long as the President allowed, but not as long as Laura would have liked.

It was easy enough to avoid Cottle, less easy to avoid Bill. But Bill was lost in his grief and his work and simply didn't notice at first. When he finally realized he hadn't spoken to her in two days, he remembered the last time they were together. He remembered a drunken kiss and waking up with his head in her lap. He wouldn't have called what he felt embarrassment, but he couldn't think of a better word, so he didn't call it anything.

And when Cottle made a point to stop Bill in the hall that day and ask how he was doing, he didn't notice the surprise in the doctor's eyes when Bill spoke of Kara.

* * *

She let four days pass before allowing Cottle to catch her. "Madame President, are you avoiding me?" the doctor asked in his gruff voice.

"Of course not, Doctor. I've just been very busy." The lies didn't used to be this easy.

Cottle sighed but knew better then to press, and he talked of statistics and chances, with words like 'unusual findings' and 'inconclusive, but we have to make sure' thrown in, and all she could think about was how she was dying again. And how she had to tell Bill now, the reprieve she managed to create was over. Four days was not enough time, but there would never be enough time for their losses. And she would have to watch as the pain came to his eyes, then denial and then finally acceptance and she would have to watch him muster up strength that he didn't have to stand by her side. And damn it, the knot in her abdomen grew tighter and she didn't hear much else.

"...so you'll be here tomorrow?" The long pause indicated he was expecting a response, and she found herself saying, "Bright and early," in as light a tone as possible. The smile hurt, and she was relived when he finally hung up and saved her from further conversation.

She had not realized just how hard she was grasping the phone until she tried to let go. Her fingers hurt as she carefully loosened her grip. Laura moved to hang up the receiver, but it inexplicability missed the cradle and fell to the floor with a crash. She bent forward and began to reach for the phone when she noticed the trembling in her hand. She stared at it for a moment, not seeming to recognize it as a part of her. After a few seconds of intense concentration, the trembling stopped. She had made her promise to Cottle, and prepared to fracture Bill a little more.

* * *

Bill was engaged in a salvage operation. Not yet rebuilding, but rather taking the model ship apart further, broken piece by broken piece. Gentle this time. Anger muted to sorrow. Separating what could be saved from that which was completely destroyed. She wondered what would happen if he discovered the latter was too great. Would he still try to make his repairs? Would he forge on, ignoring the broken and missing parts? Or would he claim defeat, and surrender, and sweep the ship off to recycling?

Bill looked up as Laura entered. She had to look away from his haunted eyes and took a deep breath to control her impulse to comfort him. 'I have nothing to give him,' she thought.

"Hello," she said simply. Carefully. She was going to tell him that day. She had to. She glanced at his clock, which showed she had just ten minutes before her appointment, and she wanted to laugh at the relief she felt. She hated that while she knew her subconscious was at work here, she couldn't quite tell if she wanted to avoid telling Bill, or if she simply wanted to delay her appointment.

Bill removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the thumb and index finger of one hand, looking at her blearily. "Good to see you," he said and she could see the relief on his face. "It's been a while. You canceled a couple of our meetings." He watched her for a long moment, as though trying to gauge her reaction, and then gave her a peculiar half-smile.

"I've been busy, plans change." She shrugged, and he couldn't tell if she was apologetic or not.

"Busy?" He knew she was lying, he just didn't know how big a lie it was yet.

He stared into her, and she wanted to shift her eyes and plan an escape route, but somehow felt that if she did, he had won. What, she wasn’t sure. "I'm always busy. There’s always too much to be done."

He nodded in agreement. "Well, I'm glad you're here. Although I didn't expect to see you until this afternoon."

"I have an appointment this morning,"

He noticed the subtle change in her tone and something glimmered in his mind, almost like a memory from a prior existence, and he asked without being able to articulate why. "Are you- are things okay? You don't look-" He stopped, realizing the dangerous path he walked. "You seem tired, Laura," he finished lamely.

Truth was she hadn't been sleeping. She was a bit ragged around the edges. She was lost, trying to anchor herself, to find a reference point in a known reality. She looked at the clock again, as though somehow knowing the time would also help her find her place in the world. Five more minutes.

"Is it the trial? Baltar? I know it's stressful, but we'll get through this," he offered, concern in his voice.

She wanted to just say yes. It was a believable out; he would never know. "No. It's not the trial."

"It's not the dreams again?" And for a second she could taste the bitter Chamalla on her tongue. 'No,' she thinks, 'the dreams come later.'

"I haven't had dreams of New Caprica for months now,” she said with practiced politician ease, dismayed at how easily it came out. When had that become her default? When had the President replaced Laura?

His eyes narrowed at her tone, but otherwise his face remained impassive. "Then what is it? Do you know?" He looked down and his fingers played with a bit of broken wood, bracing for her response. When it didn't come, he looked up.

'Does he know?' She waited for any hint of knowledge to cross his face or betray him by manifesting itself in his body language. Laura sensed nothing but resignation and was saddened. And she couldn't tell him. Couldn't bear to pull him down further.

"No,” she lied, allowing it come into her eyes.

He didn't ask. "There was a time when I would suggest warm milk." He returned his attention to his ship. "But unfortunately cows are in short supply these days." He was changing the subject, turning a page, running away and she was suddenly grateful. She found new facets of her fears just by dancing around them.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

'You can come with me to my appointment,' she thought, but knew her moment to ask had passed. Instead, she smiled weakly and shook her head. "I just wanted to check in with you. See if I'd missed anything these past few days."

"Haven't missed much. Things have been nicely dull around here."

She paused. "Dull is a luxury. Give me dull and boring any day."

"So say we all.” And he smiled with his lips, but not his eyes, and she knew she must leave before the awful truth came tumbling out of her mouth.

"I'll see you this afternoon, Admiral."

"I look forward to it, Madame President." And for a moment he remembered how to be strong and he was the Admiral again, finding composure in the less emotional talk. Hurt and loss were pushed aside, and Laura's control was close to breaking. If she stayed, she would... Gods, if she stayed she would... what? Break down? Scream? Tell him?

Laura turned to leave, feeling like was running away only because she was. "Sorry about your ship." She wanted to give him more, but that was all she could spare.

She was already walking away when she heard his response. "Thank you," and she pretended not to hear the crack in his voice.

She wondered then, would he have time to rebuild the ship before she, too, was gone? Would the damage he inflicted be greater with her death? Laura was blinking back tears before she realized it didn't matter.

Because the damage would be permanent. Once she was gone, he wouldn't try to repair it.

She closed the hatch to his quarters and it clanged shut. It had never sounded so loud.

* * *

Again, Cottle found her. Laura had hoped to slip in and out of the sickbay with just a simple blood test, but suddenly he was at her side and she found herself being ushered to the imaging table.

The doctor was afraid. He was afraid that she’d do what she did last time. He was afraid that she’d ignore the signs for too long, and then try a home remedy no one believed would actually work.

But he need not worry. She wasn’t the same woman she had been then. The President did not give up so easily.

While she was scanned, she had to remain motionless, and in that stillness Cottle tried to convince her. She couldn't correct him, and even if she could, she wouldn't. Once she did that, he would be her doctor again, and the hint of friendship would be hidden behind his clichéd gruff exterior. Laura would hate him for that, but the President would understand. There was only so much caring to go around.

She hated this neediness inside of her. The need for a friend wherever she could find one. The need to be missed, the need to be held; the need to be loved. And she hated the cancer, then. Not for creating these needs, but for making her notice them.

Cottle continued to plead his case as she dressed behind a curtain. She knew he was worried this would be the last time she'd willingly come see him. Idly she wondered if he'd plan a medical coup. For a moment, she pictured bars around a hospital bed, Cottle and Adama holding hands, begging, "Let us save you."

Laura pulled back the curtain with a snap, interrupting Cottle's latest plea. Her voice was unexpectedly sharp, slightly foreign to her own ear. "Tomorrow. We will discuss this tomorrow." Just one more day to gather her strength, and then she could cope. And she still had to tell Bill.

Something flickered across Cottle's eyes, and she felt oddly that she'd both disappointed him and confirmed something he already knew. "Fine, tomorrow it is. But no more putting this off. No more avoiding this." His tone tolerated no argument.

'It's not the cancer I'm avoiding.' The lump was back in her throat. For some odd reason, ridiculous tears lingered under her lids, threatening to fall, and she could only nod her head in agreement.

* * *

Laura didn't remember much about the meeting. She let Zarek run the agenda, and she suspected by the generally pleased mood of the crowd that she should have found a few things to object to. She would pay for this later, but at that moment, she could only think about getting to his side. The room was still mostly full with other leaders of the fleet and anything they said would likely be overhead. That would keep her safe. President Roslin would not let Laura overstep her bounds.

Bill could tell that she was distracted, but so was he. He had that terrible feeling in his gut, the one that told of danger and pain about to arrive. He suspected, but he didn't quite know, and he hated Laura in that moment for not giving him a certainty to worry about.

If Laura saw any of that, she did not let it show. "I'm sorry to ask this so late in the day, but I was hoping I could find a free bed for the night."

He smiled at a memory, and she knows what he would say before he said it. "You know you are always welcome in one of my beds, Madame President." And she almost had time to smile back before he continued.

"Another early appointment?" he asked, carelessly. Why did he ask that? Why here? Why now? And she felt in that instant she was too late. She had missed her chance at any kindness she could give him. Cruelty seemed to be all she could give him now. And she hated him so very much in that moment.

"Yes," she responded without thinking, revealing more than she'd intended. The President failed her.

There was something in her voice that chilled him. And suddenly the loose fragments of knowledge coalesced. She only had appointments with one person. His voice held that icy control that always masked his deepest hurt or sharpest anger. "My quarters are yours for the duration." He stared at her, hot and fierce, wanting her to qualify her previous statement, to rationalize it away with the cool, detached control that he’d learned to expect from her over the years.

She saw her own frustrations and fears mirrored in his bright eyes, and already regretted her biting tone. "I don't want to put you out," she said, only because there were others around and this was how she was supposed to respond.

"I insist." And he hated her a little bit more for making him figure it out on his own, and she hated him a little bit more for not getting the chance to tell him. And they finished their conversation with ice on their lips.

"Thank you." The words were spoken like actors on a stage.

He nodded politely. "If you'll excuse me, I have to head to CIC.” She returned the nod and wondered how to make this right.

* * *

He said he was going to CIC, but he headed straight to see Cottle. Once there, he simply stared at the man. Both knew that any question Bill asked would be met with a denial and a mention of patient confidentiality- which would say everything Bill needed to know. And so neither said a word. Bill left to get a drink and Cottle stayed behind and had a cigarette and both tried not to think about Laura.

* * *

That night she found him asleep- or was it passed out? - sprawled across his couch, a report on his chest, glasses dangling from his fingertips, and a glass nearly empty of its drink sitting on the table beside him. And she thought that maybe she should to hide the alcohol - at least for the next few days.

She wondered if he was waiting up for her.

Even as she considered waking him and sending him on his way, she knew she wouldn't. She thought of protocol and appearances and the fact that this would be the second time in a week she was his overnight guest and she simply didn't care. She couldn't let herself care because that would be another excuse not to tell him.

But she still found reasons to delay. She found a report or three that must be reviewed and signed. She dressed for bed. And she told herself that she was just waiting for him to wake on his own.

She stood next to him and looked down on his slack face, surprised at how soft he looked. His face was smoother, his expression relaxed. 'Is this how I look when I sleep?' Somehow she doubted it.

Laura crossed her arms and with her thumb felt the bandage from the blood test through her robe. She was suddenly cold and she pulled her robe taut around her waist, redoing the knot. She was constricted inside, the springs so tightly wound that she felt as if she was going to burst.

And she so wanted to burst.

She found herself kneeling beside the couch; his head only inches from hers. An odd feeling ran through her body. What if he woke? What would she do? What excuse could she come up with to explain what she was doing?

She had no answers but remained where she was. She wanted him to wake.

He faced her, and she tilted her head so that they were on the same plane, eyes and lips even. She felt his breath against her face and she inhaled, filling her lungs with him.

And then Bill's eyes glittered open. He held her gaze, his eyes glowing under their drooping lids.

'I'm caught,' she thought. 'Thank Gods.'

She waited for him to say something, anything, but he didn't. All she could hear was the hum of the engines and the ticking of the clock and she realized that she was still cold. When would she be warm again?

He closed his eyes. A minute passed and she began to think that he had fallen back to sleep. 'Is that all?' She was disappointed.

"Are you going to sleep?" He finally spoke, finally gave in to the silence. 'I win.' she thought inanely, as if this were a contest. Though, at times it felt like it was.

"I can't," she said simply. 'I have something to tell you,' went unspoken.

He opened his eyes again and sat up rapidly, and she leaned away from him, startled by the sudden movement. Bill turned to her, studying her face. "You're tired." She knew that he was grasping at something irrelevant to the main topic, trying to take care of her without saying why. He needed to establish some basis for belief, to feel at least partly in control and she let him lead.

"I am." Again, nothing more to add. She was tired.

He glanced back to his rack, and nodded slightly, thinking. He moved again and helped her to her feet. They stood next to each other, his heat radiating off him and she felt warm for the first time that night. He pulled her gently to his bed. He met her gaze, and without breaking it, reached past her to the top of the spread. "You should go to bed."

He never looked away and all she could think about was the way his body curved over and around her, and how close his face was to hers. And she thought about what she could do in that moment. How a kiss could lead to more. Another delay. The right thing for the worst possible reason.

She did nothing. And she was only a little surprised by the regret she felt.

The sheets pulled back, he straightened. "You need to rest," he repeated as he reached for her waist, for the tie on her robe, and loosened the knot. He gently peeled the robe from her shoulders and arms and twisted his body to carefully lay her robe across a chair.

Turning back to her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and directed her to sit on the edge of the bed. His hands had not left her shoulders, and she felt the index finger of his right hand trace light circles on her nightgown. Laura tilted her head back to meet his face. The light was behind him, and she couldn't read his expression. Could he read hers?

Innumerable moments passed, and then he moved again. Leaning over her, he guided her onto her back. He straightened and reached to the foot of the bed and pulled the covers over her. The bed was so cold.

He began to leave but she somehow managed to raise her hand to his, stopping him. As she reached up, her nightgown slipped down her arm and the bandage from her blood draw was revealed. Both their eyes moved to it at the same time, then back to meet the other.

His carefully arranged expression remained as it was. He’d done an impressive job and if she hadn’t known him for so long, she might have missed it, that raw look of hurt that swept over his face. And if she wanted to see that look again- which she did not- all she would have to do was punch him in the stomach.

There was a sudden intensity in his eyes that she had never seen before. His voice was leached of all accusation, but a note of hurt threaded through despite his best intentions. "Why didn't you tell me?" The question pained her more than she thought possible.

She wanted to say so much, but could manage only one word. "Kara." She didn't tell him that it was her turn to be the strong one. She didn't say she couldn't ask for what he couldn't afford to give.

Disappointed, or perhaps just frustrated, he asked, "Tell me. Tell me what you want."

"Stay. Sleep with me." For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she decided to speak on her own or if he had somehow willed it out of her.

Her words surprised him; they surprised her. Not because of their implication, an implication that they would not think of then, but because they were spoken. They never used words to say these things.

He asked, "Why?"

"I can't do this alone." She could say no more.

Her disclosure was met with silence and she chanced a glance at his face. His expression was unreadable, and with each passing second her doubts multiplied as the stillness stretched, thin and tenuous as a cobweb.

He walked away again, but this time she did not have the courage to stop him. She finally spoke, but it was too late.

He paused at the hatch, and she closed her eyes. She could not watch him leave. She heard the light switch being turned off, but she didn't hear the hatch opening.

Then she heard the lock slide into place.

She opened her eyes to the dark room. She heard him walk to the rack, and felt the vibration when he hit the edge. The bed dipped down as he sat to remove his shoes. First one, then the other dropped to the floor and then she heard the rustle of cloth as he shed his uniform.

The spread was pulled back and the bed dipped once more, and then he was next to her. Bill reached for her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as delicately as crystal, as solidly as stone and Laura laid her head against his chest, feeling the warmth and intensity of him.

Warm. She was warm.

And she felt his lips against her cheek. One, then two light kisses. Each kissing a tear away. When he spoke, his warm breath tickled her ear. "What time tomorrow?"

Laura had been riding a crest of tension and uncertainty, holding her breath for days. She breathed out a long, shuddering breath that cautiously walked the thin wire between a sigh and a sob. Just as a wave crashes and gently disperses, those three words washed the tension away.

"I see Cottle at 9:00." And in the silence and in his arms she found strength. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course," he whispered. He said nothing more, but in that moment, it was enough.

~end~

And so begins the next stage in my obsession....

2008-07-02T19:12:46Z

A livejournal. That I created specifically to post fanfiction. Battlestar Fan Fiction.

Gods, what have I become? Oh, that's right. I've become obsessed. And it only took four months to get here.

I'd never watched a single Battlestar episode until the end of March. I knew it was awesome. Entertainment Weekly loved it, and I knew the basic concept and that appealed to me. But see, I've been burned. Burned badly. Cause I really like awesome shows, but awesome shows don't tend to last long when I decide to watch them.

So as a service to my fellow geeks, I didn't watch. Yes, I am to thank for the Battlestar lasting more that 13 episodes. I'm sure you can find a way to thank me later. ;)

Five years later, I am reminded about this awesome show and I hear that the fourth season will be the last. Really? A known end date? You mean they can plan ahead and wrap things up and end with grace? (Is it wrong that I'm still a bit bitter about Quantum Leap? And if I'm bitter about that show, imagine my thoughts on X-files)

And so I added Battlestar to my Netflix queue. After the third or forth time I ran to Blockbuster because I couldn't wait for the next delivery, I just went ahead and stared buying the DVDs. I caught up two weeks into the forth season. And then I had to wait like everyone else. And so tried to find ways to pass the time. I listened to podcasts I read the recaps on Television without Pity. I found Bear McCreary's blog and purchased three seasons worth of soundtracks.

I was delaying the inevitable. Fan Fiction.

I hadn't read fanfic for almost 8 years. Not since my X-files obsession. But it comes back quickly. And I devoured the fic, like everything else BSG related. And once I had read most of the fic? Yep. Time to start writing it.

So that brings me back to this journal. I'm still learning the ins and outs of this particular fandom, but I think that this is how it's done. Still a bit before my story is ready- need to find a beta- how to find a beta? but once I've got things figured out, I'll post.