Echoes
Title: Echoes
Author: larsfarm77
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: MA
Spoilers: New Caprica arc




The air in the tent was cold and muggy. Dampness clung to everything, making the blanket heavy and coaxing his skin to pucker with gooseflesh. It was a sharp contrast to the warmth of Laura’s breath against his groin. He lay back on her cot. His legs were splayed, half on and half off the small bed, and her lithe form was between them, knees pressing into the ground, sitting back on her heels.

“Laura, I wasn’t serious.” He gasped as her tongue traced his balls.

“I was wrong.” The thrill of hearing those words from her, and the vibration of her voice against his tender flesh caused him to thicken further.

“It was a stupid bet. I got lucky.”

“Yes, you did.” His eyes widened as she leaned back enough to pull her sweater and bra over her head in one smooth motion, a devilish smile on her face.

“Mmm.” Any complaints he had with the cold evaporated there and then. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”

Her pale skin flushed, she drew her tongue slowly along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, pressing lightly against it, and then took just the head of him into her mouth. His hips rocked into her, urging more contact. She let him slip free. “Stop talking, Bill, and just enjoy this,” she said, her voice rich and only slightly admonishing.

He didn’t think he’d ever heard a command he liked better. She hovered just above his moist flesh, letting him feel the warmth of her breath. He shivered. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She shifted her body forward, taking him once again into her mouth. His last fleeting thought was that her action would have worked as well as the command. She encircled the base with one hand, and began to lave his heated skin with her tongue, long sweeps along the sides, swirls and flicks where the shaft met the head.

He fisted his hands in the sheets, his head thrown back against the pillow, biting his tongue as she continued to tease him, licking and kissing, but pointedly ignoring the urgent press of his hips toward her mouth.

GodsLauraplease … you can’t just…

He shifted to an elbow to watch her, his annoyance fading at the look in her eyes. Pulling away and taking him in her hand, she leaned over, breasts hanging down, and began rubbing the broad, wet tip of his cock back and forth over her rigid nipples.

“Frak, Laura,” he groaned, watching as her head fell back.

“When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to. Not for a while.” Her face was flushed, her lips parted and wet, and she hummed softly as she pleasured herself, his flesh twitching appreciatively in her hand.

Letting his cock fall back against his abdomen, she crawled up his body until her breasts hung a scant inch from his lips. He craned his neck to lick and suck at her nipples as she rubbed her soft flesh against his face, a hint of his own flavour on her skin.

Pausing to plant an open, wet kiss on his lips, she trailed a glistening nipple down the length of his scar, the other brushing intermittently, light and wet against his chest. The sensation was strange. He still didn’t have feeling down the complete length of the scar. His mouth hung open at the sight, his breathing reduced to shallow, ragged pants, his cock twitching against his belly.

She settled back between his legs, bent her head, and took as much of him as she could into her mouth. He couldn’t help crying out. His whole body tensed and his fingers slid into her hair, gathering it as gently as he could manage. He loved to watch her while she did this for him, the enjoyment that was plain on her face arousing him almost as much as her lips against his skin. He cradled her skull as her head began to bob.

“Shit,” he gasped, trying not to close his eyes. “Yeah. Take it all, Laura, please.”

Working him with long, deep strokes of her mouth, she played a hand along the inside of his thigh, and took his balls in her palm, cool and moist from her previous attentions. She rolled them in a slow circle, traced the undersides with her nails, until his thighs were shaking and his toes curled.

His hand clenched in her hair, pulling it firmly, not sure she realized how close he was to coming. She fought him, nearly swallowing him, and he lost control, his hips surging. He jerked repeatedly into her, uttering a raw mix of profanity and her name as he emptied himself.

When he could once again think coherently, he found her waiting for him, head resting against his thigh, her hand flat and warm over his softening cock, a sweet smile on her face.

He ran a hand along her cheek and into her hair, stroking through it lightly, while stating, “You lost on purpose.”

“Who says I lost?” She waggled her eyebrows, and he felt a rush of affection at her lopsided grin.

Chuckling lightly, he took her under the arms and effectively hauled her up his body. He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her thoroughly, and crushed her to him, the skin of her breasts cool against his chest. Her heavy, cotton pants were rough against his bare legs.

It started as a low hum, vibrations tickling his ribs. It built slowly, until some of her meagre possessions began to resonate, vibrating loudly in the small space. A cup tipped, splashing its contents onto the mud-packed floor. They sat up as one, kiss forgotten, a lead weight in his abdomen as they both looked toward the roof of the tent. He knew the sound of a Raptor engine, of a Viper, the variations in pitch as familiar as the back of his hand. This was neither.

“They’ve found us.” Laura’s voice was little more than a whisper.

The sounds began to layer, one engine roar on top of another, until it became impossible to count. He glanced at Laura, sitting half naked beside him, and tried not to let the panic consume him. He couldn’t help thinking that she may as well be naked for all the protection he could offer her here.

Galactica and Pegasus would jump.

Lee knew impossible odds when he saw them.

He wouldn’t be back.

The ground shook as the bombs began to fall.

***

Adama woke with a gasp. The sound of his own heartbeat was deafening in his ears, the pressure of the blood coursing through his veins leaving his head hot and aching. He lay still, panting, and stared into the blackness above his rack, cursing the military training that forced full wakefulness on him.

Something soft pressed into the space between his ribs and drew his attention to the woman who lay next to him.

Thank the Gods I didn’t wake you.

It was mere days after the Exodus, and he knew Laura Roslin was exhausted, despite the way she threw herself into the myriad tasks necessary to re-organize the Fleet, into the more than pleasant task of making up for lost time with him. She didn’t deserve to lose sleep over a problem that was undeniably his alone.

He’d had the nightmares since he’d abandoned more than 30,000 people to the whims of the Cylons more than four months ago. The successful rescue should have marked the end of the disturbing dreams, or so he’d thought.

He sat up slowly, eyeing the distance between his side of the rack and the floor. If he moved carefully enough, he figured he might be able to step over Laura and make it out without waking her. He had one leg partway across her body when her voice mumbled into the dark.

“You okay?”

Frak.

He drew his leg back and lay on his side. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You haven’t really. Not yet.” Her voice was still thick with sleep. She rolled toward him, cuddling against his chest, a slender arm curving over his back. “Go back to sleep, Bill.”

Her voice and the soft stroking of her hand along his back were soothing, her body heat lulling him as he wrapped his arms around her.

“How long did the Chief say the repairs on Colonial One would take?” he asked, softly.

Her ship, not designed for the rigors of deep space travel, had not fared well during the Exodus. It also needed fumigation, after Baltar’s less than hygienic custody. He was thankful that no one questioned or seemed to notice that Laura was staying with him; everyone seemed caught up in their own searches for friends, space and food.

‘Mmm … a week … a little more,” came the muffled response.

“Good.” He kissed her forehead lightly as he felt her breathing even out, his own slowly matching it.

***

“Dradis!”

He could imagine he still felt the vibrations of his ship as they’d plummeted through the atmosphere; his jaw was sore from clenching his teeth, and he had to concentrate for a few seconds to relax the muscles.

“Back online. Cylon baseships coming out of the nebula.”

“Where?” He squinted at the Dradis, the images flickering in and out, providing hints, glimpses, dots of red and blue amidst the static and haze of the nebula. Teasing.

“Just as we expected. Cylon raiders are still scattered to hell and gone. They're coming after us without fighter cover. If we can draw the two basestars away from the planet, the colonists might be able to escape.” Helo was too young, too young to be an XO, too young to control his emotions, yearning and hope surrounding him like a flak barrier, hot and visible.

“Hang on. Three more baseships just jumped into orbit. We've got five baseships out there, Admiral,” Kelly called from somewhere behind him.

“No. We can’t hold off five.”

Maybe I’m a coward. But I’m going back.

Dad, you won’t have a chance.

I’m going back, son.

“Brace for impact!” He closed both hands over the edges of the command console, knuckles white, muscles whip tight and aching along his shoulder blades and down his back. Waiting for his ship to scream. Pilot chatter continued to spill from the bridge speakers.

“Crashdown, watch your six!”

“I can’t see him! Frak! Where the frak are you, you motherfrakker?!”

Concussive hits shook the deck under his feet, threw sweating bodies against consoles, supports, and the deck. Alarm klaxons blared. Sparks flew. A glance at the damage control board showed red blinking dots lighting up like some kind of spreading infection along the ship’s port flank.

“Damage?”

“Stations starting to report in now, sir.”

“DC teams to the port flightpod. Fire in sections 343, 344 …”

“Explosive decompression section 42!”

“Seal it off!” he barked, half listening to the static laden pilots’ chatter, amid the flurry of reports.

“Sir, we’ve got two baseships bearing 221 carom 78 and 41 carom oh oh 5, they’re trying to flank us.”

Nowhere to go.

“All batteries. Full salvo. Fire at will.”


Something exploded behind him in a shower of sparks, and he could feel the heat against his back. A body hit the deck with a wet thump, and he turned, his battered ribs reacting with a lance of fire up his right side. The enlisted man’s face was charred, his scorched hair standing at odd angles. His skin was still hot to the touch, though nothing flowed through the artery under Adama’s fingers.

“Sir! Two more baseships just jumped in.” Helo’s voice edged into panic, disappointment hanging heavily on each word; his eyes darted about the room.

The deck lurched under Adama, and he reached out, right hand clawing at a torn bulkhead to maintain his balance. He didn’t feel it when it sliced into his palm.

“Fires out of control forward of section 282. Recalling fire teams.”

“Vent the section or we’ll lose half the ship!” Adama barked, pulling his blood drenched hand away from the bulkhead and reaching for the cloth Helo had been using to keep the nav board clear. He wound it around his hand. “FTL?”

“Negative, sir.”

“Manoeuvring thrusters?”

Helo merely shook his head.

“Any report from the surface?”

“A few civvie ships have left ground, two have --”

The noise was deafening as metal buckled and shrieked, the whole ship twisting like an animal caught in the throes of death. Adama felt each concussion along his own back, vertebrae shifting and cracking along with Galactica’s hull. Dradis winked in and out with enemy signals crowding its screen.

For a moment he stood on a bright green hill, a folded flag cool in his hands.

The time was too short, but we take comfort in knowing his life was willingly given in service to all of us. We honour him for that. And thus, it falls upon us to repent our sins, and with the help of the lords of Kobol, make our own lives worthy of that gift.

“Orders, sir? Sir!” He couldn’t see Helo through the haze of smoke clouding CIC.

“Purge all fuel from the starboard tanks. Helm, try to keep her steady as she starts to drift. If we’re gonna go, we’re going to take a frakload of them with us!”

“Yes, sir.”

Metal shrieked and lights flickered and died. He didn’t see the deck when it came up to meet him, the impact rattling his teeth. By the time the emergency lighting came up, few of his men could even stand.

“That’s it then.” He drew his gaze over what remained of his bridge crew, burnt and bloody, many of the faces new and unfamiliar, and braced himself against the command table one last time. “It’s been an honour.”

I’ve failed.

***

He woke, fists clenched and legs hopelessly trapped in the blankets. His hand and back were aching. Heart thundering in his chest, he panted like a dog, sweat coating his face and chest.

Shifting his weight, he slid off the edge of the rack, feet and legs bare against the cold deck. He adjusted the blanket, listening to Laura’s quiet breaths, glad that he had convinced her to take the side nearest the bulkhead.

Adrenaline keeping him awake and alert, he quietly found and pulled on his uniform, struggling with the laces of his boots in the dark. He regretted the noise he made with the hatch. The nearly empty corridors were slightly blurred, as he’d left his glasses on the ledge of the rack and he hadn’t had the heart to try to retrieve them.

The closer he got to CIC, the more his heart settled. The creaks and echoes of the old Battlestar were comforting and familiar, and when he passed through the hatch, the buzz in CIC surrounded him.

“Sit rep?” he ordered, without thinking, starting somewhat when the voice that answered wasn’t the acerbic tones of Colonel Tigh.

You won’t be sleeping any better than I am.

“Repairs continuing, sir. Got a crew working on the last of the hull plating in section 346. Chief Tyrol reports the enlisted head on C deck will open again within a day.”

Adama took a long, slow breath. “Thank you, Lieutenant …”

“Riley, sir.”

He nodded at the young man, before proceeding to walk restlessly among the bridge stations, checking on crewmen who didn’t need checking on. He didn’t return to bed.

***

The hangar deck was crowded, the cavernous expanse hot and sticky with the press of thousands of bodies. Thousands of relieved and happy souls. They surrounded him, all wanting, needing to touch him, to physically connect to the events of the last few hours, and find some way to say thank you. He took hand after hand, the air stale around him, closing his eyes briefly to appreciate the sounds of a crowd after walking through bare corridors and echoing rooms for so long.

“Welcome aboard. Welcome aboard.”

Something ate at him, his stomach twisting despite his euphoria, as he opened his eyes to continue to scan faces, looking for one. A flash of copper here, a pale hand there, the flash of an eye that his mind coloured the lightest green, but never all these at once. He caught sight of an unkempt white beard, and a dark, blue woollen cap, standing in the open bay of a Raptor. Saul! A dirty bandage sat over his right eye. His best friend clung to the arm of his wife, his steps unsteady as he climbed down the wing.

Leaning into the sea of bodies in front of him, Adama used his weight to manoeuvre himself toward his former XO. Progress was slow. When Bill reached him, Saul tore his arm from Ellen’s grip, standing on his own for the first time.

“My bag, Saul, where’s my frakking bag?” Ellen turned back toward the Raptor. She didn’t meet Bill’s gaze.

He didn’t have to ask the question that burned in his lungs, nor did he have to wait for an answer. It was on Saul’s face. His bloodshot eye was rimmed with moisture, and his lips trembled, his head shaking fractionally from side to side.

Adama didn’t feel the arm that settled around his shoulders.


“I’m sorry, Bill.” Saul looked into the half-full glass of alcohol he held in his lap. The dim light in his quarters flashed off the bevelled contours of the glass. “I should have … I didn’t want you to read it in some report.”

The alcohol burned down Adama’s throat, but did nothing to curb the empty, hollow feeling that had consumed him. He had wandered the hangar deck for hours, still searching faces, ships, always thinking that the next one would be hers. He was so exhausted, his desire so desperate, that he’d seen her twice, had even gone to pull at the arm of a thin woman, red fabric visible beneath the hem of her coat. Someone had taken hold of him from behind then, and he’d turned to face Ellen Tigh. Her normally rosy features were bloodless, her blond hair limp and dull, and she took him in her arms, pressing him hard against her body before pressing a sudden, open kiss to his lips. She then pushed a stained cloth into his hand, and rushed away. He could feel something small; it was thin and hard amongst the folds. Unwrapping it slowly, he caught a flash of silver.

My mother gave it to me, when my father and sisters died. She wore one too, so we would always know that we still had each other.

“How?” he heard himself say. It felt like he was standing in the dim corner of Saul’s cabin, watching himself have this conversation.

Saul had had trouble meeting Adama’s gaze since he’d arrived, and Bill knew that he felt responsible, that he would hold this as a personal failure, marinate in it until he was too tired or too sick or both.

“Look at me, Bill.” Saul’s single eye fixed on him, and his XO leaned forward, his voice low. “We both know her. You can spend all frakking day telling her to lie low, and then you’ll find her, out after curfew, blood up to her elbows, because she heard a sound, heard someone call.

“She fought them and they took her, a piece at a time, until Tyrol found her a long way from camp.” He dropped his head, his voice pitching higher with emotion. “She wasn’t breathing. We buried her there, out by the lake. The water was so clear—“

***

He couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved; he could hear the pounding of his own blood in his ears, but he couldn’t force air into his lungs. Sitting up suddenly, he kicked at the blankets, his hands bracing against the cool metal of the walls of his rack.

“Mmpf.” A woman’s muffled voice, warm and thick with sleep, broke the silence brought on by his lack of breath.

She rolled to her back, blinking in the dim light. He took in great lungfuls of air, his gaze roaming the contours of her face, her body. Part of his mind seemed to remain trapped in the nightmare.

Why won’t they just frakking stop?

Panic had his insides swimming, and he rubbed a fist into the trail of sweat that ran into his eye.

“Bill?”

His hand shook when he reached out and skimmed his fingers over a long strand of her hair, red and curled against the drab grey of his pillow. It was smooth and cool. Real.

“What is it?” She drew her tongue over her lower lip, as usual unaware of how sexy it looked.

“Laura.” He whispered leaning over and brushing his mouth along the moisture left by her tongue. He lifted enough to breath her name again against her lips, before claiming them again, running his tongue along the soft skin. She opened for him, and he stroked his tongue along hers. She tasted just as he remembered. Her breath was warm, tinged with the scent of his toothpaste, and her lips moved languidly against his, lazy and sweet, her eyes closed. It was a complete contrast to the urgency he felt, the tightness that just wouldn’t release his heart.

He kissed a rough, sloppy path along the skin of her neck and up to her ear, pulling the soft lobe into his mouth and swirling his tongue over it, and over the tender skin behind. A shiver ran down her body. He set his lips against the shell of her ear. “I want to touch you.”

She took his face in her hands and pushed him back so she could see him.

He couldn’t speak; his throat was thick, constricted with emotion, with the effort of holding it back. She quietly searched his eyes. Her thumbs rubbed back and forth along his cheeks in a way that was so familiar. Her gaze softened. He wondered what she saw, as she blinked back tears of her own.

Not looking away, her hands fell from his face, and she used a pale foot to push the last of the blankets from her legs. Her fingers skimmed up the length of her thighs until they reached the hem of her short, pale pink nightgown. She toyed with the fabric, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger, letting it slip until it lay at the top of her legs.

“Take it off me,” she whispered, and he felt a rush of relief and arousal.

Her skin was warm under the cool fabric. She trembled when the bandage on his right hand scraped lightly against her skin. He ran his hand along her abdomen, taking the nightgown with it, baring the swell of her hips, the short, coarse curls at the apex of her legs, the small indent of her navel. He leaned over and kissed the trembling skin of her belly, trailing his lips upward as she lifted her body, the fabric slipping to reveal the undersides of her breasts. He left the silk over them, sucking gently at her nipples until Laura was breathless, and the fabric dark and soaked.

Her hands ran through his hair, over his shoulders, stroking the muscles revealed by his tanks, and then slid as far down his back as she could reach. She clawed at the two pieces of cotton, bunching them until she grasped the hem. He lifted his mouth from her, and she roughly pulled them over his head, tossing them somewhere behind her.

“Boxers, too.” She said, pointedly.

“Not yet.”

He smiled at her raised eyebrow, lifting the damp fabric of her nightgown and easing it up a bit at time, purposely taking it more slowly than before, until her breasts were left pale and bare before him.

“I woke you.”

Leaving her to work the material over her head, he drew his tongue along the underside of her left breast, lifting it gently, feeling its weight on his tongue before taking a broad lick from underside to nipple. He covered the hard peak with open lips, drawing it and the dusty red of her areola into his mouth. Sucking hard, he savoured her gasping intake of breath, the arch of her back that plumped her flesh against his face.

Her skin was slick and salty, a hint of something familiar and floral barely masking the musk of her natural scent. A litany of hums and moans filled the air as he bit, licked, and sucked at both breasts, until her skin was swollen and blotched with red from the stubble on his cheeks.

“You’re a survivor,” he whispered against smooth flesh between her breasts. “Cancer.” He turned his head and pressed a sweet kiss to her left breast. “The end of the worlds.” Breathing the words onto her skin, he kissed a slow path down over her belly. “New Caprica.”

“Because of you,” she whispered back, spreading her legs wide as he settled on his stomach between them, her hips tilting toward him. Offering.

Trapped between his body and the mattress, his penis throbbed against his belly, aching to take her there and then, her body displayed so beautifully before him. He shifted onto a hip to relieve some pressure. She was alive, and he wanted her to feel it.

He moved toward her, his broad shoulders parting her legs further, his hands sliding under her knees to grip her hips. He could see her sex, the tender skin reddened and slick. The small bud of her clitoris was swollen beneath the hood that no longer fully covered it. He needed to be careful. It wasn’t going to take much, and he wanted her enjoyment to last.

Gently, he blew a thin stream of air against her damp curls, letting her breathy moan wash over him before placing an open, tender kiss against her soft, lower lips. He traced the length of her with his tongue, pausing to tease the taut flesh between this opening and the one below.

A shiver ran through her, and she tried to push herself more fully against his mouth.

“More?” he asked.

She pressed against his mouth again and he smiled, pleased he’d managed to render her speechless, if only for the moment.

“M’kay. Use your hand, Laura, open yourself for me.”

Her fingers slid in small circles over the slight rise of her abdomen, before she drew her nails lightly through her reddish curls. He watched, mesmerized, his gaze almost unfocussed with arousal, as she played lightly over her labia. Taking her time. Testing her limits, and his.

“Tell me how it feels,” he asked without thinking.

“Mmm …” Her eyes searched the ceiling of the alcove of his rack, brow knitting a little at his strange request; he could almost see her mind working, searching for words. “Soft … I feel … it’s warm … and, Gods, wet.”

“I can see that, Laura. I can see how wet you are. Circle your clit now … no, too hard … just lightly … yeah, like that.”

Her moan was distinctly unsatisfied. Her other hand was cupped lightly under her breast, her thumb circling her nipple, pausing every few passes to flick against the hard bud.

“I know it’s not enough, but Gods, Laura, you have no idea how sexy you look right now, do you?”

He hadn’t realized that his mouth had dropped open, until she swept a finger along her slit and reached to draw it slowly over his lower lip. He caught the edge of her finger with his tongue, licking it thoroughly before drawing his lip into his mouth, savouring the faint smoky tang that was her. He wanted more.

“Open for me.”

Her fingers parted her folds wide and he surged forward, thrusting his tongue into her. She cried out, arching off the bed, and he tightened his grip on her hips, turning his hands, lifting her to his mouth and doing with his tongue what he so desperately wanted to do with his cock.

Her nails raked against his scalp, her thighs pressed hard against either side of his head as her hips bucked and rolled. His tongue stroking against her inner wall, he allowed himself to get briefly lost, his awareness narrowing to the soft flesh against his mouth, his every sense consumed by the taste, sound and smell of her.

Finally pulling back a little, he found her clit, taking it into his mouth and sucking hard. Everything was suddenly, beautifully magnified. Her stuttering movements stretched into one long arch of her back, his name became a sharp, high-pitched cry, her moisture a warm flow against his tongue.

He stayed with her when she settled back against the mattress, ignored her attempts to push him away.

“I can’t …”

“You can,” he soothed, circling his tongue, taking long swipes of her labia, kissing her inner thighs, before setting to task once again.

“YesGodsBillthereyeahyeahmoreyeahthereyesGods.” Her words slurred between moans and gasps. He slid two thick fingers into her, curling them against her slick inner wall, before gently adding a third.

He latched onto her clit a second time and it wasn’t long before her voice soared, inner walls clutching at his hand. He could almost feel the sharpness of the pleasure that seemed to saturate every one of her muscles at once, leaving her limp and gasping for air. Admiring the sheen of sweat on her skin, he kissed her abdomen, her hip-bone, the warm skin under her breast, his fingers resting slick and sticky against her thigh.

“Mmm, here.” The words were thick and barely coherent, and he couldn’t help the smug grin on his face when he brought it level with hers. He kissed along her chin, his weight on hands and knees, waiting for her breathing to settle a little before he took her mouth.

“You’re too good at that,” she managed when they finally broke apart.

“So are you,” he replied, warmly.

She slid underneath him a little, kissing his upper chest, while she reached to push his boxers from his hips. When he wriggled free of them, she settled back, wrapping her legs around him, and pressed her heels into his ass, urging him forward.

He coaxed her legs a little wider, before finally sinking into her in one deep thrust. It was exquisite and torturous at the same time. Her orgasms had left her impossibly wet, her core so heated it made it hard to concentrate, his body only conscious of one desire as he thrust as much as he could bear.

Come. Now.

She clenched hard around him, pressing her hips into his thrusts. “Laura … I can’t …”

“Don’t wait for me.” She sat up a little, watching as he slid in and out of her, clenching in rhythm with his thrusts. She met his eyes without lifting her head, and whispered, “I want to watch you come.” His eyes rolled back in his head at her words, his senses on overload, his hips losing all semblance of rhythm as he came hard.

***

He lay across her body, her arms tight over his broad back, sweat slowly cooling on their skin. He listened to her breathing, felt the rise and fall of her chest against his, emotion swelling through the calm, satisfied, quiet that had settled over him. She was holding him. It was something she did, something he’d feared he would never have again.

“Which dream was it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He pressed a kiss against the upper slope of her breast. “They’re just dreams, Laura.”

“I saw it,” she said quietly, her fingers stroking through his hair. “Galactica, a ball of pure fire in the sky. My chest hurt, it was such a welcome sight, but I couldn’t help feeling …”

He lifted so he could see her. “What?”

“Saul … he had tried to tell me about the tactical situation. I didn’t need specifics, I could tell from how he spoke, how he looked at me. And in that moment I found myself saying a silent prayer. I made a deal with the Gods that if they just spared you, just this time …” She sniffed, running the back of her hand under her nose. “I’m sorry.”

He reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

She sighed, her hand running lightly over his back. “I wish you believed that.” Her words cut right to his heart, and he turned his head, unable to look at her. “Leaving us behind had to be one of the most difficult decisions you’ve had to make, but it was the right choice. You need to know that.”

“What do you want me to say? That I didn’t worry about you? About Kara and Tyrol and Cally, and all the other good people we left behind?”

“No, it’s just, three years ago you couldn’t make that same decision.”

He scoffed. “Don’t be impressed.” Shifting to lay on his back beside her, he stared up at nothing, his mind going where it had so many times before. “I made that decision knowing we’d be back. But when we finally attempted the rescue, there were thousands less than when we left … and now … I’ve lost over five thousand people, three civilian ships, the Pegasus, and I’ve seriously compromised Galactica. Was it worth it, Laura? Was it?”

“How many people were left in the Fleet after the retreat?”

“Please, don’t make this a numbers game.” He said it softly, knowing where she was going with this, what the whiteboard meant to her, trying not to hurt her feelings.

“I know it’s not just about numbers, Bill, though you can’t deny that a sustainable population is a concern. For you it’s personal, it always is.” She turned onto her side, her naked body pressed along his from shoulder to ankle. Running a hand along his cheek, she turned his head toward her. “Bill … the Cylons … they would have killed us all … it was only a matter of time. What they did …” Her breath caught and he could almost see her struggle not to look away from him, tears once again welling in her eyes. She cleared her throat, her voice almost a whisper. “The only thing that got a lot of us through that snake pit was the thought of your return. Your name was synonymous with hope.”

Blinking away tears, she leaned over and kissed him, before adding, “Every moment now is a gift from you.”

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Despite her words, he couldn’t shake the fear he’d felt. “I wasn’t sure I’d find you,” he began. “You don’t stand by, Laura. You don’t hide from a threat, you push and you sacrifice, and frankly you don’t care enough about what happens to you, what the consequences are.” He tried to hold her gaze, but she looked away, reaching for the blanket.

“The Cylons aren’t rational,” he continued. “They don’t care who they hurt. I remember holding the first report we received on the status of the insurgency on New Caprica. I had to force myself to sit down before I read it, because if your name hadn’t been there …”

“But, it was.” She wrapped her arms around him. Her body felt tense despite the encouraging words, and he could sense that she wasn’t ready to talk about it, not yet.

He nodded. Her face was a watery blur when he turned her head to find her eyes again. “I’m not going to be able to stop worrying about you, Laura. I can’t change who you are. All that matters is that I can love you.”

She blinked; tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, and she opened her mouth to say something, only no sound came out.

“And, I do,” he finished quietly.

***
Fin.