Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When she manages to open her eyes, all Laura Roslin can see is blackness. She closes her eyes against the pounding in her head then forces them open again, blinking to try and clear the obsidian pitch, feeling panic beginning to flutter in her chest when it fails. She stretches her hands out, feeling nothing but air, then pats the ground where she’s sitting, fingertips lingering over a smooth, cold surface. She blinks again, nausea griping in her stomach as it roils with the fogginess at her temples, and she shivers as she registers a chilling breeze, goose bumps forming on arms that she abruptly realises aren’t covered. She runs a tentative hand across the rest of her body, discovering with a distressing spike in her pulse that she’s naked, and her mind is suddenly awake, terror slicing through her consciousness. What the hell is going on...?

At her side, she hears a low groan and she startles, drawing in a deep breath to try and settle the sickening thud of her her heart. “Is someone there?” she manages after a further moment listening to rapid breathing, drawing her knees to her chest in a defensive posture.

“Madam President?”

Relief pours through her at the familiar husk, though she’s concerned that he sounds as confused as she is. “Admiral?”

“It’s me.”

“I can’t see anything….Where are you?”

“Me neither….”

“Gods, I thought I’d gone blind.” She sucks in another breath, can’t force it any lower than her breastbone. “What happened?”

“Don’t remember.” Bill Adama clears his throat, and she realises he’s a lot closer than she originally thought. “Are you alright?”

“I think so.” She winces and rubs at her temples, then remembers he can’t see her. “My head’s killing me.”

“As in head injury?”

“Can’t feel any bleeding.”

“Good.” He grunts. “I think we might have been drugged.”

“What?”

“Madam President, can you stay where you are? I’m going to get up, try and do a sit-rep.”

“Alright,” she murmurs, and she feels the air move next to her as he stands, listens as he begins to pace in a systematic fashion, mapping out their surroundings. She gasps as he treads on her toes, drawing them in even closer towards her body.

“Sorry,” he apologises, sighing. “Can’t see a gods-damned thing.”

“It’s fine.”

She listens to him continue to move around, strides mixed with more hesitant steps and soft swears when he encounters barriers, until eventually he slows and she hears him inhale.

“Alright,” he says, tone resolute. “The room’s about four metres square. Walls to three sides, bars to the remaining one.”

“A cell?” she replies in question, though it’s more of a statement and she feels her voice tremble.

“Almost certainly.”

“Cylons?” She feels the fear as a clench in her gut and she wraps her arms tighter about her knees.

“It’s a reasonable presumption.”

The air she draws shudders into her lungs and she tries not to panic though her heart is thundering against her ribs. “Okay,” she makes herself breathe after a long moment, forcing a stability to her tone that’s at pointed odds with the anxiety threatening to rip her chest apart. “Okay. What’s the procedure, Admiral?”

His sigh is ponderous. “Standard military protocol for capture by enemy forces – state your name and rank. Say nothing more.”

“No attempts at negotiation?”

“Not at this stage. Whatever they ask us, we keep repeating names and ranks.” He pauses. “Or in your case, position.”

“And this works?”

“In that it stops us inadvertently giving away fleet-sensitive information. Gives your mind something to focus on.”

She reads the undertone even in the cloying darkness, voice constricting in her throat. “You’re talking about...torture.”

“In an extreme case.”

“Oh, gods.” The invocation slips out before she can prevent it and she almost thinks she feels him take a step back towards her.

“I won’t let that happen. And our people will already be formulating a rescue plan.”

He sounds so sure, bordering on defiant, and she lets the reassurance filter through her before allowing her eyes to close, willing equilibrium to her nervous system. She’s starting to shiver, the combination of cortisol with a frigid draught, the source of which she can’t identify, and the awareness of her naked body reasserts itself. “Bill.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m….” She falters, embarrassment creeping through her skin as she rubs at her arms once more. “I’m...not wearing any clothes.”

He grunts an acknowledgement. “Neither am I.”

“I mean, not any.”

His sigh is rough and she feels her breath hitch despite herself, despite the situation. “Same.”

She lets her head fall against the wall at her back, his admission causing her stomach to tighten. “What the hell is going on here?”

“It’s a crude attempt at manipulation, Laura. At humiliation.”

She gives a mirthless laugh, hugs her knees ever closer to her chest. “It’s working.”

“Don’t let it. Don’t let them have the satisfaction.”

A disembodied voice chuckles from all around them and Laura startles, feeling her heart rate accelerate once more. “Well, it’s a little too late for that, Admiral. Satisfaction is exactly what you’re both giving me and long may it continue.”

She suppresses a gasp as she registers the identity of their apparent captor, and she hears Bill swear beneath his breath. Oh gods, she thinks, panic flickering through her anew as her mind free-falls. We could really be in trouble here….

“I’m going to turn the lights on now,” the voice announces cheerily. “And, Admiral, I’d consider sitting down, if I were you. It’s a bit early in the day to be giving Madam President an eyeful of your frankly quite impressive manhood.”

She hears Bill shuffle, presumes he’s following the instruction, and then she’s blinded as a sterile white light saturates everything in the room. She buries her head in her arms against the assault on her senses, and blood pounds in her ears in time with the dull thudding in her head. After a few seconds she blinks into the comforting shadow of her skin, wondering if it’s safe to raise her face or if the intense glare of the light will pierce her eyes once more. She winces in anticipation of pain and turns her head towards where she thinks Bill is sitting, opening one eye though her face is still mostly obscured by her arms and hair. He’s maybe a metre away, his form a blur as she tries to focus, registers that he’s sitting in a similar position to her own – back to the wall, knees drawn to his chest – and she’s aware enough that she realises they’re both trying to minimise their exposure. She blinks again and his profile sharpens, and she watches as he turns his head towards her.

“Alright?” he murmurs, and all she can do is nod, her attention drawn by several sets of footsteps that march in sync towards them.

She straightens her head as John Cavil moves into her line of vision, flanked by the giant metallic forms of two armed Centurions, bladed fingers flexing as they halt in front of the cell. Laura swallows the dread that’s rising in a tidal wave through her throat.

“Ah, Admiral, Madam President,” Cavil opens brightly. “Welcome to my humble abode. Open your eyes fully so I know you can hear me and we’ll start the tour.”

She complies, forcing her eyes open and squinting against the brutal intensity of the artificial glow as she tries to focus on their captor.

“Very good.” Cavil nods his approval and takes a further step towards the bars that separate them. “As you’ve probably guessed, you’re aboard my Base Ship, and you’re my prisoners. There were no other survivors from your Raptor so it’s pointless even asking.”

We were on a Raptor….why don’t I remember? Laura looks sideways at Bill, whose brow is furrowed with both fury and confusion. “Did you drug us?” she asks, voice rough, and she ignores Bill’s grunt of warning from her side.

“Well, you’d hardly have come willingly, now, would you?” he replies with a short laugh. “The effects are temporary, Madam President. Your headaches and disorientation will fade in the next few hours and then you’ll begin to recover your memories.”

She lifts her head further, makes herself hold his gaze. “I want my clothes.”

Cavil chuckles. “Oh, I bet you do. Unfortunately you’re in no position to be making demands.”

Laura takes another breath to respond but Bill clears his throat in a clear message to stop her and she makes herself pause, pressing her lips together.

“I do believe your Admiral is trying to silence you. How regressive.” Cavil’s laugh is biting as he steps ever closer, the Centurions at his side, and Laura tries and fails to quell her sudden nausea. “Now, if you’re quite through with all this nonsense, I want to show you both your new surroundings.”

He begins to stride, running his hands along the metal bars. “As the Admiral quite astutely discovered with his finely-honed navigational skills, your cell is small but perfectly formed, with the environment completely controlled by yours truly. If you’d care to cast your eyes to your right, there’s a bucket and paper for your convenience – I know you humans are squeamish about that sort of thing but you’ll just have to make the best of it.”

Laura tries not to whimper as her brain catches up with his meaning, unable to prevent her eyes from tracking him, gaze landing on the small receptacle in question. Oh my gods...is this really happening…?

“You’re going to be in here for as long as you’re entertaining to me and after that I’ll kill you. So you’d better make sure you’re frakkin’ entertaining.” Cavil shrugs, grinning coldly as he turns on his heel to face them again. “Oh, and if you want to stand any chance of food or water or even blankets, you’d better be on your best behaviour and you’d better do exactly as I say. Understood?”

Laura feels her jaw tighten and she narrows her eyes, unwilling to affirm, and Bill is likewise stonily silent. Cavil clicks his tongue in amused disapproval. “I need to hear you say it, I’m afraid. Otherwise my friends here will make your visit the shortest in Cylon history.”

She flickers her gaze towards Bill as the Centurions’ weapons arm with a harrowing thud, and he jerks his chin in encouragement, though his cobalt eyes are hard with hatred.

“Now – do you understand, Madam President?”

She gives a terse nod. “Yes.”

“And you, Admiral?”

Bill’s baritone is controlled, though disdain rips through the single syllable. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” Cavil clasps his hands together in satisfaction. “Now, in the spirit of obedience – on your feet, Madam President.”

Laura blinks, sure she’s misheard then feeling dread unfurl in her stomach like a serpent as she watches the slow smile form in a menacing threat across his face. She sucks in a trembling breath and fights a powerful instinct to vomit onto the slick tiles beneath her body.

“She won’t be doing that,” Bill’s voice is low, threaded with defiance.

“Oh, but she will, my dear Admiral,” Cavil mocks, gesturing to either side of him. “In case you hadn’t noticed in your drug-addled state, my loyal servants still very much have their weapons ready and they won’t stand down until they’re told.”

Bill snorts a disdainful laugh. “You’d give up on your entertainment so quickly?”

“You’re a military man. Surely you know captivity is about breaking down your subjects in any way you like, usually under threat of death?”

“It’s alright, Bill,” Laura interrupts, tone barely above a whisper, beginning to uncurl her legs despite her mind’s protestations, willing away the shame that’s flickering across her skin. She glances towards him, registers the distress that flares in his expression before he drops his head to his knees to shield his eyes, and gratitude tumbles through her at his sensitivity. “It’s alright.”

“There, you see?” Cavil says triumphantly. “The president knows how to toe the line. Might have known she’d be the one with sense. Don’t keep me waiting, now.”

Legs beginning to shake, Laura pushes herself to standing, unsteady on her feet as a wave of dizziness threatens to engulf her. She has the presence of mind to bring one arm to cover her breasts, ensuring her nipples are covered and the other hand masks her mound, neat thatch of hair brushing her palm. She makes herself lift her chin in defiance, meets Cavil’s gaze as he begins to laugh.

“Did you really think that would cut it?” he jeers. “I need to see all of you, Madam President. Convince me I’m not wasting my time.”

Laura injects a levity to her words that she doesn’t feel. “Surely you’ve seen a naked woman before? Cylon or human, we’ve all got the same parts.”

“One of the great perks of leadership – as I’m sure you know, Madam President – is that you never have to explain your reasoning to anyone.” He takes a threatening step forwards and the Centurions follow suit. “Move your hands. Now.”

She holds his gaze, weighs the risk of disobedience for a moment, then sets her jaw and drops her arms to her sides, fixes a nonchalant expression to her features. She fights the rising embarrassment as Cavil’s eyes rake across her, reptilian eyes lingering on her breasts, the curves of her hips, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips.

“My god, but you’re even more stunning out of clothes than you are in them,” he groans in a lascivious drawl. “Wouldn’t you agree, Admiral?”

Laura tries not to react to the question, knowing that Bill’s eyes are still guarded without even having to check, fixing her stare at a point over Cavil’s shoulder as he continues to needle.

“Admiral, I asked you a question.”

Bill’s silence is stoic and uncooperative, and Laura feels a conflicting mixture of gratitude and trepidation about their captor’s potential reaction.

“For shame,” Cavil continues with an exaggerated shake of his head. “I think perhaps you need to stand up to appraise her in the way she deserves.”

Laura swallows, throat dry and tight, hears the grind of metal as the Centurions turn their weapons towards Bill, and she’s certain Cavil won’t hesitate if they refuse him. Bill is evidently thinking the same because she’s aware of him shifting to his feet, and she closes her eyes to afford him the limited privacy as he did, her.

Cavil gives an irritated growl. “I’m losing patience with the two of you already. Stop playing games, open your frakkin’ eyes – both of you – and turn to face each other.”

She feels her pulse quicken but obeys, raises her head and opens her eyes, to find Bill’s own fixed on hers. His gaze is unwavering from her face, their eyes locking in determination, and she wonders for a brief moment if he’s having to wrestle the temptation to appraise her body as she is with his. She feels heat flair in her cheeks, mortification flooding her as she watches a muscle twitch in his jaw.

She’s aware that her body is curvier out of clothes than in them – her generous breasts sag the tiniest fraction, her stomach softer when released from the compression of underwear, hips more rounded and full. Under normal circumstances she embraces it, enjoys the extra contours being cancer-free has afforded her; now under the weight of Cavil’s cold scrutiny she feels the discomfiting glare of humiliation and loathes herself for it.

To his credit, Bill’s cobalt gaze is neutral, riveted to her eyes, and she’s thoroughly grateful for his stoic kindness, his resolute stance that her face will be the only part of her body he observes on purpose.

“Interesting,” Cavil drawls, and she keeps her eyes Bill, trying to drown the Cylon out. “Flushed skin, slightly dilated pupils – there’s definitely sexual attraction there, Admiral, Madam President, conscious or not. This bodes extremely well for my work.”

At that, Laura turns back to face him, unable to keep the contempt from her tone. “Work?”

“Oh, yes, didn’t I mention that? As uncomfortable as this may be for you, I’m conducting extremely important work on behalf of my people. So try and feel honoured – your contribution is valued and appreciated.”

“We won’t be participating. We….”

“You already are, my dear Laura – may I call you that? Or is that a privilege strictly reserved for your cell-mate?”

She lifts her chin another fraction. “My name is Laura Judith Roslin. I was born on Caprica. I am the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. I….”

“I see you’ve been taking the Admiral’s advice regarding captive procedure.” Cavil barks a scathing laugh. “And yes, if you’re wondering – I can see and hear everything you do in here, and I’ll be checking in on you regularly.”

Laura flickers her gaze to Bill, sees him give the tiniest shake of his head, and she returns her attention to Cavil, clamping her jaw shut.

“You’ve both performed exactly as expected so far,” he tells them, almost conversationally, striding to the back of the room and returning with two bottles of water, which he slips through the bars. “Your reward. The first of many such luxuries, so long as you behave. And don’t look so concerned – I wouldn’t be so short-sighted as to poison it.”

Neither Bill nor Laura move, and the Cylon chuckles again. “Suit yourselves. I’ll leave you to it for a while now, if you don’t mind. And since I’m in a good mood I’ll dim the lights a little – see if that helps you to settle in. Enjoy the break from your responsibilities, and I’ll see you soon.”

With that, he turns on his heel and stalks away, the Centurions in his wake, and Laura retreats immediately to the rear wall, sinking to the floor and drawing her legs up, trying to shield her body once more, even as the lights begin to fade to a more forgiving twilight. She drops her head to her knees, startling at a cool sensation against her hand before realising Bill is handing her a water bottle, and she grips it, his fingers brushing hers before he withdraws.

Chapter Text

“Thank you,” Laura murmurs, closing her eyes as she lifts her head, fumbles with the lid of the water bottle and bringing it to her mouth.

“You okay?”

“You mean aside from feeling violated?” She grimaces and shudders, then remembers her presumption that his eyes are also averted. “I want to wash his lechery off me.”

“He’s trying to get inside your head.”

“Inside both our heads.”

“Yeah. We need to do everything we can to prevent it whilst we give ourselves chance to figure this out.”

She sighs, hears him take a drink. “I still can’t remember what happened, Bill. He said we were on a Raptor but I….”

“I’m no better off. It seems unlikely we’d have been on a Raptor together but I’m not sure what reason he’d have to lie about it.”

“You mean aside from control?” She huffs out a laugh, decides to change tack. “What d’you think he meant by ‘work’?”

“An experiment?”

“That’s what worries me. There’s never been a precedent for that with the Cylons, has there?”

“Not so far as I know.”

“Though Cavil doesn’t seem...wired the same as the others.”

“He’s a frakkin’ sadist.” Bill blows out a breath. “We need to watch what we say, Laura.”

“Keep our conversation light and casual, you mean?” She can’t prevent a small giggle, a mixture of hysteria and disbelief at their circumstances.

She hears him chuckle in response, the sound low in his throat. “Something like that.”

“Well, it’s not light or casual – but we probably ought to ration the water.”

“I was going to suggest the same.”

“I have no intention of dying from dehydration, and….” She falters, clears her throat. “We also need to think about hygiene.”

“Absolutely. We’ll make a soldier out of you yet, Madam President.”

She snorts, places the bottle next to her feet. “Admiral...I’m going to open my eyes, alright? I want to see what sort of light level he’s left us with and what that means in terms of how we navigate in here.”

“Fine.”

She’s tentative as she blinks, bracing herself for brightness but finds instead an almost soothing amber and feels something akin to relief wash across her mind. She can’t help but glance to her left, towards Bill, eyes raking over his crumpled form as he sits in a mirrored position to her own, knees bent to his chest, forehead braced atop them. She stretches her limbs, stumbles to her feet and begins to pace the length of the cell, noting the grey bucket though quickly dismissing it as though to keep her mind distracted from the growing need of her body. After a few moments she re-takes her seated position, the tiles hard and cold beneath her, and she tries not to groan as she folds her legs back toward herself to protect her modesty.

“It’s more like a soft glow now,” she tells him, forehead settling against her knees again. “Do you think he’s trying to get us to open our eyes?”

“He’s trying to control our behaviour.”

“And then record our reactions? To what end?”

She hears him exhale in a rough stream. “I don’t know.”

Laura lets her head fall back against the wall, gaze drifting up towards the ceiling. “I’m not sure I can keep second-guessing everything here.”

“No. We need to keep as clear-headed as we can.”

“Do you mind if I keep my eyes open? If I have to be manipulated, I’d rather do it with full awareness.”

“Agreed.” His grunt is soft. “Do you mind if I do the same?”

She turns her head and their eyes meet as he does likewise, the reassurance of his smile flooding her with comfort. She fights a powerful urge to shuffle closer and inhales in a slow stream, returning her attention to the ceiling and wondering exactly how many cameras Cavil has trained on them and where they’re secreted.

“He said he can control everything in here,” she ponders aloud. “Do you think that means he set this cell up specifically?”

“You mean premeditation?”

“It seems like it, doesn’t it? Rather than it just being opportunistic.”

“It might become clearer once we remember what happened.” He gives a heavy sigh. “We’re the leaders of the last of humanity….”

“So he planned it with us particularly in mind?” Her mind tumbles back towards their captor’s words - “Flushed skin, slightly dilated pupils – there’s definitely sexual attraction there, Admiral, Madam President, conscious or not. This bodes extremely well for my work.” - what the hell did he mean by that…? “As opposed to just having this ready for any humans he happened across?”

“He said there were no other survivors from the Raptor. Which either means we were boarded and they were killed, or we came down somewhere and they didn’t make it.”

She sighs. “There would have been at least eight people including us.”

“And if Cavil had them killed, it implies that it was specifically you and me he was after.”

“Mm,” she hums in agreement, glancing back in his direction. “I don’t think it’s got anything to do with wanting fleet secrets, do you?”

“We still need to be circumspect in terms of what we discuss in here.”

“Of course. But I don’t think that’s his motivation.”

“No.”

They lapse into silence, and she wonders what he’s thinking - whether he’s pondering the undertones of Cavil’s implications, the reasons behind them being trapped naked in a cramped cell together, and whether he’s fighting the same waves of rising panic as she is, coupled with something else that she refuses to acknowledge. Panic is the overriding sensation presently, she realises, compounded by the increasing urgency pressing in her bladder and she wriggles against the cold tiles, trying to put off the inevitable for as long as she can. The thought of having to relieve herself without privacy, in full view of both Bill and the watching Cylons, makes her stomach twist, and she shifts again. Get over yourself, she berates silently. It’s either the bucket or the floor so just swallow your gods-damned pride…

“You alright?” Bill asks after a moment, and she flushes at his perceptiveness, that he’s noted her discomfort.

“I just...I need to….”

He frowns and she squeezes her eyes closed against his scrutiny, hating herself for being embarrassed. “Madam President?”

She sucks in a breath to steady her nerve, to slow the pulse that’s thundering in her throat. “I need to use the bathroom, Admiral.”

He gives a crisp nod of understanding and shuffles his body so that he’s facing away from both her and the bucket. “We need to be pragmatic about this,” he tells her. “Pretend I’m not here.”

“Easy for you to say,” she retorts, struggling to her feet and approaching the receptacle with trepidation. “Oh gods.”

“It’s alright.”

“Maybe if you’re in the military,” she sighs, sitting down on the rim and wincing as the cold metal cuts into her skin. “Can’t imagine there’s much privacy, even in the head.”

“You get used to it surprisingly quickly.”

“Well, frankly, I haven’t done this since college.” Laura grimaces as she tries and fails to get her body to cooperate.

“Peeing in a bucket?”

“Peeing with an audience,” she retorts with amusement, even as awkwardness writhes beneath her skin. “And even then only whilst very drunk with girlfriends.”

He chuckles. “Let’s hope Cavil took that one down in writing, Madam President.”

She laughs for a beat then gasps as pain lances through her abdomen in spasms as her body tenses. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Try and relax,” he commands over his shoulder. “Want me to whistle?”

She giggles, grateful for his humorous levity, and she feels her muscles begin to release, shame pouring from her body in a hot stream of relief. She risks a glance towards Bill who has moved his hands to cover his ears, and her heart contracts with his attempts at affording her what little privacy he can once more. She indulges herself for a brief moment, allows her eyes to trace the broad planes of his back before blinking guiltily back to reality, reaching for a small square of paper. She wipes as effectively as she can then walks back to where she was sitting and retrieves the water bottle, returning to the bucket to rinse her hands with a few drops.

She paces back towards him and settles on the floor a few steps closer than previously, a strange comfort flickering through her nerves despite the continuing strangeness of their situation.

“Better?” he asks, turning so that his back is against the wall once more, their shoulders now mere inches apart, and she leans her head back to flash him a small smile.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not making that a big deal.”

“Didn’t even cross my mind.” She watches as he releases one hand to gesture in dismissal then thinks better of it, hugging his knees again. “I probably won’t be far behind you.”

She inhales in a slow draught, the air now tainted with an unmistakeable sharp tang, and she feels the anxiety beginning to edge in once more. “So, now what?” she makes herself ask, chin settling atop her knees. “Do we carry on just sitting here like this?”

“Yeah. And we take it in turns to walk around, stretch our legs….”

“Until one or other of us passes out from exhaustion?”

He grunts. “We should sleep in shifts. Make sure we’ve always got one eye open and an ear to the ground so we….”

“That’s not going to cut it, I’m afraid, Admiral.” Cavil’s voice booms from all around them and Laura feels her pulse spike with adrenaline as she startles, the air tumbling into her lungs in a gasp. “Walking around and then sleeping – where’s the fun in that? No, no, it won’t be entertaining for me at all if you do that, and I was quite clear in my expectations. Let’s see what you do if I adjust the environmental controls – one moment please….”

Laura turns her head as Bill does the same, their gazes locking as they wordlessly anticipate Cavil’s next move.

Chapter Text

For several moments, Laura wonders if the Cylon is bluffing, watches as Bill’s brow begins to furrow, and then she feels it – a frigid breeze blowing through the wall at her back and causing the temperature in the cell to plummet. She’s shivering within seconds, teeth beginning to chatter, and she hugs her knees tighter and shifts forward, trying to escape the air that feels like shards of ice against her spine.

“Chilly, isn’t it?” Cavil’s disembodied voice mocks cheerily. “I’d seriously consider thinking about sharing body heat if I were you. It’ll only get colder and hypothermia is a terrible way to die.”

Laura swallows, the cold air like needles in her throat, and she rubs vigorous hands across her arms and shoulders, trying to generate a tiny spark of warmth as the relentless battering of their bodies continues. She looks across at Bill and finds him doing likewise, concern flickering through her as she notes the blue tinge to his lips, the beginnings of ice crystals in his hair.

“A…Admiral….,” she stammers, blinking as he shuffles closer and stops beside her, his shoulder and thigh pressing against hers. The warmth is welcome but it’s not enough, and she feels his body tremble, knowing hers is beginning to also violently shake as they both battle the plunging ambient temperature.

Cavil’s taunting laugh echoes around them. “That’s not sharing body heat and you know it. Surely you had exposure training, Admiral?”

Bill grits his teeth, presses a fraction closer, and she mirrors his actions as he leans to rub his shins.

“Come now, this is no time to be shy,” Cavil purrs. “Or are you worried how your body will react when it’s wrapped around the gorgeous Madam President?”

Laura can’t prevent a gasp, her breath a white plume, and she drops her forehead to her knees.

“Because you know that’s what you need to do, don’t you?” the Cylon continues. “You need to touch each other, rub each other, generate some frakkin’ friction and let the heat produced by your pathetic human bodies flow….”

“Is he…?” Laura attempts, the question cloying in her throat as she catches the undercurrent of Cavil’s words.

“He’s getting off on this,” Bill growls, and the image twists in her mind. “Must be...desperate….Sick frak….”

Cavil laughs again. “Call me what you like, Admiral. And do what you like, for that matter. But I must warn you that the ambient temperature is currently five degrees Celsius and rapidly falling. You’ll start to succumb to the effects in minutes so if you don’t wish to suffer a premature death, I’d highly recommend you follow my advice.”

Laura swallows, throat brittle, and she turns her neck to lock eyes with Bill, watching him wrestle with the countering forces of necessity and the indulgence of Cavil’s whim. She takes a breath to address him, unsure what she’s even going to say, but he’s quicker:

“Madam President,” he manages through stuttering lips, and somehow she’s glad that he’s still using her title, trying to maintain some level of decorum despite the spiralling unreality of their situation. “Hate to say it but….we don’t do what he says, we’re not going to make it….”

“I know….”

“We need to...get closer….”

“What do you…?”

“It’s...just….thermodynamics….Can you stand up?”

She obeys, willing her sluggish limbs to move, any self-consciousness being overridden by a desperate need for self-preservation as she forces herself onto her knees and then feet, watches him do the same.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, and despite herself, she feels a jolt to her core, willing away the inappropriate reaction and nodding, his hands moving to rub her arms. He’s brisk and efficient, the friction sparking along her skin, and then he takes her hands in his and brings them to his mouth. He exhales a cloud of warm air against her fingers, the effect instant and welcome, and she has to force herself to extricate after a moment, to cover his broad hands with hers. She follows his lead, blows against his fingers, hears the tiniest grunt in his throat and feels him scorch her with his eyes before blinking away. She brings her hands to his biceps, tries not to register the clean definition of his muscles as she presses firm lines to his skin, feeling the shivers intensify despite her concerted efforts.

“It’s not enough,” he mumbles, the words beginning to sound sluggish. “Temperature’s...dropped….Need more...skin to skin.”

Her gaze flies towards his in a panic as her addled mind catches up to his meaning. “Admiral….”

“If...it gets any colder….” His hands slide to her shoulders. “Will you let me?”

She nods, despite the pounding of her heart. “No...frakkin’ intention...of dying in here….”

“So...say we all.”

He tugs her into him, holds her close against his chest and she wraps her arms around his back, heat flowing between them in heartening waves. His palms are soft against her waist, moving around to rub her back, to imbue her with warmth, and she can’t help but bury her face in his shoulder, seeking more. She’s careful to maintain the stillness in her pelvis, to press only her upper body to his, and he’s doing the same, angling his groin to the side of her hip. She feels her nipples harden, both from the relentless chill and his proximity, and her skin sears in mortification, hoping he’s too distracted by the cold to notice.

“Okay?” he murmurs at her temple and she mumbles an affirmative, words muffled by the comforting plane of his shoulder.

She continues to rub urgent circles across his back, willing herself not to linger on the finer details of his skin, and feels him mirror her actions, his palms firm and deliberate in pragmatic rhythms as he tries to put the friction to effective use. The air continues to blast in an unforgiving stream that seems to be filtering all around them now, and she can’t help but press closer, her breasts flattening against his chest.

“I can’t….feel my toes,” she admits after a further moment, and he grunts.

“Need to move,” he tells her. “Stamp your feet a little, can you?”

She shuffles on the spot, hoping the blood will begin to flow but she stumbles as her limbs fail to succumb to her will, and he grips her tighter. She can feel her breasts move against him as she takes tiny sidesteps, notes the sudden increase in his heart rate with a surprised gasp, and she makes herself keep her face to his shoulder. He begins to stamp his feet and the friction as they move together is both welcome and unbearable, sparks of inappropriate arousal flickering through her nerves as their proximity floods her with warmth.

They slow to a gentle sway and she tucks her head beneath his chin, the movement of his hands across her shoulder blades less fraught now, more soothing, and she feels her own palms slow, wrapping around his back in almost an embrace. It’s just body heat, Laura, she tells herself with determination. We’re doing what we need to do so we don’t freeze to death. He rubs a hand beneath the hair at her neck and she almost groans, barely catching the sound before it escapes. Oh my gods, but he feels good….so frakkin’ good….

“Any better?” he asks, the rough edge to his deep baritone rumbling through her body and making her ache.

“A lot,” she admits. “Should we stop…?”

He shakes his head, pulls away a fraction and glances down at her. “It’s still freezing in here. Well into negative figures, if I had to guess.”

“So, what? We just carry on using each other like a thermal blanket?”

“Scuttlebutt is I’m full of hot air, Madam President.”

She laughs, the reaction causing her chest to move against his once more. “We certainly seem more able to talk than we were before. I could barely form words.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t take long for the cold to affect your brain.”

“Is that what Cavil’s testing? Different ways to make us lose our minds?”

He gives a disdainful snort. “Take more than this.”

“Speak for yourself.”

He blinks. “Do you want to try sitting down? See what happens?”

“Alright.” They separate and Laura immediately stares at the floor to avoid looking at his exposed body, and she drops to the tiles, sucking in a sharp breath as they slide like ice against her buttocks. “Frak.”

He sinks down at her side and he’s close but not enough, her body beginning to tremble anew with the violent cold still being pumped into the cell with relentless vigour. He’s shivering too, she can feel the tremors against her own arm, and she wonders if they’ve made a mistake.

“Bill…,” His name slips out before she can stop it. “I don’t think….”

“Tactical error,” he quips. “Can you...stand again?”

They help each other up and this time there’s no hesitation as they wrap their bodies around each other, the breadth of his chest flush to hers. His hands are gentle across her back and she can’t prevent the hum that vibrates from her lips into his shoulder.

“This is insane,” she murmurs, shifting even closer. “Feel like I’m trapped in a bad thriller novel.”

“Must be what passes for Cylon entertainment.”

“Two middle-aged humans huddling for warmth?”

His chuckle is warm at her temple. “Guess we didn’t program them so well after all.”

“First in a huge frakkin’ catalogue of errors.” She frowns quizzically as he raises his head to look at her. “What?”

“You swear more than I thought you did.”

She can’t help the grin, noting the attractive deepening of his crow’s feet as he returns her expression. “Not feeling quite so presidential as I usually do, Admiral.”

“Being naked in a sub-zero Cylon death trap will tend to do that.”

“Guess so.” She rests her head back on his shoulder. “Think he’s got what he needs?”

“Well, it’s much better than it was, that’s for sure,” Cavil intones into the cell, and Laura startles, still unused to his pervasive observations. “I’m glad to see common sense prevailed and you’ve taken the opportunity to really...uh...get the feel of each other. From the monitoring of your heart rates and the heat distribution body maps I’m currently looking at, I’d say you’re both enjoying it. A lot.”

Laura squeezes her eyes closed at the revelation that they’re being scrutinised as well as observed, and she tries to inhale slowly, feels Bill do the same. She’s determined not to notice the scent of him, the masculine tang of sweat and unwashed skin with the barest hint of smoky cologne, but feels arousal spark along her nerves regardless.

“And I’m enjoying it too, Admiral, Madam President. Though I can’t help but notice that you’re studiously avoiding any connection below the waist – care to comment on that?” He chuckles when neither Bill or Laura respond. “Not to worry – I’m sure that will come with time and circumstances. Anyway, my thanks for proving my theory that humans are physically frail and mentally weak, and that you don’t take much persuading to put aside your inhibitions when you’re naked with the person you want to frak. More later.”

With the person you want to frak….He cuts off with an abrupt thud and Laura forces his words from her consciousness, relief flooding her as the air being pumped through the vents changes into a gush of relative warmth. She makes herself separate from Bill, turning and walking a couple of steps before settling on the floor again, limbs complaining as she scrunches them against her body. She misses the feel of him almost at once, the warmth of his skin, the smell of him, and she sighs, resting her chin atop her knees and watching him do the same opposite.

“How are you doing?” he asks, and she blinks across at him, watches him wrap his hands around his shins.

“I’m exhausted,” she admits, aware it’s only a partial truth. “I’m still freezing and my whole body aches.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Feels like it’s getting warmer in here, though.”

“So, he’s giving us some respite? Until he decides what to do next?”

“Maybe.” His face contorts in pain and he hisses. “Frak.”

She leans forward and he’s close enough that her fingers brush his arms as she reaches out. “What’s the matter?”

“Too frakkin’ old to sit like this. My knees are killing me.” He frowns. “I need to stretch, Laura.”

She nods and shuffles so that she’s facing away from him. “Go ahead.”

He grunts and she hears him stand, knees cracking as he stretches out the joints, the weary muscles of his legs. She tries not to imagine what he looks like, the lines of his muscular body that have fuelled many of her fantasies even hidden beneath his uniform now unveiled mere tantalising feet away.

Chapter Text

“He’s looking at everything we do,” Laura says, thinking out loud as she listens to him pace. “Recording it. And if we’re not behaving how he’d like or how he expects, I think it’s reasonable to assume he’ll kill us.”

“He’s said as much.”

“How far do we let this go?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...if he tells me to hurt you so he can study our reactions, what then?”

“If it’s a choice between one of us making it out of here or neither of us….”

“That’s very easy to say. What if he orders you to put your hands around my throat?”

Bill blows out a harsh breath. “He’d have to kill me first.”

“That’s my point, Bill. He’d have to kill me too.”

They’re quiet for a long moment; Laura can still hear the padding of his feet as he moves around. “Alright. So obviously there’re lines we won’t cross. He must know that.”

“Right. But if this is an experiment to see how far he can push us...I don’t think anything is off the table, do you?”

“Maybe not. Though we’re no good to him dead. Not if he’s intent on continuing his sick frakkin’ voyeurism.”

She shivers, adjusts her position and curls her legs to the side, stretching one arm over her head and angling her neck to feel the gentle tug in her muscles.

“Yoga, Madam President?”

She gives a soft chuckle at the amused tone, feeling his eyes on her back. “You should try it, Admiral.”

“Do you give classes?”

Her chuckle becomes a small laugh, and she switches sides, revelling in the lengthening of her tendons. “With all the free time I have?”

“I’m sure we could make a schedule. Especially if you were….”

He stops abruptly and she suppresses a gasp at the unspoken words, the air thick with a sudden tension. Especially if I were naked, Bill? Is that what you were going to say? Oh my gods. We need to get some sleep before we end up really fuelling Cavil’s fire.

She clears her throat, folds her knees against her chest again, lets the silence elongate for a further moment. “Would you mind if I tried to sleep now? I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Of course.” His terse rejoinder tells her he’s trying to regain his equilibrium, and she hears him slow, thudding back onto the tiles.

“Wake me when you need to rest.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

She huffs out a breath, grateful for his consideration but aware that sleep is unlikely to come easily as she slides onto the tiles, grimacing as the cold ceramic digs into her hip. She curls an arm beneath her head and stretches out her legs in a long line, relishing the release in her muscles, despite the uncomfortable floor beneath her. She allows her eyes to close, concentrates on slowing her breathing, focussing on the air circling through her chest. She tries to relax, to let her mind drift, to release the fear that’s coiling like a perpetual viper in her gut. She’s almost there, the soft miasma of darkness edging towards her when something flashes into her mind, and she gasps in shock, scrambling to a seated position and turning towards him before she’s aware of it.

“Oh my gods!”

He startles at her exclamation and she flushes as his eyes dart to her chest, gaze raking across the curves of her breasts. She feels her nipples harden before he looks away, realises she’s exposed herself to him in her panic without realising, and she spins in a hurried circle to give him her back. “Frak. Sorry.”

“It’s me who should be apologising. I didn’t mean to….”

“It’s fine,” she reassures him, though the unguarded expression on his face is seared into her mind’s eye. “I remembered something.”

“Go on.”

“We were definitely in a Raptor.”

“What were we doing?”

She frowns, the memory dissipating into a fine mist as she tries to hold onto it. “Give me a second…”

“Don’t force it. Take your time.”

……………………………………………………………………………….

Laura’s hands are tight at her side and she frowns across at her companion as they stride down the corridor, her heels clicking against the metallic floor.

“I think we’re making a mistake.”

Bill blows out a heavy breath and gives her a sideways glance, not breaking step. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Madam President….”

“We should have had him come here.”

“He wouldn’t be swayed on that point. Neutral ground – those were the terms.”

“And I understand that – hence this moon - but....”

“We’ll be in constant radio communication at all times. First sign of trouble, Galactica will jump in.”

“Right. And so will the Base Ship.”

He slows, turns to appraise her as he halts. “We agreed this was a chance we couldn’t pass up, Madam President.”

“Absolutely, and I’m not reneging on that. If there’s any possibility of a truce then we have to take it.” She sighs, trying to dislodge the lead weight of dread in her chest. “I’m just concerned that if all of this goes wrong, the fleet could lose both of its leaders at the same time.”

“It’s a legitimate consideration. We’ve got six Marine guards meeting us in the hangar bay and they’ll be with us for the duration of the negotiations.”

She turns to begin walking again, the aforementioned guards appearing like looming giants as they round the corner into the hangar bay. Bill fields a brief conversation with the troop leader and with the Raptor pilot before he gestures for her to board ahead of them, following close at her back as they step onto the small vessel.

…………………………………………………………..

“Gods,” she whispers presently, shuffling so her back is against the wall once more, drawing in her legs. “I think we were headed for some kind of...peace talks.”

“With Cavil?”

“Apparently so.”

Bill gives an incredulous snort. “What the hell were we thinking?”

“I don’t think we could pass it up. I remember...walking towards the hangar bay and a conversation about negotiations.”

“Frak me.”

She gives a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

“No. But evidently it didn’t go too well.”

“I’m guessing we didn’t even get that far. Sounds like this was all a ploy to get us to leave Galactica.”

“Then our people know where we are.”

“Or at least where we were.”

She feels the blood drain from her cheeks as she registers what he’s implying. “We could have jumped anywhere. And we have no idea how many times.”

“Are we talking hours ago? Days?”

“I don’t know.” She inclines her head as a thought occurs to her. “I’m not out of my mind with hunger yet though, are you?”

“No.”

“So, leaving aside the effects of stress, we can’t have been gone for more than a few hours – twenty-four at most.”

“That’s a reasonable guess.”

“I don’t know how many times a Base Ship can jump in that time.”

“Neither do I.” His sigh of frustration is rough. “I can’t believe we were stupid enough to trust Cavil. Seems like a rook move neither of us would make.”

“A chance at peace, Admiral? Guess we thought it was worth the risk.”

“Won’t be making that mistake again.”

“If we get out of this.”

He catches the fear underpinning her tone and his reassuring smile is determined. “We’ll be fine, Laura. Just gotta stay strong.”

She holds his eye. “And obedient?”

“As and when we need to be.”

She rests her cheek on her knee, feeling her hair tumbling into her face. “I’m so tired.”

“See if you can sleep. Properly this time, not half falling into a dream.”

She shifts onto the floor again, folds an arm beneath her head to try and cushion the unyielding pressure from the tiles, and tucks her knees up to her stomach. “It’s like trying to get comfortable on paving stones,” she complains, shifting to adjust her hip and sucking in a pained breath.

He grunts. “Didn’t you ever rough it as a kid?”

“There’s roughing it and then there’s roughing it,” she replies, wishing she could turn onto her back. “Don’t ever remember trying to sleep naked on cold tiles.”

“That’s a fair point.”

She sighs again and tries to adjust her position, the hard lines of the flooring obstinate against the sharp edges of her ribs.

“Roll over, Laura,” he tells her after a beat, and she wonders how he’s managed to guess what her body needs. “Let me turn around.”

She hears him reposition himself, and when he calls that he’s ready she manoeuvres onto her back with a groan of relief. “Thank you,” she murmurs, hearing him hum in acknowledgement.

“Got to try and find what privacy we can. At least in here.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” She stares up at the ceiling, eyes tracing the sleek pipes and circuitry. “Gods. This is so bizarre.”

“Yeah.”

“Of all the things I imagined the Cylons doing...I mean, what the hell is he trying to accomplish here?”

“We’ll drive ourselves insane trying to figure it out. Save your strength for surviving whatever he throws at us next.”

She exhales in a long sigh, tries closing her eyes again, folds her hands across her stomach. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Then, don’t. There’s no use in speculating.” He pauses and when he speaks again, his tone is teasing. “Want me to sing you a lullaby?”

She snorts a laugh, hazy memories of his roughened baritone singing her a song from his past warming her, and she wriggles her body closer to the curved line of his back, turning her head to appraise him. “Bill.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

He lets her admission fall into the space between them and she watches his thick shoulders rise and fall with his sigh. “I know. Would you think less of me if I said the same?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” He’s quiet for a brief moment, voice softer when he speaks again. “Try to sleep, Laura. I’ll wake you if anything changes.”

“Okay.”

She permits her eyes to drift closed once more, lets his comforting presence and low, formless humming lull her towards the blessed relief of oblivion.

Chapter Text

……………………………………………………………………………………………….........…..….……………..
“Sir! The Cylon Heavy Raider is now on an intercept course!”

Bill’s head jerks up and he’s on his feet in seconds at the pilot’s panicked pronouncement. “Evasive action.”

“No effect, sir! They’re going to connect with our hull in five, four, three….”

“Why the hell didn’t we detect their course change sooner?!”

“Systems are scrambling! Can’t see a gods-damned thing on DRADIS – we’re dead in the water!”

Laura’s gaze flies to Bill’s, heart hammering in her chest, and she turns to look at their pilot, skin pale in the artificial light of the cockpit.

“Correction, sir! They’re making a hard seal – I think we’re about to be boarded…..”

Bill moves in front of her, calls for a sidearm, and then all she feels is a heavy drowsiness pervading every cell in her body, and she reaches for him, catching his sleeve in her fingers before falling into a desolate blackness……

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

She blinks awake to the sound of trickling water, and it’s a few moments before her brain catches up to its source, as she fights the lingering disorientation. She rolls onto her side, away from the sight of her cell mate relieving himself into the bucket, and draws her knees up to her chest, folding one arm beneath her head. She has no idea how much time has passed, the glow in the cell unchanged from when she succumbed to sleep, the Base Ship’s engines continuing to thrum and whir in a gentle hum that’s at odds with the brutal sterility of their surroundings.

She hears Bill pad back towards her, and lets him settle before shifting and clearing her throat to alert him to her state of wakefulness.

“Hi,” she croaks, grateful when he nudges her back with a bottle of water, which she reaches round to grasp.

“Hi,” he replies. “My eyes are closed; you’re safe to sit up.”

She struggles to a seated position and raises the bottle to her lips, trying to resist the urge to gulp to quell the roughness in her throat. “How long was I out?”

“Couple of hours.”

“Anything to report?”

“No. The Centurions made a brief patrol but that was it.”

She sighs, risks a brief glance towards him. “You okay?”

He turns his head to smile at her, though his eyes remain closed. “Are you?”

“Well, I’m not sure. Haven’t tried standing up yet.”

He grunts a laugh. “So, we switch – you can pace and I can sleep.”

“Sounds good. If I can manage to haul myself to my feet.”

“Don’t rush.” He sips from his own bottle. “Any more dreams?”

She shrugs. “Glimpses mostly. Best I can tell we were boarded...but it’s hazy.”

“Well, we know he drugged us.”

“It happened quickly, Bill.”

“And there’s no excuse for that. For us being unprepared for a trap.”

“We can hold a post-mortem on that if we ever get out of here.”

She almost hears his grin. “De-brief.”

“Fine.” She can’t help but roll her eyes good naturedly, nudges him with her shoulder. “I knew there was a reason I made Lee my military advisor instead of his father.”

He nudges her back and she has to suppress a gasp. “He’s more scared of your trigger-happy airlock finger than his father is.”

“Is that right?” Laura feels laughter flood out of her, warmth spreading across her chest as she shifts a fraction closer, resisting the temptation to drop her cheek to his shoulder. “You should try and sleep.”

“Yeah.” He gives a clipped nod, turns his head to face her again. “Don’t hesitate to wake me if you need to.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Promise me, Laura.”

“Alright.” She leans against him for a brief moment once more before moving away, dropping her head to her knees and listening as he groans his way to the floor. “I can especially recommend the feather pillows and the down comforter, by the way.”

He snorts. “And the silk sheets?”

“Of course.”

“You’re a woman of expensive taste, Madam President.”

Her laughter is muffled by her knees. “Sleep well.”

“Do my best.”

They lapse into a companionable silence, and Laura allows her head to tip back against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment as she listens to him breathe. The sounds even out almost at once as he begins to relax, and she feels a searing twinge of guilt in her gut at his obvious exhaustion. She tries to will her body to move, but she’s craving his proximity, the warmth of his back near her thigh, and she finds she can’t muster the energy to haul herself to her feet. She smiles as he begins to softly snore, an unguarded wave of sentimentality flooding her, and feels her fondness fade to a sigh. You can’t be thinking like this, she tells herself with a frown, even as her gaze drifts to the breadth of his shoulders, the taut lines of his neck. She traces the details of his golden skin in the amber light – the tiny scars, the darker moles, the firm definition of his muscles – before willing her gaze away with another heavy sigh. You can’t, Laura. She scrambles to standing, the stiffness in her limbs causing her to stumble, but she propels her body forward and begins to pace. Her mind whirls despite the rhythmic pounding of her feet atop the tiles, the physical outlet she ordinarily relies upon to steady her racing thoughts ineffective against the tirade.

Cavil’s previous words reverberate through her skull:

“...you don’t take much persuading to put aside your inhibitions when you’re naked with the person you want to frak…”

Oh gods – is that what this is all about? But what the hell does he stand to gain from having us admit…? She blows out a fractious breath and changes direction. Or is he trying to make us succumb to each other? And if so, why? Just for some kind of sick voyeurism? And he’s got to be deranged if he thinks we’re just going to frak for the first time on the floor of his cell with a frakkin’ audience. My gods. Gods, I hope the fleet is looking for us...

She gasps, freezes as a Centurion appears in her peripheral vision and marches towards the cell, abrupt fear dancing along her nerves. She watches as it approaches, as it pushes something between the bars, and she hesitates, waiting for it to retreat before assessing. It’s food, she realises with a wash of relief as her brain registers familiar texture and scent – two small pieces of what she assumes might be bread – and it’s all she can do to stop herself from tearing into them, stomach growling with sudden hunger.

“Thank you,” she calls after the Centurion, and it surprises her when it stops for a moment and inclines its head before continuing from the room. Her attention is drawn to Bill as he begins to stir, and she bends to retrieve the food before hurrying back to sit beside him, dragging her heels in and dropping her head to her knees once more.

“That wasn’t enough sleep,” she chides gently as she hears him give a soft groan, his body shifting.

“Cat nap,” he husks in reply, and she snorts. “Mind if I roll onto my back?”

“Be my guest.” She listens as he sucks in a pained breath and manoeuvres, settles after a moment more. “Okay?”

He grunts. “Your down comforter didn’t live up to expectations.”

She chuckles. “Sorry.”

“Guess I just need a more vivid imagination.”

“Guess so.” She feels for the bread near her feet, curls both pieces into her palm. “A Centurion came by bearing gifts. Open your eyes.”

She feels his fingers brush hers as he takes one. “Food?”

“I think so. I think it’s something like bread.”

She hears him inhale, scenting the item to make his own assessment before pushing himself to sitting. “Agreed,” he says, after a moment. “Do we risk it?”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice, do you?” He doesn’t respond and she frowns into the stillness. “Bill?”

“I want you to let me go first, alright?”

“What? No.”

“It’s standard procedure – protect the highest ranking officer.”

“I’m not an officer.”

He exhales sharply. “You’re the president, Laura. It doesn’t get any higher than that.”

“Look, we drank the water together – what’s the difference?”

“Necessity. Risk of dehydration.”

“Cavil said it himself – it’d be short-sighted of him to poison us before he’s got what he wants.” She pushes out a breath, tries to settle the threads of anxiety knotting in her stomach. “I’m taking a bite.”

She gasps as he moves to circles her wrist with an impressive lightning accuracy, his fingers light but determined against her skin.

“Let me go first,” he repeats, brushing his thumb across her pulse point. “Please.”

“I don’t.…”

“Please, Laura.”

“Alright.” With reluctance she lets him lower her arm then release her, hears him tear the bread and begin to chew, trepidation worming its way through her chest. “How long do we give it?”

“How’s your first aid experience?”

She snorts. “I could probably figure it out.”

“It tastes fine.”

“Well, he’d be an idiot to use something that didn’t.”

“That’s true.” He swallows and she hears him follow it with a slug of water. “Let’s give it a little while.”

“Okay.”

“Anything else to report while I was out for the count?”

“No.” She winces with recrimination as her mind replays her thoughts, the undeniable hunger in her gaze as she’d fought to stop looking at him. “You always been able to fall asleep like that?”

“At the drop of a hat?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a military thing,” he explains. “When you’re on ops you never know when you might get another chance.”

“So you just train yourself?”

“There are techniques – ways to release tension from your muscles and….”

She sniggers then can’t help the laughter that ripples out of her at his words, images exploding behind her eyes that she’s aware are partly down to hysteria, and she lets her head fall back against the wall as she fights for control. “I’m sorry. Oh my gods.”

He gives a low chuckle. “Is that your mind in the gutter, Madam President?”

She giggles again, whole body shaking. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s not what I meant but it’s definitely more of a sure thing. Should probably be in the hand books.”

She laughs harder, unable to stop herself from dropping her head to his shoulder, feels his responding laughter in her hair. “Stop. You’re gonna kill me.”

“So when we’re rescued and they ask me what happened to you, what do you want me to say?”

“That I died through my own immaturity.” She wipes her eyes. “Gods, you’re seeing my true colours now, Admiral.”

“It’s a privilege, Madam President.”

She hums as he mumbles the words to the top of her head, almost a caress, warmth flooding her at the unexpected action but she makes herself pull away, takes a deep restorative breath. “Okay. Do you think I’m safe to eat now?”

“Well, I’m not puking.”

She snickers, raises the food to her lips and takes a nibble, the taste reminiscent of an enriched dough, and she has to resist a powerful impulse to push the rest of the piece into her mouth. “Not bad,” she comments. “I’m guessing we should probably ration?”

“Yeah. I’ve eaten about half.”

She takes one further bite at his revelation, revels in the sweetness on her tongue before placing the roll back at her side. “Bill.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mind if I open my eyes?”

“Of course not.”

“I think maybe we both should. You must be as sick of the back of your own eyelids as I am at this point.”

He grunts in amusement. “Accurate.”

She turns her head to look at him as he opens his eyes, returns the smile that softens his face. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Still feeling okay?”

“Right as rain – you?”

“Well, aside from feeling like I could sleep for about a year….” She wrinkles her nose as another notion occurs to her. “And that I stink like a college dorm.”

He grins. “You smell just fine.”

“And you’re a charmer, Admiral.”

“I’ve been told.”

Her smile is wide and easy, though she turns her gaze from his, focuses through the bars. “How long do you think we’ve been here?”

He pauses. “Forty-eight hours? Maybe edging towards seventy-two?”

“Well, you’re close, Admiral,” Cavil’s voice permeates the air, making them both startle, eyes darting back towards each other’s. “It’s actually seventy-six but I’m impressed by your estimation. Though I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

“What do you want?” Laura snaps, sees Bill give a small shake of his head in her peripheral vision.

“Only to offer you the chance to clean up, my dear president,” Cavil drawls. “Oh, did I say offer? Obviously it’s non-negotiable.”

Laura frowns, worry beginning to tighten into a hard ball in her chest, and she looks at Bill again. “What does he…?”

“In a few moments the Centurions will arrive to escort you both to a shower. It’ll be quite luxurious, I assure you – hot water, shampoo, scented oils – and naturally it’s co-ed. We’re nothing if not extremely progressive – like yourselves on board Galactica, so I’m told.”

Laura’s blood swarms, and she tries to restrain the rising tide of panic as two Centurions round the corner and stalk towards the cell, wrapping her arms tighter about her knees in defence.

Chapter Text

“On your feet,” Cavil commands. “And no more of this covering up.”

The first soldier unbolts the cell door, spindly metallic fingers gesturing, and Laura feels Bill move to standing, follows his lead despite the protests of her weary body, embarrassment flushing through her anew. She precedes Bill through the door, and they follow the towering robots along a bright corridor, sterile walls gleaming in the harsh, artificial light. A wave of nausea and dizziness passes through her and she stumbles, grateful for Bill’s palms as they catch her at the waist then feeling them sear her skin as his thumbs stroke steadying circles.

“You okay?” he murmurs in her ear, and she nods.

“Low blood sugar. I’m fine,” she reassures him with a tight smile.

“Go slow,” he tells her, releasing her after a further protracted moment and she reduces her pace, lets him fall into step beside her.

They walk in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the gentle thrum of the ship and the grinding of the Centurions’ joints, and then they’re through an imposing archway and into a tiled shower area, monochrome light reflecting from the smooth surfaces. Laura suppresses an anticipatory shiver as the water is turned on, sluicing in steaming arcs from several overhead fountains, and she steps forward as the Centurions beckon their bladed digits.

“Now, then,” Cavil’s voice snakes through the humid air as Laura pushes slick auburn tresses from her eyes. “I want you to wash each other. And I want you to be thorough – leave no stone unturned, no body part unexplored….This is no time to be demure, do you understand me? If I think you’re avoiding certain sensitive areas, my footmen will open fire – simple as that. You’ll find everything you need for some good, clean fun within arm’s reach. Enjoy. I’ll be watching.”

The comm breaks off with an abrupt click and Laura glances over her shoulder at Bill, absorbing the furrowed brow, the consternation written into his expression. Oh gods, she thinks. Gods, I want him to touch me. She inhales in a sharp gasp, warm water catching at the back of her throat. I’ve wanted him to touch me for a long frakkin’ time and now we’re wet and naked and being analysed by some insane Cylon pervert….I need to get this under control. I need to….

Bill clears his throat from behind her and she tries to shake the haphazard spiral of her thoughts, wondering if she should turn around, the notion flooding her cheeks with warmth.

“Bill – what do we do?” The words leave her mouth in a rush, and there’s panic wrapped around the arousal, the combination terrifying and intoxicating as it flares through her blood.

“We’ll be pragmatic,” he tells her in a flat tone. “Exactly as we have been with everything else in here – alright?”

“Fine.” She licks her lips, tastes the vague chemical undertones of recycled water. “Do your worst, Admiral,” she quips, forcing a lightness to her tone that she doesn’t feel.

He grunts in response, voice sounding further away for a moment before returning. “We don’t have to do this face to face, Laura.”

“Might make some of it tricky.”

“Cross that bridge when we come to it.” He pauses, and she hears him pad closer through the torrent of water. “Shall I wash your hair?”

She nods, whimpers as he threads light fingers through her hair, as he strokes it back from her face, and then she’s assaulted with scent and sensation as he pours fragrant liquid onto her scalp and begins to massage. It’s something akin to jasmine, she registers as the plumes hit her olfactory system. Floral and herbal and delicate, and the scent combined with his measured, careful ministrations is enough to make her sway, steadied only by his slick palm briefly at her hip.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she whispers, tipping her head back to solicit more of his touch. “You’ve done this before.”

He gives a gruff chuckle, stroking the water in rivulets down the length of her tresses. “Once or twice.”

“Though I’m guessing never before under threat of death.”

“No, that’s new.”

She gives a soft laugh, raises a hand to rub at her scalp, to untangle some of her locks as they knot together. “Feel like I should apologise for the volume here.”

He chuckles again. “You do have a lot of hair.”

“A lot of wildly untameable hair at that….”

“It’s beautiful, Laura.”

His tender admission falls into the temperate rain that’s surrounding them and she feels her heart contract, wrestling back an urge to sob. “Thank you,” is all she can manage, the words catching at the back of her throat.

He squeezes her shoulders for a fleeting moment before withdrawing, and she hesitates before rallying. “Shall I return the favour?”

“By all means. Here.” He hands her the bottle of shampoo and she turns just as he does, catches the streams of water that cascade down the expanse of his back and lower, and she makes herself concentrate on his head, the thick waves of greying hair darkened by the water.

She’s almost his height so barely has to stretch to reach his head, runs her fingers through his hair and tries to ignore his low grunt as she indulges for a moment in the feel of him before beginning to apply the shampoo. She lathers the aromatic liquid to handfuls of bubbles that she strokes through his hair, trying to keep herself focussed on the practicality of her task rather than its undeniable intimacy, the knowledge of Cavil’s insidious eyes on them perpetual in her mind.

“Does that feel okay?” she asks, snaking her fingers through again and lightly scratching his scalp.

“Yeah,” he answers, and she can hear the tension layered through the monosyllable, swallows her own moan.

“Shall I...do your back?”

He nods and she casts around for soap, locating a second bottle on the floor that she retrieves and squeezes, more perfumed liquid spilling into her palm. She draws a stuttering breath as she begins to smooth it to his skin, the sharp citrus scent complimenting the underlying masculine notes that fill her sense as she steps closer. He’s so broad through the shoulders, skin taut and smooth overlying clearly defined muscle, and she’s unable to stop a rush of wetness between her legs as she touches him, grateful for the cover of the pounding water. She reaches his waist and ghosts her palms across his flanks before stopping, holding his hips as indecision grips her, eyes drawn to his buttocks before she closes them, blows out a breath.

“Oh, you’re going to need to do more than just look, Madam President,” Cavil’s predatory tone oils into the surroundings, and Laura feels herself flush, mortification spreading through her. “I was quite clear with my instructions now, wasn’t I? And admiring the view – though a welcome sideline, I admit – certainly wasn’t it. Get on with it.”

“Bill…,” she murmurs once the Cylon goes quiet, watching him heave a breath. “I’m...I’m going to have to….”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll go down your arms first, alright?”

He grunts in assent and she strokes up the length of his back again and to his shoulders, runs her fingers along the curves of tendons and sinews, and then begins to draw both hands down his right arm. She squeezes his hand in hers when she reaches it, feels him return the reassuring gesture, and then she withdraws to retrieve more soap. Steeling herself against the effect touching him so freely is having on her, she picks up his left hand, massages the slippery liquid into his palm and then his wrist, works her way up his arm to his shoulder. His breathing has accelerated, she can feel the rapid movements in his back as she slides her palms down again, hesitancy gripping her once more as she reaches his waist.

“It’s alright, Laura,” he tells her calmly, turning his head to address her over his shoulder. “Do what you need to do.”

She winces, slips shaking palms across his buttocks, righteous anger suddenly asserting itself and eclipsing for a moment her desire. “This is so ridiculous,” she exclaims, kneeling so she can attend to his right leg, relishing the fury as a means to distract her from how he feels beneath her fingers. “What the frak does he think this accomplishes? Humiliating us to the point of – what?”

“I told you before – it’s about control. He’s got the ultimate power so long as he continues to threaten our lives.”

“But forcing us to share body heat, forcing us to wash each other….I don’t….”

“Trying to reduce us to something less than human.”

“As part of warfare?” She blows out an incredulous breath. “Lift your foot, can you?”

He complies and she laves the sole before moving to his other leg, stroking up his calf in firm lines.

“We don’t know what kind of a war the Cylons plan to inflict long-term,” he continues. “If they can destabilise our leadership with something like this, create stress as to our whereabouts amongst the fleet and leave us as broken shells….”

“Gods, Bill – what happened to keeping a positive mindset?”

“Just speculating as to motive. Though admittedly it’s a waste of energy and we’d be better off strategising about….” He breaks off with a sharp gasp and she realises she’s grazed his inner thigh, perilously close to his groin.

“Sorry,” she mutters, heat rushing to her cheeks as she moves her hand away, the electric tension they had managed to hold at bay arcing between them anew.

“No, no, Madam President,” Cavil sounds again, and she hears Bill all but growl. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing. Turn around, Admiral. Let her see.”

Laura presses her lips together, tries to steady her breathing as he complies, and she rises, keeping her eyes focussed on his as her hands form fists at her side. His expression is studiously negative though she can see the vein in his neck pulsing, his breaths shallow.

“You’re slacking, Madam President,” Cavil needles. “Get to work.”

She inhales in a hollow gulp, blinking as she tries to hold his gaze. “Bill,” she starts, raising her palms and pressing them to his chest, fingers lingering over the scar that bisects the length of his torso, the physical reminder of how close she once came to losing him.

“Go on,” he commands through gritted teeth as she begins to rub circles into his skin. “I’m going to apologise now, Madam President.”

“What?” She frowns. “You don’t have anything to…?”

“I do. Or I will do in about a minute, depending on how thorough you’re planning on being.”

She catches up to his meaning as she finishes his chest and strokes ever lower, as her fingers brush his cock, as it jumps to attention at the barest touch. She can’t help the strident intake of breath, realising he must have been half hard already beneath her ministrations. “Oh, Bill….”

“I’m sorry, Laura,” he hisses and then blows out in a forceful stream, skin radiating heat. “I’m sorry.”

“No need,” she tells him firmly, shaking her head even as her body pulses, shifting her hand to his hip. “It’s just biology. You okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally fine.”

She laughs, can’t prevent the overwrought outburst, grateful as the tension ebbs a fraction. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. This is a completely artificial situation outside of our control and we….”

“You’re giving me more credit than I’m due.” He sucks down another shuddering breath and she watches as he claws desperately for control, willing herself to keep her eyes on his face.

“Well, regardless. It doesn’t need to be something that it isn’t.”

He blinks, a tiny frown forming between his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”

“Proximity plus…” She breaks off, rolls her eyes at herself before forging ahead. “Friction. Simple biology.”

He shakes his head, droplets of water splashing from his hair onto his shoulders. “Nothing simple about it.”

“For gods’s sakes, I’m trying to give you an out here,” she sighs, a maelstrom of conflicting emotion swirling through her chest. “And I don’t think we should be having this conversation right now, Bill. Not with an audience.”

“Agreed.”

“Shame,” Cavil interjects chirpily, making them both groan. “I’m all ears, Admiral, Madam President.”

He gives a dark laugh when they fall into stony silence. “Well, suit yourselves. Let’s see if you returning the presidential favour can spark anything more on that count, Admiral, shall we?”

Laura squeezes her eyes closed, feels Bill’s rough breath as he takes a tiny step towards her. She’s aware of him reaching for the soap, of him taking a generous pour into his palms, and she makes herself open her eyes again to regard him. She gives a terse nod as he hesitates, touching her fingers lightly to his forearm.

He places broad, slippery hands onto her damp shoulders, thumbs caressing into the hollows of her clavicles, and she can’t stop the whimper in her throat. He makes a cursory sweep of both arms before sliding back to her shoulders and then settling flush against her chest.

“Okay?” he murmurs, tender cobalt eyes sweeping across hers making her ache.

“Nothing about this is okay,” she whispers back, the truth of her words cloying in her throat. “Bill….”

“Laura, if I don’t….”

“No, I know.” She pushes out a vigorous breath, feeling blood rush to her cheeks as his palms slip over her breasts, nipples hardening at once. “Gods.”

“Frak, Laura.” His gravelled baritone rumbles, shot through with arousal as his fingers dance back across her breasts again. “Frak, you’re stunning.”

She watches the consternation swiftly cloud his features with a deep frown as his words fall into saturated air between them, and she tries a smile. “Instant regret?”

“Of course not.” He shakes his head, and she knows he’s trying to mask his discomfort. “Just didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

“I think we’re going to have to forgive each other on that score.” She shivers as he strokes light whorls across her belly and hips. “And I’m going to include...physical reactions in that too.”

“Good. Otherwise I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to look each other in the eye.”

“Or run the fleet together.”

“Exactly that.” He holds her gaze as one hand slips below her hip bone. “You ready for this?”

She nods, heart thundering beneath her ribs as his palm moves across her mound and then slides between her legs, making the briefest contact with her labia before he’s on his knees to wash her thighs and calves. She looks down at the top of his head, resists an intense urge to thread her fingers into his hair, startles when Cavil’s voice scrapes off the tiles again.

“My, my, Admiral – so little attention paid to the area that’s clearly begging for you. Touch her there again; see for yourself.”

Bill tips his head up to look at her, anguish and fury deepening into the lines of his face. “I thought this was about cleanliness,” he growls at their captor, and Laura feels fear prickle through her skull.

“How naive – of course it’s not about that,” the Cylon laughs, underpinned with cruelty. “Touch her again.”

“I can save you the trouble,” Laura says, raising her chin a defiant fraction and forcing a pointed neutrality to her tone that she doesn’t feel, flickering her gaze from Bill’s furrowed brow. “If you’re analysing our reactions then you certainly don’t need the Admiral’s report.”

Cavil laughs again, in clearly delighted amusement. “Is that what you think I want, Madam President?”

“I have no idea what you want. And neither do I care.”

“You do realise you’re engaging the enemy now, don’t you? Despite your Admiral’s express advice to the contrary?”

“We’re done here, Cavil. Let us back to the cell.”

“I rather think not. You’re not leaving here until the Admiral has done what I ordered.”

The Centurion guards step into the room, weapons drawn in ominous silence, and they aim them at Bill, who grunts as he gets to his feet.

“Last chance, Admiral,” Cavil threatens, cold tone matched by the metallic whir of robotic legs as they pace closer. “Follow my order or die. Your choice.”

“What good are we to you dead?” Laura asks, aware of the desperation catching at every word.

“And what good are you to me alive if you refuse to obey me? Five seconds, Admiral.”

“Bill.” She steps towards him as he moves back, raising his palms, and the distress on his face lances through her heart.

“I can’t,” he murmurs thickly, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “I won’t degrade you. I can’t”

“He’ll kill you.”

“He’s bluffing.”

“We can’t take that chance,” she pleads. “Pragmatism, remember?”

“Two seconds,” Cavil croons, and Laura grips Bill’s hand, guides it to her hip.

“It’s okay, Bill,” she whispers, injecting as much serenity as she can.

“Nothing about this is okay,” he repeats her earlier words, slides his palm forward and lower so it rests just above her pubis. “Tell me if it hurts.”

She whimpers at his tenderness, breath careering into her lungs as he dips a finger between her folds, though she makes herself hold his gaze. She’s wet – so wet – moisture that has nothing to do with the shower, and he gives a low groan, making her shudder. He caresses for an agonising moment, stroking at her entrance before withdrawing, and she’s so overwhelmed with sensation she has to turn away, chest heaving.

“Oh, Admiral,” Cavil calls, tone dripping with lasciviousness. “Surely she deserves more than that? Very ungentlemanly to leave a lady in a state of such wanting.”

Bill is quiet and she feels him step towards her. “Laura?”

“Need a minute,” she manages, the throbbing wetness at her centre aching with need, even as her mind floods with mortification.

“Enough,” Bill explodes, the word thundering in a sharp bullet around the tiles. “I did what you asked. Frakkin’ enough!”

“If only you’d used such passion on your woman,” Cavil drawls, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Alright. Have it your way. Though, honestly, such an unnecessary fuss over something you both clearly want.”

The Centurions gesture towards the archway and Laura staggers towards it with relief, body beginning to tremble violently as the frigid corridor air assaults her wet skin. She welcomes it even as it steals the breath from her lungs, her arousal fading to a soft flutter as they stride away from the plumes of steam. Bill is silent at her side and she avoids his gaze as they step back through the cell’s barriers, hurries to resume her seated position with her back rigid against the wall.

Chapter Text

They sit in a tense, stifled stillness, the quiet elongating into a brittle wire that stretches between them, before Bill clears his throat and Laura fights the butterflies as they take wing in her chest, rubbing her arms with vigorous hands.

“Do you want to talk?” he asks, the question so gentle she almost doesn’t hear him.

She doesn’t reply right away, tips her head back against the wall as she tries to rein in her jumble of thoughts. Her body is still thrumming from the memory of his touch, of the feel of his skin beneath her hands, and she shifts on the tiles, arousal cooling on her inner thighs.

“Laura?” he prompts, and she’s once again struck by the sensitivity in his tone, feeling a sigh rattle from her throat.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits, wincing as her eyes flicker closed.

“Whatever happened to forgiving each other our physical reactions?”

She can’t bring herself to respond, feels his gaze weigh heavily on her face. They’re being confronted by truths she ordinarily keeps at arm’s length, truths she keeps locked deep within herself with an iron resolve - but there had been no hiding her body’s instinctive reaction to him. She’d known she was in love with him since New Caprica, had known she wanted him for far longer, but they had never openly discussed it, aware of the potential ramifications as a result of their professional roles.

Now it’s all been laid bare – quite literally, she thinks with a wry snort – their mutual arousal and hunger blatant, impossible to conceal. She still can’t fathom Cavil’s motivations, the kidnap of the leaders of humanity notwithstanding, and it adds further fuel to her discomfiture.

Bill is patient but brooding in his stillness at her side and she makes herself steady her breathing, trying to force tranquillity to her taut frame.

“I hate that I had to do that to you without your consent,” he murmurs at length, and his words are so darkly unexpected that she whips her head around towards him, lingering shame at once eclipsed.

“What?”

“I feel like I violated you.”

“Oh my gods.” She reaches for his hand and grips it in a stronghold. “No. No.”

“I can rationalise the circumstances, Laura….”

“Then do it because I am not having that idea in your head, do you understand me?” He’s stonily silent and she squeezes his hand again. “Do you understand me, Admiral?”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“Try.” She shuffles towards him, turns her body so she’s facing him on her knees, no longer caring about her state of undress. “Bill.”

He heaves a rattling sigh. “Laura.”

“I need you to hear me on this.” She hesitates, her nerve faltering before she locks her eyes to his. “You touching me like that….”

“Don’t.”

“The circumstances might have been unnatural but...but I need you to know….” She swallows hard, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin. “I need you to know that I could never not want it – alright? Not when it’s you.”

His expression softens, the deep creases lining his face relaxing, and she hums in surprise when he leans forward to brush his mouth across hers. She presses her lips back to his, resisting the urge to open her mouth, then pulls back and settles again at his side. He ghosts his lips to the top of her head as she rests against his shoulder, as her hair dampens his skin, as his thumb caresses her hand.

“I’m cold,” she admits after a long moment of serenity, limbs beginning to shiver in spite of the warmth of his proximity.

“Yeah.” He releases her fingers, slides his arm about her shoulders and begins to rub firm lines to her skin.

“And we need to have this conversation properly. When we get home.”

She feels his smile even without looking at him. “Home?”

“Galactica.” She nudges him. “You knew what I meant.”

“I did,” he says. “Just interesting to hear you say it.”

“Do you think they’re looking for us?”

He grunts. “Do you really think Lee and Saul would ever stop?”

“It worries me they’d leave the fleet vulnerable to attempt a rescue….”

“I don’t think they’d lose perspective. They’d know neither of us would want the fleet exposed unnecessarily.”

“But at the same time….” She breaks off to exhale. “I don’t want to underestimate our importance as leaders, Bill. The fleet needs us.”

“Agreed.” He shifts his arm so it slides down to her waist, nestling her closer against his side. “They’ll come up with something that’s tactically sound. I have no doubt about that.”

“Mm.” She pauses, thoughts trickling through her mind even as her body begins to soothe beneath his touch. “I’m deeply concerned with the potential for escalation.”

“Lee will assess that.”

“I just don’t want anyone else to die for us.”

“You can’t think that way.” He strokes idle patterns across her hip, and she shivers. “I trust every single one of my men and women. They’ll do what needs to be done.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust them, Bill.”

“I know. I understand what you’re saying.”

She sighs, turns her body further in toward his, drifts her fingers across his chest. “If Cavil took us from the Raptor and then destroyed it….”

“They’ll find the debris. But they won’t assume we’re dead.”

“Won’t they?”

“Not until they’ve exhausted every avenue. From what you’ve said they were closely tracking us on DRADIS – they’ll have seen the exact moment we disappeared and that will have instigated emergency protocols.”

She lapses into silence again, a disquieting notion rattling through her mind. “How long will they keep looking?” she murmurs at length, feeling him squeeze her waist in reassurance.

“There aren’t any strict rules. They’ll keep going for as long as it’s strategically appropriate.”

“Spoken like a true military tactician.”

He grunts a laugh. “I don’t know how to be anything else, Madam President.”

“Well, it’s helping.” She can’t stop herself from kissing his shoulder. “So, thank you.”

He brushes his mouth to her hair. “Do what I can.”

She stretches her free arm to reach the remainder of her bread roll, takes a bite and then passes it to him, and an incredulous laugh trickles out of her at the bizarre sense of domesticity that’s settled over them.

“You okay?” he asks around a mouthful, and she shakes her head, laughs again.

“Just...thinking that…of all the things I imagined doing this week, sitting naked in a cell with you eating bread wasn’t….” She breaks off, snorts another laugh. “I mean, even in the depths of my Chamalla-induced visions, Bill….”

“It’d take a warped mind and then some,” he replies, with a sardonic chuckle. “Explains why it might appeal to someone like Cavil.”

“Talking of which – the fact that we’re naked, the fact that he keeps trying to provoke a...reaction out of us...Do you think he…?” she breaks off, pulls a face as the unspoken notion gripes at her stomach.

“What?”

“Well, do you think it’s...that it’s all related to sex?”

He grunts thoughtfully. “It’s not like the skin jobs don’t have sex. We know that.”

“With each other?”

“No idea.”

“They know the mechanics of it. Obviously.”

He turns his head to appraise her. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m getting at Cavil wanting to study two human beings by putting them into situations totally outside of their norm. To see if they – if we – could be manipulated into….” She gestures with her free hand.

“To what end? What would be the point?”

“You mean aside from voyeurism?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, mind spiralling. “A study in human desire?”

“Again – for what purpose?”

“I don’t know, Bill,” she repeats on a lengthy exhale, falling silent for a moment as she tries to untangle the ideas that are twisting inside her head. “They’ve always had this...preoccupation with...with love, haven’t they?”

“The notion of love being the key ingredient for conception?”

“Yeah.”

“Not that love and sex necessarily go hand in hand, in my experience.”

She smiles at the gentle teasing tone, taps his chest. “No, but they aren’t mutually exclusive either.”

“But we’re not talking about conception here, Laura.”

She lets his statement fall into the air, fluttering into it like snow. “Then maybe that’s it.”

“What?”

“What the point of love and attraction and sex is...when you get beyond that stage in your life.”

“Given their obsession with procreation?”

“Exactly. If this was about procreation, Cavil wouldn’t have set it up with us – well, with me - specifically in mind.”

He’s quiet for a protracted moment; she can almost hear his thoughts as they whir beneath his skull. “Surely they already understand the concept of pleasure, Laura.”

She flushes despite herself. “But maybe he’s wondering if it’s more than that. Especially when there’s no possibility of conception.”

“So in terms of test subjects….”

“He’d have needed a menopausal or post-menopausal woman. Which, if you think about it logically, probably eliminated the majority of the women in the fleet.” She gives a sound somewhere between a sigh and a snort. “Lucky me.”

He gives her waist a gentle squeeze. “Nothing to do with you being the president?”

“Icing on the cake.”

“And me?”

She raises her head to look at him, watches him allow the fierce devotion he ordinarily suppresses to surface across his expression. Without thinking, she raises her palm to caress his cheek. “I don’t think it’s a stretch as to why – do you?”

“Cylon tongues been wagging?”

“More than likely.” She strokes his weathered skin, surprisingly soft beneath her thumb. “The fact that we’re also the leaders of the fleet….Two birds, one stone.”

He turns into her palm, kisses her hand and then the inside of her wrist, bringing his free hand up to cover her own. “Laura…,” he breathes, and she whimpers, arousal skittering along her nerves once more in a blaze.

“Bill,” she sighs, soft whimper becoming a moan as his tongue laps at her pulse point. “I’m...going to need you to stop….”

“Yeah,” he manages, releasing her gently after brushing his mouth against her a final time. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I think we need to sit apart for a while.” He gives a derisive eye roll, which she knows is self-directed, and can’t help but chuckle as she risks a glance to his hardening groin.

“Probably a good idea.”

They shuffle several inches away from each other, and Laura shivers as the oppressive cold of her still-damp body aggressively reasserts itself, hugging her knees again to her chest.

“Oh, Admiral, Madam President,” Cavil’s teasing lilt echoes through the cell and Laura’s gaze locks with Bill’s. “So near and yet so far. Honestly – how are we mere children, mere foetuses of humanity, supposed to learn about relationships if not by observing our beloved masters at play?” He gives a maniacal laugh into the determined silence. “You’re quite right, my dear Laura, that I’m wondering what the point of all this pent-up sexual energy is, given that you’re far too shrivelled in the ovary department to produce a baby – so futile. Wonder how far I’ll have to push you before you finally give in to what your body so fruitlessly craves – why you humans continue to pursue a sexual relationship beyond the child-bearing years, if there’s any point to it beyond the mind-bending pleasure….But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here – enjoy.”

He breaks off and Laura frowns, confusion curdling in her brow at the cryptic nature of their captor’s threat, and she inhales, the dizzying effect instant and concerning. She turns her attention towards Bill, who is on his knees and bracing himself against the wall, and his form blurs as the room tilts on its axis before her eyes.

Chapter Text

Within a few seconds she’s aware of other sensations in her body – a warmth spreading through her veins that makes her gasp, a throbbing at her centre that’s so intense she can’t prevent a needy whimper, and she staggers to her feet, unsure of what to do. Bill has done likewise, though his palm is still firm to the wall, and she watches the muscles of his back ripple as he draws ragged breath after ragged breath.

“Bill, oh gods,” she whispers, fervid desire burning through her, and she takes a shaky step towards him, instinct overriding rational thoughts.

“Laura, don’t,” he growls over his shoulder. “Something in the air….”

“Can’t think straight…..”

“No. Stay where you are.”

She complies, falls back against the wall, the surroundings appearing to ripple as if they’re imbued with heat, and she lifts a hand to her forehead, checks for fever. Her skin feels cool but her insides are consumed with fire, the ache in her core deep and unrelenting, hot, wet arousal flooding her thighs. She can feel her heart galloping against her ribs, blood pulsing through her veins, and she slides down the wall to sit, pressing herself to the cool tiles in a desperate search for relief.

She can hear Bill panting, quick breaths being snatched as he turns to press both palms to the wall, the strain clear in the rigid lines of his shoulders as he fights strenuously for equilibrium.

“What...is this?” she manages, humming as she presses her thighs together, the marginal friction nowhere near enough and making her want to howl. “Bill….”

“Laura….Frak….”

She hums again, the tone deep and sultry in her throat, and all she can think about is how much she wants him, balling her hands into fists at her side.

“I’m going to need you….to stop making those sounds,” he tells her through gritted teeth, sucking down another breath.

“Then I’m going to need you to stop talking altogether,” she grinds out, the arousal almost painful now as it intensifies into a thudding pang between her legs. “I’m going to go out of my mind….”

He grunts, pushes back from the wall and begins to pace, and she can’t stop the deep groan that escapes her control as she takes in his straining erection, forces herself to remain stationary despite every instinct to the contrary.

“I want your mouth on me,” she breathes, gasping as the words tumble from her mouth before her brain can engage, the air between them almost iridescent with lust. “Gods, I’m sorry. Don’t know what I’m….”

“I want to drape your legs over my shoulders and bury my tongue in your pussy,” he growls back, and she mewls at the uncharacteristic vulgarity, wetness flooding her as her mind explodes with imagery, watching as he hisses, as his skin burns a deep crimson. “Laura, frak….I can’t control what I’m saying….”

“Me neither.” She inhales through her nose, blows the air through her mouth in a wretched attempt to claw back authority over her body, making herself shuffle into the corner of the cell before she can launch herself at him. “I’m so wet, Bill, oh my gods…..”

“Holy frak.” He takes rapid steps towards the opposite corner, and she watches the sweat pour off him, the masculine scent of him hitting her olfactory system and blistering another wave of arousal through her nerves. “I want to lick you clean, taste you….”

“I want it too, wanted it for a long time….I need you, Bill…” She gasps again as he groans, long and low. “We can’t...Not here….”

“I want you in my rack….Or over your desk….Thought about it so many times in meetings….”

“Me too.” She’s breathing hard now, and she looks over at him, one hand flush to the wall, other bunched into a fist so tight against his thigh she can see the gleam of his knuckles. “Up against the wall in the Wardroom….”

“Frak….On your knees in a supply closet, Madam President….”

“You know,” Cavil drawls, his salacious tone sounding distant and slurred, and Laura blinks, trying to focus. “High blood pressure from acute arousal is seriously dangerous to your health – why risk a heart attack when you can relieve yourselves so easily? Put yourselves out of your frakkin’ misery, why don’t you?”

“Frak...you…,” Bill grinds out, pushing both hands into the wall again.

Cavil’s laugh drips poison. “My god, who knew middle aged human bodies were still so receptive under the right conditions? That’s an impressive erection for your age, Admiral – why don’t you put it to good use?”

Laura moans, drops her head back to the wall, vision swirling into a haze of heat as her body pulses, as she imagines the feel of his hands, of his tongue, of his cock. She sucks down a shuddering breath, chest tightening as her heart continues to pound, blood thick with lust as it pulses along her limbs, into her core.

“Laura,” Bill’s saying, and she glances towards him, watches as he passes a shaking hand across his eyes. “I can’t….”

“He’s….pumped something in here….Messing with our hormones….”

“Yeah.” He gives a rough sigh, and she watches it rattle through him. “So frakkin’ hard I’m leaking….”

“Gods, Bill….Oh my frakkin’ gods….”

He growls and the primal sound vibrates through her whole body. “Laura….”

“We need a...distraction….” She swallows against the brittle desert of her throat, sliding her hands beneath her to stop her fingers drifting between her legs. “Galactica’s technical specs….”

“Alright,” he manages, turning so his back is towards her once more. “Jupiter-class...Fourteen hundred metres long, five hundred wide….Laura, oh frak….”

“Keep going….”

“I need to be inside you….”

“Gods, I know,” she whimpers, wetness gushing anew between her legs at the agonised desire in his tone. “And I am literally aching for you, but….Bill….”

“I’ll be frakkin’ damned…if he thinks we’re gonna do this...for the first frakkin’ time in here….”

“Yeah...so keep talking to me about Galactica….”

He grunts, beginning to pound one fist into the wall. “Two FTL drives...six sub-light engines, four manoeuvring engines….”

“Crew complement?”

“Up to five thousand.”

“What else?”

“Forty eight...primary batteries, twelve missile tubes….” He groans anew, golden skin slick with sweat, and she’s shuffling towards him before she can stop herself. He seems to sense her movement, fires a warning glance over his shoulder. “Laura….”

“Just a little closer….I just...I….”

He grunts and moves in her direction, and she reaches to touch his foot, electricity sparking up her arm at the contact and making her gasp. He moans, the sound rippling through the dwindling space between them, and she’s driven by an instinctive need for more, rising to her knees and running both hands up his muscled calf. She can smell the arousal pouring off him in waves of musk, and she can barely catch her breath as she straightens further, his weeping cock now mere centimetres from her mouth. She tips her head to look up at him, watches as he fights in desperation for control, and then he reaches down for her arm and tugs her gently to her feet. He strokes her cheek, his tenderness at odds with their mutual animalistic lust, and she wraps her fingers about his wrist.

“Bill….Please….”

He takes a tiny step closer, continues to caress her skin, and she feels her mouth fall open as she acknowledges his blown pupils. “Galactica has...two flight pods...Two flight decks….Eighty...Viper launch tubes….”

She swallows, closes her eyes as his thumb sweeps across her eyelid then her cheekbone again before drifting along her jaw. “There are...three sections...right?”

“Yeah...Fore, mid and stern….”

“Go on….”

“Just need to kiss you….”

She gives a tiny shake of her head. “If you kiss me we won’t be able to stop….”

“Laura, I can’t take this any more….”

She licks her lips, can almost taste the taut desperation of his skin. “We’d never forgive ourselves….”

His rough growl borders a roar as he releases her and takes a determined step back, even as his eyes roam her body, linger hungrily on her breasts then settle between her legs.

“Frak, I can see how turned on you are,” he husks, panting. “It’s all over your thighs, Laura….”

“Mm,” she whimpers, moving so her back is against the wall, parting her legs to reveal herself more fully to him as he drops to his knees. “Desperate for you….”

“So gorgeous,” he murmurs, and somehow he’s closer again, her fingers reaching to drift across his shoulder. “Wanna make you come….”

“You have,” she admits in a breathy, sultry rush. “So many times in absentia, Bill….”

He groans again at her confession and then his head is against her belly, lips soft to her navel, and she threads her fingers through his hair. She feels their surroundings beginning to fall away even as she claws to remain grounded, knowing she needs to push him away but wanting nothing more than for him to continue brushing his mouth to her skin.

“We should stop,” she manages after a long indulgent moment, though her fingers are still carding through his hair. “He’s watching….”

“Frakkin’ let him,” he moans, voice muffled by her midriff, palms sliding up her thighs to bracket her hips. “Sick frak.”

“Never forgive ourselves,” she repeats shakily. “Not in a...frakkin’ Cylon prison cell.”

She steps to her left, allows his hands to fall away from her body with clear reluctance, and she staggers to the corner of the cell once more, sinks to the floor. Her eyes track him as he stands, as he returns to pressing his palms to the wall, sharp lines of his arms quivering beneath the strain.

“Galactica…,” she tries again, drawing her knees up and dropping her head to her arms.

He gives a deep grunt and she can hear him thumping the wall once more, frustration and torment rippling through the air between them. “The fore section...contains the...CIC, Wardroom, observation deck...holy frak….Crew quarters….”

“I love your quarters, Bill….”

“Do you?”

“Feel so...at home….”

“You should frakkin’….move in with me….”

“Oh my gods,” she breathes, mind awash with warmth as the desire morphs for a brief, agonising moment into images of lying against him on his couch, of sliding exhausted into his rack, of having his broad hands tease the tension from her shoulders. “Oh, Bill….”

“Serious.”

“Can’t...talk about this now….”

“What do you…love about my cabin, Laura?”

She feels her breath catch. “You mean...aside from the fact that it’s where you are?”

He gives a low, guttural laugh. “Thought maybe it was...the books.”

She manages a smile into her arms, senses the reconnection beneath the heady scarlet fog of desire. “Those too.”

“Anything else?”

“I like how it...smells.”

“How it smells?”

“The leather, the paper, just...you. All of you.” She inhales in a shuddering gasp. “You smell so good, Bill.”

“Laura….”

“You smell so good. Sometimes it’s the only thing that gets me...through the day.”

He grunts another chuckle. “Who knew...standard-issue military soap would be...the undoing of the Colonial president?”

“Not just the...soap.” She can’t stop a giggle. “This is insane….”

“Not having a filter?”

“Mm-hm.” She shivers again, nipples hardening against her thighs as she curls tighter in on herself. “I’m so swollen, Bill….”

“Talking of smelling good….” She hears him draw a protracted breath through his nose, scenting her, even as he fists the wall anew. “Laura, frak….”

“Bill….the fore section….What else?”

He gives a prolonged growl, husky in his throat as she tries to re-focus their conversation. “Er….Pilots’ rec room, sickbay, airlocks….”

“Oh. My favourite.”

He snorts. “Better than my cabin?”

“No contest.”

“Might have to...rescind my offer of you moving in….”

“You don’t...get away that easily, Admiral….”

He groans. “Gods, I’m gonna frak you on every surface, Madam President….”

“Please,” she murmurs. “And in the...airlock?”

“Wherever you want. However you want.”

She feels a light laugh flutter through her, even as her arousal tightens until it borders on pain. “Okay...So, airlocks….”

“Main water tanks,” he replies. “Water transfer hatches....”

“Oh, for frak’s sake!” Cavil explodes all around them, raw fury evident in the loaded ire of his voice. “You two are the most tedious humans I have ever had the misfortune of encountering. All I’m trying to do here is discover the intricacies and futilities of human sexuality and the two of you are more interested in pointlessly resisting until you’re on the verge of collapse. You’ve pushed me to the end of my patience.”

Laura’s head snaps up, her gaze locking to Bill’s, panic surging in her chest and suppressing the intoxicating arousal as she becomes aware of the grinding Centurion strides as two round the corner and approach the cell door. Bill moves towards her, blocking her body with his as the metallic giants unlock the cell and step inside, bladed fingers flexing with menace.

She scrambles to her feet, flattens against the wall, and Bill spreads his arms wide in front of her as the Centurions approach, and she cries out as the first one takes a swipe, slicing through the skin of Bill’s gut. He grunts in pain, crimson running in rivulets down his skin, and she grips his waist, trying to shift him out of the path of the second pass, the knives grazing his arm as he moves. The Centurion lifts him as if he’s weightless, tosses him to the ground with force then continues to assault him, the sickening sounds of ripping skin and the impact of unyielding blows making her want to vomit.

The second Centurion looms over her, strikes her across the cheek with the back of its fist and knocking her to the ground, and the pain is so acute it steals her breath. On instinct she curls into a ball, can see in her peripheral vision that Bill has done likewise, feels the scraping of Cylon claws to her back, her hips, her legs. She can’t help but call out for him as her attacker rains blow after blow to her body, alternating slashing and stabbing with forcible punches, feels him roll towards her. He covers her with his bulk, pressing his chest to her back, and she struggles as she reads his protective intention, tries to shift away.

“They’ll kill you…,” she whimpers, sobbing as he’s brutally struck again, feels the impact through her own body.

All he does is grip her closer, rolling her so that she’s further underneath him, and his rattled breathing is shallow and uneven against her hair. Seconds later he slumps, body heavy and unresponsive as it presses hers hard to the tiles, and a second after that she feels her vision begin to darken, a cloak of shimmering grey edging into her consciousness – and all she can feel is obsidian despair.

Chapter Text

Laura winces as she blinks awake, the artificial light piercing her eyes and causing a vicious pounding in her skull, the disorientation sharp enough that she turns her head abruptly to vomit. There’s precious little in her stomach and for a few moments she heaves wretchedly onto the floor, muscles clenching in discomfort, before she’s able to struggle to sitting, wiping the acid from her mouth with her hand. She startles as she realises Cavil is sitting across from her, cold stare malevolent, and her mind catches up in a rush to the fact that they’re no longer in the cell. She glances around at the unfamiliar surroundings, the slick gleam of chrome and sterility, the soft hum of engines, and surmises through the lingering fog that they’re in some kind of shuttle.

She gasps as the memories come hurtling back, body thrumming with burning pain, but she pushes the sensations away as her eyes settle on the crumpled form at her side, panic surging in a tidal wave through her chest.

“Bill,” she whispers, struggling to her knees and staggering towards him, ignoring Cavil’s derisive snort.

She presses shaking fingers to his neck, frantically searches for a pulse, relief pouring through her nerves as his heart pounds in a steady rhythm against her digits. She passes gentle fingertips across his face, distressed by the deep lacerations to his cheeks, the angry bruise blooming in indigo whorls about his right eye.

“Bill,” she murmurs again, stroking the soft hair that’s matted with cloying blood, and she tries to dampen down the terror though it gnaws like a rodent at her gut.

“Pathetic,” Cavil comments, reclining in his seat and folding his arms, eyes never leaving her. “So much more pathetic and disappointing than I was hoping for.”

“So...what now?” she manages through cracked, stinging lips. “Where…?”

“Well, my dear president, I decided that a quick death would be far too good for either of you, given how bitterly you’ve let me down. Maybe being left to die will make you reconsider what you might have done differently – how we both could have benefited from your simple succumbing and compliance.”

His words fill her with foreboding as she feels the ship decelerate, feels her muscles react to the forces of a descent through an atmosphere. A planet, she thinks in an anxious whirl. Oh my gods….

The shuttle thumps to the ground and the jolt stirs Bill, his uneven grunts sparking a fresh flutter of agitation in her chest, and she turns back to him, watches his cobalt eyes as they flicker open.

“Laura?” he croaks, and she starts to reach for him, sucking in a breath as Cavil grips her arm like a vice and yanks her away.

“Get the frak off my ship,” Cavil spits as the bay doors start to raise, gesturing to the poised Centurions who spear their knives through Laura’s bicep, who grip Bill around the ankles. She writhes both in pain and resistance, trying to break free but aware of the futility as the automaton drags her across the deck.

She blinks in rapid succession, trying to focus on the exterior environment as it looms in front of her. The Centurions force her several feet from the ship before releasing her, and she’s aware of Bill groaning on the rocky ground at her side. The soldiers deliver a final, powerful kick to both of their bodies then withdraw, and Laura watches through a blurred haze of renewed pain as they whir back towards the shuttle. Cavil gives a cruel, bright smile, waves his hand, and then he’s strolling back inside and the door is rising with a brutal finality.

Laura takes a long moment to gather herself, feels the down draft from the shuttle as it takes off in a flurry of dust, and she covers Bill’s face with her chest to prevent him breathing in the particulates.

He coughs into her skin and she withdraws, brushing her fingers to his cheek. “Bill?” she asks, frowning as he moans his discomfort. “You with me?”

His nod is almost imperceptible and she helps him to sit up, braces his back against a rock. She lets him settle and looks around to assess their surroundings, making herself suck down breath after desperate breath. The air is warm but not oppressive, and though the ground is brittle with stones there are also bushes adorned with plush, dark leaves, the gurgling of water nearby sparking a tiny flame of hope beneath her breast.

She looks towards Bill again, concern overriding optimism once more as she acknowledges the raw slashes to his skin, the vicious bruising mottling every inch of him. She’s aware that her appearance is similar, can feel the throbbing aches of her body, yet somehow her own pain is eclipsed by the torture of seeing his broken form. He took the brunt of it...for me….Oh, Bill….

She crawls towards him, cups his face in face in her palms, brushes his marred cheeks with her thumbs. “Bill,” she says, mustering calm to her tone that she doesn’t feel. “First order of business – I need to clean your wounds….”

He frowns, clears his throat. “Need to...find shelter….”

“Need to find water,” she insists, his apparent confusion worrying her. “I can hear it, but….we need to move – can you?”

“Yeah.”

She claws to her feet, fights a rising tide of dizziness – Concussion? She wonders. Or just exhaustion…? - then gently tugs him to standing, wraps an arm about his waist, feels him lean his weight against her. It occurs to her for a brief moment that their nudity is no longer at all relevant, obliterated by an acute need for basic survival, any thoughts of their previous, charged interactions outweighed by dire circumstance. She listens carefully, trying to locate the water source, staggers them both in the direction she prays is correct, Bill’s sluggish steps gripping her with a cold terror.

After a few minutes she sees it, a small bubbling stream several feet ahead, and she exhales with relief, dragging Bill towards it and lowering him to the ground at its bank. She dips a hand into the running water, yelps at the chill that floods her fingers, then scoops some into her palm, raising it to her nose. She’s tentative as she sniffs, tries to detect any untoward scent, and finding none, lifts it to her lips to sip. She knows it’s risky, knows there could be all manner of hidden bacteria that could mean death, but she drinks anyway, the choice clear.

She cradles more into closed palms, pours the crystal liquid between Bill’s parched lips, heartened as she watches his throat swallow. She does it again, and he gulps more readily this time, his tongue catching her palm as he chases the hydration.

“Thank you,” he husks, as she begins to wash his face, to clean the encrusted blood with gentle fingertips, and she grimaces.

“Don’t thank me yet. No idea if this is safe to drink.”

“It’s not stagnant. That’s a good sign.”

She sluices more water across his swollen eye then his chest, winces as he hisses in pain. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“How are you feeling now?”

He grunts. “Like I just went five rounds with a Centurion.”

“Mm.”

“Are you okay?”

Her gaze softens and she strokes his cheek again. “Only because of you.”

He turns his head to kiss her palm. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She feels tears prickle at the corners of her eyes, turns away to retrieve more water and moves to pour it across his back. “Of course you don’t.”

They lapse into silence for several minutes whilst Laura continues to attend his wounds before dabbing water to her own, a tentative solace filling her when he shuffles himself closer to the water and draws some to his mouth. They drink for a moment more, Laura feeling clarity returning in a rush as her body welcomes the fluids, and she sits back against a boulder, crossing her legs at the ankles.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asks at length, turning her head towards Bill.

He gives a heavy sigh that becomes a harsh cough, and she presses a hand to his shoulder blades as he leans forwards. “I remember the Centurions coming at us. Very little after that.”

“I came to in a shuttle,” she tells him, rubbing gentle circles as his coughing subsides. “With Cavil.”

“Frak. Did he…?”

“No. All he did was tell me what a disappointment we’d been and that a quick death would have been too kind.”

“Explains why he didn’t just have us shot.”

“It means he expects us to die here, Bill.” She shifts so she can look at him more fully, fear blooming once more beneath her skin. “He’s right, isn’t he.”

Bill inclines his head, grimaces as it seems to cause discomfort in his neck. “Not necessarily.”

“We have no resources….”

“We have water. That’s a start.”

“We’re both injured – you significantly.”

“I’ll heal, Laura. It’s largely superficial.”

She sighs, the air shuddering from her lungs. “No-one knows where we are. Especially now.”

“We don’t know that. I told you before – they wouldn’t give up on us until they’ve exhausted every possibility.”

She holds his gaze, absorbs the determination and rugged resilience hardening in his cobalt eyes, feels the tiny spark of optimism re-kindle as she draws strength from his resolve. “Alright,” she says with a crisp nod. “So, what now?”

“Emergency survival protocols,” he replies, groaning as he moves his body to assess their environment almost for the first time. “Move to higher ground to ensure the best chance of being visible to the SAR….”

“And to Cavil if he’s still looking.”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

“Okay – what else?”

“Locate another water source higher up if we can. Food. Shelter.”

“Right.”

He raises his arm to shield his eyes as he continues to survey the surroundings. “There’s a series of hills toward the horizon. Hard to tell how far away they are but they’d give us something to aim for.”

She follows his gaze, lays eyes on the craggy outcrops that stretch skywards, feels a frown tug at her brow as she tries to estimate the distance. “Bill,” she begins. “You barely made it from the landing site to here. I don’t….”

“We can’t stay here, Laura,” he tells her. “If Galactica is looking for us, we need to give them the best shot.”

“We have nothing to carry water in….”

“Then we’re just going to have to hope that those gods of yours are on our side.” He reaches for her, tucks a matted strand of hair behind her ear. “What choice do we have?”

“None.” She closes her eyes for a brief moment, revels in the sensation of his fingers against the shell of her ear. “I don’t want that bastard to be proved right.”

“That’s my girl.”

She can’t stop the gasp at his gentle declaration, can’t stop the tears that spill down her cheeks as her heart swells despite the grim reality of their situation. “Bill….”

He flashes her a watery smile and runs soft fingers along her jaw. “Too much?”

“No. Never.”

“Laura,” he says, sobering and shifting towards her so that he can cup her face in both of his warm palms. “I don’t believe in death-bed confessions….”

She arches a teasing eyebrow though her heart begins to pound. “Are you reneging on your glass-half-full approach, Admiral?”

“No, but all the same….” His gaze is more open than she’s ever seen, even with one eye swollen almost completely closed, and it burns with such fierce devotion that it steals her breath. “I need you to know that I love you, Laura. Before we get too far down the line with this.”

She tries to choke back a sob but it escapes evades the last vestiges of her control and suddenly she lets it, weeps with abandon, with release as her tears cascade over his fingers, and he tugs her into his embrace. She wraps her arms around his back and shakes into his shoulder, kissing his skin as she tries to tame her reaction then allowing it to flood out of her until it subsides to a gentle sniff.

“Gods, I love you so much,” she murmurs against his collar bone before pulling back to look at him, his face a blur and she blinks, trying to clear her vision. “Should’ve told you a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a smile, brushing his mouth to hers. “We’ve been frakkin’ idiots.”

She giggles, hiccups as she tries to swallow down another sob. “Frakkin’ idiots trying to safeguard the rest of humanity?”

“Even so.” He kisses her again, and it’s still soft and undemanding, neither of them moving to deepen the new and fragile connection. “If we get out of this, we’ll find a way to make it work – alright?”

“Hold you to it.”

She lets him sweep the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, and she presses a final kiss to his palm before struggling to her feet, aching muscles protesting the movement. She wraps her fingers around his bicep and tugs him up, staggering backwards as they overbalance before finding a more steady stance.

“Okay?” she asks as he tucks his arm around her ribcage for support, as she slides her own arm around his waist.

“We’ll manage,” he replies through gritted teeth as they begin to walk. “Let me know if I get too heavy, Laura.”

“Let me know when you need to rest.”

He grunts in assent and they fall into a companionable silence, the arid stones sharp against the soles of their feet as they begin their sluggish, compromised ascent.

Chapter Text

Laura collapses wheezing onto the unrelenting ground, skin slick with both rain and perspiration, throat flaming, nausea clenching in her stomach. Bill falls to his hands and knees beside her, breath coming in harsh pants and morphing into hacking coughs as he tries to bring himself under control, rolling onto his back with exhaustion.

They had dragged themselves across the rugged terrain for most of the day, stopping at intervals to suck water from leaves, to rest burning limbs, to recover thready pulses. Several times he had sagged against her, energy almost spent, and she had hauled him along despite the protestations of her own debilitated body. For his part, Bill had drawn her hair back from her face when she had dry heaved onto the ground, her system confused by the lack of food, the water they’d consumed seeming to curdle with the acid in her stomach.

Now she shifts onto her back beside him, draws in a stuttering breath through her nose then exhales in a controlled stream, trying to steady her heart that seems determined to crack through her bones. After a long moment she props herself on her elbow to look down at him, gratified that he too seems to be recovering from the exertion, a thin film of sweat glistening on his brow and cheeks.

She passes a hand across his chest, feels his heart thrum against her fingertips, steady and reassuring. “You okay?” she rasps, fingers tracing unconscious patterns across his skin.

“Think I need to start working out more,” he replies through another noisy inhale, turning his head to grin at her.

She returns his expression, flops back onto the ground, smile broadening as he encourages her beneath his arm. She presses a kiss to his shoulder then rests against him, palm once more drifting across his chest.

“I think we did just fine,” she tells him, warmth filling her as he squeezes her closer, grazes his mouth to the top of her head.

“We did,” he agrees. “You’re much stronger than you look, Roslin.”

She snorts a laugh. “Adrenaline.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have made it up here without you.”

“Same goes for me.”

They lapse into quiet, and Laura allows her eyes to drift closed, knowing she’s edging towards sleep as she lets herself revel in the solid muscle of his shoulder, the warmth of his skin, the comforting thud of his heart.

“We need to find shelter,” he murmurs, and she tries to force herself back to alertness, despite the siren pull of rest. He gives her a gentle nudge when she doesn’t reply. “Laura.”

“Mm-hm?”

“Shelter. Before it gets dark.”

She groans, turning her face more fully into his shoulder. “Don’t think I can get up again.”

“No more slacking, soldier.” He kisses her forehead then shifts his back so that she’s dislodged from their embrace, and she moans her disapproval though heaves herself back to sitting.

He follows suit then struggles to his feet, bracing a hand against a weathered tree trunk as he extends his other hand to her and encourages her to standing. They look around in silence for several minutes and Laura squints against the glaring brightness of the twin suns, trying to make out a hazy shape on the horizon.

“There,” she exclaims, pointing as her mind connects the dots. “Over there, Bill. Maybe two kilometres – is that a cave?”

He tracks the direction she’s gesturing in and nods. “I think so. Or fallen trees?”

“Either way, it might be our best shot.”

“Agreed.” He flickers a sideways glance towards her. “Got more in the tank?”

She draws a heavy breath, slides a hand around his middle. “Soon find out.”

“We can make it. Let’s go.”

She gives a firm nod, his assurance filling her afresh with determination, and they set off, pace slow but steadfast through the dwindling amber light.

They’re both utterly spent by the time they reach what turns out to be a shallow outcrop of rock, and they crawl beneath it, neither able to think of anything other than rest. Laura’s muscles are aflame, the soles of her feet ragged and bleeding, and Bill’s breathing is rapid and agonised. He’s lying on his side behind her and he draws her against his chest, enfolding her in his arms and into his warmth.

“Think this is enough?” she murmurs, rubbing her palm across his forearm, words slurring with exhaustion.

“Not ideal,” he replies, pressing a gentle kiss to her neck. “Better than being completely outside.”

“Mm.”

“We’ll reassess in the morning.”

“Can barely keep my eyes open….”

“Then don’t.” He brushes his lips to her neck once more. “Love you.”

“Love you,” she mumbles, the discomfort of her hip against the unyielding ground obliterated by both the solace of his body and the monochrome curtain of slumber as it settles across her mind.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Laura wakes with a gasp, skin drenched with sweat, stomach griping and churning, and she struggles onto swollen knees, scrambling from the makeshift bed. She’s barely a few feet away before she vomits, putrid water splashing onto the ground, and she snatches a quick breath before the next onslaught, whimpering as her head begins to pound. She becomes conscious of Bill in her peripheral vision despite the enveloping darkness, form hunched over as he suffers likewise, groaning as his body empties over and over again.

When the violent contractions finally begin to subside, Laura drags herself over to him, vision impeded by waves of obsidian as she fights to remain conscious.

“Bill,” she stutters, reaching a hand to touch his back, as it convulses with another evacuation. “Bill….”

He sits back on his haunches, passes a quavering hand across his mouth. “Frak.”

“Is it...the leaves…?”

“Or the...water?”

“It’s not good,” she manages, bracing herself against his shoulder and turning away as another wave engulfs her.

“Maybe Cavil...gave us something….Shit, Laura….” He leans away from her to vomit again, and the sound makes her stomach heave once more.

“Can’t stop,” she moans, tongue sour and acrid, and she pushes strands of sweat-drenched hair from her face. “Oh gods.”

He rubs her back, gentle circles against her shoulder blades, and she reaches to squeeze his hand. “Deep breaths,” he tells her, his own breathing slowing to encourage their synchronicity, and she attempts to comply, vigorous tremors beginning to violate her body.

“Bill,” she gasps, vicious shadows permeating her vision. “I think I’m going to pass out….”

She feels him grip her shoulders, steering her to sitting and then urging her head between her knees, and she throws up wretchedly again, squeezing her eyes closed against the swirling dizziness and disorientation. Bill’s palm is caressing her neck, his touch both comforting and grounding, and she tries to focus on the sensation, claws to remain conscious.

“Any better?” he asks, twists away from her again as his body succumbs anew.

“Don’t know,” she replies, concentrates on steady breaths in through her nose, exhales through cracked, arid lips. “Can’t see straight.”

“Me neither,” he admits. “Think we’re….dehydrated….”

“Yeah….”

“Lie down, Laura.”

She crawls, whimpering, back into their makeshift shelter then crumples into the dust, coughing as the particles irritate her airways. She feels Bill slump down next to her panting, and it takes all of her resolve to keep from surrendering to the encroaching blackness. Bill rolls onto his side and curls up behind her, and she realises that she’s frozen to the bone, the battering of her body robbing her of any residue of warmth. Bill’s skin is a fraction warmer and she edges into him, feeling his arms encircle her, exhaustion flooding every cell. His breathing is shallow and erratic against her neck, worry edging into her consciousness and she’s still lucid enough to realise that they’re both fading, tumbling towards the end.

“I love you,” she whispers, fighting to keep the words from slurring as they thicken on her tongue.

“Love you,” he murmurs back, strength beginning to fail him as the squeeze of his arms around her lessens.

“Glad we’re together….”

“Me too,” he stutters on an inhale. “Going to close my eyes now, Laura.”

“Okay. Rest, my love.”

“Love you,” he says again, but his voice sounds far away as a soft rumble of thunder on the horizon, and she welcomes it in, allows it to permeate through to her soul.

She permits her own eyes to flutter closed, mind beginning to drift in a haze of drowsiness, the siren fingers of oblivion caressing until she knows with certainty that she will float forever in the safety of his arms.

Chapter Text

“Here! Over here!”

Laura’s dreaming, hovering in tranquil air, the disembodied voices shimmering as if beneath her, and she wonders what they mean, what they might have discovered. She can see her body below, naked and intertwined with Bill’s, and there are two people next to them, flight suits and helmets catching the thready dawn light. There’s an urgency to the inflection, a familiarity to the shouting voice that she can’t quite place, and then she feels a gentle touch to her shoulder and she’s catapulted back into the confines of her body. I’m alive. I’m still alive….

“Madam President?”

She swallows though her throat is parched, tries to reply but feels the words suffocate in her larynx. She feels fingers check her pulse, hears a relieved sigh, and forces her eyes open, the form before her a blur of leather and chrome.

“Medic!” the voice is edged with panic and it’s enough to rouse Laura further as she tries to twist round, halted by the hand at her shoulder again. “Don’t try to move, Madam President.”

“Lee?” she gasps, recognition flooding her abruptly as she looks into concerned azure eyes. “Oh my gods….”

“Lie still,” he tells her, unbuckling his jacket and laying it on top of her, the warmth instant and hazy, almost making her drift away once more. “Try to keep your eyes open, okay?”

“Your...father,” she inhales, terror seizing her heart as she remembers with brutal clarity the rasping sounds of Bill’s breaths, the slackening of his arms as he surrendered to the inevitable. Please, she begs to the gods she’s no longer sure she believes in. Please….

“Unconscious but breathing,” Lee replies, and she feels her body slacken, tears streaking her vision, aware now of the reassuring rise and fall of Bill’s chest behind her. “Starbuck’s right with him.”

Laura feels another hand atop her shoulder, squeezing in gentle comfort. “He’s doing fine, Madam President. Strong as an ox.”

“Where the frak is that medic?” Lee snaps over the top of her head, and Laura hears Kara speak into a transmitter, repeating a request for assistance.

“They’re almost here,” she replies as the radio crackles back an answering call. “Less than a klick away.”

Bill gives a soft groan and Laura evades Lee’s grasp as he tries to prevent her rolling over towards his father. She blinks his weathered face into focus, nerves alight with dread at his ashen skin, at the sour scent of his uneven breath, and she raises a shaking palm to his face, strokes a thumb beneath the bruised hollow of his cheekbone.

“Bill,” she whispers, unaware of Lee and Kara’s exchanged glance as she brushes her mouth to his on instinct. “Please come back to me.”

He groans again, eyelids fluttering, and she presses closer, not caring about the brokenness of either of their bodies, their matted hair, their skin tainted with dirt and bile and sweat. She feels his fingers flicker at her hip and it buoys her with such intense relief that her chest constricts. He’s assuringly warm, Kara’s flight jacket blanketed about his shoulders, and Laura kisses him again, sobbing at his mouth when she feels the tiniest pressure back against her own.

“Ishay, over here!” Lee calls, and Laura cries out as she feels her body being tenderly separated from Bill’s, the rush of cool air as the jacket is removed from her body.

“Gods, they’re a mess,” the medic comments from above Laura as she begins a preliminary assessment, gesturing to her colleague to start looking at Bill. “We need a Med. Evac. immediately, Major – how far are the Raptors?”

“Five klicks,” Lee answers with a grimace. “Think they can walk?”

“No,” Ishay replies with a curt shake of her head. “Their pulses and blood pressure are both erratic, probably from dehydration – they’ve clearly been vomiting – plus exposure and their injuries. It’ll be a stretcher job.”

“Right. Get on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Several moments later, Laura feels herself being hoisted onto a pliable cot, a foil thermal blanket being tucked around her body, and she grips hold of the nearest person’s sleeve as she’s lifted from the ground.

“It’s okay, Madam President,” Ishay’s tone is soft. “We’ve got you.”

“Bill’s hurt…,” she manages, thick greying mist blurring the edges of her vision once more even as the predominant notion in her mind is to ensure Bill’s safety. “You need to...treat him first – alright?”

“You’re both in bad shape,” the medic says as they begin to move. “We’re getting you to Galactica as soon as we can….”

“Listen to me,” Laura insists, trying to raise her head. “He...took...more blows than I did….”

“We’re going to look after you both. Doctor Cottle is aware of your conditions and he’s on standby.” Ishay gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re both going to be just fine, Madam President.”

“Him first. Promise me.”

Ishay’s steel grey eyes are awash with compassion. “I promise. Now, please – just let us take care of you.”

“Thank you,” Laura croaks, falling back against the stretcher, debilitating fatigue threading once more through every single muscle and nerve, and her final thoughts are of Bill as she allows the engulfing shadows to consume her.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The repeated bleeping of monitors filters into Laura’s brain and she gasps to awareness, confusion at her surroundings rattling through her as her eyes dart around. It’s bright and sterile, harsh antiseptic filling her nostrils, and she realises with a start that she’s in a medical facility. Oh my gods, it’s Sickbay, she thinks, hope and incredulity colliding in her chest. They brought us home, they….

“Ah, Madam President,” Sherman Cottle opens as he steps towards her bed, smoke curling from the cigarette between his lips and clipboard in his hand. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

She inhales and then can’t prevent the coughs that wrack her lungs, ribs tensing under the strain. “Doctor Cottle…,” she tries, another cough burning her throat.

“Take it easy,” he tells her, pressing her forwards from the pillows and listening to her back with his stethoscope, withdrawing when the violent contractions subside. “Okay?”

“Yes. Thank you,” she replies, settling back and then glancing towards the bed to her left, horror piercing her with icy nails as she registers its emptiness. “Oh my gods. Bill….”

Cottle raises a palm, dark eyes soft. “He’s in the head. You can relax.”

Laura sags against pillows, relief swimming through her chest at his words. “Thank you,” she whispers, limbs heavy with the lingering effects of stress.

The doctor checks a monitor, tweaks the bag of fluid that’s dripping slowly into the back of her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Brittle,” she admits, trying a small smile through cracked lips.

“I’m not surprised,” he grunts. “You’ve been through the wringer, young lady. And that’s a huge frakkin’ understatement.”

She inclines her head in assent, flickers her eyes across his. “How close were we?”

“To dying?” Cottle exhales a plume of smoke. “Close. Handful of hours away, if I had to give a time frame.”

Laura blows out a heavy breath, letting her head fall back. “And our injuries?”

“You were both dangerously dehydrated….”

“I remember a lot of throwing up….”

He gives a curt nod. “It was an ingested poison.”

She raises surprised eyebrows. “From the Cylons?”

“Well, I’m still waiting for the lab results to be sure but, yes – that would be plausible.” He takes another draw. “Can’t rule out something you ate or drank on the planet too. Could be either or both.”

“The only thing we ate was some kind of bread on the Base Ship. Nothing on the planet except stream water.”

“Which also goes some way to explaining your hypoglycaemia.” He gestures towards her. “You’ve had a nasogastric tube in situ for the past fifty-two hours, in addition to IV fluids and antibiotics.”

Laura touches tentative fingers to her face, traces the plastic tubing that’s threaded into one nostril. “Fifty-two hours?”

“Give or take.”

“Gods,” she breathes, incredulous. “And how long were we...off the ship?”

“Major Adama estimates between eighty-five and ninety-five.”

She exhales again. “I can’t take that in.”

“You need to come to terms. It’ll take time.”

They both look across the room as Bill appears through a door, and Laura feels her heart stutter against her ribs as they lock eyes. He moves in a slow shuffle dragging an IV pole in his wake, broad form enclosed by the standard medical gown, and she can’t prevent the tears that spill down her cheeks as he approaches. Cottle steps away with a wry shake of his head, and Laura reaches for Bill’s hand as soon as he’s within touching distance, their surroundings fading to insignificance as her skin touches his.

“Hi,” he rumbles, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

“Hi,” she replies, tugging his hand to pull him closer. “How are you?”

“Sore,” he admits, bending to kiss her. “You?”

“About the same.” She inhales in a shudder, strokes gentle fingers across the bandage adorning his eye. “When I saw your bed was empty, Bill….”

“Hey,” he intones, deep baritone soft, his palm moving to her cheek, thumb sweeping away the fresh rivulets of tears. “I’m here, Laura. I’m fine.”

“Neither of us are fine,” she mumbles against his chest as he folds her into his arms, adjusts his hold as the cannula in his hand protests his movement.

“We made it,” he reminds her, kissing the top of her head. “We’re alive.”

She raises her head to look at him again, brushes away more tears. “How did they find us?”

He gives a brief shake of his head. “We’ll debrief with Saul and Lee once we’re discharged.”

“You haven’t spoken to them already?”

He grins. “Doctor’s orders.”

She quirks a teasing eyebrow. “Captivity’s changed you.”

“Just keep it to yourself, Madam President.”

She laughs, hissing at the responding lancing pain in her chest, and she drops her head back to his belly, nuzzling him as he moves a fraction closer. “Get in bed with me,” she whispers, hands moving to caress his waist.

He grunts a chuckle, strokes her hair. “I do that, he’ll never let us out of here.”

“Then you’ll just have to stay where you are because I’m not taking my eyes off you again.”

His answering laugh deepens, so resonant that she feels the vibrations against her cheek, and she feels him cup her face in his broad palms, draws her away from his body to kiss her again. She sighs in thorough contentment at the feel of his mouth, lips now soft in beautiful contrast to the parched sensation of her recent memory, and she parts her lips, feels him grunt in surprise. She strokes her tongue across his for a brief, delicious moment before pulling back to grin at him, watches him try to gather himself.

“You’re a menace, Roslin,” he deadpans, brushing a calming kiss to her cheek.

“You have no idea,” she purrs in reply, turning her head to claim his mouth once more but careful to keep the touch light and soft, to prevent them both from spiralling.

“If you two are quite finished canoodling like a pair of teenagers,” Cottle tuts good-naturedly as he steps back towards them, causing Laura to stifle her laughter into Bill’s chest before withdrawing. “I actually need to talk you through your next steps.”

Bill nods, and Laura shifts in her bed, makes space for him to perch at her side, gratified when he folds his fingers around hers. “Go ahead, Doctor.”

“I mean – do I need to start with the lecture about safe sex in your fifties?”

Laura covers her mouth with her free hand, can’t prevent the giggle that escapes her control. “No.”

“Or warn you against resuming activities until you’re both fully healed?”

“Doctor,” Bill intones a warning, and Laura stifles another chuckle, squeezes his hand.

“Alright,” Cottle sobers, checking a monitor before returning his attention to the couple in front of him. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’ve both been through an ordeal – and from my perspective, I’m really only talking physically. I’d highly recommend you check in with a counsellor to deal with the psychological fallout.”

“Noted,” Laura nods, reality beginning to settle in a dark shroud across her shoulders as the memories stutter into her mind.

“I want to keep you here for another twenty-four hours at least. Make sure your electrolyte levels continue to even out and your blood pressures remain stable. I also want to keep monitoring you for signs of infection, especially given that we’re still not entirely sure what made you so sick.”

“Cavil?” Bill growls, the anger simmering in barely contained restraint.

“Was he your captor?” Cottle frowns and Bill lifts his chin in a terse acknowledgement. “Test results will confirm whether it was indeed some kind of poison or bacteria from the planet’s water. Possibly both.”

“Right,” Laura replies.

“Once I’ve removed your NG tubes, you’ll need to go very carefully with food and drink – little and often, no big meals or your stomach will reject it – understand?” He looks between Bill and Laura, who both nod. “And you both need to take your recovery seriously – you’re under orders to rest for a least a week and after that we’re talking light duties only.”

“Fine,” Bill says. “I’ll coordinate with Colonel Tigh.”

“Good.” Cottle draws a breath. “This next part is delicate – do you want to do it separately or together?”

Laura blinks towards Bill, sees her own decision reflected in his dark cobalt eyes, squeezes his hand again. “You can go ahead, Doctor.”

“Alright,” Cottle sighs, gaze moving between them. “When you were found, you were naked. Which means that you were obviously suffering from exposure and the beginnings of hypothermia, both of which I’ve treated you for...but I need to ask you if there was any sexual assault that you’re aware of.”

Laura swallows, memories of Cavil’s bizarre experimentation ripping through her, the feel of Bill’s fingers, the smell of his skin, and she inhales slowly. “No,” she murmurs, feeling Bill stroke her fingers. “Not as such.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that we were Cavil’s play things,” Bill grunts darkly in response. “And that he put us in various scenarios to test our reactions….”

“Whilst naked?”

“Yeah.”

“Were either of you injured internally?” Cottle asks in an undertone, dark eyes flecked with compassion.

“No,” Laura whispers. “It was more...psychological manipulation, if I had to put a label on it.”

“With your state of undress being part of that?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” Cottle pauses, glances between them again. “Well, like I said – you’ll both be in here for the next twenty-four hours. Planning to ditch the NG tubes in twelve if everything continues to look good.”

“And after that?” Bill asks.

“I won’t be discharging you until I think you’re medically fit enough. You can take that as read and I don’t expect you to argue.” Cottle rolls his eyes as Bill draws breath to respond. “And once I do discharge you I’ll want you under constant supervision, you understand? Whether that’s from each other or someone else, I really don’t care, but neither of you can be alone for at least forty-eight hours after you’re allowed out.”

Laura nods again, a movement across the room catching her eye, and she smiles as Tory approaches, navy duffel bag held in slender fingers. Her aide exchanges a glance with Cottle as she nears Laura’s bedside.

“Madam President,” she opens with a small smile.

Laura beams, joy filling her at the younger woman’s unexpected presence. “Oh, it’s good to see you, Tory.”

“Is this a good time, Doctor?” Tory switches her attention to Cottle, who huffs out a breath.

“Good as any, under the circumstances. No more than five minutes, though. They both need to be resting.”

“Leave you to it,” Bill says, giving her hand a final squeeze and nodding at Tory before withdrawing back to his own bed, Cottle following him to adjust his drip.

Laura misses his warmth almost immediately but turns towards her aide, genuine smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’ve brought you a few things,” Tory replies, lifting the bag onto the bed. “I’m trying to source more comfortable clothes but at least these might be a start.”

Laura unzips the bag, catches sight of familiar suits and underwear, and has to steel herself against the inexplicable wave of emotion it produces. “I appreciate it.”

“How are you feeling?”

“We’re alive,” she answers after a beat, gaze flickering towards Bill who has settled back against his pillows. “Couldn’t be more grateful.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through. When your Raptor was destroyed….” Tory trails off, breath hitching before she rallies. “Not sure what we’d have done without you, Madam President. Without either of you.”

“Can’t get rid of us that easily,” Laura tries a weak smile, even as tears prickle at the corners of her eyes.

“Thank the gods.”

“How much have I missed?”

“Oh no.” Tory shakes sleek dark hair. “No shop talk. I only came to bring you some clothes and a toothbrush – everything else can wait.”

Laura narrows her eyes, tries to read between the lines. “So there is something to tell?”

“Nothing specifically. Nothing that I don’t already have under control.”

“Of course you do,” Laura smiles, rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Tory.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to bring you up to speed. I just value my life.” Tory raises an eyebrow. “Both with the Admiral and Doctor Cottle.”

Laura draws a breath to reply, interrupted by the doctor as he gives a gruff laugh and steps back towards them. “Very wise, young lady. Time’s up.”

Tory leans forward to grasp her hand. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will. Thanks again.”

Tory gives a final smile before walking away, and Laura tracks her movements through increasingly lidded eyes, sudden exhaustion sweeping through her. She angles her head as Cottle inserts a thermometer into her ear, blinks as he gives a dissatisfied hum.

“Your temperature’s slightly elevated, Madam President,” he tells her. “I’m going to tweak your antibiotics.”

“Tired,” she manages, aware her tone is sluggish, the doctor’s voice sounding distant.

“Then sleep,” he instructs as he checks more readings on the monitors. “It’s good for healing.”

She gives a final slow blink, wants to reach for Bill’s hand across the gulf between their beds but the exhaustion is overwhelming and she sinks willingly into the comforting dark, a sense of safety enveloping her as she drifts into slumber.

Chapter Text

Laura smooths the blouse against her ribs, passing a critical eye over her reflection in the mirror. Her charcoal skirt hangs low on her hips, jutting bones harsh beneath questing fingers as she tries to adjust it. She’s lost a startling amount of weight in a short space of time, she muses as she fails to make the item fit better, trying not to dwell on the discomfiting reasons why. She sighs, pulling on her jacket and tugging it about her body, hoping it would have disguised her slender figure and grimacing at herself when it doesn’t.

“You look gorgeous,” Bill’s voice sounds from the door to the head and she locks her gaze to his in the mirror, watching him lean his weight against the frame.

She wrinkles her nose. “I look skeletal.”

“Gorgeous,” he repeats, pushing away and stepping behind her, sliding his arms about her waist and dropping his chin to her shoulder.

She relaxes into his touch, passes her hands across his as she regards their reflection. “It almost feels odd, doesn’t it?”

“Being back in clothes?”

“All of it. After everything….to be back here….” She battles back a shuddering sigh, which softens as he turns his head to brush his mouth to her neck. “It feels like a nightmare….”

“And at the same time, all too real.” He nuzzles her skin and she angles her head to allow him better access. “We’re here, Laura. This is real.”

“Mm. Keep doing that and I might start believing it.”

He grins against her neck. “Is that an executive order?”

“Does it need to be?”

“Frak, no.”

She laughs, light and airy, groaning as a knocking sounds on the hatch to his quarters, and his mouth slows to a reluctant halt. “Real enough for you, Admiral?”

He grunts, caresses gentle hands across her hips before stepping back and fastening his tunic at the shoulder. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

They walk from the head and Laura adjusts her jacket once more then clasps her hands in front of her, nodding at Bill to admit their visitors. Saul Tigh and Lee Adama step across the threshold as the hatch rolls back, and she forces a smile, hoping it projects more assurance than she feels.

“Gentlemen,” Bill greets, shaking each of their hands before gesturing for them to sit on the couch, and Laura perches on the chestnut leather next to him as he follows suit.

“It’s good to see you up and about, Bill,” Tigh opens, turning his attention to Laura and giving a crisp nod. “You too, Madam President.”

“It certainly feels good,” she replies, smiling broadening. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“It feels like an understatement,” Lee adds, voice catching as Bill lays a comforting hand to his shoulder. “Can’t tell you how glad we are to have you both back.”

“Thanks to the outstanding men and women of my ship,” Bill tells him, squeezing his son’s shoulder before withdrawing. “Alright. Let’s have the full debrief.”

“And we’re going to need you to go right back to the decision we took to leave the ship,” Laura adds with a small grimace. “I can only remember snatches of it and even then I have no idea how accurately.”

Lee nods. “A week ago, we were contacted by a Cylon Base Ship out of the blue with a request to meet a contingent from Galactica to broker peace talks.”

“Obviously we were highly suspicious,” Tigh adds with derision. “We thought from the off that it was likely to be a trap but the Base Ship sat there as they said they would while we considered it.”

“Was it always Cavil?” Laura asks, looking from one man to the other.

“No,” Lee replies. “Initially we were dealing with an Eight model, who appealed to our Sharon. She was convincing – like the Colonel said, she gave us time and didn’t attack.”

“I vaguely recall a meeting of the senior staff,” Bill raises an eyebrow towards her in question.

“So do I,” Laura says, nodding. “We talked it round for a long time – correct?”

Lee inclines his head. “It took us twelve hours. Once we came to the decision that we couldn’t pass it up, Cavil came crawling out of the woodwork.”

“And started calling the shots,” Tigh grunts. “Made demands about how the negotiations should proceed.”

Bill blows out a breath. “We fell hook, line and sinker.”

“We couldn’t pass it up,” Laura reiterates. “Even with those reservations, Bill. We had to give it a try for the sake of the fleet’s future.”

“We were all on the same page,” Tigh agrees. “We all had misgivings but it seemed like a risk worth taking.”

“I assume Cavil insisted on the presence of both me and the Admiral at these talks?”

“Yes,” Lee acknowledges. “It was non-negotiable. The two of you, with a security detail, on neutral ground.”

“Posited by him?”

“We checked out the location as thoroughly as we could – initial Raptor fly-bys and then a landing party at the location. As far as we could make out, there was a breathable atmosphere and no hidden Cylon traps.”

“Cavil waited while all this was done?” Bill asks.

“Yes, sir. Which made everything appear even more genuine.”

“Like a patient spider in a web,” Laura murmurs, feeling Bill brush her hand in reassurance and catching Tigh’s flash of surprise that he’s quick to repress.

“Talk me through the plan for the day of the conference,” Bill instructs, leaning forward on his knees.

“The plan was to have you and the president board a Raptor with a six strong Marine escort at oh-nine-hundred and land at the rendezvous point. We’d position another Raptor in a low orbit in constant radio communication with the escort detail, which in turn would relay all communications to Galactica.”

“What was to stop our Raptor from being intercepted?”

“Cavil promised that his Base Ship would jump away, sir – which it did – and that he and his party would only approach in a Heavy Raider.”

“Don’t misunderstand, Admiral,” Tigh cuts in. “We were still on high alert, even despite Cavil appearing to hold to his word at every opportunity.”

“So, what went wrong?” Laura asks, careful to maintain a neutrality to her tone that’s in counterpoint to the acceleration of her heart.

Lee’s sigh is ragged. “The Raptors took off on schedule, heading for the moon, and we tracked the Heavy Raider as it approached, exactly as planned….”

“The Cylons released some kind of EM pulse that disabled all our systems,” Tigh growls. “Raptors were dead in the water and our DRADIS was blind….”

“And we were boarded,” Laura intones softly, raising a hand to her mouth as the memory crystallises. “I remember the noise and then...nothing.”

“From what Cavil said, all the Marines were killed,” Bill explains in a low timbre. “The president and I were drugged to unconsciousness and presumably taken on board the Heavy Raider.”

“They then destroyed the Raptor,” Lee continues. “Once we managed to get a handle on our systems again, all we could find was debris.”

“The other Raptor?”

“Towed it back in with a Viper. No casualties.”

“Well, that’s something,” Laura comments with a sigh. “I’m glad no-one else had to die for us, Major.”

“Cavil got what he came for,” Bill says darkly before Lee can reply. “This all points to premeditation – exactly as we thought, Laura.”

She catches the glance between Lee and Saul at the unintentional use of her first name, feels the slight flush in her cheeks. “I suppose so.”

Lee looks between the two of them, leans forward in a posture that mirrors his father’s. “Should I continue? Or do you want to debrief us on what happened on the Base Ship?”

Bill flickers a glance towards her and she resists a strong urge to take his hand, settles for a slight shifting of her body so that their thighs press together. “We came to in a cell,” he growls. “In the dark.”

Laura swallows, folds her hands tighter in her lap at Bill’s deliberate omission of their debasement, the stark facts of their nakedness.

“Did Cavil make demands?” Tigh asks.

She barks a humourless laugh. “Not about fleet secrets, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then, what?”

“It was...some kind of experiment.”

Lee’s brow furrows. “Torture?”

Bill shakes his head. “The physical injuries came just before our ejection from the ship. Nothing before that.”

“Look, Dad, Madam President…we know you went through an ordeal.” Lee spreads concessionary palms at their joint reticence. “And it’s completely your decision how much you want to divulge….”

“We had very little water, very little food,” Laura says, even as Bill draws breath to reply. “No dignity.”

Lee frowns again. “Are you talking about your...lack of clothing?”

“A campaign in humiliation,” Bill exhales in a gruff stream. “I don’t think we need to say any more about it.”

“Alright.” The younger Adama nods. “Do you think it was it about you as leaders?”

“It wasn’t completely clear, son,” Bill responds. “There didn’t seem to be much in the way of logic to it.”

“Cavil’s a frakked up son-of-a-bitch,” Tigh growls. “He probably had his own sick agenda.”

“He did,” Laura can’t prevent the terse response, feels Bill press his leg against hers in gentle solidarity.

“When he decided he was through with his ‘experiment’ he ordered the Centurions to attack,” Bill continues in a monotone. “That’s where most of our physical injuries originated.”

“And then you were dumped on the nearest planet to die?”

“That’s about the size of it.” Bill pauses for a long moment, lets the divulgence settle in the soft light. “Bring us up to speed on how you managed to find us, can you?”

Lee gives a curt nod. “When we found the Raptor debris, it was a reasonable assumption that there were no survivors….”

“Not that your son or Starbuck were willing to accept it,” Tigh interjects in a wry tone. “And nor was I, as a matter of fact.”

Bill raises an eyebrow towards Laura who feels a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “The Admiral reassured me as such,” she explains. “It felt like a lifeline in the darkness.”

“We couldn’t give up on you,” Lee says, voice thick with emotion. “It seemed like Cavil had gone to too much trouble simply to kill you when the Base Ship could have initially taken out Galactica if that was the goal.”

“Go on.”

“We assumed you’d been taken aboard the Heavy Raider and that it had jumped to the coordinates of the Base Ship, which Gaeta had managed to plot as an insurance measure.”

Bill’s lips tighten. “You didn’t jump Galactica straight in?”

“We followed procedure, Bill,” Tigh replies. “Jumped in two Vipers to track the Base Ship from a safe distance.”

“Good.”

“They followed it as it jumped several further times, whilst we came up with a tactically sound plan to board it.”

“Though in the end we didn’t need it,” Lee cuts in. “The Vipers reported the launch of a Heavy Raider that was headed for a nearby planet.”

Bill blows out a breath. “Hell of an assumption that we were aboard.”

“Yes, sir.” Lee grins, and Bill gives a soft chuckle. “Once the Heavy Raider returned to the Base Ship and the Cylons left, we were then able to coordinate an SAR.”

“Simple as that, hm?” Laura gives an incredulous shake of her head as the men grunt quiet laughs. “The odds of success given the size of the planet must have been….”

“Miniscule,” Tigh finishes. “They were, Madam President.”

“You took a huge risk,” Bill says, sobering. “Used a lot of resources.”

“The fleet was never undefended,” Lee reassures. “The whole mission used only Vipers and Raptors….”

“And without blowing smoke up both of your asses, we couldn’t risk losing either of you,” Tigh deadpans. “It was a chance we thought worth taking if it brought the two of you back in one piece.”

“Well, we’re grateful,” Laura attempts a smile, feels her chest constrict with unshed tears, feels the pressure of Bill’s knee against hers once more. “I can’t really put into words how much.”

“It was a no-brainer – no-one would have wanted a Zarek-Tigh administration when there was still a good chance of Roslin-Adama.”

She laughs, flushes with pleasure at the joining of her name with Bill’s, at the implication behind it in her mind. “Can you please pass on my thanks to the crew?”

“Of course, Madam President.”

“We’ll need to review everything once you’ve written your reports,” Bill says. “Perhaps make some policy changes to ensure this can never happen again.”

Tigh quirks an eyebrow. “Such as the leader of the military and the leader of the government not getting into a Raptor together?”

Laura raises a palm. “Noted.”

“At least not when there’s an imminent Cylon threat, anyway.”

She stifles a laugh as Bill attempts a glare, wondering for a moment how widespread the rumours have become about the two of them then deciding to compartmentalise it for another time.

“Gentlemen, thank you,” he’s saying, and Laura feels him move to standing, does likewise at his side as the junior officers also rise. “If we have any further questions we’ll let you know.”

They exchange cordial nods as they move as a group towards the hatch, and she smiles as Bill embraces his son at the threshold, clapping him warmly on the back.

“Welcome home, Dad, Madam President,” the younger Adama grins at her as he pulls back. “Get some rest.”

“I’ll check in on you later, Admiral,” Tigh adds, shaking Bill’s hand and giving Laura a courteous nod before both he and Lee withdraw, closing the hatch in their wake.

Laura releases a pent-up breath, fatigue filtering through her once more, and she’s grateful when Bill is quick to wrap a supportive arm about her waist.

“You okay?” he frowns, trying to guide her back towards the couch, brow furrowing further as she resists. “What’s the matter?”

“Just...trying to take it all in,” she replies, sighing. “Bill, if I sit down I’ll never get up again.”

“I’ll get a blanket. We can sleep on the couch.”

Laura groans. “As wonderful as that sounds….I’ve got Tory waiting to escort me back to Colonial One.”

He grimaces his disapproval though his eyes are shining. “What happened to not taking your eyes off me?”

“I don’t want to,” she says, stretching to kiss his cheek. “But she was insistent. Think she’s taking what Doctor Cottle said about me not being alone very seriously.”

“She didn’t think that maybe you wouldn’t be?”

“I didn’t want to open that can of worms. At least, not right now.”

He kisses the top of her head. “Alright. Let me walk you to the hangar bay, then.”

She smiles, disentangles herself from his arms and they step into the corridor together, Laura unable to stop herself from taking his arm, needing the physical contact as if it’s sustenance. They walk in a soft silence and Laura takes in every detail of the walkway as if for the first time – the grey utilitarian metal, the harsh artificial lighting, the lengths of dull piping – and they warm her with welcome familiarity despite their commonplace appearance.

They round the corner to their destination and Tory smiles a greeting, stepping towards them.

“Ready to go home?” she asks, and Laura battles back a sob at the question – oh, Tory. Wherever he is, is home – and she schools her features to neutrality.

“Sure, Tory.”

“Great. The shuttle’s prepped – we can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“Just give me a second.”

“Of course.” The younger woman nods towards Bill in acknowledgement. “Admiral.”

“Make sure she rests,” he instructs her in a solemn tone and Laura rolls her eyes. “No working.”

“You have my word.”

“Good.”

Tory nods again and turns on her heel, boards the ramp to the waiting Raptor. Laura waits until she’s out of sight before stepping to face Bill, tangling the fingers of one hand with his at his side.

“I would say we still need to have that conversation,” she tells him, smiling as he tugs her closer.

“We do.”

“But we’re both too frakkin’ tired.”

“Yeah.” He looks at her and drops his voice, his affection open and unguarded despite the other people milling around the shuttle. “I want to kiss you.”

“Oh, Bill - me too. Tomorrow.” She places a hand on his chest, moves to whisper in his ear, the sentiment tumbling easily from her lips. “Love you.”

He brushes his mouth to her cheek. “Love you,” he murmurs into her skin. “Sleep well.”

“See you tomorrow.” She begins to walk away, sighing as he keeps a tight hold on her hand. “Bill.”

“What?”

“I’m going to need my hand.”

He picks it up, presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Thought I might keep it here with me.”

She brushes her fingers across his palm, breathes a light laugh. “Just my hand?”

“If I can’t convince the rest of you.”

She laughs again. “I’ll call you first thing in the morning – how does that sound?”

He pretends to consider and then releases her with obvious disinclination. “You drive a hard bargain, Madam President.”

“Speak to you then” She kisses his cheek, inhaling the scent of him. “Good night.”

She feels his eyes track her as she makes her way on board the shuttle, and it takes all of her willpower not to turn around on the ramp and launch herself at him. She chuckles to herself as she takes her seat beside Tory and the younger woman raises her eyebrows.

“Everything okay?”

“Totally fine,” she yawns, bone-deep weariness slamming into her anew. “Wake me when we get there, won’t you?”

“Of course. Rest, Madam President.”

Laura yawns again, feels the hum of the shuttle’s engines as they whir into life, though she’s asleep before the craft enters the launch tube, before it glides into the soundless emptiness of space.

Chapter Text

Laura pushes out a long breath and turns over on the cot, aching body protesting the movement and her mind suddenly too agitated to settle. Tory had awoken her with gentle pressure to her shoulder as the shuttle had docked with Colonial One, and the interrupted nap had left her irritable and disorientated.

She looks round now at the familiar surroundings of her living quarters, muted in the gloom, conflicting emotions threading through her heart – she’s content here, she muses, has learnt to think of it as home since the fall of the colonies but now that she’s back, she feels oddly bereft, the experience of the past week twisting inside her memory with brutal clarity.

Sighing, she reaches for the nearby handset, requests a secure connection to Galactica, relief gushing through her as he answers on the first ring.

“Laura?” he opens, concern evident in his husky baritone. “You okay?”

“Can’t sleep,” she admits through another sigh, rolling onto her back. “I’m completely wrung out but my mind….”

“Yeah,” he exhales in gentle empathy.

“Every time I close my eyes I’m back in that frakkin’ cell, Bill.”

“Or throwing your guts up on an alien planet.”

“Yes.” The quiet vehemence in his tone makes her breath catch and she almost smells the putrid vomit again, stomach clenching.

“We let this consume us, he’s won, Laura.”

“I know. I just can’t switch off, and I…,” she breaks off, releases another breath which turns into a soft hum. “Think maybe it’s also...separation anxiety.”

“I did try to convince you to stay.” He chuckles into her ear. “Are you regretting your life choices?”

“Perhaps I am,” she admits, smiling.

“So am I.” He blows out a breath. “I can’t sleep either.”

“You in your rack?”

“For all the good it’s doing me.”

Laura twists to glance at her clock, heart sinking as she registers the time. “Gods, Bill. I’ve been lying here for nearly four hours.”

“Frak this,” he announces with vehemence after a beat, and she hears the rustle of a blanket being thrown back. “I’m gonna come and get you.”

“What?”

“I’ll be twenty minutes.”

“What are you…?”

“We’re neither of us getting any rest apart, Laura. Might as well try it together.”

Her eyes fill unbidden and she takes a shuddering breath to try and offset the surge of emotion in her chest. “Appearances be damned?”

“Yeah. Tell Tory whatever you want. I’m leaving now.”

“Okay. I’ll be ready.”

They hang up and Laura rises from her bed, head spinning at the sudden movement, and she stumbles into a table, her startled cry enough to bring Tory hurrying through the curtain.

“You alright?” her aide asks with a worried frown. “Can I get you something?”

“No,” Laura replies, rubbing the tender spot on her thigh. “Thank you.”

“Then, what are you…?”

“I’m heading back to Galactica.”

“Now?” Tory’s consternation deepens on her brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Look,” Laura sighs, moving past her aide and casting around to look for a sweater. “I can’t sleep. And neither can he.”

Her dark eyes soften in understanding. “The Admiral?”

“Not apart. Not after this week, Tory.”

Tory nods, sweeps the dimly lit room and scoops up an olive sweatshirt, handing it to Laura. “Here,” she says, and Laura takes it with a grateful smile. “Need anything else?”

Laura pulls the garment over her head, covers the silken lines of her pyjamas, thoughts tumbling as she flicks her hair from the neckline. “If you get any press phone calls before the morning….”

“I’ll handle it.”

“I need discretion with this, Tory. I’m due to hold a press conference tomorrow afternoon but you know what some of them are like.”

“I do,” Tory’s lips thin into a grim smile. “Your whereabouts won’t get any further than this room, Madam President. I guarantee it.”

“Thank you.” She passes a hand across her face, rubs her eyes as her vision blurs.

“I hope you both manage to get some rest.”

“So do I,” Laura sighs, picking up the bag that Tory had brought to sickbay. “I feel a little bit...broken.”

“I think you’re entitled to.” Tory lays a kind hand on her forearm. “I’m here if you need to talk.”

“I appreciate that, Tory. Really.”

The younger woman takes a breath to reply but their attention is caught by a rapt knocking on the bulkhead, and then Bill steps across the threshold, the curtain pooling to the side in his wake. Laura has to bite back a sob at the reassuring bulk of him in his flight suit, her emotions refracting like beams of light through a prism, and she’s glad when he strides the room and catches her, just as her legs give way.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, waving Tory off without being dismissive as he pulls Laura to him and she heaves an uneven breath against the broad planes of his chest. “I’ve got you, Laura.”

They hold each other for a long moment as Tory moves away, and Laura releases the instinct to castigate herself for her vulnerability, makes herself lean into it. The knowledge that they have been apart for a mere handful of hours is out of proportion to her overwhelming relief at being with him again, and she allows herself to feel all of it. It’s trauma, she thinks as he strokes her back. Shared trauma underpinned with something we should have acknowledged a long time ago….

She manages to compose herself enough to pull back, skin warming as Bill brushes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Take me home,” she tells him, watching as his dark blue eyes moisten.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He wraps an arm about her waist as they walk through the ship, and it gladdens her to realise that he seems to need the physical contact as much as she does. He settles her into the co-pilot’s seat of the Raptor, drapes a blanket across her legs, and she allows her eyes to drift across the pinpricks of light as he steers the shuttle out from the hangar bay.

She dozes through the short journey, snatches of vivid dreams gnawing at her subconscious and leaving her skin glistening with sweat when the Raptor touches down. She blinks as Bill unhooks her harness, rugged features creased with anxiety.

“Do we need to stop off at sickbay?” he rumbles, smoothing a strand of damp hair back from her forehead.

“No, no,” she manages, clearing her throat. “Just dreaming.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine, Bill. Let’s go to bed.”

He helps her down from the Raptor, nodding to the skeleton deck gang working the graveyard shift, and then they’re in the corridor, retracing the steps they had taken mere hours before. He draws back the hatch to his quarters and she breathes it in, in a way she hadn’t permitted herself to during their debrief – worn leather, well-thumbed paper, subtle cologne – the combination is achingly intimate and she allows it to fill her up as he steers her towards the sleeping area.

She peels off her sweater, watches as he strips down to his tanks then disappears into the head, and she slides beneath the welcoming covers off his rack, shuffles over to make space for him. The sheets smell of him, homely and comforting, and she sighs, burrowing into the surprising softness and curling onto her side.

“Does it feel like luxury?” he teases, and she opens her eyes as he climbs in beside her.

“Mm-hm.”

He chuckles at her reaction. “Not bad for standard-issue bedding.”

“Feels good.”

He leans forward to kiss her forehead, slides his hand down her body to settle at her waist, a gentle laugh rumbling through his chest as she hums in contentment. “Better?”

“Finally feel like I can relax,” she murmurs, shifting closer.

“Me too.”

She lets her eyes pass across his face, cataloguing every beloved crease, a resurgence of fear bubbling through her as the memories resurface. “I thought we were going to die, Bill,” she says quietly, feels his hand slip round to her lower back to tug her towards him.

“So did I,” he admits after a moment, and she blinks in surprise.

“Did you?”

“Our chances weren’t good, Laura. Especially not after he dumped us on that planet.”

“That was some of the most intense fear I’ve ever felt.” She inclines her head, pondering. “But even before then.”

“I think he was serious about shooting us if we didn’t obey him. That threat was very real.”

“So why didn’t he?”

Bill shifts onto his elbow, rests his head in his palm. “We obeyed. Right up until the last.”

“And then he just...changed his mind? On a whim?”

“Didn’t seem to be much logic to it. Maybe he figured a slow death would be more of a punishment.”

“I guess so.” She drifts into silence, mind whirling. “It terrified me that we never knew what he would do next, Bill.”

“That’s the psychological power play. Keeping you at the edge of your nerve without respite.”

“Well, it worked. I feel debilitated even by the memory of it.”

He strokes his fingers beneath her pyjama top, rubbing comforting circles into her skin. “Add that to the fear of death – great combination for a psychopath.”

She nods as another thought occurs to her. “A psychopath and a voyeur?”

“The voyeurism seemed pretty high on his agenda.” Bill draws a heavy breath as he looks at her. “If we’d succumbed to what he wanted….”

“He wouldn’t have stopped. It would have escalated.” She grazes her fingers to his chest. “And we’d have hated ourselves.”

“I thought I was going to go out of my mind.”

She sighs, memories of an arousal so potent it had been almost painful rippling through her body. “We were laid so bare,” she whispers thickly. “It was….”

“Laura,” he breathes, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “Whatever that was robbed us of any semblance of control...but I still feel like I need to apologise….”

“No.”

“For what I said to you, for how….” He breaks off, winces. “Coarse I was.”

“We both were.”

“Well, regardless – I’m sorry, Laura.”

She brushes her mouth to his. “Please don’t be. It was all him.”

He blows out a slow breath, rolls onto his back and pulls her against his chest. “Not sure what we do with it now,” he comments absently, fingers stroking intricate patterns across the silky material covering her shoulder and arm.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...it was pheromone-induced, or whatever it was, but….”

“It was also honest – is that what you’re getting at?”

“Yeah. And in the shower, Laura...He wasn’t drugging us then….”

“That we know of.”

“True. But even so.”

She pauses though her fingers continue to dance across his tanks. “Are we back to being honest?”

“Our bodies were being honest.”

“They were,” she agrees, breathing a soft laugh. “One step ahead of our rationality?”

“A lot more than one in my case.”

“Gods.” She laughs again, turns her head to muffle the sound against his chest as it becomes a gentle hum, as she sobers. “It bothers me that he’s...tainted our first experience of being naked together – how’s that for honesty?”

“Not bad,” he deadpans, and she nudges him before his tone turns more sombre. “We need to try not to think that way.”

“No, I know.”

“It comes back to him having gained a victory if we let him, Laura.”

“I don’t want to let him.”

“Good. So the next time I get you naked it’ll be on our own terms.”

She giggles, happiness floating through her. “Works for me.”

He brushes his fingers to her jaw, tips her head up so he can kiss her and she moans as their lips part, as they taste each other properly for the first time, tongues exploring with intense abandon, and they’re both panting as they part for air.

“Bill,” she breathes as he steals a gentler kiss from her mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He pulls her into his chest again and tugs the covers over their bodies, the enveloping warmth and his proximity making her instantly drowsy.

“Our responsibilities to the fleet…,” she attempts, though the sentiment is hampered by a yawn, mind and body no longer cooperating.

“Will always be there, Laura.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, eyes beginning to flutter closed even as she fights it. “But I..I don’t think I can be without you.”

“And you don’t have to be.” He kisses her head. “We’ll find a way to make it work.”

“Gods, I hope so.”

“We will.” He encourages her onto her side, curls his body around hers. “Sleep now. The rest of it can wait.”

She smiles and relaxes into his embrace, relishing the steady rise and fall of his chest at her back as his breathing slows, his lips ghosting across her neck. She knows there’s more to work through, both in terms of their experience and relationship, but for now she feels content to simply exist with him in the enveloping safety of his bed, enjoying the feel of his body, the tranquillity of his space. His gentle insistence on their shared future and the security of his encircling arms lull her towards the slumber she’s craving with wonderful, inexorable certainty – and Laura Roslin allows herself to finally fall into dreamless, restorative rapture.

FIN