Disclosure: I do not own BSG, or any of its characters, yet they live on in my heart. SO SAY WE ALL!
GALACTICA SICKBAY
It seemed almost anti-climactic, their band's arrival at the great ship's hospital ward. With its positioning on the Galactica, coupled with fortification rivaled only by that of the CIC, the unit was a calm island amidst the recent chaos of the Cylon invasion.
The chief medic on duty, Layne Ishay, was there to greet them.
Immediately, she took charge upon seeing the very dazed Petty-Officer Anastasia Dualla being assisted by Captain Lee Adama and Billy Keikeya. Ishay moved the trio to an open cubicle, and practically had to pry both men off the young woman in order to see to her injuries. "Please, Sirs. I know you are both concerned, but I must do my job. Don't make me call for back-up!" ordered the medic.
"Yeah, Captain. Go see your dad," added Billy. "I'll look after Dee." In his mind, the president's aide was being forceful. Even if it didn't sound like it.
"Maybe you should go look after your boss," suggested the pilot. Not that he actually thought Laura Roslin needed a babysitter. "When Dee comes to her senses, she might need to talk to someone who's got combat experience."
"I've got combat experience."
"Other than today?"
Billy swallowed. "Yeah, of course."
"Don't tell me," Lee Adama said with a slight smirk, and a shake of his head. "You're a Holo-Band gamer."
Before Billy could answer, Ishay stepped between the two men who were getting more agitated by the minute. "Gentlemen, please! I must see to my patient. Privacy is in order!"
"Fine," sighed Lee. "I'll go call Tigh... let the colonel know we made it here..."
After the younger of the two Adamas left the cubicle, Billy continued to look at Dualla like a love-sick schoolboy. "I'll just be outside if she needs anything," he told Ishay. "And thank you. I really kinda put myself in a corner just now."
Ishay smiled knowingly. "We gamers gotta stick together."
# # #
Having found herself free of responsibility for the moment, and without thinking of her previous status as a military prisoner, President Roslin wandered the sickbay somewhat aimlessly.
She felt shaky inside, and wondered if all of this was quite real or not. Then again, Laura figured, getting shot at by a machine bent on killing you, only just moments ago, more than likely did that to a person. The twin bullet holes in her suit jacket were still smoldering upon further inspection, and the fabric smelled slightly acrid. Why she wasn't in surgery at the present moment – or dead – was beyond the president.
It wasn't as if Laura Roslin was a stranger to death. No, she lived with that unwelcome companion daily, having been diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. Maybe if given the choice, she might've rather taken the bullets instead. Maybe not. Dying in glory instead of wasting away? Either way, the end was the same.
As she paced the organized layout of the large group of rooms, Laura realized that for the first time since her imprisonment, she wasn't freezing her presidential bum off. In fact, Ms. Roslin found herself feeling quite warm. Too warm.
A glance to a clock on the wall told her she would soon be due for another dose of Chamalla extract. Unfortunately the bottle of pills she'd brought with her from Colonial One, and given to Billy for safe keeping while she'd been locked up, had gone missing during their encounter with the Centurions. The young man had quietly confessed to losing them from his pants pocket, somewhere between their journey from the Enlisted Head and the fire fight at the Aft-Damage Control.
The visions would be starting soon. They were always strongest at the end of a Chamalla dosage.
Laura hugged herself at the thought. Now was not the time to be tripping out like some aging hippie at the annual Kyros Summerfest on Aquaria. Perhaps she could persuade one of the medics on duty to help her obtain some more pills. Dr. Cottle had a black market source, and tried to keep a constant supply of the opiates on hand.
Aside from the little flurry of activity they created upon arrival, the ward was quiet, with no more than five patients being cared for presently. That would soon change, once survivors of the invasion came in with their injuries, but for now things were relatively calm.
Except, that is, for the occasional hysterical outburst by the rescued deck hand in their party known as Jammer. President Roslin smiled to herself as she passed by his cubicle with the open curtain, and tried not to look in. She could hear the very capable Viper pilot, Louann "Kat" Katraine, telling him to stop being such a pussy, while helping another medic restrain the young man.
Laura, lost in thought, continued walking.
So much was expected of her. The Colonists. The fleet. Elosha, the priestess who called her a prophet of the Lords of Kobol. They saw her as a leader, someone who knew all the answers, and as someone who would save them from dying so very far from home.
It was ironic, really.
She needed that Chamalla, or else it would be her that needed saving.
"Madam President? Are you alright?"
Startled by the sudden voice behind her back, Laura spun on her heel to find Corporal Venner standing before her.
In doing such an action, the president became dizzy and disoriented, having to reach out and grab whatever was available to steady herself. Unfortunately, she soon realized, that 'something' happened to be the foot of the comatose Commander William Adama.
She'd apparently wandered into the sickbay's ICU.
Laura stared in shock at the prone man on the gurney, then turned to face Venner once again. "Yes, yes," she told the Colonial Marine. "I'm fine. I was just collecting my thoughts when I came upon the commander, here."
"Just so long as you weren't going to escape," replied Venner. "Or worse yet, making an attempt on his life." When the woman paled, Venner smiled in friendship. "I'm joking, Madam. Don't worry. I don't really think you'd try something like that."
"Oh, good."
Roslin and Venner looked on at Adama, who continued to lay sleeping despite the visitors to his bedside. All manners of tubes and wires were hooked up to his body, and a large bandage with a seeping line of red was centered in the middle of his chest. Through it all, the man appeared surprisingly peaceful.
"Maybe you could say a prayer over Commander Adama," Venner suggested. "No doubt the Gods would listen to you, and heal him."
The president's stomach dropped. She knew the marine meant every word he spoke. Venner was from Gemenon, and very devout. "I don't know. Captain Apollo said his father's wounds were very serious," Laura admitted solemnly, as she continued to stare at Adama. "Sometimes the Gods' answer isn't always the one you want."
"One doesn't know if one doesn't ask."
Turning to face Venner, Laura noticed that the guard was gone, and now in his place was the medic Ishay. Again, Laura paled at another sudden turn of events, but refrained this time from grabbing at a piece of Adama for support.
"Are you alright, Madam?" Ishay questioned the president.
Laura inhaled, then exhaled deeply, and nodded an affirmative. "Commander Adama. How is he doing?"
"We nearly lost him," Ishay replied, the words catching in her throat. "However, he made it through surgery, and we're cautiously optimistic about that. The commander's blood pressure is still quite low, and I'm hoping that Dr. Cottle will be able to give a better prognosis... once he gets here."
"I'm sure," agreed Laura, even if it was a lie.
Ishay continued giving her dissertation on the patient in question. "Until we lost power, Commander Adama had been on a ventilator, but then we found he could breathe on his own. I guess that the Old Man is even tougher than previously thought."
"That he is."
The medic nodded, then began choking up. Suddenly, the events of the past several hours came crashing down upon the young woman, and she burst into tears. Ishay, wracked with emotion, threw her arms around the stunned president.
"I held – I held his heart in my hands," Ishay sobbed against her.
Laura took a half step back, bracing herself to hold the exhausted medic while glancing over at Adama. It was a useless effort, since the man was clearly in no condition to help. Still, Laura felt that she too, needed a small level of support. Not that she would have gotten it from Adama in the first place, considering how and what he thought of her prior to him being shot.
"You what?"
Ishay hiccuped. "His heart stopped. I had to open his chest, and perform thoracic massage. Just like the textbooks say. He essentially died on the table, but I was able to bring him back." Ishay faced Laura, wiping the tears from her own face. "I never thought I could do that."
"But you did," corrected Laura. "And he lives."
"For now," Ishay stated. "The commander has lost so much blood. Pints of it. You see, his aorta was nicked, and we had to remove his spleen! I'm not a doctor. What if I didn't do every–"
Without thinking, Laura hugged the woman before another crying fit could start. "Layne, do you believe in the Gods?"
After a beat, the medic's trembling stilled.
Ishay was slightly taken aback by the president addressing her by her first name, but on the two previous occasions they'd met in the sickbay, she found Ms. Roslin to be a caring and thoughtful person. Such a personal gesture, at this time, was both appreciated and comforting.
"Yes," Ishay readily admitted. She knew of the president's medical condition, and prayed daily for her. The younger woman looked squarely at Laura and asked, "Do you- believe?"
"It seems more and more, these days." Laura patted Ishay's shoulder. "In fact, I'm starting to believe that the Lords use us as Their instruments, assigning us with certain skills and duties whether we choose them or not. So what does it really matter if your diploma doesn't read M.D. after your name?"
"Dr. Cottle will tell you otherwise," Ishay replied with an irreverent snort of irony. "He thinks he is a god!"
The president couldn't help but laugh in agreement, further breaking the seriousness of the moment. "Of course he does. Sherman Cottle is a man, and a military one at that!"
"Agreed."
Laura paused for a moment before speaking, feeling in her soul that the words she was about to say were true. "I tend to think you were placed here, at this time, to help Commander Adama when he needed it the most."
Ishay, bolstered by the president's words, collected herself and then resumed her task of checking the commander's vitals. Laura noted that the medic's expression was serious as she wrote in Adama's chart, she but refrained from asking for fear of another meltdown.
From Ishay, and maybe even from herself.
"Is it alright if I sit with him?"
"Yes, of course." Ishay clicked her pen closed, and tucked the chart under her arm. "I'll be around if either of you need anything."
"Thank you."
"No, Madam. I'm the one who should be thanking you. It's been–"
"One of those days?" Laura finished Ishay's statement. "Yes, it has."
The medic smiled before leaving to see to the other patients. "We're all lucky to have you as our president."
Laura sighed at the thought.
GALACTICA HALLWAY
Colonel Saul Tigh wearily ascended the small number of steps leading up and to the end of the hallway where the Executive Officer's quarters were located.
Upon reaching his doorway, Tigh paused to collect himself before entering. Between deposing the sitting president, his best friend being shot, losing the fleet, a computer virus, and then the ship being invaded, it had been one pisser of a day so far. The only consolation had been not having to deal with that flighty doctor, Gaius Baltar, who was thankfully far enough away, down on the planet Kobol.
However, what awaited Tigh behind the hatch door didn't promise to make things much better.
Ellen. Just thinking of her made Saul want to take a drink.
His wife was both the Gods' sweetest blessing, and also Their greatest curse upon him. She was more trouble to him than the bottle, actually. But his addiction to her was one he never wanted to be rid of.
Tigh took a deep breath.
He'd been short with Ellen on the phone during the invasion. That had been a necessary, but regrettable action. The thing was, the woman wasn't built for such trauma. She was meant to be, at best, the lady who lunched. Shopped. Maybe even one who chaired on some ridiculous cause like... saving some sort of rare tree moss.
The colonel knocked before spinning the wheel of the hatch. "Ellen, darling," Tigh called through the slim opening he'd made in the doorway. Knowing she was armed, scared him more than a whole troop of Centurions. "It's me. Saul. The ship is safe. Gaeta's going to sound the All Clear siren any minute now."
"How do I know for sure it's really you?!" cried the panicked blonde.
Tigh cautiously stepped further into the room. "You have a tattoo on the inside of your–"
Ellen's boisterous laugh cut him off before he could finish. A loud metallic clunk could be heard in the low light of the cabin, made no doubt when the woman dropped the sidearm she'd been training on the door. Ellen made a bee-line for her husband, nearly tackling Tigh to the floor. He responded to her kiss easily, and willingly.
"I was so scared, Saulie," Ellen said against him.
"I know you were," the colonel replied. "I heard it in your voice."
Like everything else in the couple's marriage, their reunion was passionate and explosive. After a long session of mutual tonsil swallowing, Ellen broke away and began her account of the last few hours.
"I never realized how much noise the ship makes, until the power went out. Everything was so quiet. And then it wasn't." Ellen wiped saliva away from the XO's bruised mouth, then her own. "I heard the clanking of those toasters as they made their way through the levels of the ship. They came down this way. I heard them, Saul!"
"But you were ready for them. Just like I told you. Right?" Tigh asked rhetorically.
"You bet I was, darling." Ellen kissed his bald head, then walked toward the locker that housed their makeshift bar. "But those mother-frakkers didn't have the chrome balls to mess with me. I was real quiet, just like you said to be, and they turned right around and left."
"Good, good."
"I tell you, it was such a rush! I know now, why you got into the military. The fear. The anticipation. Just holding that big gun... I felt every cell in my body. And now, you know what I'm ready for?"
Judging by the liberal glasses of ambrosia she was pouring, Tigh had a pretty good idea. "Ellen, I can't. I'm the Commanding Officer right now. At least until Bill gets on his feet."
Slightly disappointed, Ellen abandoned the high-ball glasses in exchange for her other favorite vice. "Surely you're not going to give this up as well," she cooed while pulling her husband to their rack, and simultaneously nibbling his ear. When Tigh pulled back, Ellen frowned. "Look, just because you have his job, you don't also have to take on his demeanor as well. The Gods all know that man needs to get laid. And now, so do you!"
"Frak it, Ellen. I only came here to make sure you were alright. Now that I see you are, I have to go check on Bill, and then get back to the CIC."
Ellen rolled her eyes. Unlike her husband, she never had to worry if and with whom he was cheating on her with.
Good times and feminine wiles were no match for the brotherly love Saul had for William Adama. They'd been friends and shipmates long before she came along, and Ellen understood that if a choice ever had to be made, Saul would always choose Bill over her. He would do anything for that paragon of a man, even attempt to command a ship and crew that he had no business being in charge of. For in as much as Ellen had wished Saul to be leadership material, in her heart she knew her husband didn't have it in him.
But she loved the man, and that's really what mattered. For better or worse, Ellen couldn't imagine a day without Saul Tigh. Coming so close to the end made her realize that. And this was going to be one of those times she reminded him of how good they were together. They both needed to remember how precious, and fun, life was.
She grabbed at his arm as he turned to leave. "No, Saul. Frak me."
"What?"
Ellen grinned. "Frak me," she repeated huskily while dropping her lace panties. "You know you want to. All that pent up adrenalin. I know you have it too. I can smell it. Hell, I'll even give you the Swirl. Frak me, Saul! Good and hard!"
The colonal groaned as he watched his wife as she laid down on the firm mattress. When she opened her legs, he could just make out her tattoo. In small, lady-like script, it read:
Enter At Your Own Risk
There was no use in saying no. Tigh joined her on the rack. Her hands were at his fly in seconds. "Just a quickie," he promised.
"I love you, Saulie."
"I love you too, Ellen."
SICKBAY
After trying nearly all of the extensions in the medical unit, Lee "Apollo" Adama was finally able to contact the CIC by way of the phone near the intensive care wing. Apparently the power outage had shorted a number of the lines, thus causing even more confusion aboard the ship. It was nothing that could not be rectified, but served as yet another unwanted gift from the Cylons.
Lee slumped against the wall in exhaustion. He hadn't realized just how much he relied on Kara Thrace having his back when the shit hit the fan. Dammit all, but he actually missed her- snarky comments included. If the lieutenant made it back from Caprica with the arrow, Lee was going to tell her how he felt about her.
The captain glanced around the surrounding area, fidgeting a bit while waiting for someone to pick up on the other end. Lee knew he should see his father soon, out of respect, and to let the Old Man know that he'd survived... that he'd gotten everyone to safety. Not that the great Adama would know it, being unconscious such as he was. But a part of Lee hoped he would somehow.
From his vantage point, Apollo could see President Roslin standing beside the bedside of the man in question. The sight made him ache. After all that his father had done, the woman still had the good grace to do what was right. It was yet another ticked box in a long list of reasons that Lee Adama admired and respected the lady.
He often wondered why he'd agreed to become the president's advisor to the military. Was it based on his fascination with politics that he'd had since childhood? A desire to irritate his father? The need for a mother figure? Or a mix of all three?
When Lieutenant Felix Gaeta came on the line, instead of Tigh, Lee was actually slightly more relieved than pissed off. He wasn't any more in a hurry to speak with the XO than his own father. The tactical officer made for a nice go-between.
"Gaeta, why isn't the colonel there with you?" Lee asked after confirming the safety of those in his rescue party. "Don't tell me he's drunk by now."
The young man on the other end of the line, frowned in agreement at the thought. "Well, he wasn't when he left. But that was a little while ago. Said something about checking on his wife."
Lee winced at the thought of Ellen Tigh. "Great."
Now there was a woman who was the polar opposite of Laura Roslin.
# # #
"I'm not sure I can live up to their expectations," President Roslin confessed to the silent Adama. "That's something I'm sure you've never struggled with in your life."
Laura looked down at the wounded man and immediately regretted her previously bitter statement. In truth, she fully understood Adama's use of force against her office, and of throwing her in the brig. Although, it hurt that he'd done it.
And here she thought they were on better terms lately...
Only moments before finding out from Lee that his father was nearly assassinated by the Cylon known as Lieutenant Sharon Valeri, had Laura silently been cursing the name William Adama. Now she was standing over him as he fought for his life.
"You sure as hell better not die on me, Commander." The president's tone had been more plea than an order, and that shocked her.
Alone with him, Laura was able to fully look at the man without fear of return scrutiny. It was something she'd been wanting to do for quite some time now. The fact that she was doing it, and in a way ogling Adama while he was unconscious, added to her growing guilt.
Laura Roslin blushed. What would her mother have said? Somewhere in Laura's Chamalla-deprived brain she heard the words:
Go for it, sweetheart! Other than Dr. Baltar, have you seen such eyelashes on a man? Or a more perfect set of lips? They always seem to be pouting so.
"Oh Gods," Laura said to herself. "This is crazy."
And yet, she couldn't look away from the aged warrior's body, tucked beneath the crisp green hospital sheet.
He reminded her of one of the statues of the gods and demi-gods on display in the Delphi Museum of the Colonies. And of the memorials scattered amongst the trees just beyond the fountain in Orpheus Park.
Laura had always been particularly fond of the Fallen Heracles, by the artist Wyndham Crane, and often took her lunch beside it when the weather was particularly nice.
She and old guy had some good conversations back on Caprica. He'd been a willing listener, kept all of her secrets, and was also pretty darn nice to look at.
But instead of alabaster and bronze, Adama was very much flesh and blood. Human. A man by the very definition. Smooth olive skin stretched tautly over a barrel chest and well-muscled arms. She'd felt both before, chest and arms, while they danced together on Colonial Day. He'd shown up late to the festivities in his dress grays, and asked her to join him on the floor. She accepted, and found him to be factually every bit as solid as he appeared.
And just moments ago, she'd learned that the man was solid in other places. Laura choked back a giggle at the thought. Only moments ago, she'd been holding his toes through the bed linen, and even they had been strong enough to keep her from falling.
She smiled at the thought, which in turn triggered the clear memory of something that her sister Cheryl, had once said:
Trust me, Sis. A strong pair of feet always means a strong-
"No Laura. Don't go there," the leader told herself. "You're dying. And so too could this man. It isn't right."
Still, she had an overwhelming urge to touch his forehead. To smooth his hair, like that of a mother to a child. Adama was very much in limbo at the moment, and Laura felt the need to comfort him. Reaching out, she quickly thought better of the action, and drew her hand away from the commander. Such an overture was far too personal, considering their history, and quite frankly, Laura was afraid to touch him. And possibly disturb him, even. There always seemed to have a great sadness about the man, and now he looked at peace with whatever fate awaited him.
She wished she had such luxury for her own self at the moment.
EXECUTIVE OFFICER'S QUARTERS
"Oh Gods... that was..."
"Frak-tastic!"
Saul glanced across the rack at his wife who laid opposite him. Propped up on her elbows, her feet resting on his stomach, Ellen looked every bit like a satisfied cat. He swore he could even hear her purring. Mere seconds before, just as they exploded together, the All Clear siren had blasted, emphasizing their climax.
The nearby phone rang, breaking their afterglow. "That'll be the CIC," Saul predicted. "I'll have to get back to work soon."
Before Ellen could protest, he picked up the aged phone receiver and began talking. A somewhat relieved look washed over his face as Gaeta spoke on the other end of the line. "Fine, fine," Saul repeated into the handset.
"Tell them you'll be in later," Ellen whispered as she climbed her way up his chest.
Saul waved her off as he continued to listen, his expression souring as the conversation continued. "She is? And no one is watching her?! Tell Apollo I'll be there soon, and to make sure he gets the woman back in cuffs before she causes an uprising!" The XO slammed the phone down before hauling himself out of the rack to begin dressing.
"I'm guessing this is about Laura Roslin," Ellen said as she flopped her head on the bulkhead in defeat.
"Apollo got them all to safety, but now he's letting Roslin walk around like a free woman. The Gods only know what she'll do, left unattended in the sickbay. She could cause a mutiny, or worse yet–"
"She'll put a pillow to Bill's face, getting back at him for putting her in jail," Ellen suggested sarcastically as her husband finished putting on his boots. "Or maybe she'll just kiss and wake him up. That is, before you can."
Saul glared at her before slamming the hatch behind him on his way out.
SICKBAY
Gods, how she hated hospitals.
Laura busied herself around the Adama's cubicle. Adjusted the clear vinyl curtain. Poured water into a cup from a nearby carafe. Raised and lowered the hydraulic stool she sat upon. Anything to avoid looking at the monitor that read out his heart rate and blood pressure.
Laura knew from experience in watching her own mother during her final days, that the numbers weren't good. Each beep of the heart monitor seemed to hesitate. They were losing him, Ms. Roslin was sure of it.
Overcome with emotion from recent events, Laura allowed herself the release of one great and solitary sob before regaining her composure. She needed to make amends before it was too late.
"I hope someday you'll understand why I asked Lieutenant Thrace to help me," Laura began. "Knowing how you feel about the Scriptures, I knew you wouldn't see the urgency. However, with that said, Commander, you and I both know that we have to do everything we can for our people. We have to find–"
Earth.
The word in her head had been her own, but it had been voiced by Adama. And yet, he still lay unconscious.
Laura hugged herself. "This is just the Chamalla talking. Or lack thereof."
You should've asked Ishay for more pills.
"Yes I should have," she agreed without thinking. "But I was distracted."
Good. You're cute when you're distracted.
Annoyed, Laura held her head. She could feel a pounding ache beginning to lodge itself behind her eyes.
To the commander - the one on the gurney, and not the one in her mind - she continued, "Captain Apollo is a good man. He was only doing what he thought was right. You should be proud of him."
I am.
"No, this isn't happening..."
But it is. And there isn't anything you can do to stop it, Roslin.
"You're right," Laura told Adama. Or herself. She wasn't sure whom she was talking to, not that it mattered. Laura was sure, however, that she was starting to hallucinate, having heard voices earlier of those who'd passed, and now one who had yet to pass. "The fleet. They can't lose us both."
I'm still here. So are you. Nothing's changed.
Laura examined the holes in her suit jacket again as tears welled in her eyes. "It almost did."
Huh. Both of us shot by Cylons in one day. What are the odds of that? Guess we now have something else in common, other than books.
Laura hummed at the irony. "I should be in a bed beside you."
Well, that's true.
"No! No!" she cried out. Adama's tone had been suggestive, to say the least. "I didn't mean like that–"
Yes, you did.
"No," Laura repeated again. Now the man wasn't just in her head, but under her skin as well. "I just meant that I should be hurt. Or worse. But I'm not, and I have no reasonable explanation as to why I'm not!"
Maybe you do. Maybe you were meant to live.
"I doubt very seriously if you believe that."
Things happen sometimes on the battlefield that can't be explained. It's best to accept them and move on.
"But I'm not a warrior."
That's right. You're supposed to be some-sort of prophet. Lady of Pythia?
"Don't laugh. Their words, not mine."
Don't the Scriptures tell of Warrior Prophets? Well, there you go.
"I thought you were an atheist."
Atheists read. And there are some damn good stories in the Scrolls.
"They used to be just that. Stories," Laura confessed. "I always believed, even as a child. But it seemed so far away. Not real. I never thought I'd be living it."
She continued to watch Adama sleep. When there was no further response, Laura figured her vision- or whatever it was, had passed. Rising to leave, something made her startle and stop. It was as if Adama himself had reached for her, beyond the veil of his coma.
Wait a minute- aren't you going to pray over me?
Laura nervously sat back down on the stool and swallowed deeply. This was all too much. Surely this was some kind of psychotic break from the stress of the past few months.
Still, Adama - or whomever - was right.
Reaching beneath the tucked in hospital sheet, Laura pulled his left arm free and took his hand in hers. It was very big and heavy.
Missing was the ever-present gold band Adama wore on his ring finger, and in its place, a line from wear. Having read his dossier, Laura knew he'd long been divorced from Apollo's mother, but she'd often wondered if the man still had feelings for Carolanne Adama. Laura found herself frowning at the thought, and could have sworn that she saw a corner of Adama's mouth turn upward at such an action.
At least he'd refrained from his recent string of commentary. Not that she'd missed it.
Laura examined the commander's palm. It was wide, and equally as rough as his fingers, the origins of such callouses being unknown. His wrist was surprisingly narrow, and almost delicate for a man of his swarthy build.
The thready tick of Adama's pulse brought her back to the situation of the moment. Laura cleared her throat and closed her eyes before beginning.
"Lords of Kobol, please hear my prayer. Grant healing upon this man who is so very important to so many. His son loves and needs him, even if he doesn't know it. As does Lieutenant Thrace. I was wrong to use her against the commander. Please do not let this divide them in this life. Or the next. Please, Lords, raise this man up. The whole of humanity needs him," Laura prayed. "I need him."
Without thinking, she placed a light kiss to Adama's hand.
And in an instant, a sudden flash of a vision came upon Laura.
Their roles were reversed.
Adama, hale and healthy, stood over her. Others had come before him. Billy, who'd been her constant. Dr. Cottle, and Ishay- of course. But now, the commander was there at her side. Full of emotion, he silently made vigil, pleading for her recovery as she lay dying.
In this future memory, Laura could feel the strength of Adama's hand as he held hers. It was warm and familiar. His voice was low, and the words he said to her were encouraging and tender. The rare sight of tears in his eyes could be visibly seen.
And then it was over.
Laura jumped back, more than a little rattled.
Off in the distance, she could hear the approaching storm as Saul Tigh barreled his way through the Sick Bay, trailed by Lee Adama. Next was Ishay, who attempted to referee as the two men traded constant barbs at each other as they neared the ICU wing. Corporal Venner followed close behind, the Gemense no doubt having appointed himself the protector of Pythia's latest prophet. Bringing up the very distant rear, was Billy. Even from afar, her aide looked to be flushed as he scampered out of Dee's cubicle.
Laura Roslin stood, and carefully tucked Commander Adama's arm back beneath the sheet. Smoothing the cover and removing all traces of her intrusion, she looked down at the man and hummed. Gingerly, she reached out and traced the sign of Ares on his forehead.
"Your family is coming," Laura told him warmly. "And I must say, they are a loud bunch at the moment. So, you may want to continue resting until things blow over. You don't fool me for one second, Adama. You're a tough old bird. I know you'll pull through this."
She readied herself for them. Laura straightened her suit, squared her shoulders, and folded her hands together. Surprisingly, she felt better than before her 'conversation' with the commander. Come what may, Laura Roslin was ready to deal with it.
So say we all.
Adama's tone had been firm and reassuring.
Daring one last look at him, Laura smiled in agreement. "So say we all."
#END#