Title: And So We Beat On…
Author: Mscrwth
Summary:A happy ending, because no one deserves it more
Rating: M/A
Notes: Written for the A/R Secret Santa Exchange. This is for zaleti who requested: Something romantic and in-character, set anywhere in the timeline... but I will admit to being partial to a happy ending. And if it should happen to drift in the direction of smut... that's *ahem* fine, too.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing. They belong to Ron Moore and co. and most especially to MM, EJO and the rest of the crew, who breathe life into them. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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He waits for her on the porch swing, clothed in jeans and a comfortable sweater, barefoot and with a glass of wine in hand. A second glass and a bottle of Galen's finest are waiting on the porch railing. He watches silently from the shadows as she walks up to their cabin with that purposeful stride he loves. The afternoon sun turns her auburn hair into a brilliant halo. It's grown back just as luxuriously as before, a thing for which he will forever be grateful, though he'd never tell her.
He watches her in those precious few unguarded moments before she registers his presence and marvels at the difference in her. Her Presidential suits have given way to more informal dress pants and soft, form fitting sweaters, but it's not just the clothes. Everything about her is softer, she's more relaxed than he's ever seen her, more so even than that day on New Caprica when they got high together, and he loves it. She's in her element here, on this sun drenched little piece of Earth. She was made for sunshine and clear skies, made to feel the wind blowing in her hair, to revel in the gentle caress of a summer shower. The artificial lighting of Galactica and Colonial One had never done her full justice; he's noticed it before, on Kobol, down on New Caprica. She was always nothing short of beautiful to him, but in Earth's natural light, she shines even more brightly, it's almost as if the sun pays her homage; it brings out the luminous green of her eyes, lights the panes of her face, those gorgeous cheekbones, makes her hair glow in dazzling reds and oranges and every shade in between, it's breathtaking; she is breathtaking.
He will never know how he got to be so lucky. To have found her at all, at the end of the worlds, is a wonder unto itself, one he will never be done giving thanks for. That she's still with him, having beaten back the cancer a second time, is the greatest of miracles. To top it off, they've found a green and fertile corner of Earth suitable for settlement, Kara has taken over command of Galactica and Lee has assumed the Presidency, leaving the both of them free and able to just enjoy each other's company.
He never would have thought he would take his retirement in stride like this, would have taken so naturally to being just Bill Adama again, not after almost 50 years in the service, but he did. He loves that he can now be with Laura, that they can now be together without having to be circumspect, without the pressures of their jobs getting in the way. He loves that it's just the two of them now, loves it to the point where he almost resents any intrusion into their own private world. He's greedy that way; they've both already given so much. But still, even though they've both retired from public view, people are forever coming to their cabin, looking for advice, mostly needing Laura to still help run things. She'd called for elections after they'd been settled awhile after she'd set their band of fugitives well on their way to becoming a fresh new society. She hadn't run for office herself, content to let the younger generation take over now that she'd completed the task she'd set herself.
Still, she helps where she can and he knows that secretly, she loves it, would go a little stir crazy if she didn't have something to do, she's even talking of setting up a school system and he knows Lee would jump at the chance if she would offer him her services.
He himself has been content, just watching from the sidelines, relieved to see her back to her full health, proud of her never ending drive to make things better for their people. Even though he's treated as a hero wherever he goes, he hasn't been called upon to continue to serve as she has, and that suits him just fine. He's had years to mold his replacements and Military rules and regulations are pretty straightforward, they didn't have to be reinvented and adapted to a new environment, as the civilian governing body has had to do. Kara comes down to ask his advice from time to time, but he knows it to be a courtesy, and a chance to see her pseudo parents, she's doing a fine job without him.
He's kept himself pretty busy these past few years, building their cabin and then finding other worthwhile projects to occupy his time, one of which he'd taken pains to keep from Laura, the one he's finished only this afternoon and is eager to show her.
He slips his bare feet in his loafers and gets up as she steps onto the porch and notices him. Her face lights up, as it does every time their eyes meet and he knows he'll never get tired of seeing that slow, wide smile spread across her features, the way it crinkles in the corners of her eyes. He takes her hand, kisses her knuckles one by one.
"Missed you," she says.
"Me too," he responds as he sets his glass down and bends forward to plant a kiss squarely in the middle of that luminous smile. He could swear she tastes differently when he kisses her while she's smiling like that.
Her arms go around his neck, his land on her waist and he pulls her to him as their kiss deepens. Her tongue demands entrance and he willingly grants it and as teeth and tongues clash she wriggles against him and he finds himself growing rock hard in a matter of seconds. It's amazing the effect she has on him. She giggles into his mouth and her laughter vibrates through him, makes him harder still. He would love nothing more than to continue this but the afternoon is fading and he wants to show her his surprise so when her hand creeps down towards the waistband of his jeans he stops her.
"Not now," he says, "however much I'd love to."
"Why not," she asks. Her pout is adorable but it quickly segues into a concerned frown. "Something's wrong, isn't it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he shushes her. "But daylight's wasting and we have places to be. Go change into something more comfortable, sneakers would be best."
"What are you up to, Flyboy?" She casts him a suspicious looks as she walks into the cabin
He swathes her behind with a laugh. "Nothing, love. Trust me."
He sits back in the swing contentedly sipping his wine as she changes. The lowering sun filters through the trees, it casts a golden glow over the clearing, sparkles in the water of the little stream at the bottom of their garden that feeds into the lake. It's a beautiful spot and he's so happy they were able to settle here, so very glad he was able to finally give her the cabin she'd dreamed of, the peace she so richly deserves.
"Where are we going?" she asks as she emerges from the cabin, buttoning up a heather green cardigan over a tight, white top, a pair of jeans hugging her hips like his hands long to do.
"It's a surprise," he says with a smile. He gets up, fills her glass. He hands it to her and raises his in a salute. "But first, a toast."
Their glasses clink together. He drinks deeply, pretending not to be aware of her scrutiny. She watches him over the rim of her glass as she sips her wine, arches a questioning eyebrow. "What are we drinking to?"
"3 years, 7 months, 2 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours," he consults his watch, "42 minutes and a few odd seconds since you became my wife, Mrs. Roslin-Adama. What's not to drink to?"
Her eyes are suddenly moist and in them he sees the wonder he feels every day at having been granted so much time together, when all throughout their long flight across the stars, the specter of her death had always loomed just beyond the horizon. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he continues as he rests his free hand on the curve of her hip.
"Every minute of every hour of every one of those 1342 days, Mr. Roslin-Adama," she says, putting particular emphasis on the Mr. It's a private joke between them, one he cherishes.
"Good, because I do." He pulls her close and kisses the top of her auburn head.
"That works out beautifully then, because I kind of love you too," she says, those luminous green eyes beaming up at him. She drains the rest of her wine, sets her glass down and attacks his mouth again. He responds in kind and this time it's his hands that wander. He tangles his fingers in her hair, loving the feeling of those fiery strands gliding over his skin. Lowering his hands, he strokes her sides through the soft material of her cardigan, cups her breasts in his large palms. She hums in the back of her throat like she does; a sound with infinite variations. This one always drives him mad with lust. Her hand goes to the back of his neck and she presses their mouths even closer for a moment before she pulls him back by his hair.
"Now what about that surprise?" It comes out in a breathless rasp, her lips are swollen, her face and chest flushed and her hair is blowing in a tangled mess around her face in the slight breeze. She's beautiful.
"Follow me." He tugs her along after him and they cross the clearing, turn right just before they hit the water line and head into the woods. All around them, the forest is teeming with life. They're surrounded by birdsong, the buzzing of bees, the whisper of leaves gently blowing in the warm breeze, the rustle of small rodents in the underbrush. After about a mile and a half or so, they near their destination and he stops and pulls her in for another kiss. She responds with just as much zeal as before but pulls back after a moment, looking about excitedly and a bit impatiently.
"Are we there yet?"
"Almost," he says as he turns her towards the lake. "Do you have any idea how cute you are when you're bursting with curiosity like this?"
She reacts in mock indignation. "William Adama, I am many things, but cute isn't one of them. Cute is for little children and maybe puppies, not for a grown woman, somewhat advance in age. Now should you call me charming, adorable...."
"Delightful, beguiling, enchanting, captivating, bewitching, scrumptious, delectable," he whispers as he captures her earlobe between his teeth and bites down, ever so gently. Her peal of laughter rings against the canopy of trees, makes the leaves of the wild oak towering over them rustle as birds swoop up into the air, disturbed at having their slumber interrupted. Laughing, he steps behind her and puts his hands over her eyes.
"No peeking," he says. He gently urges her forward and after a few faltering steps in the sudden dark, she gets into stride again, safe in the knowledge that he won't let her fall. One of her hands comes up to rest lightly on his wrist, the fingers of her other hand bunch in the material of his sweater. Expectation fills him as they make their way to the water's edge, his large hands still covering her eyes. She giggles as she stumbles a bit and he catches her and the sound alone has him weak in the knees.
They step out from under the trees onto a pebbled beach and his eyes brim at the sight before him. The setting sun paints the waters golden, the wind has picked up and small waves are lapping at the shore. Laura's hair dances in the light breeze, caressing his face. Out over the water, a large bird swoops down, talons extended and flies off with its prey; nearer the water's edge a couple of yellow-bellied toads disappear into the underbrush. His surprise is waiting for them, a little ways out on the water. When he drops his hands from Laura's eyes, her stunned gasp, her full bodied shiver of delight is all he could have hoped for and more.
She whirls around in his arms, throws her own arms around his neck, the force of her embrace has him taking a step backwards, almost lands them both in the water.
"Oh my Gods, Bill," she whispers. "How on Earth did you manage that?"
"Lots of practice," he simply replies and grins at her joyous expression as she starts towards the small gaff-rigged sloop gently bobbing on the waves, tied to a makeshift dock. She tugs him along impatiently and he follows, finds himself smiling so broadly his cheeks ache. All of his hard work has already paid off and when she sees the lettering on the side of the sloop and turns towards him, eyes welling with tears of joy, well, that's only the icing on the cake.
LAURA II the nameplate says in big, bold letters.
"Oh Bill." She looks at him with those bright bewitching eyes of hers and he sees she understands the significance, the allusion to the blackbird, certainly, but also the cancer, twice vanquished, her second lease on life; his too.
He shushes her, caresses her cheek, there's no more to be said, her face, her voice, her eyes, tell him all he needs to know. Gently, he presses a chaste kiss to her cheek, brushes her tears away with his thumbs, takes her hand and guides her across the rickety dock towards the small boat.
He gives her a tour; it's short, the sloop isn't all that large. When he points out the double sized berth in the cabin under the foredeck she waggles her eyebrows suggestively but doesn't say anything. He takes her back up, shows her the cockpit, the sails and the gaff, explains the function of all the different tackles and pulleys and ropes.
"It's beautiful, Bill. I love it," she says, smiling up at him with such an expression of adoration it makes his knees buckle. He sits down on the cushioned cockpit bench and watches her as she turns in a slow circle, taking in the boat he built her, the lake, the trees hugging the shore, the verdant green fields in the distance and beyond that, an imposing range of mountains their peaks covered in snow. "Will you teach me how to sail her?"
"I will, love." He smiles wistfully at her eagerness; at how she's clearly already in love with their little sloop and exited to learn all there is to know about handling her. He has to fight to keep his composure at the thought that this is another passion they can share, at how perfectly they fit. "Ever sail before?" he asks, quasi nonchalantly.
"Not since I was two, no," she says, and at his questioning glance clarifies, "bathtub."
He chuckles and settles her beside him, promising to show her the ropes later. With a surge of excitement, he throws loose the mooring ropes and takes them out onto the lake. It's sheer pleasure to sail into the sunset with her, to feel the excitement radiate off of her, to feel pleasure thrum through her frame as he hugs her to him. Her hair whips about her face and the wind paints her cheeks a delicate pink. He sails past their cabin, points it out to her, and she crows in delight. Smiling at the very un-Laura like sound, he takes them out into the middle of the lake, identifying landmarks as they go.
It's getting near twilight when he drops anchor. She goes to help him but he gently pushes her back into the cushions, she looks so comfortable, sitting there, her hand trailing languidly overboard, fingers angling towards the water.
"Shouldn't we be heading back?" she asks, eyeing the distance to the dock, when he goes to furl the sails. "It'll be too dark to pilot her in back to shore in another hour or so."
"Nope. We're staying out here tonight." he says as he smiles back at her over his shoulder.
"Good," she replies and his heart almost stops when she leans out over the side of the sloop, her gorgeous ass in the air, mocking him, almost, as she strains towards the water. As he looks on, mouth agape, she straightens up and proceeds to divest herself of every scrap of clothing currently hugging her body. She smirks at his gob smacked expression, her smile so wanton it takes his breath away. Naked, she stands outlined against the sky for a moment, she's gained back all the weight she lost during her illness and she's all ample curves again. Her generous breasts, her slim waist, those, long, long legs; she drives him wild.
He takes a step towards her, wanting to feel her voluptuous body against his, wanting to ravish her like some character in a silly romance novel, his cock is already rock hard just thinking about it but before he can reach her, she dives over the port side. All he can see from his position by the mast are the ripples moving outward from where she splashed into the water. She surfaces just as he reaches the side of the boat in a mad dash, her hair is wet and dark now and plastered to her skull, her face is alight with laughter.
"Laura," he barks, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Don't be so staid Bill, the water's lovely and I'm not made of glass, you know that."
She paddles away on her back a few feet, pert breasts breaking the surface of the lake, and he can feel heat pooling in his groin. She swims back towards him and rears up, hits the water with the flat of her palms and drenches him. Without a moment's thought, he yanks off his sweater and jeans, steps out of his boxers and dive bombs into the water. It's shockingly cold and he breaks the surface gasping to the sound of her unrestrained laughter.
"You should see your face, Bill," she says between peals of amusement.
"Not funny, Laura," he growls as he makes a grab for her, "you could give an old man a heart attack."
"Wouldn't want that," she says as she hooks one leg around his, throws her left arm around his shoulder for balance and reaches for his now flaccid cock with her free hand. "That cold, huh? I see," she purrs in his ear, her voice rife with barely restrained laughter. "Let's see what we can do about that."
Her hand is hot on his limp cock and in no time at all she has him standing at attention again. He has to grab on to the side of the boat to keep them both afloat as she starts to rain kisses all along his jaw, suckles the sensitive skin of his neck, just below his ear, to the point he's sure she'll leave bruises. She undulates against him, her breasts scraping against his chest, nipples catching in his sparse chest hair, brushing over his own. The feeling of her against him is superlative; there are not enough words in the world for how she makes him feel. She rubs her sex against his thigh as she fondles his balls, slides her hand up and down his shaft, alternating the rhythm of her strokes, the pressure she exerts, touching him just the way he likes it, the way he's shown her works best for him. The heat of her core rubbing against his leg is amazing, as is the feeling of her hand on his cock but he's getting frustrated. He's having trouble holding on to the side of the boat, has to concentrate on keeping them both from going under while all he wants is to touch her like she's touching him.
"Laura, stop," he barks, loathe for her to break off her ministrations but fearing he won't last if she doesn't. "Up. Back up into the boat."
She giggles as she draws back and gives him a sloppy salute. "Aye Sir, anything you say, Sir." He already misses her touch, the feel of her against him, and practically pushes her up the ladder, following behind with a speed befitting a much younger man.
She stands in the cockpit, wringing the excess water from her hair, looking like a Goddess come from the deep, her wet skin glistening in the lowering light. Fetching some towels from the cabin he approaches her almost reverently. He gently dries her face, lets the towel trail lower while he captures her mouth in a bruising kiss that makes her stumble back a few steps until she finds purchase against the cabin. His tongue probes between her lips, sweeps along the back of her teeth, explores the cavern of her mouth; she meets his assault, demands from him the same access she granted his roving tongue. All the while, his hands move over her body, patting her dry, caressing her. As he cups her breasts, his mouth leaves hers and travels south, down the slope of her neck. He suckles and nips his way along the smooth column of her throat, laves her collarbones, the secret hollow between them. He rubs the soft material of the towel across her nipples and feels them harden under the friction. She gasps as his mouth finds its way down her left breast and he gently bites down on her hardened bud, then soothes the small hurt he's caused with his lips, bathes her pink areola with his tongue.
Her throaty gasps and moans are music to his ears. He has to hear it again and repeats his actions, tenderly biting down on her right nipple, then laving and soothing it with gentle caresses of his mouth and tongue. When she arches her back, pushes her chest out to grant him better access, he responds to her silent command by dropping kisses all along the underside of one breast as he massages the other with his hand and continues to lightly tweak her nipple. She groans her approval and her hips buck in response, brush against his thigh. Fascinated, as always, by her reactions, he pinches her already hardened nub a little bit harder this time and watches it turn a deep dark red, watches her writhe in ecstasy under his ministrations. She buries her fingers in his hair, pulls him in closer as she rubs her sex against his leg and he smiles against her skin before he drops to his knees, eliciting a growl that's one part disappointment, one part anticipation
He's so close to her core now, can see her moisture coating the inside of her thigh, mixing with the water trickling down her skin. He forces himself to ignore the tantalizing view, ignore what the sight does to him, how it makes him harden almost painfully. Determined to draw this out as long as possible, he follows the path of the towel down her taut stomach instead, licks that spot just over her hipbone he knows drives her wild and is rewarded with another deep moan. He can feel her stomach muscles flutter where his lips are pressed against her skin.
Instead of continuing down to her sex, he sits back on his haunches and caresses her ankles with the soft towel, moves up one toned calf and down the other, ignoring her frustrated whimper. Her knees tremble under his touch, her thighs are quivering as he strokes the towel upwards towards her core. He sits back up and blows on her swollen folds, can see her clit, halfway out of its hood. She's already so wet for him; he loves her taste and feasts on her until he has to catch her around the waist when her legs start to buckle.
"Oh frak me, Bill," she moans. "This is torture."
"Frak you I will, my love." He chuckles and gets to his feet again, carefully keeps his hardened erection from touching her, fearing he's going to lose all semblance of control once he does. When she makes a grab for him, he captures her hands in his, kisses the inside of her wrists.
"Now."
"Have patience." He whispers, "turn around."
A shudder goes through her as she complies, turns and braces her hands on the roof of the cabin against the gentle sway of the sloop. He sweeps the towel over her shoulders, down her spine, along the curve of her waist towards the flare of her hips, his lips once again following in the wake of his hands. When he reaches her magnificent ass, he can't help himself, he kisses one globe, then bites down lightly, leaving a perfect imprint of his imperfect teeth on her rounded ass cheek. She yelps and he mumbles his apology into her skin; drops the towel finally and rises to his feet, pulls her flush against the length of his body.
They moan in unison as his heated cock is trapped between their bodies. She wriggles against him and the feeling of her soft skin gliding along his hard length is a delicious torture, he moans in her ear and traces the outer shell with his tongue before nipping at her earlobe.
"Careful," he whispers as he pulls her tighter, allows her no room to move as his left hand settles over her breasts, toying with her nipples once more. His right hand wanders down her stomach to her sex. His fingers comb through the curls at her apex and she willingly spreads her legs a little wider, allowing him to reach her slit. He caresses her folds, pushes a finger inside as he slips his rock hard shaft between her legs and rubs himself in and around her wetness, letting her juices coat his length. He starts teasing her entrance with the head of his cock, slides forward to bump her clitoris from behind. When she trembles in his grasp, he gently pushes against her back and she settles her upper body on the roof of the cabin in front of her willingly. He slips in another finger and curls them towards the front of her vagina, towards her G-spot, rubbing there in a hard circle once, twice, while the palm of his hand presses hard on her clit.
She shouts as she comes; it's an inarticulate cry, his name buried somewhere in the glorious sound, and her skin flushes as her hips start bucking wildly. He keeps up the motion of his fingers, trying to prolong her orgasm as long as possible. His other hand continues to pinch and fondle her nipples and he almost comes himself from the exquisite feeling of her inner muscles clamping down on the fingers buried inside her tunnel, the sensation of her body shuddering apart under his caresses.
When she's come down from her high, he extracts his fingers, settles both palms on her hips. His right hand is coated in her wetness and as she throws him a wanton look over her shoulder, he matches her stare, brings up his hand and licks her juices off his fingers. She inhales sharply at the sight and he bends forward, sharing her taste with her in an ardent kiss.
Their tongues tangle together for a moment before she draws back, panting. "Now, Bill. Please."
"Now what? Tell me what you want." He pushes her back onto the roof of the cabin, his hands roaming across her back, massaging her ass cheeks.
"You, inside me, now."
"Yes Ma'am," he says as he pokes at her entrance again. Then, without any more preamble, he grabs her hips and shoves his rock hard cock up inside her in one smooth movement, unable to contain himself any longer.
"Oh." She grunts in surprise.
The small sound of discomfort makes him still his movements instantly, afraid he's been too rough. "You okay?" he asks with some apprehension.
She looks at him over her shoulder and smiles in reassurance. "Yeah, just a little sensitive from before, keep going, you feel great."
He complies with her request enthusiastically. She's still so wet and relaxed from her earlier orgasm that he slides in easily and is soon buried inside her hot, moist heat to the hilt.
He stays inside for a beat, just barely moving his hips, pressing a little farther in as he tilts her forwards a little more with his large hands. He can feel her walls quivering around him as she moans. The sounds that emanate from her drive him wild, they go straight to his groin and it's the little hum that's interspersed with her gasps of pleasure that finally undoes him. He pulls out, leaving just his head buried inside her and then starts thrusting into her hard and fast. The feeling of her silky heat, her tight walls stretching as he dives into her with abandon is an aphrodisiac, makes him want to stay buried in her forever. He can't believe how good this feels, how right. Can't believe how well they fit together, how she can get him this hot and bothered every time. At sixty plus years of age, he'd thought his days of raucous sex were over but the merest look, the merest touch from her has him burning with desire for her.
Rubbing his palms over her ass, he looks down at himself sliding in and out of her and nearly loses it. Trying to take his mind off the overwhelming urge to let go, he bends down over her and sucks on her neck, slips one hand under her torso and pinches her nipple again. He can feel her walls rippling along his length in response and tightens his fingers on her little nub a bit more forcefully. He's rewarded with another incoherent cry and a tightening of her inner muscles around his delving shaft.
Going a little wild, he grabs her hips and pulls her into him as he slams his rock hard cock up into her again and again. She meets him stroke for stroke. He swivels his hips to change the angle of penetration every time until he finds just the right tilt, the perfect approach. He can feel it in the way her quivering heat tightens around him almost unbearably.
"Close," she pants.
"Hmm, me too."
He slides his hand towards her front, reaches down to where they're joined and pinches her clit between his thumb and forefinger, moving it up and down. She whimpers and he grins at the effect he has on her, he presses down on her clit, rubs it in tight little circles, the way he knows she likes it and she shudders and comes undone, there's no other way to describe it. Her inner muscles clamp down on him, shudders wrack the length of her body, her torso comes up off the roof, arches back, her head swings from side to side, as she shouts his name.
The sight of her hair swirling wildly around her head, the feeling of her coming apart around his shaft has him going over the edge as well, he manages a few more erratic thrusts, trying to prolong her orgasm but there's no stopping his own. He feels his shaft throb as he empties himself into her, digs his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips as he tries to bury himself even deeper in her pulsating depths. Finally, the force of his orgasm spent, he collapses on top of her, aware he's pinning her to the roof of the cabin but unable to move for a moment.
Slowly, he rolls off of her and lets himself slide down the cabin wall to sit on the deck, his legs splayed before him. He grabs her around the hips and brings her down with him. Still panting, she sits down between his legs, her back to his chest and cranes her head around to kiss him.
"Wow," he says.
"I see that wow and raise it to a whoa," she replies as she snuggles up against him. They sit like that for a moment, until he feels her shiver in the cooling breeze. Planting a kiss on the top of her head, he extracts himself from behind her, descends into the cabin.
He grabs some blankets and spreads them on the foredeck, picks up the towel they used earlier and gently cleans her up. Knowing how over sensitive she gets from this position, he wets the towel in the little galley where he's stored their water supply first. He helps her slip on her top and cardigan, scrounges up her panties from where she discarded them. She shakes her head no when he holds up her jeans and he smiles as he folds them carefully and puts them on the leeward bench.
He takes her hand and helps her up, guides her to the foredeck where they settle down on one of the blankets together, and he leans back with one hand underneath his head, while she drapes herself over him, head in the crook of his neck, her arm across his chest, her leg thrown over his. He wraps his free arm around her and reaches down to pull the second blanket up over them, hugs her to him and kisses the crown of her auburn head, the tip of her nose when she lifts her head and smiles up at him.
It's fully dark now and the stars are out in force. There's a half moon out and no clouds to obscure the heavens, it's an exceptionally clear night. He almost feels like nature is conspiring with him to make this evening all it can be. He scours the heavens and almost immediately, he finds what he's looking for, as if his eye is unerringly drawn towards that which brought them together. He blows on her ear, gently whispers into it. "Look up."
She rolls off of him and settles beside him, his arm cushioning her head. The creak of tackle and rope and their intermingled breaths are the only sounds for miles around. In the distance, the lights of the settlement twinkle brightly in the dark. He tangles one hand in her hair, twirls the fiery strands around his forefinger, extracts his other hand from under his head and points up into the sky.
She follows the line of his arm, as he points out the constellations one by one; her hushed voiced naming them as he traces their familiar patterns against the night sky. "Aries, Taurus Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra…" She trails off, turns to him, tears pooling in her eyes. "My Gods, Bill. We're really here, aren't we? This is Earth and we really made it. Some days it still feels so unreal."
"I know," he whispers into her hair. "And look." He points up at a brighter light moving across the heavens.
"Is it the Galactica?"
"Yeah," he whispers, almost reverently, as he tightens his embrace.
She looks up at the sky for a moment, her profile outlined in starlight, and then turns her face towards him. "Do you miss her?"
"Sometimes, but I wouldn't trade being here with you for anything."
She makes that humming sound again, the one that indicates comfort and joy. He smiles as she scoots upwards a bit and kisses him, languidly. He responds in kind and their lips move against each other in a synchronized dance. Out over the lake, a loon cries, their sloop bobs as waves slap against the hull, the gentle movements rocking them quietly to sleep. They drift, the two of them, on a clear glass lake, underneath a covering blanket of stars, the constellations of the Twelve Colonies twinkling above them, the Galactica keeping watch. They drift, content in each other.