Bill Adama had a philosophy that would surprise even his closest friends. He believed in "best and now." For the avid reader, this philosophy mostly pertained to his book collection. Before the attacks, Bill spent much of his shore leaves in book stores across the Colonies, usually leaving with at least one book. But this was after spending a good hour browsing, for Bill Adama was a man of discerning taste.
A good mystery wasn't enough for him: Bill wanted to be moved by prose that approached poetry in its terrible beauty. Yes, terrible beauty. The stoic Commander Adama wanted to be possessed by a feeling so beautiful, so lovely that it actually hurt him to possess it. And for most of his life, the only place to find such feeling and beauty was in literature, so he collected and absorbed books.
After the attacks, Bill's books represented all that was left of Colonial literature. Yes, there were other books scattered across the fleet-Even the future President of the Twelve Colonies remembered to include one in her overnight bag, not knowing she'd never return home. No, Bill's collection was the best-and virtually only-game in town. And he knew it would never increase. There would be no more shore leaves spent in used book stores, searching for the perfect book. No hours spent pouring through their inscriptions and epigraphs. Because of that reality, Bill thought he already had the best of everything that was left. He was wrong.
As he would come to understand later, Laura Roslin embodied and possessed all of the feeling and beauty that Bill previously could only attain through books. She was a terrible beauty: A blend of contradictions, perfections, and imperfections. To truly know Laura Roslin was to love her, but to love her was to eventually lose her.
Bill wasn't able to know Laura in the beginning. She was inaccessible to him: Her past, personality, and health were all shrouded in mystery, and Bill didn't realize she'd be a mystery worth solving. No, with Laura, Bill was hit by a BFO (Blinding Flash of the Obvious). With one word, Bill was able to understand his president. That one word had the power to help Bill know Laura, love her, but it also meant mutually assured destruction.
After 60 years of existence, Bill had finally found the crowning jewel of his collection, but he'd never be allowed to keep her. Even if she weren't dying, he'd never be able to possess her: She's far too stubborn and independent to allow that. But she was dying, had been since they met on that terrible day when everything they had ever known was lost. Their relationship was turbulent from the beginning, little helped by his inability to see the truth, and hers to trust him with it.
Now the BFO hit, and Bill needed to decide what he'd do. Now. Laura's condition gave new meaning to his philosophy: She was the best, and all they'd ever have was now. And only if he went to get her. So, two weeks after his own trauma, he'd traipse across a planet for her. He'd bring her back and love her until she dies. He wasn't sure he could survive loving and losing Laura, but he couldn't resist the terrible beauty of it all.