Their life together is measured in quiet moments now.
He reads her books and she listens to him while poison slowly drip, drip, drips into her veins. The treatments always weaken her and afterwards, more often than not, she will find herself in what she now thinks of as their quarters, lying in his rack - not theirs, and she doesn't yet dare go there - feeling miserable while he busies himself making tea.
When he thinks she's not looking, he watches her, but she always knows when his eyes are on her, just like she always knows when his thoughts turn to her cancer. When they do, he looks at her with that expression like she's just blown out the last candle on his birthday cake and now his wish will never come true. When she catches him staring, she smiles for him, that impish smile, the one she knows he loves, the one that tells him it's Laura he's dealing with now, not the President, the Prophet, the so called Savior of humanity – the Dictator even, in some circles - but the woman underneath.
In the sterility of sickbay, in the quiet of their quarters, he reads to her and divines her mood from her reactions. If she closes her eyes, it's to fight back tears, but not if she turns her face towards him at the same time, then she's listening, simply taking in the stories he tells her. Sometimes he slips in little things that aren't in the book he's reading, things he needs to tell her but dares not. Usually he gets away with it but sometimes, by the small, upwards curl of her lips, he knows she knows what he just did, what he told her, and feels the same way. When she lies on her back with her arms resting on her stomach, he knows she's reasonably comfortable, that this is one of the better days, when she turns on her side and rolls herself up into a ball, it's the opposite. When the crease between her delicately curved eyebrows deepens, he knows to bring her water, and when the lines around her beautiful eyes tighten just so, he brings her his wastebasket instead, and holds her hair when she throws up. The first time she did, she was embarrassed and apologetic, he just shrugged and fetched her a glass of water, from his kitchenette, a dampened towel from the head. Now, he remembers to empty the trash from the basket before she returns from her treatment, to keep a carafe of water close by and some tissues.
She tries not to talk of anything of importance, for fear of having another blow out. So she speaks of other things, things inconsequential, though sometimes the business of the fleet filters through, even in their quiet time together. When it does, she pushes it away. It's hard not to talk of those pressing matters, he's her best friend and confidant and so many other things besides. It's hard, but she tries, because she hasn't the strength to fight him or anyone else on these post treatment days, when the question of her mortality looms large. She suspects he knows anyway, he's learned her too well.
Sometimes, in these quiet moments, she weeps for them, for what might have been, for the journey they started together and which she knows he necessarily must finish alone. Her time with him is drawing to a close. With every smile she conjures for him, with every touch she allows him - allows herself - she asks him to forgive her for what she will ultimately have to do, for making him go the rest of the distance alone. She knows she doesn't have to ask his forgiveness, she's learned him too well, she already has it, has always had it, but she asks anyway.
And when he finishes his chapter, she thanks him for reading to her, for doing this for her. Sometimes she asks for another, if the pain and nausea persist. And always, always, she sets a date for when he's to continue the story, pushes the dark away at least that far; a silent vow to be there with him at least to that point. She's broken promises to him before, but always when she sets the next date, she tells him with her eyes, with everything she is; this is one I intend to keep, this I swear to you, I'll be there for the next chapter. Then, in the quiet of their home amid the stars, she shakes herself, gets sexy on him, draws him out with a silly comment, and lets their shared laughter be an affirmation.