Disclaimer: BSG is not mine but this story is. This story is set at the end of the mini/first eppies of s1 and thus AU (and due to that, also OOC in a way) with two endings - so choose which one you prefer.

Survival

Laura Roslin felt uncomfortable waiting for him. His quarters were inviting and less provisional than her own, but the boxes and books standing all around were somehow less impressive than the first time she had taken the liberty of exploring them.

She sighed.

Maybe it was the circumstances that brought her to him that made her uncomfortable. She hated to argue with him – always had the feeling of having to talk sense into him. Awfully stubborn man that Commander, she thought.

Shifting positions on his couch, she crossed her legs and wondered how he would react. Earth, he had admitted, was a myth he had chosen to use to stir up hope among his men.

"It's not enough to live, you need something to live for," his words rang in her ears. How she hated stubborn men to be right.

Shaking her head to herself, she looked up at the sound of her title and name.

"Madam President. Sorry to keep you waiting," he growled. "Busy day."

"Commander," her voice met his rough politeness. "I understand."

Bill Adama, settling down next to her on the couch, met her smile with a helpless smirk. "You wanted to speak to me."

Laura cleared her throat. "Yes. Thank you for offering your quarters for this by the way."

"A little less sterile than other options on Galactica."

"Indeed," her smile reached her eyes.

"So what can I do for you?" He pressed a forced smile.

Laura met his smile with a mask of professional kindness and reached to the side to grab a book. Holding it out to him, she waited for him to take it from her. Hesitant to accept it, he finally took the heavy book and scanned through it. "What's this?"

"The Holy Scriptures," her voice was steady and low.

"Excuse me?" His face was hard like stone. "Do you wish to give me a lecture on Earth now? Is that a thing you do?"

Laura raised her eyebrows the slightest bit. "Pardon?"

"I don't react well to lessons," Adama almost growled.

"Do you have a fetish with me being a trained teacher? Is that a turn on of some sort or could we get over this and focus on the task at hand?" Her voice was clearly unamused.

Bill stared at her for a second and got control of himself again. "So what is this?"

"It's a question actually. I would like to know more about Earth," she met his stare. "If you care to teach me."

Opening the book, he put on his glasses and shook his head. "I don't know more than you do about Earth I'm afraid. And I'm not an avid reader of the Scriptures."

"So much for that then," Laura got up and straightened her skirt. "I will consult a Gemenese delegate and send you a copy of my report if you wish."

Adama got up to return her book.

"Keep it, Commander. You might enjoy it eventually. It's a gift." She nodded her head towards him and hardly waited for his reply when she turned to leave.

"Madam President," he saw her off, risking the slightest of looks at her vanishing form.

When he set foot on Colonial One, he remembered the tense look on her face when she had first paid a visit to Galactica. The President. Controlled and thickheaded – more so than he remembered the Secretary of Education to be.

He cleared his throat.

Must've felt uncomfortable on board, the thought was quick and surprising. But he related to her uneasiness now. Entering her newly established office, he saw her sitting behind a desk that looked as if it had been squeezed in between plane seats, piles of boxes, and files. Deeply buried in her work, he saw her for the first time. Dark hair, skinny, pale. Pretty actually, he noted to himself.

Shrugging off the thought of her as anything but a provisional President, he approached her desk and came to stand before it, waiting for her to notice him.

Signing papers, Laura Roslin hardly looked up when she addressed him in a tired voice. "Commander, please, have a seat."

He gratefully complied.

Shifting in his chair, he eyed a young man he had already seen in her presence on Galactica. A greenhorn – tall but clueless. He shook his head.

"Pardon the mess, Commander. We are still settling in here as you can see." Laura nodded to her aide and handed him some files before she excused him. "What can I do for you?"

Adama stared at her for a split second, taking in the picture of her in her glasses, her hair unruly and her eyes hidden behind shadows. He cleared his throat. "You asked me to come to Colonial One, Madam President."

"Oh yes, of course," Laura removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I need a favor from you."

"Something we couldn't have handled over the comm?" His voice was more annoyed than he had intended to.

A mask of tired coolness met his glare. "Obviously not." She licked her lips for a millisecond, and he caught his mind to notice that. Get a grip, he chived himself without ever letting on that he began to see her as more than just a threat.

"Did you get to read that report about Earth?" Her voice was rough and almost trailing off.

"I did," his answer was scanty and he shifted in his chair.

"Don't worry, Commander. I didn't ask you to come here to test your knowledge of the scriptures now." A faint smile.

"Then what is it you asked me to come here for?" His face was a mask of duty.

Stiffling a yawn, Laura shrugged. "Don't you think we need a plan?"

"A plan for what?" His voice dropped to her volume.

"We have to go somewhere, don't we? It has to appear as if we know what we are doing. We couldn't just jump around with a blindfold on our eyes for the rest of our days."

"What does that have to do with a favor, Madam President?" He looked her straight in the eye, "If I may ask?"

Smiling at him, she did so much more than agree to the point he was making. Leaning back in her chair, she looked at him a second longer than he was comfortable with before she finally spoke. "We both agreed to keep the balance of government and military. We had our difficulties, but we are handling this somehow." A careful nod. "Now let's show the fleet that we can really work together. That we are a team."

"I thought you said we were working together just fine," he interrupted her - his voice was calm and hid his irritation at her words. Politicians, never saying what they mean to say. A frown.

Crossing her arms before her chest, Laura ignored his interruption with a quiet sigh and continued. "I think it would send a signal of stability to the fleet if we met on a regular basis to discuss the status of the fleet."

"With all due respect, ma'am..."

It was Laura now who interrupted his train of thoughts, "Why so formal, Commander? Just say what you think." The look on her face was almost challenging.

"Madam President, I am sure you have your hands full with civilian complaints and questions about supplies," he chose to ignore her offer to be all too honest. "I am not sure where a weekly meeting would fit in."

Laura smirked to herself. At least he didn't say monthly meeting. Leaning towards him, she uncrossed her arms again and placed them on her desk. "So you don't think that the Commander-in-Chief should get a regular update on the fleet and military concerns?"

"I didn't say that." He answered calmly, trying to defend himself. "All I meant to say is that we are both busy trying to keep the fleet running. I am not sure that I will be able to spare any time for briefings or discussions."

"Message received, Commander," her voice was softer than the expression on her face. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Sensing her verbal kick-out, he got up and excused himself, "Madam President," before he headed back to his raptor.

It was a couple of hours later that Laura Roslin accepted a phone call from the Commander of the fleet. Smiling at Billy who was more concerned than pleased about that call, she addressed the Commander in a softer tone than anticipated.

"Commander? Is something wrong?"

"No, ma'am. I just wanted to come back to you about the report on Earth you sent to me." He was clearly uncomfortable.

"You got around to reading it?" She fought hard to keep the mockery out of her otherwise steady voice.

"I made the time," his answer was short. "I think we should indeed discuss this. And other things."

Was that an offer? Laura tilted her head. "Any time, Commander. I will see if I can make some room between meetings over fleet supplies and civilian complaints." Her tone was playful enough to convey her message.

He shook his head. So she did have a sense of humor. "Would 7am be more convenient or tomorrow night?"

Checking her calendar, she mumbled her answer into the phone, "8.45pm tomorrow night?"

"I will make it fit," he said, acting against his own desire to back down. "I will be there."

It was past 8.30 when Laura Roslin entered the part of Colonial One that had been chosen to serve her as quarters. It was far from being a home, but it would have to do. She sighed. So many things lost, so many things missed.

She shook her head. Memories were not welcome now. Enough to deal with, enough burden, enough pain. She bit her lips at the reflection of herself in the mirror and the flashback of her diagnosis. Go away! It was a plea to her own mind to leave her alone.

While she pushed back some tears that threatened to break through her thick walls of denial, she was startled by a knock on her curtain-closed door.

Another quick look in the mirror, a fast move of her hand hiding some hair behind her ears. "Yes?"

"Madam President?" His voice reached her ears in waves, but he sounded uneasy and stiff.

"Oh, Commander, yes. Come on in." She walked towards the door and met his hand when she moved the curtain aside. A bolt of electricity.

"I'm sorry." A mutual excuse.

Stepping to the side, she made room for him to enter her quarters. "I asked to meet you here because I thought it would be a little less..."

"...sterile," he finished her sentence with a superficial smile.

"Yes," she welcomed his gesture.

Walking towards some chairs, she accidentally brushed against his chest – her hand coming in contact with the roughness of his uniform and the coolness of his buttons.

A blush.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what it is today. I seem to be a little..." She looked for a word, trying to avoid anything that could give away her cancer. "...tired, I guess."

"One of those days." He sounded almost understanding.

Staying by his side a moment longer than was good for her, she inhaled the scent of him and saw his eyes. Less intimidating than in previous encounters, she thought she saw an equal amount of confusion in them to what she felt inside. Realizing that her hand was still placed on his chest, she felt compelled to move but was unable to do so. His eyes questioning her, his right hand moving around her waist, she felt the sudden urge to be Laura rather than the President. Kiss him, she thought to herself – his lips only inches away when her head moved closer to his. His scent intoxicating, his hand pulling her closer, his grip gentle – a moment of weakness. Richard gone and paling in her memories due to the impact of current history.

Bill, confused at his own reaction to her, felt his heartbeat quickening. She was taller than he remembered – tiny though, almost frail against him. Her body close seemed to hide in him, his own providing her the place for it. He smelled her hair – he felt the softness of it when it brushed against his other hand. He felt her skin. A memory of home.

So much lost to both of them. No time for personal shock, even less time for mourning or pain. Caprica, gone. Families dead. Their culture about to become extinct.

His lips on hers, probing her – his tongue parting her mouth to dance with him. And she complied. Doubts muted, hearts pounding. A kiss so much more than words could say – so much more than anything else that mattered now. A moan, a touch. His other hand claimed her, pulling her closer to him. His immediate arousal evident to her now – her own ruling her mind.

They tumbled over to her couch, entangled like lovesick teenagers. Proving that he knew how to unwrap a woman from all too many clothes, Bill had the President stripped off of Laura within the shortness of passionate kisses. Laying her down on the couch, he didn't even take the time to appreciate her beauty. All he wanted was to be with her, to live and forget.

Removing his uniform in record time he came to rest on top of her and captured her mouth again before he felt her legs enveloping him.

Laura, meeting his level of arousal, spurred him on to be one with her and to skip the time-consuming foreplay. Not now, her thoughts were clear on that.

When he entered her, she breathed in everything he gave her in that moment. And hadn't she been so confused by the situation as much as by him, Laura could've seen how he had just given away parts of his soul to her. Rocking against her, Bill found that he looked for more than his own release. Her reactions to him counted and the feeling of her around him was more than pure sex. Another moan from her – one of her hands in his hair – the softness of her skin. A muffled scream. His groaned answer. Heaven.

When their breathing steadied and Bill realized that he had collapsed on top her, he felt his heart ache when she got up. Laura, blushing and embarrassed, tried to get her hair in check and started to gather her scattered clothes. Half-dressed, he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap.

Another element of surprise.

Pushing away strings of her hair that clang to her face, he smiled at her in a way she would never have thought him capable of. Pulling her into another kiss, less needy now but lingering, she eased into his embrace and sighed.

The worlds had come to an end, but maybe the Gods had taken pity on the survivors of mankind. She smiled. What a thought that after the apocalypse poetry had died but her heart had started to live.

Embracing the feeling of novelty in times of constant change, they said hello to each other on another level. Eye to eye – man and woman rather than burdened leaders. Another kiss, a caress, an exploration of new territory.

Whatever the future would bring, there was a chance for things to improve. Complications pushed aside, they welcomed a moment of shared solitude and of arousing strangeness. Laura Roslin and Bill Adama – unifying the fleet to one.