Disclaimer: BSG is not mine - but I understand where Laura is coming from. Characters: Doc Cottle, Laura Roslin.
Warning: Do not read if you hate cancer stories - though this isn't dwelling in Laura's cancer or anything remotely like that.
A Touch
Laura wakes to the feeling of hands underneath her legs. Arms wrapping around her, grabbing her. A feeling of warmth.
A scent. Familiar and close – comforting. Something she is used to. A presence. Someone – gentle and strong.
She smiles at the sound of her name on his lips. However distant.
Leaning against his shoulders, her head feels light and safe. Home.
Flickering lights interrupting a colorful dream, burning in her eyes. Pounding, her head, heavy as steal.
"Welcome back, young lady." The grumpy face of Doctor Cottle greets her, enveloped by smoke.
Lips dry, blood rushing through narrow veins, Laura feels the weight of every single bone tying her to the bed.
A hand, caring but rough, eases the pain.
"Remember what I told you about taking Chamalla during Diloxin treatments? Hit you out of the blue I understand," the doctor grumbles. "Should thank the Gods that the Admiral was with you to break your fall."
Fogged memories merging with blurry vision as sleep lulls her in. Fatigue winning over, rest pivotal but scarce.
Lights, continuing to pierce her eyes. Sounds, high-pitched, shrieking – hurting her ears. Teeth aching. Heart racing. Blood throbbing. Legs heavy and sensitive.
The brushing of his fingertips against her cheeks, a distant feeling of pain merging into a caress.
She forces her eyes to open, feeling his eyes on her. Melting with her dry once sparkling green, his teary blue find ground for joy.
"She's awake! Doctor! She's awake!"
Nurses rushing. Smoke announcing the doctor's arrival. Monitors beeping. The world shutting in and out for her. Steadiness only in his everything. The supporting grip of his palm around her exhausted hand at the pinching feeling of another needle entering her arm. The soft touch of his lips to her pale skin – his tear of sorrow merging with hers of agony and nausea.
Another drift-away – and still no rest. Lights softer. Sounds less thumping. Bones lighter.
And a scream.
The voice distant yet familiar to her ears when the sound waves come back to her.
Pain.
She grabs her chest, tears shooting out of her eyes – her head pressed into her pillow. Arms too much. Voices in a blur. Eyes seeing her as an object – all but two, concerned and calm.
Holding her, his arms ease the pain more than the drugs. Numbness ruling now. Finding strength in his touch, Laura is not afraid of the lights anymore.
"Are you feeling better?" His voice is low and soft.
A nod. Her blood not noticeably running through her body anymore.
"You've been here all the time?"
"It's only been a couple of hours, you know."
"Felt like days." Laura moans.
Moving her hand to his lips, he kisses her fingers – individually, soft and with care.
"I know."
And a kiss becomes a promise for another tomorrow.