Disclaimer: I own the dvd's. My frakking computer has finally allowed me to play them. That means I get to watch and rewatch Colonial Day as much as I like. This makes me happy. Everything else connected to BSG (such as the characters, the universe and all that nifty stuff), though, does not belong to me, but to Ronald D. Moore and all them folks at Universal. Lucky bastards.
A/N: Though I really like the idea for this story, I'm not entirely happy with how it ended up being, mostly because it doesn't really flow as easily as I'd like. I think this stems mostly from the fact that I'm a fairly new fan to BSG and I don't really have the characters figured out yet. We'll see if I improve. And if there's an experienced BSG'er out there who'd like to beta for me, I'd be very grateful. Anyway, enjoy and please review!
It was late as President Laura Roslin made her way to the transport that would take her back to the Colonial One. The Colonial Day celebration wasn't over yet, but she had decided that the rest of it would only benefit from her absence. The young officers and civilians, her aide Billy among them, didn't need her looking over their shoulders. Besides, she had done all she could for the day, meeting with Quorum members to iron out a few more creases in the informal setting the ball offered, gracing reporters with a comment or two, appearing to them to be letting down her guard a bit and enjoying the party, but in truth never forgetting her job and the role she had to fulfil. And even now, as she wound her way slowly through the nightly-lit corridors of Cloud Nine, she still looked every inch the poised and victorious President of the Twelve Colonies, who had just secured the Vice-President of her choice, with her strong, purpose-filled gait and flanked by her ever-present security detail.
As Zarek had said, she'd played her role very nicely, convincing the people that she was there and that she cared. Very nicely played indeed. And as her reward she now had one devil on the Vice-President seat instead of the other; the lesser one, she hoped. And the knowledge that her chances of living out the rest of her short natural life without facing an even earlier death at Tom Zarek's orders had just increased. A little more time to protect her people.
And, she thought, another good development that had come of this night's events was just a little more insight into Commander Adama, just a little more trust. And trust was something they could both use more of.
As if on cue, the Commander's bulky frame appeared in an adjoining corridor. The saying 'speak of the devil' crossed her mind, but in light of her earlier musings, she immediately dismissed it, unwilling to sort Adama in with the likes of Zarek and Baltar.
"Why hello Commander." She said, gracing him with a genuine smile, instead of one out of the President's arsenal, as he easily fell into step with her.
"Madame President." He answered, with a small nod in her direction, "calling it a night?" Her arm easily wound itself through his, as if she knew and trusted him as much as she did Wally.
"I figured the young crowd would fare better without the President to look over their shoulders." She said, sharing an amused glance with him.
He chuckled. "The same thought crossed my mind."
"Well, if you are heading home anyway, why don't you join me? The Colonial One is right beside the Galactica, why take out another transport?" She invited.
"It would be my pleasure, Madame President." The Commander accepted with a gruff smile.
The last few meters to her transport were spent in comfortable silence. Reaching it, her two guards quickly took up the pilot seats, leaving her and the Commander alone in the aft.
After another few moments of silence, it was Adama who spoke first.
"So, you managed to keep the terrorist from becoming Vice-President." He said.
"I said I would, didn't I?" She countered with a grin, which he returned.
"So you did." He acknowledged.
"He said he wasn't responsible for Valance's death." She ventured after another beat of silence.
Adama's gaze bored itself into her eyes intently.
"Do you believe him?" He asked.
Her answer was quick and clear. "Not for a second." She said, no doubt in mind or voice.
"Good. I don't trust him one bit. If he hadn't lost, I'm afraid your chances of making it through the next few months would not have been encouraging."
Laura scanned his expression carefully. Was that concern she'd heard in his voice? But his eyes were fixed firmly away from her face and she couldn't make out their expression. Trust is something we can both use more of, her mind reminded her. Trust him, he might be humanity's only hope.
She took a deep breath and gathered her resolve.
"My chances of making it through the next few months are not very encouraging as it is." She said, keeping her voice and face as neutral as possible.
"I thought you had faith in my crew to protect us from the Cylons." He countered lightly.
Roslin didn't join in his tone, but instead met his gaze with a firm one of her own.
"I'm dying, Commander. It's very possible that I won't survive the next few months, even without the help of Mr Zarek."
"What?!" He exclaimed. She could see the shock in his face, but continued on, ignoring her – and his – distress.
"I have terminal breast cancer. According to your doctor, I've only got a few months to live." Even though she'd had a bit of time to become accustomed to it, saying it was still difficult and she needed a moment to gather her scattered emotions before they broke through in her voice. Luckily, the Commander needed that time too to overcome the first bit of his shock.
"How long have you known?" He finally asked, sounding strangely resigned. His eyes held a hint of something she couldn't quite name. Pity? Compassion? Regret?
"I found out just before the attack." He nodded understandingly, his expression gruff, but his eyes still held that indefinable emotion. Then he broke their eye-contact, and she remained silent as he mulled things over. She noticed that he didn't ask Why didn't you tell me? He too understood the wariness in their union, ready though he'd been to make her gestures in kind. He was a smart man, and dependable she'd learned. Which was exactly why she trusted him with this knowledge, why she needed to trust him with this knowledge.
Finally his gaze returned to hers and she could see his mind had been brought back to the business aspect of the topic.
"Why are you telling me this?" He asked, the unspoken part of his question clear. If you die, there's nothing I can do.
"Because, though I prefer him over Tom Zarek, I don't yet trust Dr Baltar with the well-being of this fleet. When the time comes, I need you to make sure he can handle the job."
"And if he can't?" What pull would I have with the new President of the Twelve Colonies?
"Then I know you'll do what's in the best interest of the fleet." She answered, letting her trust in him resound in her voice.
He nodded. Fair enough, his eyes said and she nodded to acknowledge her thanks. Yes, she could trust him with this.
Just then the transport shook and when she looked up she saw they were about to land at the Colonial One. She was relieved, thankful this difficult conversation had finished. A few moments later they were on the ground.
"Well Commander, I'm glad we had this conversation. I wish you a good trip to the Galactica." She stood up and was about to disembark when Adama's words stopped her.
"Madame President?" He said, and waited for her to turn around and meet his gaze. "You're still standing." The softness in his eyes had returned.
"So are you." She countered with a smile.
He inclined his head gravely. We'll fight this.
She smiled back. Thank you.
Then she turned around and left the transport, walking out of the hangar deck with a strong gait and her security detail. Every inch the President. But with a traitorous evil nestled within her bosom.
Fine