Just thought I'd archive a few of my fav a/r fics. This was written for Frakcancer's birthday, using the 'about time' prompt on the about_time community on LJ. You got 'extra points' for setting the fic in your shippiest episode. Mine is Daybreak. So much love.
Bill settled Laura into the wheelchair and began to push her the short way to the Commanding Officer's quarters.
"You're fussing. I could have walked," Laura said, half-heartedly protesting. Both she and Bill knew it was a better idea to conserve her energy for something more important than indulging in useless pride.
A few paces along, a harsh, loud groan of metal scraping on metal echoed throughout the ship. The floor shuddered and vibrated beneath his feet, and the emergency lights flickered for a moment but mercifully remained lit.
After Galactica calmed again, Laura dared break the tension with a small joke. "It's okay. That was just her way of agreeing with me that we aren't helpless yet."
Bill gave an overly dramatic sigh. "Why do I always have to fall for stubborn women?"
Laura snorted and reached up to grip his hand for the remainder of the journey.
She'd gripped his hand earlier, when she had sat beside him while preliminary scans of the planet were carried out. Her excitement had become more and more evident as they'd listened to every favourable aspect: plentiful water, food, shelter.
It sounded too good to be true. Their final jump? The old girl had only a few hours of life left in her and they'd found somewhere they could settle? The Gods could be benevolent when they were being ironic.
Even though his remaining loyal crew were exhausted, they'd all volunteered to continue on. Lee was leading the away team down to the surface. Starbuck was co-ordinating a group of soldiers to ensure no more renegade Centurions or Cylons were on board Galactica. Chief was attempting to get one of their crippled Raptors repaired, refuelled and ready to jump to the Fleet's rendezvous point.
Saul had the most difficult job of all; cleaning up after the battle. He was in charge of sorting through the debris, checking for survivors. He was directing able-bodied men to aid those who weren't so lucky.
When Bill had issued his orders, Saul had raised an eyebrow.
"You sure you don't want to head up the away team, Bill?"
Bill had given one meaningful glance in Laura's direction. "No. Lee can handle it," he'd insisted huskily.
He'd kissed Laura on the cheek then, and told her that he had to take care of something, but vowed to be gone only a matter of minutes.
"I'm not going anywhere yet, Admiral," she'd promised in return.
As he'd turned to set out from CIC, he hadn't been surprised to hear her ask Ellen to assist her up the stairs to the Core so she could say her farewells to Tory while he was gone.
He'd made his way to sickbay to see the extent of the carnage for himself. He hated the sterile antiseptic smell that usually greeted him there, but today he would have taken it over the stench of blood and vomit.
Medics swept around the room issuing orders, each talking loudly to counter the desolate moans of the injured that were still conscious. Other patients lay silent and still.
As he'd stood in the doorway trying to ascertain if he could be of any help, or whether he'd just get in the way, Ishay spotted him and hurried over.
"I've lost Laur…the President. She was here, helping, and then I had my hands full and-"
"It's okay," he gently interrupted her gabble. "She's in CIC."
He'd never bothered to remind her that Laura actually wasn't the president anymore. It was a show of respect that Laura at least deserved.
Ishay had looked over her shoulder at the crowded field hospital. "I can probably spare a few minutes, sir. If you'd like me to—"
"No, that's okay. You're needed here. I'll look after her."
She'd slowly nodded. She'd then gestured for him to wait while she'd bustled over to a locked drawer at the far end of the room, opened it with a key which was hanging off her necklace's chain, and removed two small items before returning to his side.
"Here," she'd said, handing him a syringe and a small phial still wrapped in their vacuum sealed packaging. He'd wondered where they had gotten drugs that had never been opened since the attacks. He hadn't thought Sherman had any opportunity to hoard such things.
"When?" he'd asked gruffly.
"I gave her one to take during the battle. I think she did. Ask her. If she did, don't administer this one for another 12 hours."
"And then?"
"And…That's the last one she can have, sir."
He'd looked away from the sympathy in the medic's eyes. He'd looked around the room one more time, feeling utterly useless.
"I need a wheelchair," he'd said.
"Ready? Pretend it's a rollercoaster," he said as they reached their quarters.
She giggled and hung on tight as he tilted her chair back, and then forward, to manoeuvre it over the hatch's threshold.
He wheeled her directly to the couch, where he swept her up and into its deep, comfortable padding. He carefully removed her wig, cradling her head to rest upon one of the larger cushions, and draped a blanket across her legs.
"Remember the first time you did that?" she asked.
"Pulled a blanket over you?"
"No silly. Pressed me down onto the couch."
"Hmph. I think I was doing it to shut you up."
She grinned up at him. "I don't remember that part."
The feisty sparkle in her eyes as he loomed over her; her thick wavy hair fanned out on the cushions; his sheepish smile when he realised his kisses, meant to be rough and forceful, had become slow and tender; her snort of laughter as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
"Typical. Only remembering what you want to remember." He leaned down and placed a small kiss against her lips. "I remember everything about us, Laura. I will always remember everything."
She hummed and he found her lips again. Their feel - dry and thin - caused a physical pain to shoot through his body.
He slowly withdrew and looked down into her eyes which were pooling with tears.
"You're covered with blood," he rumbled. "I'll go and get a cloth."
In the head, the faucet coughed and spluttered but eventually hot water trickled out. He met his reflection in the mirror as he wrung out the face cloth, and forced himself to take several deep steadying breaths. He needed to pull himself together. He didn't want her last hours to be looking into that face: that anguish, that despair.
"Maybe I was hoping you'd try to use that method to shut me up," she commented when he returned to the couch.
He gave her a look of mock horror as he carefully rubbed the splatters of blood off her face.
"You manipulated me?"
She giggled. "Definitely. More than once, Admiral. Although you were a challenge and rarely made it easy for me."
He chuckled. "You're very repentant I see."
He pushed off her jacket and began to unbutton her blouse which also had droplets of blood staining it.
Beneath, she wasn't wearing a bra, only a camisole. It had been too painful for her to wear a bra for several weeks now. He slipped the underwear up and off, his hands gliding along her delicate skin in the process.
Her eyes drifted shut as he swirled the cloth over her décolletage to remove the other remnants of blood, goose pimples breaking out in its wake.
He bent down and whispered a kiss over the raised lump on her left breast, as had become his habit since it had grown so visible. Then, he slowly trailed his mouth to her right breast where he suckled her nipple deep into his mouth.
Eventually, reluctantly, he released the hardened nub, and continued to wipe down her body.
He ran the cloth along the waistband of her pants for a moment before undoing them. She silently consented by lifting her hips as he dragged them and her panties down and off.
He stood, pulling the blanket over her again.
"Bill…" she murmured.
"I'll be back, I'm just gonna rinse the cloth, get it warm again."
He went back to the head, and this time he avoided his reflection completely.
He thought Laura was asleep when he returned. Her eyes were still shut, her breathing shallow but steady, her body relaxed.
She made him start slightly when she suddenly spoke.
"Get undressed Bill," she ordered.
"What?"
Her eyes opened and pleaded with him as her voice did the same. "I just want to hold you for a while."
"Okay," he agreed.
After undressing down to his tanks and boxers, he stopped to lower himself onto the floor beside the couch.
Lifting the blanket, he restarted his journey with the cloth, this time concentrating on her lower body.
Her pubic hair was growing back. He let his hand hover over the soft smattering of grey stubble.
"That tickles," she scolded gently.
He parted her thighs further and washed between her legs.
"Bill Adama, are you deliberately being suggestive down there?"
"No," he said honestly.
He wasn't sure exactly what this need to touch her intimately was about, but it wasn't a sexual need. Maybe he was just yearning for her to react-to get goose pimples, for her nipple to tighten. It was tangible proof she was still alive.
He ran the cloth along her leg as he leaned down and kissed her pubic mound.
She shivered in reaction.
"That is suggestive Admiral!"
He chuckled, thankful that her humour had stopped the heartache associated with the images that were overwhelming him. Ones of him in this same position, her writhing beneath the touch of his fingers, his tongue…
"I'm so tired, Bill," she admitted. "Hold me."
"Yeah," he said, standing to strip the rest of his clothing off.
He laid down, balancing on the edge of the couch next to her. She immediately wrapped her arms around his middle and pulled him closer. Her head nestled into his chest, and her legs threaded between his.
His heart shattered at the familiarity of it, and at the thought that this could be the last time they would ever share such a moment.
He didn't want her to go to sleep. She may never awaken. He wasn't ready.
"I didn't want to waste a moment by sleeping," she whispered against his chest, as if he'd vocalised his fears. "But this is perfect; a perfect way to spend the rest of my life."
"The rest of our days," he corrected her. He wouldn't think of Sherman's or Ishay's words; their talk of hours. In his mind they had days, weeks, months…
She sighed and snuggled closer still.
"It's perfect; peaceful," she murmured.
He needed to stop being selfish. Let her rest. Give her this time.
He squeezed her as tight as he dare. "It is peaceful," he agreed. Even Galactica had stopped shuddering and was humming quietly again.
He felt her shake with gentle laughter when he added a quiet, "About time."