So I was having a little writer's block with Ties [I'm working on it, guys, I swear, it's just a rough chapter I can't get quite right], and needed to remember how to write again. So I wrote a thing. A Laura/Bill New Caprica thing. That is, not that kind of New Caprica spaceparents thing. A little angsty, a little fluffy, and there's the possibility of a sequel. Super tame. So, just gauging reactions. So: I give you Quiet.
It was the silence Laura couldn't get used to. The way the world seemed to just stop after night fell and everyone settled for the night. The cold, the rain, the food, even her newfound relative unimportance she could get used to. But the still silence of nighttime kept her up.
Those first weeks on Colonial One had been similar. Marked with that same inability to settle down at night. She had tossed and turned for weeks on that couch until finally she had gotten used to the constant whirrs and movements of the ship, been able to quiet her own mind, find comfort in the dark emptiness outside the window. Or perhaps the exhaustion from her progressing illness had done it for her. She'd never been sure.
Now, Laura had to find some way to get used to the quiet again. To long hours of uninterrupted sleep. It was strange, but somehow she found herself missing being awoken by the buzz of the phone or an aide in the dead of night. That first night, she had not been appreciative.
"The Commander for you, Madame President."
She startled awake at Billy's words, his young face hovering over hers in the dark. His use of the title still surprised her. It had only been a week, and the words still sounded foreign to her ears. Laura blinked several times tiredly as she processed his words finally.
"The Commander is here? Now? What time is it?" She straightened on the couch, pulling a robe towards her in a bit of a panic.
"No, sir, it's fine. He's not here." Billy pointed to the receiver hooked on the wall.
Laura calmed slightly and reached for the phone, thanking Billy quietly as he left. Trying hard not to sound at all tired or unfocused, she spoke into the receiver.
"Commander. What can I do for you?"
"Madame President. We have a problem."
His voice was sharp and irritated, and Laura groaned silently. That man and his moods would be the death of her. Well, if the cancer didn't kill her first.
"Yes, Commander. So I surmised."
"Your civilian ships are clogging up the communication logs on Galactica with all sorts of requests for goods and services, and it's interfering with the running of my ship," Adama's voice growled testily in her ear. "If you're going to be in charge of the civilians, I'd suggest you start doing your job."
Laura bristled at that. "Commander, I'm doing my job. This is an area where we're going to have to work together." She ran her fingers through her hair in irritation. "Galactica, as the leader of the fleet and one of the few ships able to produce and store supplies, is going to have to come up with some way to distribute and ration them to the civilians." She heard a quiet grumble on the other end, but she pushed on. "This is something that should be on the agenda for our meeting later this week. In the meantime, I will make sure that the civilian ships funnel requests through Colonial One for the moment. Would that satisfy your concerns?" She held back her irritation at his insistence on bringing this up in the middle of the night.
"Yes. Fine."
And the line disconnected.
Late-night phone calls were not a part of her life anymore, however. She no longer had aides trailing after her or supply briefings piling up on her desk. Telecommunication was spotty at best, and some how seemed even more restricted for her. She'd been on the ground for two weeks now and had yet to speak to anyone even remotely politically or militarily connected. They were clearly avoiding her; there was no doubt in her mind that the new President was responsible.
She shivered a little from her place on the bed, still trying to sleep. The silence still seemed to deafen her.
The raptor was both silent and thunderous in some way she couldn't quite explain. Perhaps it was the aftermath of her recent days on Kobol and the constant movement and tumult of the days before, but sitting in the raptor hurtling back into space seemed both quiet and reckless, calm and roaring.
It was the way he was looking at her, wordlessly with one hand gingerly on his chest as he sat across from her. His eyes were boring into hers, seeming to look at her differently. It made her feel strange, as though he was looking straight through those carefully constructed barriers she had built long ago.
"We need to make a public address," he growled finally, the intensity dropping out of his gaze. "So there's no confusion."
She nodded silently and yawned. The noise of the raptor clearing the atmosphere suddenly rendered everyone inaudible, however, so she leaned back and closed her eyes, not waking until Billy shook her upon their arrival.
Giving up on sleep for the time being, Laura stepped out of her tent and settled on the ground, wrapped in a light blanket and shivering slightly. Leaning back, she looked up at the sky and just stared. The small blinking lights of the still-orbiting ships, the unfamiliar clusters of stars, the occasional wispy cloud all looked back at her in the silence. And she just stared.
Back when she had been so sick, the noise of the ship had not bothered her. There was almost a comfort in the white noise all around. It had lulled her to sleep, even when she knew all that awaited her in sleep were disconcerting dreams and the prospect of awaking to a haze of tiredness again. The interruptions then had been her own; Billy didn't dare disturb her for anything but an emergency when she'd been nearing the end.
She surfaced with a jump and a stifled scream, almost rising in the bed but finding her body unwilling to do so. There was something warm and soft weighing down her right hand. She squinted through the haze and saw that someone was sitting beside the bed in the dark.
"Billy?"
Her voice was hoarse, higher than usual, and not much more than a whisper. But the word seemed to take all her energy again. She drew in a long, rattling breath and winced a little at the pain in her chest.
"No. It's Bill."
Laura tried to move again, and the warm, soft weight tightened around her hand. His hand, she realized now. He slid closer to her, and his face came into focus.
"I had to fire Billy," he said softly, giving her a crooked little smile. "He was sleeping on the job."
She smiled, starting to chuckle, but they quickly turned to a grimace and a coughing fit. Almost immediately, she felt Bill's hand leave hers and come around her back to support a sitting position as his other hand reached for a glass of water. Clumsily, Laura reached for the glass and brought it to her lips, but his hand never released it, holding it steady despite her shaking hand.
After a moment, she pushed the glass away and Bill made to settle her back on the pillows.
"No. Wait," she rasped quietly, stopping him. She touched her face and hair distractedly, looking around until Bill brought her glasses up to her searching hands and helped her slide them up her nose.
"Bill," she started again shakily, "you… should go… home." She sagged a little against his supporting arm on her back and shoulders, but continued. "You're too…busy." She reached up and pulled her glasses unsteadily down her face again. She couldn't remember why she had wanted them moments ago.
"I'm fine right here," she heard him whisper as he took her glasses from her hand again and settled her back against the pillows. He took her hand again and pulled the blanket back up to her chest. "Don't worry about me. Get some sleep, Laura."
Her eyes drifted closed, the sound of his breathing and the ship lulling her back to sleep.
Light suddenly streaked across the sky as Laura watched, slowly lighting the tents around her and dimming the stars above her. The settlement slowly came alive around her, forcing Laura back into the tent once more, another sleepless night behind her.
A small brown-wrapped parcel awaited Laura when she returned from the schoolhouse that afternoon, tucked just inside the entrance to her tent. When she opened it, there was no doubt in her mind of the sender. "Once Upon A Midnight, by Sarah Jensen," she whispered to herself, turning the new book in her hands. It was obviously from his collection, well-kept and well-read. She pulled open the front cover, and white paper fluttered out, covered in handwriting.
Laura,
I know "Murder on Picon" must be getting old again. Dee tells me there's a book merchant on the surface, but from what I understand, his wares aren't quite our style. This seemed more appropriate. I know it sounds a little trite, but give it a chance. There's a woman in it who reminds me of you.
You must be busy with the new school. I'm sure it's better to be back in a classroom than wasting away up here with nothing to do. The Colonial One landed permanently last week, I'm sure you know. It's strange to look out on the fleet without it.
The ships keep landing on the surface, and I wonder if you were right. It seems too easy to just stop like this. We've been running for so long, though, and we had to stop someday. Some days I hope we're both right and it all comes crashing down at the Doctor's feet. Today I hope we're wrong, though. It's a life, and it's not all bad.
I hope you enjoy the book. And remember, it truly is a gift.
Bill
With the new book clutched in her hands that night, she finally slept.
Dear Bill,
I'm afraid your impression of me is rather inaccurate. Joanna is nothing like me. We both have red hair, but I'm afraid that's where the similarities end. I can't abide cats, and you know how I feel about guns. It was a wonderful read. You were right. Though it doesn't quite seem your style. I'm not sure I can see this finding a place on your bookshelf or in your hands.
The school is going strong now, after a month of fits and starts. You're right, it does keep me busy, but I'm not sure that's the reason I seem to scarcely see anyone from Galactica. It was warm enough to venture out last night for the first time since I arrived. There's a beauty to this place I didn't see before, the way the mountains cut across the sky and the smell just before a rain.
You were right. The book seller at the market isn't quite our style. What is it with air travel and romance novels? But I did a little digging, and hope this one is to your liking. "Bloody Valentine" may seem a little excessively feminine, but I read it first, and I think you'll enjoy it.
This, too, is a gift.
Laura
The quiet seemed somehow less deafening.
Laura,
I'm not sure I should let you pick the books. Or rather, you should find a better source than the market bookseller. Am I wrong, or did it smell a little odd? The story wasn't bad, though. You were right.
It's quiet up here without the constant worry anymore. It's strange to think that this might truly be our safe haven. It is not what was expected. I hope the cold is letting up. It must be nice to feel the sun after so long without it.
Do you still get to hear the wireless? There was a broadcast earlier this week on the state of education. It was sorely missing your voice. I'm sure you would have brightened the airwaves considerably. You may be right; our mutual friend behind the desk is trying to hide you away.
This newest book is a personal favorite. It's less bloody than your last choice, but full of secrets.
As always, it's a gift.
Bill
And somehow, there was always someone trustworthy to carry her reply.
Bill,
It did smell a little off. I think we're both glad that the last of the Falling Star colonists have landed, and with them came some quality literature. This is an old favorite of mine, and I know you'll like it. I read it again this week for old time's sake, and it was just as good as I remember. Perhaps we're getting old. Our tastes seem to be veering away from the gore, favoring the conspiracies and drama.
It is getting warmer. It's been eight weeks, and each day seems warmer than the last. But the sun is strange here. It seems more distant than our sun in the Colonies. I'm not sure it will ever be warm here like that last day on Caprica. There was something in the air and the sun on that final day, like the Gods knew it would be our last day and they wanted it to be special.
I thought I saw you the other day, taking a tour of the new building site. But somehow our paths never crossed. I worry a little about our new President; it must be hard to govern and keep me in check this way. I did hear that broadcast. I hope you didn't believe a word of it.
It's never a loan with you.
Laura
The silence endured, but was somehow bearable.
Dear Laura,
This new book source is much better. The odd smell has been replaced by something sweeter. It speaks of better and warmer times down there on the planet. I hope I'm right. "Tipping Point" was a wonderful choice. I never had the opportunity to read it before, and I'm so glad you found it. I understand why it's your favorite. If we're getting old, then I prefer it to being young; a mature taste has never lead me astray.
I wish I had seen that last day on Caprica. Sun and sand are the things I miss most. Those days when the sun is bright enough to warm you up but not so hot that it scorches the sand beneath your feet.
You did see me that day. I just wish you'd turned sooner. It's nice to see you out of a suit, you seem happier. And your students clearly love you. Our mutual friend does seem to be stretching himself thin, keeping you at arm's length. Clearly learning from my mistakes. A new letter calls for a new book, a classic this time. I'm sure you'll enjoy it.
Come what may, this will never be a loan.
Bill
Her dreams lost their nightmares.
Bill,
I'm glad the smell is gone. So much of the joy in literature lies in the smell of those pages. Your gift was perfect this time. Johnson Forde has always been a favorite author of mine, and I loved every moment of this work. I'm not sure I believe the ending, however. Sylvia didn't have anything to live for, it's true. But not having anyone and being suicidal are two different things. I think it strained credulity in the end.
I'm sure you've seen me out of a suit before. Well, in a manner of speaking. I do wish you had said something, however. If I had known you were standing there watching me teach all that time, I might have looked up. I'm sure our friend would have cut short any conversation, however, so perhaps it was for the best.
If you're referring to your keeping me on as the president a "mistake," I'm not sure I can agree. I'm just too close to be objective. Personally, I think it was those mistakes in the beginning that brought us here. This enclosed book may be a new favorite. I rescued it from a throwaway box two doors down, and it is wonderful. I believe I've counteracted any smell that may have lingered. Though honestly, with that mustache I caught a glimpse of, I hardly think it matters.
It's always a gift for you.
Laura
The darkness wasn't intimidating. And she slept.
Laura lived with the quiet, eventually, reading herself to sleep each night to fill the void. But it was the noise and activity that soothed her. The not-quite-chaotic clatters and shouts in her classroom, the bubbling laughter of that little stream in the mountains she loved, the cacophony of birds outside her tent in the morning. She loved the singing and dancing of a party in the background, the flurry of Founder's Day activity. But more than that she loved the rumble of his breathing under her cheek, and the way she slept so effortlessly.
She loved all the noise on New Caprica until quite suddenly, she didn't.
If reactions are positive, I have a second, fairly tragic part slightly written. Let me know if you'd like more.