After an exhausting couple of days dealing with the return of Gaius Baltar, President Laura Roslin and Admiral Bill Adama were cocooned in the latter's quarters, reflecting on all that had transpired: Laura's powerful display of anger towards the man, Bill's torture of him, and an attempt on Baltar's life carried out by Lieutenant Gaeta. The combined efforts of the events having still failed to secure an admission of guilt from the former president.
Perched on the edge of his rack in the relative darkness, hands tightly clasped in his lap, Bill asked the question to which he didn't want an answer.
"So what happens next?" he asked, his voice raspier than usual in its hushed tone.
He looked down to where Laura lay on her back in his rack. The dim light in the cabin, dappled somewhat by the overhead grating, did little to hide the weariness behind her green eyes.
"We give him his trial," she replied in defeat.
As Bill turned his head from her, his shoulders rose and fell with the little sigh he issued in reluctant acceptance of her statement.
After a moment in which both were silent, Bill placed a hand on Laura's thigh and gave her a little pat. His lips curved into a small, tender smile as he once again engaged her tired eyes.
"Get some rest. I've gotta head up to CIC - monitor CAP training maneuvers - before I meet with Cottle to get an update on Baltar's condition."
He slid his hand down to her knee, pressed his fingers together in a gentle squeeze through the fabric of her black pants. As he made to stand, Laura leaned up on one elbow, took his hand in hers and held him in place before he could walk away. He looked back at her, his brows raised in silent question.
"Can't you monitor your pilots from here, Bill? You could use a bit of a break, too," she pointed out. "And," she continued sheepishly, "I wouldn't mind the company."
Laura tugged on his hand and indicated the space in front of her on his rack with a tip of her head. Bill emitted a short chuckle at her tacit order.
"Yeah, okay. That's a good idea."
She flashed a satisfied grin, squeezed his fingers quickly and released his hand. Laura's eyes followed Bill's path as he took a few steps towards the comm unit on the bulkhead above his desk.
"Just gonna call Saul, let him know I'll be following the exercise from here," he explained.
During the short conversation with his XO, Bill unbuttoned and removed his uniform jacket, draped it over the chair at his desk. After replacing the receiver in its cradle, he flipped a switch and the hollow, slightly distorted sounds of viper pilots communicating back and forth filled the cabin.
He moved back to his rack, sat on the edge and bent to remove his boots. Laura eased back onto the mattress and scooted back towards the bulkhead, making room for him. Socked feet freed from the heavy boots, Bill swiveled towards the foot of the rack and swung his legs up onto it. As he lay back, one hand folded behind his head on the pillow, Laura rolled onto her side and put her head on his shoulder. Bill wrapped his arm around her back after having deposited his glasses next to hers on the shelf behind him. Laura slid a hand to his chest, skimming slow circles over the soft material of his tank. He had only to turn his head slightly to drop a kiss onto Laura's forehead. She hummed at his expression of affection and Bill closed his eyes, drew in a long breath and released it in a relaxing sigh.
As they lay together listening to the pilot chatter, Laura's thoughts drifted back to Gaius Baltar. Flashes of him strapped down to the bed, Bill's intense face hovering over him, flitted across her mind's eye.
"You okay?" she whispered, toying with the hard metal of his dog tags through his tanks.
Bill opened his eyes, dropped his chin and arched his neck in an attempt to see her face.
"Whaddya mean?" he asked, puzzled.
"Baltar," she replied. "I've never seen you like that, the way you were with him in sickbay yesterday."
Laura's head bounced with Bill's answering huff.
"Yeah, well, Gaius Baltar," he spit out, "has that effect on a lot of people."
She conceded his point with a slight shrug of her shoulders, a small nod of her head. Bill dropped his head back to the pillow and barked a short laugh.
"What?" Laura asked, tilting her face up to his.
"You were pretty scary in your dealings with him, Madame President."
It was she who huffed a breath at this, shaking her head almost imperceptibly against his shoulder.
"I guess I lost control, too."
"Don't worry about it, Laura. That man evokes strong emotion in us all."
She sighed, her breath blowing warmly into Bill's neck. "I just - I hate that he has that power over me, you know?"
"Given your history with the esteemed doctor, it's only natural that you'd want to tear a strip off him if given the chance. Quit worrying about it."
Laura nodded, still mulling over what she considered to be excuses Bill was making for her behavior.
"Besides," Bill said, chuckled, "You're pretty hot when you're pissed off."
Laura rolled her eyes and slapped his chest, but she did laugh at his injection of levity.
"You never seem to think so when that anger is directed at you," she countered.
"Not true," he replied, and when she gave him a look that said 'Yeah, right,' he continued "I always think you're hot."
Laura smiled up at him, pressed a lingering kiss to his weathered cheek before returning her head to a comfortable position on his shoulder. They focused their attention on the voices of Galactica's pilots coming over the speakers, and soon Bill and Laura were lulled to sleep by the endless chatter.
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Galactica's Chief Medical Officer stalked through the corridors, making his way towards the Admiral's quarters for a briefing on the status of his most abhorred patient. Doctor Cottle understood the people's feelings towards Gaius Baltar but was surprised, disappointed by the unbridled enmity the Admiral and the President so obviously felt for the man. He was still mad as hell that he'd been ordered to administer mind altering drugs to a perfectly healthy man, to facilitate his torture. It was wrong, damned wrong, and flew in the face of all his ideals, most especially the oath he'd taken to do no harm.
And the detestable exercise hadn't even produced the hoped for results - a confession of his sins. Cottle had agreed to the later meeting between Baltar and Gaeta only after Adama had assured him the two were just going to talk. That had been the plan, anyway. Cottle had been as shocked as everyone else in the brig's electronics room when the wiry lieutenant stabbed a pen through the former leader's neck.
The mad scientist was yet again taking up space in sickbay, thus the doctor's meeting with the Admiral.
Cottle shook his head in consternation as he rounded the corner to descend the stairs leading to the Admiral's quarters. He came to a halt on the top step, momentarily baffled by the presence of so many marines. As he continued to approach the hatch, he recognized two of the marines as part of the President's security detail. He hadn't expected Roslin to be here, too.
"Ah, great," he grumbled, thinking he wouldn't even be able to get a drink out of Adama in her presence.
Irritated - more so than usual - at this development, Cottle looked impatiently into the face of one of the guards.
"They're expecting me," he said by way of explanation.
One of the guards nodded, spun the wheel on the hatch, pushed it open and gestured him inside. The hatch closed at his back as Cottle stepped over the threshold and into the Admiral's living space.
Though a couple of lights were burning on tables around and behind the couch, and the comm was crackling with the sounds of what Cottle assumed were the voices of the CAP pilots making their rounds, he didn't see the Admiral. Or the President. His brow furrowed, a mixture of curiosity and irritation, and he cleared his throat.
"Admiral?" he called out gruffly.
Concerned when he didn't receive a response, Cottle set off in the direction of the Admiral's work area. Passing the head on his way, he noted the open door and dark interior of that room - no one in there. As he continued to make his way deeper into the cabin, he became increasingly more curious, as Adama's desk was unoccupied and the level of light dropped to near darkness. He swiveled his head from side to side, looking for any sign of the two leaders of the fleet.
He stopped short at the sight that greeted him from the Admiral's sleeping area. Faintly illuminated by the upturned reading lamp above his rack, the Admiral lay sleeping on his back, arms bare, snoring softly. The woman curled up sleeping at his side was the President of the Colonies. Laura Roslin lay on her side, one bent leg draped over the Admiral's, her bare foot resting on his shin. One of her hands lay flat on his belly, the fingertips of which were barely tucked under the waistband of his uniform pants. Her red hair trailed behind her, the fiery curls obscuring the Admiral's shoulder, his arm. Her dark shirt had ridden up, exposing a section of pale skin from just above her hip to just below her ribs. They were both peaceful in sleep, exuded a level of comfort that came with the habit of intimacy.
The doctor chuckled, shook his head.
"I frakkin' knew it," he murmured.
He'd suspected the relationship between these two was more than professional, had seen the way they made eyes at and flirted with each other like a coupla love sick teenagers. He'd heard the rumors on New Caprica, had himself caught glimpses of Adama stealthily exiting Roslin's tent on more than one occasion, always when he'd been out making his early morning rounds.
It made sense, really, for the two most powerful people left alive to seek comfort from each other, the stodgy old doctor realized. His features softened, seeing the Admiral and the President in a new light. Yeah, he decided, they needed this, hell, they deserved this.
Having briefly entertained the idea of waking the sleeping leaders just to see their faces, hear their excuses, Cottle quickly dismissed the notion as selfish. They, too, had had a couple of trying days - hell, all their days were trying, he imagined - and he'd leave them to this rare respite from responsibility.
Cottle turned and headed back the way he'd come, toward the hatch. When he'd stepped through to the hallway and secured the door, he cleared his throat and looked again to one of the marines standing guard outside the Admiral's quarters.
"The Admiral and the President will be in conference for the next hour or so and aren't to be disturbed," he lied.
The soldier snapped to attention, confirmed the Major's order with a crisp "Yes, sir," and Cottle set off in the direction of sickbay, content to keep his superior officers' secret.
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Corporal Davies waited until Doctor Cottle had disappeared around the corner, was out of earshot, then turned to quietly address the rest of the marines that made up the Admiral's and the President's details.
"In conference?" he asked flatly. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"