One drink too many didn't cover it. One bottle too many was closer. He didn't care that he was barely aware of his surroundings and barely able to walk, there was someone he had to see. Something he had to say. So he began moving.
----
A late night drink had turned into one of those times. They were too close. It was too comfortable. Neither pulled back and something familiar became something new. Something far more intimate. Something far more desired.
----
He was almost there. He stumbled and ignored the hand that one of the marines offered to help steady him. He also ignored their attempts to address him, walking past them. Or attempted to, and a slight struggle ensued, the marines unsure of how much force they should use.
----
Due to a miss calculation, she found her back hitting a wall and not his rack. Not that it seemed to faze either of them. Her shirt was quickly going the same way his jacket had. Mouths and hands busy.
----
He managed to open the hatch and stumble through. He was vaguely aware of one of the marines offering up an apology for the unannounced entrance. He turned around to tell him to frak off. Then the marine's apology stopped, sentence unfinished.
----
It took a second for their mouths to disengage and even longer for their brains to un-focus from each other. Even more time was required for them to realise their hands were still placed inappropriately and that she was showing for more skin then was appropriate for their audience.
----
Shock. It was a good way to sober you up. It stopped motor movements even more efficiently then excessive amounts of alcohol. So as the marines backed out of the door all he could do was stare. Then he became aware of whose bra it was he was staring at and he regained enough motor movement to jerk his head around to look in a different direction.
----
'Lee.'
She heard him say as she turned her back, crouching to pick up her shirt. This was not good. Standing to slip her shirt on, her eyes began to search the room on the look out for her jacket, shoes and briefcase, her mind already formulating the quickest way out and back to Colonial One.
----
The sudden jerk of his head proved to remind him he had consumed far more alcohol then he should. His stomach protested and he lost his balance, leaning too far sideways and ending up on his knees.
'I'm going to be sick.'
----
Hearing his statement without witnessing his collapse she turned, still buttoning her shirt with a witty retort on her tongue. It didn't make it past her lips. Bill was quick to leave her side to go to his son, helping him to his feet. Without a word passing between them she headed to get a glass of water as Bill half carried Lee in the direction of his toilet.
----
It wasn't until his stomach won its war to empty its contents that he remembered he had something to say. Yet he couldn't remember what. He felt his Dad's hand wrap around his shoulders to support him as he fell backwards. He could hear his Dad saying it was okay, yet he knew it wasn't. Nothing was okay. Then he remembered what he had to say.
----
Glass of water in hand, shirt firmly buttoned, she made her way into the bathroom. Bracing herself as she did so, unaccustomed to dealing with the aftermath of someone else having drunk too much. Lee was busy trying to form words he seemed desperate for his father to hear, Bill trying to calm him and assure him it could wait and neither noticed her arrival.
----
'Sorry. So…Dee she… and Kara. Oh Gods Kara. I had to…Dad? Dad I'm so sorry. Oh gods I'm sorry. Had to tell you I'm sorry.'
His Dad pulled him into a hug, shushing him, but he hadn't finished.
'I love you. Love you…'
The words spoken, he gave up his struggle and relaxed into his Dad's embrace, calming even more when his Dad repeated the words back. Then he noticed the President standing in the doorway.
----
Lee's gaze landed square on her and she had to resist the urge to squirm. She looked for a place to put the glass so she could leave the father with his son. She was just deciding to leave it on the floor, when Lee moved to throw his arms around her waist. She felt tears on her shirt as he pressed his face against her stomach.
'I'm sorry.'
He whispered fiercely. His arms tightened almost painfully.
'Please don't die. Please, please don't die.'
And then she felt him begin to shake as his tears turned to sobs.
----
He cried til he had no energy left in him. The hand running soothingly through his hair and the warmth he felt emanating from his father at his back lulled him to sleep. Spent from the last half hour, he couldn't fight it and felt his breathing even out and his eyes droop. He was only vaguely aware of his Dad and the President manoeuvring him to his father's rack and wasn't aware he was asleep before they reached it.
----
She watched as he poured himself a drink and settled on the couch. She picked up her jacket and slipped on her shoes.
'Bill.' She stated, moving to stand before him, demanding his attention. She opened her mouth and realised she didn't know what to say. Not in this situation. What could she say? So she settled for something she'd been thinking of saying for a while.
'I love you Bill Adama.'
He returned his gaze to the drink in his hand before placing it on his table and returning his eyes to her.
'I love you Laura Roslin.'
He slid forward on the couch grasping her by the hips to pull her close enough to wrap his arms around her waist, pressing his face against her stomach in a similar way to the way his son had previously done.
'Don't die. Please don't die.'