Disclaimer: Bill and Laura don't belong to me. Clearly, it's them who do whatever they want with me.

This fic is for Kaitlynn Wells. For being an avid reader, a passionate supporter and an encouraging force. Not the one you asked for but I promise you will have it!

He gets in unannounced. On his way down the corridor he passes by a few people carrying boxes, tools and other stuff. They notice his presence and even greet him politely but everyone is hurried and they just walk past him merely acknowledging his presence, without even bothering to stop their chatter or their work, to give some thought to what he must be doing here. His presence in Colonial One became natural years ago anyway. Even the guards at the door just greet him and step aside to let him enter.

He allows himself a second to catch his breath and try to quiet his racing heart. Only now does he notice he has all but run his way from the raptor to this spot. This is far from being the only reason why his heart threatens to burst in his chest.

He is as ready as he will ever be. He takes one more step. His eyes peer into the dimly lit room.

There she is.

The moment he sets his eyes on her, a wave of relief threatens to engulf him. He stays by the door, silently watching her. She is standing by the desk, her back half- turned to him, holding some papers in her hand. Her shoulders are slightly hunched forward; her glasses have slid down almost to the tip of her nose. A lock of auburn hair slides over her shoulder over and over again, until she tucks it behind her ear absentmindedly, where it can no longer annoy her or cloud her vision. For a few seconds she leaves her hand there, by her ear, her fingers flexed, as if she had forgotten that it still belongs to her. Her casual, worn clothes reveal that she has not had the time to shake off New Caprica yet. As a matter of fact there is a weight to her demeanor; a different, darker quality to her posture and her movements. She shifts slightly and Bill catches a glimpse of her whole face. Her expression is grave, and downright fatigued. The edges of her jaw and her nose seem to be much sharper than the last time he saw her.

Erasing the traces of New Caprica is going to be much harder than just having a shower and changing clothes.

The realization clutches at his heart a second before his presence registers with her. She might have felt the background noise of his steps approaching but only now, maybe once she has finished surveying the report in her hand, does she actually notice that there is someone at the door.

She turns to the entrance and looks up.

Both freeze in place as their eyes meet. A hesitant smile spreads on his lips and is immediately mirrored by hers. They take in each other's presence. As he savors these first seconds of their reunion, a small part of his mind is still advising caution. He manages to resist the urge to run to her, to pull her flush into his arms. He is not sure why he is holding back, however. He cannot tell if it is because of her or himself. This is almost too much for his old heart to take.

Slowly, Laura takes off her glasses and puts them on the desk without bothering to fold them. Divested from the professional look and the safety barrier they confer, her jumbled appearance becomes much more noticeable all of a sudden. Her clothes are not just casual or worn, but dusty; her hair is disheveled and in bad need of a proper wash. She is now bare before him, and her eyes tell him that she knows that much. She bites her lower lip and blinks. Her chest rises and falls raggedly, as if she had just finished a long race.

He decides that he loves this messy version of Laura Roslin even better than the classy, composed, presidential one.

"Bill." Her whisper is almost inaudible.

Almost. But not to him.

He takes one tentative step towards her in response. Then another one. She comes around the corner of her desk with a small step of her own.

Restraint dissolves.

Their strides become wider and hurried and if the distance between them had been bigger they would have ended up running.

He opens his arms wide and she throws herself inside that warm, welcoming circle. Their bodies clash in a tight embrace. Laura's arms close around his waist, his wrap around her back and shoulders. He presses her to him in utter desperation, as if he wanted to imprint her form on his flesh. He breathes in her scent, revels in the feel of her clinging to him so tightly. He thanks the gods that, whatever she has had to endure, whatever darkness this Laura has about her now, whatever grievances her fight down on that planet has caused to her heart and soul, she still does not reject him. She remains his friend, his partner; his warm, safe harbor. As he secures her head against his shoulder with his big palm, he understands this has been his biggest fear: to be returned a Laura that was not quite herself anymore.

She is exhausted and damaged, that much he can tell.

But she is also whole, safe, healthy, back. Here.

"You shaved." She whispers, her voice a little shaky.

He chuckles. She was quick noticing. He can feel she is smiling too, her face buried in his neck.

"Back on duty."

She shakes her head gently.

"You never were off duty, Bill."

It is not a reproach. And even if it was, it is just the truth.

"I guess not." He reflects. "I knew I couldn't."

"Thank you." She murmurs after a long, meaningful silence.

So many things contained in those two simple words.

"You never really got off duty, either."

"Not really." She admits.

Bill lets out a gruff, affirmative noise. He knows how that works. He knows about the weight of responsibility. Better than anyone, maybe except her.

They part slowly. As their eyes meet again, Bill slides his hands down her arms and takes her hands in his. She lets him. Even more, she welcomes the gesture pressing them affectionately. He searches for a clue in those green, watery pools of hers. He finds them clear and open for him. He craves some answers but he does not want to hurt her any more than she already is.

"How are you?"

Laura sighs.

"I'm fine. I mean, I've quite the mess to clean up." She waves her hand around and behind her, over the desk, the papers and the obvious lack of order of her former quarters. "But everything will be so frakking easy compared to living down there."

She intended her comment to be a reassuring one but the moment it passes her lips she startles realizing how wrong it has sounded. Bill's tied brow is proof enough that she has achieved the opposite effect.

"What did they do to you, Laura? Did they harm you?"

She averts her eyes and her face darkens as she remembers and reflects. Even before she replies, he feels the tide of anger building in the pit of his stomach. He is ready to kill whoever has hurt this woman with his very own hands. After a few moments, she shakes her head.

"No. Not really. I… I was in detention. Twice. I was put in a cell. I'm not sure for how long. It was cold. And empty. Not even a cot where I could lie down. And the light bulb was always on. But I was given food. I've eaten far better but…" She shrugs. "I was neither beaten nor tortured. And I was released unharmed. Overall, I've been much better off than others."

Bill's frown does not vanish. Despite her reassuring efforts, it is not like he can be glad to hear this. Besides, he is sure that she is trying to make it sound far lighter than it really was. He knows better than to let her calm demeanor fool him. She possibly does not want him to worry, does not want to admit the extent of her suffering even to herself.

"I've heard… I've been told your name was on a death list."

Her shoulders slump down in defeat. She has just understood she will not be able to hide this piece of information from him after all. He gives her time to come to terms with the fact that she cannot lie to him. She breathes in deeply before speaking.

"Yes, that's true. They…" She stops, searching for the words. "They showed up at the school in the middle of a lesson. They dragged me out, tossed a hood over my head and forced me to get on a truck. They took off the hood and I saw there were other prisoners, too. They left us locked in there with our hands tied."

Bill's lips press together in a thin, taut line. Instinctively, his thumbs stroke her wrists as if he were trying to instill some healing energy in those delicate forms that have endured such an awful treatment.

"There were other trucks. They drove us all outside the camp to a place in the middle of nowhere. They told us to get off the trucks. We obeyed. As soon as we hit the ground we saw the centurion lineup. They were ready to shoot. They were going to kill us all. I'm not sure if Tom Zarek pushed me down or it was me who pushed him but we were rolling on the ground a second before we heard the shooting. When we dared to look up we saw it was your crew who had shot all the centurions down. They arrived just in time."

"So Tom Zarek saved your life?"

Laura reflects.

"He might have. Or maybe I saved his. I really don't know."

"So there might something I have to be grateful to that bastard for, after all."

Laura smiles at him tenderly. A faint blush creeps up her cheeks. A silence envelops them, one thick with things unsaid, with restrained emotions, with the longing and despair of a wait neither of them knew if it would end, when, or how.

"If we had arrived just a few seconds later…" Bill shakes his head. His piercing blue eyes bore into hers intensely. "I can't even think of it."

She looks at him, letting the meaning of his words sink in. Then, she gives his hands a comforting squeeze and speaks softly:

"If you had arrived only a few seconds later, even if we had died right there on that hill, it would have never been your fault, Bill."

"I'm not talking about the guilt, Laura. That I would have managed… eventually. It's the grief I doubt I would have ever gotten over."

To highlight his own words he lifts her hands to his lips and kisses them, closing his eyes with force, his touch sweet and lingering. When he lifts his eyes again he sees her struggling to contain her own emotions. Her expression bare and raw, she looks almost broken yet entirely herself.

"I never doubted you would come back to get us, Bill. But I didn't…" Her voice quivers. "I was locked in that cell, or in my tent at night and I thought of you and I… I couldn't be sure that you were alive, or that you would make it."

They stay still, their gazes locked, out of words, letting their eyes do what they do best: let one another see inside their souls. The universe spins around them. Slowly, they fall into each other's arms.

"Gods, Bill…" Her throat is thick with tears, her voice suffocated.

He feels her release all the air in her lungs as their arms close around each other once again. He wishes so badly that she would trust him with the truth, that she would speak to him openly about her fear, her insomnia, her anxiety. He wishes so badly that she would open that door for him, to let him see and let him help her heal and soothe with his love the parts of her soul that have hardened too much to be able to survive hell. But then again, if she did that, she would not be Laura Roslin. She would not be the woman he loves. And he also loves her for the parts of her character that can eventually hurt him.

"Will you be OK?" he asks. The infinite affection in his voice makes it imposible for her to answer with anything but the truth.

"Yes. Yes, I will."

Something in her tone reassures him. In it there is an implicit admission of her pain along with the certainty that she can do it. He will see to it that she recovers from all her wounds, that she forgets all of her fears. He will let nothing get in the way of his care for her.

He draws back slowly and kisses her forehead before searching for her eyes again.

"I need to leave now. My shift in CIC starts in a few minutes."

It sounds almost apologetic. She nods and gives him a weak smile.

"It's okay. It's not like I'm going to get bored here with all I have to do, either." She reassures him.

He nods. He releases her completely now, feeling immediately empty, his arms useless, his chest cold.

He does not walk away, though. There is something else he wants to mention before leaving. Because this has been too short and only the gods know how many chances they will have to get together and talk without the constraints of their jobs in the next weeks. He fears Bill and Laura will disappear behind the Admiral and the President indefinitely as soon as they start trying to set the fleet back on track. He glances at her. Laura is waiting, expectant, nervousness visibly building in her, her smart eyes trying to read him. He doubts where to start. He looks down, then back at her.

Just spit it out.

"Laura, I'm wondering if you would like to join me for dinner. I came here because I didn't want to wait any longer to see you but I'd love to have a little more time to talk."

Laura's eyes sparkle and a mischievous smile spreads on her lips.

"Are you asking me out, Admiral?"

He chuckles but, to his credit, he does not blush. Such a thing simply does not happen to tough, seasoned admirals.

"Considering the offer involves my quarters, I guess I'm rather asking you in."

She laughs heartily and he feels a pang of joy at that sight and that sound. It is a flash of light, a strong current of hope that everything will be alright, if she can still laugh like that. Then she looks back at him with a splendid smile. He feels, for the umpteenth time since he walked in, a wave of relief wash over him.

"I'd love to."

His own smile broadens.

"My shift ends at five. Shall we meet at six? Does that suit you?"

"It's perfect."

He nods his goodbye, a little too formally, he chides himself; but he feels his own eyes sparkle and he is sure they are giving him away entirely.

He could not care less.

With the echo of her soothing voice still ringing in his ears, Bill turns around and walks towards the door slowly. He feels his happiness might be dripping as he goes, leaving a shiny trail behind him.