This story was inspired by a line I wrote in Natural Enemies. It was intended as crack but the characters got away from me and it ended up as ... not crack. Although hopefully it will still raise a smile or two! It's set shortly after Epiphanies.
Theirs is not to reason why
Theirs is but to do or die
Lord Tennyson, The Charge of the Light Brigade
Billy leaned against the bulkhead outside the tiny restroom on Colonial One sacred to Laura Roslin alone.
It was five days since the President's return to life from the brink of death. Two days since she'd been able to walk from one end of Life Station to the other without folding like a limp rag. Nearly twenty-four hours since she'd insisted on going back to Colonial One. No-one approved of that last; not Cottle, who'd complained about damned stubborn women. Not Adama, who'd looked more graven than usual and tried to talk Roslin out of it (Billy could have told him that was a waste of time). And certainly not Billy himself, who found the prospect of dealing with a recovering-but-frail Roslin nearly as frightening as the dying-but-determined version he'd known until now.
He jolted to attention as a low moan followed by a series of curses came through the gap along the bottom of the restroom door. Gulping, he rapped it lightly with a knuckle.
'Madam President?'
A second string of unintelligible noises. All the alarm bells inside Billy's head went off at once. Even three-quarters dead, he'd never known Laura Roslin to be anything other than articulate.
'Madam President!' Still nothing. Panic dispelled protocol and he bellowed, 'Laura!'
He was about to bust the door (a possibility he'd investigated, planned and even tested as far as he could months before) when it opened unexpectedly. Startled, Billy stumbled backwards into the bulkhead behind him.
And stayed there because the President was glaring. At him.
Frak.
Then she crossed her arms over her chest.
Double-frak.
'I'm so-' he began just as she said (rasped, rather; her voice was still recovering): 'We have a problem.'
Unspeakably relieved he wasn't the source of the problem, Billy started babbling incoherently. Fortunately for him, Roslin's strength ran out at that point and she sagged, allowing him to catch her around the waist. At least this scenario was one he knew too well and he steered her expertly through the curtain towards her private space.
'C'mon. Back to bed. You know what Doc Cottle said.'
'He's a bad influence,' Roslin half-slurred and Billy hid his grin in her hair, his panic ebbing. 'I'm still the Pr-President. Don't talk to me like I'm ...five.'
Choosing to ignore this, Billy left her for their little kettle station. 'D'you want tea?' He switched the kettle on without waiting for an answer, grin still in place. It was good to be doing this again. He sent Roslin an affectionate look over his shoulder and paused.
She wasn't lying back as he'd expected. She was sitting bolt upright on the couch, wearing a melancholy expression on as one hand played with her hair.
Billy left the kettle to take care of itself to crouch before her; he was so tall that even like this their gazes were level. 'Are you OK?'
'Fine.'
He rolled his eyes. 'Madam President, we both know you can do better than that. That was one crap lie.'
'It's not a lie.' The grey-green eyes dropped; he was struck at how vulnerable she looked without the shield of her glasses. 'It's silly.'
'I don't care. Tell me.'
'Billy-'
His throat closed as he remembered how close he'd come to losing her, this woman who (for better or worse) had defined his existence for the best part of a year.
He took her hands and spoke fiercely. 'Whatever it is, it's not silly. If it's about you, it's not silly. It's never silly.'
'Oh, Billy-'
She disengaged one hand to run it gently over his unruly curls, the tender touch reminding him of his mom and bringing tears to his eyes. Tears he tried to hide by staring fixedly at the silky fabric of Roslin's robe where it pooled in gleaming folds at her feet.
'OK.' The brisk tone made him look up. She took a deep breath. 'Right. Um, well, it's this.' She leaned forward to whisper, 'My roots are showing.'
He jerked back. 'What?!'
'I told you it was silly.' The President's chin lifted.
'Roots-' His voice failed him.
'Roots,' she repeated. 'I know, I'm vain. I noticed them a couple of weeks ago but then-' She shrugged. 'I didn't think I'd have to worry about it again-'
'Worry?!' He couldn't seem to do much more than parrot the odd word back.
'Hmmm.' She brushed a finger over his cheek. 'You still don't know much about women, do you?'
Indignation sent Billy surging to his feet. 'Madam President, you were dying.'
'I was. And now I'm not. Where's my glasses?'
Wordlessly, he handed them over.
She settled them into place with a precision he recognised. This was Roslin being presidential.
'I need you to do this for me. I need you to get me hair dye.'
He spluttered (what did he know about women's hair dye?! And where in the name of all the gods he didn't believe in did you even find hair dye at the end of the worlds?!) until she patted the couch beside her.
'Sit. Come on. I know it sounds crazy, I do-'
Billy snorted but sat, thinking Dee was right. He was such a pushover when it came to this woman.
'Billy,' Roslin said and he looked up to meet her serious gaze. 'Everyone was expecting me to die. Gods, I was expecting to die. And now I'm ... alive.' An odd expression ghosted across her features, one Billy didn't care to examine too closely. 'For weeks I've been a president in name only-' He started to protest and she shook her head. 'No, no. It's true. I need to take the reins back. I need to show everyone that I'm president in fact as well as name, especially with this election coming up.'
Billy frowned. 'Right. What's that got to do with hair dye?'
'Look at me,' Roslin said quietly and his frown deepened, confusion made plain. Her lips quirked as if she could read his mind; perhaps she could. 'Really, Billy. Look at me. Look at me as if you've never seen me before.'
He obeyed, allowing his eyes to travel from her gaunt face down her too-thin body and back up again, his throat tightening as he took in the clear evidence of serious illness. He shifted his attention to her hair, trying to understand why the frakking hair dye was so important. It was still there, wasn't it? It wasn't as if she'd taken diloxin or something that'd make it fall out-
Oh.
Even his inexperienced eyes could see the long red-brown locks needed something. They seemed dull and brittle, the blue tinge of Colonial One's overhead lights emphasising the silver threads that clustered along the President's centre parting.
He expelled a long breath and Roslin squeezed his hand.
'You see. You're good at this, Billy-' (he heard the echoes of Admiral Adama saying She thinks you'll be president someday in those words) '-but there's one thing you've gotta understand. Politics is about style as well as substance. It's not enough to be powerful, you have to look powerful too, convince everyone that you deserve to hold those reins and that you're not gonna let the horse run away with you.' The lines around her eyes crinkled as she smiled. 'And right now, that means hair dye. It's OK for the admiral to look grizzled, it makes him look experienced. For me ... I'd look weak. Old. Out of control.' She finished with a beseeching look and Billy capitulated.
Sucker, his inner critic jeered. He ignored it with an ease born of long practice; the critic sounded exactly like the bullies from his school days.
'OK.' He had to clear his throat. 'I'll get you your hair dye, Madam President. I promise.'
His inner critic sighed. You silly frakker. How the hell are you gonna do this?
Even Billy had to admit the critic had a point.
Admiral Adama nearly choked on his bowl of noodles as Laura's aide finished making his request. The boy seemed nervous-more nervous than he'd been in a long while-and Bill couldn't blame him, given what he'd just said. Wiping the soup spillage from around his mouth, he eyed the young man over the top of his glasses.
'Hair dye. She wants you to get hair dye? From me?' He didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted.
But Billy was shaking his head.
'No, sir-or not exactly. I guess, uh, I didn't know where to start. I thought that maybe, maybe you could help.' A pause and Billy delivered the killer blow: 'Because it's the President.'
If it'd been anyone else Bill could have-would have-sent them packing with his sternest glare and several swarms worth of fleas in their ear. It wasn't something he could do to this boy, this staunch, steady boy of Laura's who'd stayed unflinchingly by her side throughout that hellish and seemingly final time in Life Station ... Besides, there was no point beating around the bush. Billy knew. He'd probably never mention it, but he knew. He was there the night Bill was promoted; he knew what happened next.
A kiss before dying...
The words from a half-remembered song floated through Bill's head and his jaw clenched. Laura wasn't dead and if he had anything to do with it she wouldn't die until long after he himself was gone. And in the meantime ...
He sighed. Their teacher-president had trained her aide well. Billy had the Admiral exactly where he wanted him.
'Fine,' he grunted. 'I'll see to it.'
The boy's face lit up, much to Bill's carefully hidden amusement. He indicated the chair opposite with a chopstick.
'Sit. How the frak she land you in this one?'
Billy practically squirmed. 'It's uh, it's my job, sir.'
'Finding hair dye?' Bill kept his voice absolutely level but Billy's face flamed.
'There's a good reason-'
'Course there is.' The Admiral slurped the remainder of his soup and sent Billy a near-smile. 'This is Laura Roslin we're talking about. Woman's always got a reason.'
'She thinks people won't respect her,' Billy blurted and Bill raised his eyebrows. 'She does. That's what's really behind it, she thinks that if she doesn't look ... look perfect the people will think she's weak.'
Bill huffed at that. 'That's crazy talk. Laura's the strongest person I know.'
'She's thinking about the election.' Billy's shoulders slumped. 'Already.' When he glanced up the older man could see the worry in his eyes. 'She's still sick, sir. Cottle says it could be a couple of months before she's recovered. She's gonna want to push and I-I don't know how to stop her.'
'You can't, son.' Bill put his bowl on the table and turned, giving Laura's aide his undiluted attention. 'And I dunno, maybe you shouldn't.' He swallowed; what he was going to say didn't come easy. 'Truth is, without all this, without the Cylons ... Laura would be dead now. The attacks, being president, those things gave her something to live for. Something to fight for.'
'But the prophecy-' Billy looked miserable. 'She believed it, sir. She really did. And I think part of her feels ... betrayed.'
'If she does, that's on me,' Bill told him quietly. 'Not you.'
'I wanted her to live as much as you did.' The younger man's voice was rough. 'She's-she's-'
Bill went to sit beside him, one hand resting between the boy's shoulder blades. He could feel them beneath the too-large jacket, childishly sharp despite Billy's great height.
'You love her, son.' He felt Billy twitch beneath his fingers and shook his head. 'It's nothing to be ashamed of.'
'She's my boss. She's the President!'
'She's also your family out here.'
Billy's head came up to reveal glassy eyes. Bill remembered Laura telling him that Billy's entire family was on Picon, one of the first planets to be devastated in the attacks. Had the boy ever had time to process his loss? Given his position, Bill rather thought not.
'I couldn't be with my parents when they died.' Billy dashed a hand across his eyes. 'Or my sisters and their kids. But Laura-' He shook his head and Bill wondered if he realised he'd used the President's given name. 'She needed me and I could help. I could be there, even when-' Billy's hands covered his face, fingers digging into his hair.
Bill found his own eyes were wet. So much suffering, so much loss, and no sign of it stopping any time soon. He allowed one hand to circle comfortingly on Billy's back, thinking ruefully that he'd always been a better father to other people's children than to his own.
'It's OK, son,' he said softly as shudders rippled through the younger man's lanky form. 'It's OK to grieve. Gods know I have. If you need some time, Laura would give you-'
'I can't, sir.' Billy raised red-rimmed eyes to his. 'She needs me. She trusts me.'
'And she loves you, Billy. She'd want you to have this. Trust me. It's OK to let go for a while, I won't let Laura fall.'
Quiet descended, broken only by the constant thrum of Galactica's engines beneath their feet and Billy's hitching breaths as he struggled to get himself under control. Eventually he was able to sit upright and Bill saw his eyes were clear, the haunted look of the past weeks gone from their depths.
He doesn't look it, but he's got a pair, this kid. Like his boss, stronger than he seems. The things he's had to do ... Fleeters know what they're in for. Billy was just an intern along for the ride when the Cylons came.
'Better?' the Admiral said, emotion turning him gruff. He half-expected Billy to blush, but he didn't.
'Much. Thanks, sir.'
'Never be ashamed of what you feel. It's what makes us human. Different from the Cylons.'
'I know, sir.' The familiar earnestness was back. 'I appreciate it. This.' He indicated the space between them. 'I, uh, I needed that more than I realised.'
'You need a frakkin' break, son.' Bill pushed himself to his feet. He eyed the young man (not a boy, he'd never think of Billy Keikeya as a mere boy again) over his glasses. 'Don't worry about Laura's hair dye. I'll see to it.'
Billy grinned, showing an unexpected hint of mischief.
'Good luck with that, sir.' He crossed to the hatch and paused, his grin verging towards a smirk. 'It's "Autumn Leaf", by the way. The hair dye.'
'Bloody woman,' Bill grumbled, safe in the knowledge that Billy of all people would hear the affection beneath the words. 'Why couldn't she be a blonde like everyone else?'
Billy laughed. 'President Roslin, blonde?'
'You'd be surprised.' Bill hid a smile of his own. He nodded at the hatch. 'Get off my ship, Keikeya, and go keep our president out of trouble. I've got hair dye to find.'
'Yes, sir!' Billy sketched a perfect salute (so perfect that Bill's eyebrows went up) and he was gone, leaving the Admiral to pull his phone from its cradle with a disbelieving shake of the head.
Billy's mission was over. Bill's was only beginning.
TBC
Please let me know what you think!
