A/N: For those of you new to this A/U, this is the prequel to Unbreakable. We wrote Unstoppable after Unbreakable, but it is set prior to that fic. It's up to you which way you'd rather read them, but I always rather Unbreakable first, therefore, that's the way I posted.
Laura Roslin strolled along the dark, foggy pier on the San Francisco Bay waterfront. She rubbed her arms with her gloved hands. The fog was settling in her bones, but she loved the sharp salty night air and creosote smell rising from the heavy planks.
A dark figure loomed out of the mist. A man, not tall, but stocky. He wore a pea coat and watch cap, the uniform of the seamen. He blocked Laura's way and stared straight at her as he puffed on a cigarette. His worn features-she couldn't decide if they were interesting or frightening-were festooned with a thick graying mustache.
She raised her chin. This was her dock-she owned this pier and its warehouse, dammit-and he could just get out of her way.
"Excuse me," she said coolly.
He tossed aside his cigarette. "Come on you," his impossibly deep, raspy voice said.
"Excuse me!?" she repeated, looking down her nose at him.
"Come on, Jake, this lady wants to pass," the man said, tugging on a leash she now saw in his large hand.
A black and white shepherd of some indeterminate breed burst out from behind a thick piling and lunged at Laura.
"Down, boy!" yelled the man.
The dog wrapped his leash around her legs, panting with excitement.
"I'm sorry, ma'am." The sailor began to circle Laura, trying to unwind the leash, but was making it tighter.
"Can't you control that beast?" Her thoughts were in disarray; she was bemused by the ridiculous situation, a bit frightened to feel a stranger's body brushing against hers, but couldn't help but note this man's scent. He smelled of the sea too, and sandalwood soap.
"Nope," he said shortly. "Just got him."
She appreciated his honesty and found herself smiling despite her discomfort.
"Okay," he said. "Here's what we're gonna do-Sit!"
"I can't, sir," Laura said, fighting her terrible habit of giggling. "The leash is too tight."
He shot her a withering look and that's when she was shocked to see that his eyes were a deep, almost unnatural blue on his olive-skinned face. "Jake, sit."
Both were surprised to see the dog comply, his tail thumping joyfully on the dock.
"Okay," said the sailor. "You unwind, and I'll hold Jake."
Laura quickly whirled out of the leash before Jake could change his mind. She clung to her hat to keep it in place. "I feel just like Ginger Rogers," she gasped.
He chuckled and she thought it was a delightful sound, throaty as his voice. She smiled back.
Shortening his leash, the sailor dropped his gaze. "I apologize, ma'am."
"It's fine," she assured him. "Most fun I've had all day."
He looked around. "You shouldn't be out here, a lady like yourself."
Her smile faded and her back straightened. "I walk here all the time."
His thick brows rose and his warm gaze moved slowly over her body. "Oh, I see...I heard 'frisco has a better class of ladies of the night."
Mortified, she said, "Good evening, sir," in her coldest tone.
She felt his eyes on her as she walked off, and forced herself not to hurry. No man would frighten her.
Bill watched the woman walk away-the view from this angle was particularly pleasing to a man who'd been at sea for months. The seams of her hose climbed the curves of her sleek calves, leading his gaze up to her swinging hips.
It had been too dark to get a really good look at her face, but he'd liked the way the streetlamp's light had balanced on the planes of her features, and the curve of her lips as she'd smiled had been enticing. Not the usual come-on leer of a prostitute...
It'd been a while, maybe he could...
He shoved his hand into his pocket, jingling the coins there. He had no idea what this type of dame would charge. And how to ask? Usually the lady in question came out and let you know right off the bat. From her fox stole, it appeared that this one obviously had a much higher rate than the ones he usually saw hanging around the docks.
...
Laura's heels' clacks sounded loud and menacing to her own ears. The darkness closed in; the fog chilled her. Then she spotted her silver Aston-Martin parked at the curb and she released a breath of relief-
Hands grabbed her from behind, lifting her off the ground.
She started to scream, but a gloved hand clapped over her mouth. "Be still," a strangely accented voice growled in her ear.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered if it was the sailor with the dog, then dismissed that thought. This was something terrible and awful. She tried to fight, but the arms holding her were like steel. Her head went light from lack of oxygen. With every gasping breath, her mouth and nose were blocked by the leather glove. As her body slackened, the attacker fumbled at her left wrist-
"Let go o'her!" bellowed a deep voice behind them, joined by sharp dog barks.
Laura was released, falling to the dock in an undignified heap. The attacker ran off.
"Are you all right?"
A large, warm hand gently pushed back her disheveled hair and straightened her hat. "Ma'am?"
He simply must stop calling her that; she felt like a schoolmarm. "Laura."
"What?"
"I'm Laura."
"Hello, Laura, I'm Bill." His smile flashed in the dark and she stared up at him, drowning in his deep waters gaze. She decided his scarred and rugged face was handsome, but that thick mustache had to go; it was hiding that smile's gleam.
"Get outta the way, sailor," a deep voice growled behind Bill.
Glancing over his shoulder, he found a slick-haired thug leering at him in the semi-darkness, slapping his fist into the palm of his other hand menacingly. He gestured for Laura to remain crouched behind him. Hoping she'd escape while he kept the goon occupied, Bill attempted to circle the man away. Jake joined in, giving a threatening growl from beside his master's legs.
A second man suddenly appeared out of the fog.
"Come on, let's hurry up and get it. He's just an old man," the new thug on the scene scoffed.
Frozen with horror, Laura watched as they approached her sailor from opposite sides. Then she squeezed her eyes shut tightly as they jumped him, raining punches on Bill. Fists slapped against bare skin; cracked on bone. At one particularly loud grunt, her eyes flew open. She saw her sailor's elbow jab into the groin of the second attacker and the man buckling at his knees.
"This old man's just kicked your ass," Bill sneered as he loomed over the hunched figure.
He spoke too soon. The other attacker sucker-punched him from behind. The prone man kicked out, knocking Bill's legs out from under him.
Laura screamed as the men jumped atop Bill, pummeling him. He struggled to his feet, gainfully staying in the battle, his hard fists knocking his attackers down again and again.
"Get outta here!" he managed to yell at her.
He was right; she must do something. Laura scrambled to her feet. Her car was close. Flinging herself behind the wheel, she started the powerful motor, flipping on the bright lights. They lit up the combatants.
Bill was down, curled up to protect his body from the heavy boots and thumping fists of his attackers. Jake ran around the men, nipping at their heels, trying to help his master.
Gunning the engine, Laura jumped the curb, bearing down on the fight.
The heads popped up on the attackers, their eyes shining fear in the strong beams. She slammed on the brakes, skidding sideways. Not waiting around to see if she was serious, the men ran off into the fog.
Leaning over, she pushed the door open. "Get in!"
On his hands and knees, Bill made his way to the car, and pulled himself up into the front seat. Jake leapt in too, bouncing across his master's lap and wiggled into the space behind the seat.
"Go," Bill groaned, dragging the door shut.
Laura floored it, sending the sleek car streaking down the sidewalk.
"Uuuuuuhh..." moaned Bill.
She spared him a quick glance but couldn't see his injuries clearly in the dark interior; she could only smell fresh blood. But he sounded in terrible distress. "I'm taking you straight to a hospital!"
He quickly swiped his bleeding lips with his swollen tongue. "No, no...Please...Back on the road..."
She steered back onto the street and swerved around a corner. The roadster's low undercarriage struck a bump, sending them airborne. As they landed with a jolt, the glove box banged open, cracking Bill's knees, and spilling several small pocketbooks out onto his lap.
Bill stared at the sketches depicted on the covers: smoking guns, leggy women leaning over desks of men in dark suits, shadow outlines of sinister felons.
Laura squeaked in horror. Reaching over, she scooped them up, haphazardly shoving them back into the glove compartment before clipping it firmly closed.
"Please!" Bill found his voice. "Eyes on the road! Hands on the wheel!"
She returned her grip to the steering wheel, turning the car uphill.
"There's a hospital-"
"No hospital...Home.." he gasped. "I live off Mission. 281 Guerrero."
"All right, I'll take you home," said Laura with determination.
Bill's eyelids fluttered open when the vehicle finally came to a blissful halt.
"We're here," said Laura, opening her car door and hopping out.
They appeared to be in a warehouse full of automobiles.
"This isn't my place," Bill said thickly.
"I know," said Laura, opening his door and tugging on his arm. "It's mine."
Bill resisted. "I don't wanna impose-"
"You said no hospital. But at least let me clean you up."
Jake jumped over his master and stood waiting expectantly beside Laura.
"Okay," grumbled Bill. "I'll wash up." He thought of his boarding house and the washroom down the hall. His landlady would give him hell for getting it dirty.
He staggered after Laura through a door...And slammed to a stop. Jake ran into the back of his legs. They were in a vast marble-floored foyer. A curved staircase rose above, swirling around a massive crystal chandelier. The pale ivory plaster walls were inlaid with floral designs. It was sophisticated, not the sort of place for some old sailor to be leaving muddy footprints.
"Uh..." Bill mumbled, beginning to back out. She was a dish, but any moment he expected a belligerent husband to storm down the stairs demanding to know the meaning of all this.
Laura removed her hat and looked at him quizzically. Finally viewing her in full light, he could see she was within a decade of his age, despite wearing her russet hair long and loose as a young lady.
"Is your husband home?" he asked, craning his neck around.
She took his arm, leading him toward a bathroom. "I'm not married. And it's the servants' night off, so you don't need to worry about anyone seeing you like this."
He became much more worried. They were alone in this mansion, and she wasn't married. Her well-intentioned but misguided concern was making her forget her reputation, so he must guard it for her.
In the large, white-tiled bathroom, she turned the taps on full blast. Glancing around, she finally put down the toilet's lid, blushing. "Er, why don't you have a seat, Bill?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't get your full name," said Bill, still standing.
She wet a washcloth. "Laura Roslin."
"Miss Roslin, I'll be fine. I should be going-"
"I'm sorry, I didn't get your last name either," she said.
"William Adams."
"Mr Adams, please don't be a ninny," she said firmly, closing the door behind him. She gently pushed him down to sit. "Let's take the coat off."
"I'm like an old dog. I'll just heal right up," he insisted, even as he allowed her to unbutton his coat and carefully peel it off him.
"They beat you soundly, Mr Adams."
"I did okay," he said stubbornly.
"Of course," she said soothingly, unbuttoning his shirt next.
He gulped, his addled head clearing suddenly. "Miss Roslin, I don't think-"
"Yes, Mr Adams?" She slid his shirt off, her brow furrowed in concern at his bruised arms. Next she pushed up his undershirt, revealing his purple-splotched chest. "Oh, dear! Bill!"
He was staring at the tumble of curls as she leaned over him. "Whaa?"
She shot him an agitated look. "I need to get some ice for these bruises."
He needed a big bag of ice all right, to place on his lap. He had to divert her before she noticed- "Miss Roslin, may I bother you for a drink?"
"Some water?" she asked, heading to the door.
Bill dabbed at his bleeding face with the washcloth. "Got something stronger?" he said with a strangled voice.
"Of course." She flashed him a tentative smile around the open door. "I'll be right back."
He leaned back on the wall, releasing a long breath. Hopefully, she would give him enough time to cool down.
...
Laura hurried to the lounge where she held most of her cocktail parties. Before the bar cart, she stared at the bottles, her thoughts in a whirl. No gentleman had ever made her feel this uncertain. She was always had the upper hand with men, and surely someone such as this sailor shouldn't unsettle her so.
She poured a glass of Scotch for Bill.
But he did unsettle her, even in his current state. Or perhaps because of it. She desperately wanted to care for him...Take him upstairs, slip him into her bed...After removing more of his clothing, of course.
She poured a second glass full, and although she was only a light social drinker, took a deep swig.
Where were these thoughts coming from? Laura did have discreet affairs with men, but men in her circle and always one who would depart with no hard feelings when she tired of him. She did not pick up strange men on the docks and bring them home to... Poor Bill was bleeding in her bathroom while she dithered!
After draining her glass, she whirled unsteadily and trotted toward the doorway, running straight into the object of her thoughts. He caught her, but the impact poured the drink down his front. He'd put his coat back on, and now it was soaked.
"Oh! I'm sorry! Where did you come from!?" babbled Laura, ineffectually dabbing at his coat with the handkerchief she kept tucked in her sleeve.
"I should be going," Bill said stubbornly.
Pulling him over to the couch, she pushed him down. "Look at that lump on your temple," she fussed. "Let me get some ice."
At the ice bucket, she wrapped some cubes in a napkin. While pouring Bill another drink, she eyed the second glass, but decided she'd had enough. As it was, she was definitely weaving on her way back to the couch.
Nestling down beside him, she carefully pressed the ice pack to his forehead. "How does that feel?" she murmured.
He stared at her mouth, mesmerized by her lower lip captured by her teeth, how they nibbled at the pink skin. He swallowed his Scotch in a few quick gulps and his head swam. Damn, she smelled good; not of any particular perfume, but like a woman.
"Great, that feels great," he finally garbled.
"I'm glad," she said, her voice shaking as she leaned closer.
With a jolt as sharp as the cold ice on his head, Bill realized the lady was expecting him to act; he hadn't been at sea that damn long not to able to read a signal. He cradled her cheek and her eyelids drifted shut, grateful. Their lips met-
"Ow," he groaned.
"I'm sorry!" Laura jumped back. "You poor man!"
"No, no." He inched closer to her, wincing with every move. "Just my split lip."
She held in a giggle. This really wasn't funny. But everything seemed funny right now. The room rippled like the image in a funhouse mirror. She forced herself to focus on his swollen lip beneath that bushy mustache and spotted a corner that was undamaged. She kissed it.
"That hurt?"
"No," he rasped.
Taking his face in her hands, she tilted his head until she found a spot on his cheekbone that seemed undamaged. "How about here?" Her lips pressed to the weathered skin.
"Nope." His hands settled on her hips, scooting her closer.
She traced down the strong tendon of his neck with her shaking thumb, then suckled at the hard edge, her teeth grasping tight at the warm skin and flesh. "Does that hurt?" she breathed.
"Yeah," noted Bill, then with daring, "Better try the mouth again."
Their lips where almost touching when a sharp voice barked behind them: "Miss Laura! What's goin' on here!?"
They leapt apart like two guilty teenagers. Laura jumped to her feet. "Elosha!" she said with both shame and reproach. "I'm assisting my guest-"
A short, sturdy dark-skinned woman, brightly colored from her purple turban to her emerald green caftan and down to her gold shoes, entered the room, her eyes examining the stranger on the sofa. Bill slowly rose to his feet, buttoning his coat as quickly as his pain-filled fingers could manage.
"Elosha, please come with me," Laura said stiffly, leading the other woman away before she could say anything to Bill.
Bill called Jake to his side; the dog had also earned a look from Elosha.
In the foyer, Laura began whispering furiously to Elosha, trying to explain the situation. Then she stopped. "What are you doing home so early anyway?"
"Apparently, I got home just in time," said Elosha, her eyebrows raising.
Laura tossed her head and turned her back on her old nanny. "I believe it's your bedtime, Elosha," she said as she stalked back to the lounge.
"Just so long as it's not yours," came from behind her.
But the room was empty, the french doors ajar, a cool night breeze wafting in. Laura sank back down to the sofa, her strength to stand suddenly gone.