Inspiration Day prompt - endings/beginnings - New Year's.

Thank you to lanalucy for the beta!

Epiphany

Laura took a tiny sip of her soda water as she watched the group of dancers move in rhythm to the music, some admittedly more fluid than others. Conversation was a steady hum around her with occasional snippets of laughter that cut through the chatter. She'd exchanged her ambrosia long ago for the unappealing glass of flat soda water that she clasped half-heartedly in her left hand. At least there was no shortage of ice cubes; the tasteless beverage was cold, which was probably its sole redeeming feature. Tapering off to a non-alcoholic drink was a practice that she'd borrowed from Richard during his mayoral days. On Caprica her soda water had included a splash of cranberry juice and a garnish of lime. She'd never imagined that something as commonplace as a lime would become a coveted indulgence.

She'd managed to acquire a faded emerald green sheath dress for the New Year's Eve celebration on the once luxurious Zephyr. But like everything else after the attacks, the majestic civilian liner had lost its sheen. Still, it was a welcome change from Colonial One or Galactica. And the dim lights of the lounge mostly hid the sins of her dress. She looked presentable. The elegant and classic style flattered her figure even if the fabric had lost its original vibrancy. It was the best to be hoped for under the circumstances. It would suffice. Laura reproached herself for lamenting over something as superficial as a dress. She decided that it had to be the party that was making her feel so melancholy. She kept thinking of her sisters. Sometimes the most insignificant details could awaken those memories of half-crumpled empty gift bags and the other celebratory remnants of Cheryl's shower that she'd numbly cleaned up after the cops' notification. Her apartment had always felt so empty after that - so solitary.

"It's three minutes to midnight and you're sitting down," said a voice in the vicinity of Laura's left ear. The words pulled her out of the abyss and back to the present. "Tsk, tsk, Madame President."

Laura turned her head just a fraction of an inch and observed her Vice President as he sidled up to her with an exuberant smile. She had to admit that she was grateful for the distraction, even if it was Tom Zarek.

"Hello, Tom," said Laura archly. She raised her glass to him, a mocking deferential gesture. "Happy New Year."

"I tried to dance with you earlier but Ms. Foster kept me away from you. I don't think your aide likes me very much." Tom made a generalized gesture with a small shake of his head toward Tory, who even now kept eyeing him suspiciously from across the room.

Laura had to lean in to him to be heard above the music. "She doesn't. You're bad for my image."

"I can't be too bad if you appointed me."

"You are if people believe that I'm frakking you."

Tom tugged at her hands, gently pulling her up off of the barstool. "I promise to scowl and keep my distance."

"Then people really will think that we're frakking," Laura pointed out as she allowed Tom to escort her to the dance floor, one of his hands resting against her back. "But I suppose one dance between colleagues won't hurt." She laughed. "Especially if it knocks that condescending look off of Tory's face. She's my assistant - not my mother."

"You know, you could be a really bad girl just to spite her. We could fool around, create a scandal…."

"No."

Tom laughed softly and slipped an arm around Laura's waist as they found a spot on the crowded dance floor. He kept his promise, maintaining an appropriate distance and keeping the flirtatious body language down to a devilish twinkle in his eyes. When midnight came, Laura gave him a light peck on each cheek just as she had on Colonial Day. She could barely see him through the flurry of white confetti that fluttered down on them like artificial snow. It seemed an awful waste of paper products but she supposed people needed their small morale boosters.

Tom grinned at her appreciatively through the haze of noise and music.

"Thank you for the dance, Mr. Vice President."

Tom held onto her. "You're not going to bed, are you?"

"I have an early Quorum meeting tomorrow morning - which means you do, too. Soon you are going to realize what little fun we politicians get to have."

Tom let out a mournful sigh.

"You're the one that was so desperate to get your eager little hands into the political arena. Don't blame me," said Laura.

Tom caught her hand, brushing his thumb from the center of her palm to her wrist. "I do have eager hands. How did you know? They're not little though. Just for the record."

Laura rolled her eyes at him. "Spare me."

"Come on, Laura. Stay and give me pointers on being presidential." He lowered his voice. "I need you."

"Oh, Tom, really - does that line ever work?" She patted his arm.

"What? No good?" His shoulders slumped in a gesture of pretend defeat.

Laura disentangled herself and gave him a firm look. "Goodnight, Tom. Come see me when you get some new material."

Laura was curled up on the bed in her small but very adequate room. Her book rested face open and upright against her chest as she yawned sleepily, nearly ready to roll over and close her eyes. But she resisted the urge to give in to sleep. She desperately wanted to enjoy the warm softness of the bed and the undisturbed quiet a little longer. It wasn't often she could revel in the luxury of this kind of privacy - and she wanted to savor it. She felt tight muscles in her body begin to relax as the more somber mood that had plagued her at the party began to evaporate.

There was a knock on her door. Laura suppressed the urge to bury her head under the pillow and simply ignore it. Instead, she hastily threw her blue silk robe on over the thin matching nightgown with an irritated shake of her shoulders. She stomped to the door and flung it open.

"Tory, I really would appreciate it if you'd just - "

Laura stopped mid-sentence and narrowed her eyes to thin green slits when she saw Tom Zarek standing there outside her door gazing at her with a jubilant smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I had an epiphany tonight," he announced with a triumphant air.

"Really? And this revelation couldn't wait until the morning? For gods' sakes, Tom, I'm tired. It's late. And I don't feel like discussing politics with you." He was impossible to shut up once he got on his soap box. Laura placed a restraining hand on the door. "Are you on a mission to make me completely regret your appointment to the vice presidency? Because if that's your goal, you're achieving it." She gave him her very best piss-off smile, distilling the look into even more concentrated ire when she realized that it didn't appear to be having the desired effect.

"It was a personal epiphany, Laura, not a professional one."

Laura bounced on the heels of her feet in utter exasperation. "If I listen to whatever ridiculous notion it is that you want to tell me, will you please go away and let me go to bed?" She despised the almost plaintive quality in her voice. She turned and glanced longingly at her bed and her book before bringing her attention back to him.

"Yes. I'll even tuck you in personally."

Laura crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him expectantly and the infernally irritating bastard had the nerve to simply gaze back at her. She searched his face for his customary smugness but she found only a strange kind of earnestness in his expression.

"I think you should invite me in," he said finally.

"I don't think so," she huffed.

"I just figured that if we were going to have a personal discussion, it would be preferable to have it in private than here in the hallway. I was only thinking of you and the reputation that you were so eager to safeguard earlier."

"And my reputation is safer if I invite you into my quarters? Uh-huh."

Tom gave her a mischievous smile that made his blue-grey eyes twinkle. "No one's looking."

"You are in the oddest mood tonight," said Laura as she opened the door a little bit more and stepped aside. "Oh, just get the frak in here. Can we hurry this up?"

"I don't think I ever realized how impatient you are, Madame President."

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"If you don't tell me right now what it is that you want, I am going to have you airlocked. And I swear I'll even make it look like an accident."

Tom chuckled. "No, you won't. And that's my epiphany." He paused dramatically and leaned in toward her. "You like me." He made a small gesture with his index finger and his thumb. "Just a little bit." She glowered at him. "Okay, maybe not a whole lot. Maybe it's more like this much." He made a slightly smaller gesture.

Laura placed a hand against his chest and gave him a firm push backwards. "You drank too much ambrosia tonight, Mr. Vice President. Go sleep it off."

"You're a formidable woman. And I've been flirting with you since New Caprica." Tom spoke quickly as she continued to back him up toward the door. "If you really wanted to put a stop to it, you would have completely shot me down. And you haven't."

Keeping one hand on his chest and placing the other on the door handle, Laura reached for the latch on the door and pushed him harder with the flat of her palm.

"Out!"

"I'm going. I'm going. No need to get all grouchy." Laura removed her hand and released the lever on the door. It opened and she was disappointed that he didn't lose his balance and topple over. "And violent. Grouchy and violent."

Once he was out in the hallway, Laura closed the door with as much implied finality as she could muster without slamming it.

"Happy New Year, Madame President," called Tom from the other side of the door. His tone was teasing and a just little bit forlorn.

Laura listened for his steps, listened as he walked away - shoes tapping on the hallway floor.

She slipped her robe off and climbed into bed for the second time. It took her a few moments to arrange herself comfortably, fluffing up her pillows and smoothing out her blankets. She picked up her book, opened it, and read a few words - but without really seeing them. She lowered the book for a moment and released a sigh that was three-quarters sheer vexation and one-quarter something else, something not entirely unpleasant that she absolutely refused to name.

She shook her head. "Tom frakking Zarek."