The idea for this came to me as I was wiping away the tears caused by the song, "What Sarah Said" by Death Cab for Cutie and I sat right down and wrote it. Thanks to OSUSprinks for reading it over for me before I posted it and for suggesting the title. Remember, reviews bring me joy.
Disclaimer: Bill and Laura belong only to one another and RDM...the line in italics is from the song "What Sarah Said" by Death Cab for Cutie.
Laura knew that he could never tell her how he felt, that he loved her. Nor could she say those words to him. It was one of the things that could not be talked about between them, like the possibility that they might not reach earth, or her cancer. The word love was taboo, though the thought was ever present in their minds and in the looks exchanged between them, gentle touches so seemingly innocent that they could be gotten away with in public; her arm looped through his, his hand brushing against the small of her back. But to actually come out and say the words, "I love you", that would be dangerous, that was forbidden. Because by not saying it aloud they could sometimes pretend it wasn't true; when reality became too difficult, their arguments too fierce, her losing battle with the cancer too painfully obvious, they could each ignore love, focus on friendship, responsibilities, social positions and make it possible to survive another day.
Sometimes Laura wondered if she was just imagining the fact that Bill Adama loved her. She would lay in bed at night, awake thanks to the never ending pain of her disease, and doubt herself, thinking that perhaps it wasn't really love. They were friends certainly, and there was undoubtedly a physical attraction, but maybe that was all they were fighting against, all they were striving to ignore; lust, not love. That would make things simpler by far; she was too far gone with the cancer to make a physical relationship work, her body too tired, too frail. And how much less painful for Bill after she was gone if it was only lust under the surface; there would always be other attractive women to keep him company. He would only be losing a friend, not a lover or a love; and that would be painful enough.
But what if it was love, shouldn't she tell him before she died? Shouldn't they spend every last moment clinging to one another, comforting one another? No, Laura had decided. If it was love, the most selfish thing she could do would be to burden him with that. It would only be cruel to give him her heart and have it taken away from him weeks, maybe days later. Still, there were days when she longed to know the truth, to know that he loved her, before she died.
After her last collapse, Laura had been confined to a bed on the Galactica. It was clear she would not be leaving and this knowledge both saddened and comforted her. She felt that they were finally on the right path to Earth and that it would not be long before her people found their new home. As much as she longed to see this place that she had worked so hard to reach, Laura was content to simply rest in the knowledge that her people were soon to find their salvation. She was tired, and it was time to just let go.
Bill was there every day, at her side, holding her hand, speaking softly to her with that gravelly voice that had often frustrated her, amused her, aroused her and now soothed her. He received few responses from her as it was now far too exhausting to speak. Having Bill at her side pleased her certainly, but it also broke her heart. Laura knew she was close to death and that her appearance did not disguise this fact, every day she grew paler, frailer, more like a corpse. She hated for Bill to see her like this, not because he might think less of her, but because it was clear from the look in his eyes that he knew he was losing her, and quickly.
As she lay in the hospital bed, Laura's mind wandered, flitting across random thoughts and images, sometimes landing upon a memory. Bill's voice was always her anchor, bringing her back to the present. It was as Bill held her hand one day, tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, that Laura's mind drifted to the question of love.
Her mind was hazy from the painkillers as she thought about Bill and if it was real when her thoughts were turned to the past with a sudden clarity. She was back on Caprica as a young woman, in the hospital waiting room as she prepared herself to return to her mother's room for what might be the last time. As she prepared herself, she thought about a comment made by a close friend over lunch. Love is watching someone die.
Laura's mind leapt back to the present and she slowly and painfully turned her head to gaze at Bill. He smiled at her sadly and lifted the hand he held up to his lips and kept it there as if to confirm what she had just realized. She smiled slowly and took a deep breath; all her questions answered, she let her breath, and her spirit, go free.