Glaring wearily at the pile of folders perched on the edge of her former desk that have yet to be packed, Laura groans in frustration. Although she had finished packing her actual belongings quite some time ago, the office of the President was proving far more challenging to pack away and relocate. Laura knows that she won't be allowed to keep any evidence of the work she'd done over the past few years, but she feels that it is important to preserve some record of her struggle – the human race's struggle – thus far, even if it is in the form of fleet reports. Beside her, Tory is ploughing through her own belongings, trying desperately to fit everything into her small carton box.
"Can I help you, Tory?" Laura offers quietly, noting with some amusement her former aide's frustration.
"Oh, no, ma'am. But, thank you," Tory smiles, mortified that Laura might have somehow seen her as less than impeccable.
"No need to call me ma'am anymore, Tory," points out Laura amicably, "after all, I'm a civilian like any other, now." She chuckles softly to herself, but somewhere inside her, there is still a clench of disappointment and fear. She so wishes that Admiral Adama hadn't realised what Tory and Tigh had been attempting to do in her name; she still thinks that New Caprica will only end in heartbreak, at best, or mass death, at worst. Still, she can't say that her conscience would have been particularly calm if she had pushed Adama not to interfere.
"Sorry ma' – Miss Roslin?" Tory's gaze is questioning.
"Laura's fine," she smiles, waving her hand uncaringly.
"Laura," Tory tastes the name in her mouth for the first time, unaccustomed to being on a first name basis with the other woman.
"What are your plans, once you settle?" asks Laura, interested in what her former aide might have planned for herself. Knowing her, she has already secured some sort of employment.
"I haven't had any offers from Baltar's camp," replies Tory carefully, thinking that this is what Laura's question had meant, indirectly.
"That's not unexpected, though," reasons Laura, "had you thought of changing career paths, at all?" she smiles.
"I can't see where my skill set would really come in useful, other than, perhaps, in organising the opposition to Baltar's government."
"That's the spirit," laughs Laura, "you could take this time to settle down and take a break," she smiles, "Gods know you need it after working for me."
Chuckling softly, Tory replies, "I'd rather work for you than settle on New Caprica." There is a hint of bitterness to her tone; it is true that she and Laura are technically of the same standing now, but Laura's status as former President has afforded her the luxury of choice, something not available to Tory.
Silence falls between the two women as they continue to shove their various and respective belongings into boxes.
Finally, Tory seems to have succeeded in packing all of her worldly possessions. Which, when it came down to it, fit into two small boxes and a paper bag. As she turns on her heel, giving the room one last appraising look before leaving, she catches Laura's eye.
"Laura," she smiles, holding her hand out.
"Tory," admonishes Laura, pushing her hand away to hug her gently. "Thank you for your service to the fleet, and for all that you did for me, personally." She smiles softly, clasping Tory's shoulders in her hands.
"I would gladly do it again," replies Tory sincerely. "And, if you do choose to settle, I would hope that you would consider me as a colleague and friend, again."
"Of course, Tory," grins Laura, "though what I do for work will, sadly, depend on what Baltar thinks is necessary for the good of the fleet."
Tory laughs mirthlessly, knowing that there is truth to what Laura has just said – and what was implied in her assessment of Baltar's estimations of what the fleet might need.
"If you don't settle, which I would completely understand, then I will do my best to keep an eye on the child."
"Thank you, Tory," replies Laura, surprise touching her tone. She hadn't known that Tory's commitment had run so deep.
The morning is too still – Laura's usual frenetic hurrying to shower, dress, and maybe eat something, before beginning her day has ceased in the absence of work to do. It is unsettling, to say the least, but more so than that, it saddens her. She feels almost as though she has been stripped of a piece of her identity – that she can no longer truly and definitively say who she is. The thought is frightening, and one she hadn't had to confront until this morning, her first that is free of work, packing and moving, or crises. Sitting silently at the table placed at the centre of her temporary quarters, Laura contemplates her current position – she loathes the fact that she has nothing to do, and itches to be active and productive. Glancing towards the other side of the room to the desk, her eyes are drawn to the piece of paper on its surface – the only one, now that the clutter of folders and reports has been removed from her life. She regards the paper – or, rather, the offer made within the letter written on that paper – contemplatively, and wonders if her own insecurity and inability to be still is reason enough to accept. She is spared from having to think on it for too long (at least, for now) however, as a knock on her door and the announcement of Admiral Adama's presence by her marine guard provide a welcome distraction.
"Admiral Adama," she greets him warmly, but not without surprise.
"Madame President," he replies, seemingly instinctively.
Smiling teasingly, Laura admonishes him, "It's just Laura, now. Or Miss Roslin, I suppose," she adds thoughtfully.
He seems to take to the suggestion of calling her by her first name warmly, replying in kind, "then it's just Bill, to you."
Chuckling quietly, she pats him fondly on the arm. "Okay, just Bill. Any particular reason for stopping by this morning?"
"Just checking in," he smiles, "I wanted to see how our former President is adjusting to civilian life," he teases her cautiously, remembering well the emotions tied to the circumstances that prompted her unwilling transition from office. He aims for his tone to be casual, hoping that his voice won't betray his true concern.
For her part, Laura doesn't seem to notice, and her reply is just as casual, "To be honest, I'm going a little stir-crazy," she admits, laughing at herself.
"Already?" he asks, grinning, "you haven't been here for one day, and you're already looking for an out?" he attempts to keep his tone light, but Laura could swear that she detects a hint of disappointment.
"Oh no! Not like that, Bill. I'm happy to stay on Galactica-" she words her reply carefully, not wanting to betray exactly to what extent she is content to be at such close proximity to Bill, "I just wish that there was some way for me to be useful through work."
Bill nods sympathetically, knowing that he would likely be the same way if he were in her position. "I can understand that," he replies, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle and reassuring squeeze. "You're welcome to work in the galley, or on clean up rotation," he teases gently, laughing outright when she slaps him gently on the arm in admonishment.
"Kind though your offer is," she responds sarcastically, "I have actually been offered a position elsewhere."
Noting the change in her expression from teasing to nervous, Bill asks softly, "Oh? What's the offer?"
Carefully hedging her reply so as to gauge Bill's reaction, she squeezes his hand, "To return to teaching." Her voice is quiet as she watches his expression anxiously, "on New Caprica."
"Yeah?" he replies, his expression carefully schooled to one of contemplation, "are you thinking about it?"
Finding his face unreadable, Laura decides that she should just be honest, and hope for the best. "Well, yes. There are a number of children in the fleet, and it's about time we started to educate our future leaders, soldiers, doctors, and workers," she replies passionately.
Bill is instantly reminded of the Secretary of Education he'd met with on the day of the attacks – Laura may have gotten older, and slightly more politically savvy, but she had remained the same with regard to education and its importance. Warmth wells within him as he realises that, while he'd like to be able to keep her safe and with him on Galactica, she would truly come alive as an educator, even if she did have to settle. Uncertain of how much sway his opinion would have, Bill attempts to convey his support for her as best he can, despite knowing that it might stall anything with the potential to develop between them.
"Sounds like you've already decided," he smiles teasingly. "Do you miss the classroom?" his question is genuine – he had always wondered whether Laura had truly enjoyed being a politician, even as Secretary of Education.
"I do," she admits easily, "sometimes, wrangling the Quorum felt like being with my pre-schoolers again, but nothing really beats being in a classroom, knowing that you are just a small part in shaping the future," she smiles.
Bill feels his chest constrict at the sight of her expression; it is wistful, as though the memory of teaching is tied to more than just being able to help children discover themselves and their abilities. He was definitely going to miss her, but he couldn't bring himself to stand between her and the chance of recapturing whatever it was that she'd tied to her time as an educator.
"If you need help packing, I can lend a hand," he offers with a grin, "I've done it a few times, now."
"Careful, Bill," she laughs, "I might actually take you up on that."
Gods, she was going to miss him.
"Laura, so good to see you again," greets Baltar, not bothering to stand from behind the desk that was once hers. Laura suppresses the urge to correct his presumption in addressing her by her first name. Gritting her teeth subtly, Laura smiles demurely, the quirking of her lips having no effect whatsoever on the frostiness radiating from her gaze.
"President Baltar," she replies politely, taking a seat when he indicates for her to do so.
"So, I assume that your presence here means that you have considered my generous offer."
Laura struggles internally against the urge to smack him in his smug face. Instead, she replies calmly, "you assume correctly. I wanted to confirm that I want to take the available place at New Caprica's first school."
After a lengthy pause during which Laura was not completely certain Baltar was even really conscious of his actions, he finally replied. "Excellent – that's truly wonderful. In that case, I shall arrange for your accommodation to be, er, set up, and I shall expect you to be on the next shuttle of settlers." Baltar smiles his usual, slimy grin at her, and Laura can't help but feel glad that their meeting seems to be drawing to a close.
"Is there anything else that you would like me to do, now that I am to settle?" asks Laura, sensing that Baltar is somewhat lost in his new position. While she couldn't give a frak about Baltar if she tried, she does care deeply about the future of her people, even if they hadn't wanted her in office for another term.
"No, absolutely not," he replies harshly, though somehow it seems that his reply was not intended solely for Laura. It is something that she has noted in him more than once, but now it seems more pronounced than ever.
"Okay, then," she says hesitantly. "In that case, I should return to Galactica to collect my belongings." She finishes, effectively dismissing herself from their conversation.
"Oh, no. One moment please, Laura."
"Yes, Mr. President?"
"Your relationship with the Admiral," he pauses uncertainly, "was it ever – what I mean to say is… did it ever get more personal than the relationship between offices?" he asks quickly.
What the frak is that supposed to mean? Laura thinks to herself angrily, her mind racing. "I'm not sure what you mean by that, Mr. President," she replies coolly.
Noting the fact that she seemed to have bristled at the suggestion, Baltar smiles smugly before continuing, "Well, you see, Laura, if I am to carry out the work of this office, it might be prudent to form a close relationship with Admiral Adama. However, I am finding him rather difficult to approach in any way that is not strictly professional."
At this, Laura stifles a chuckle. She could only imagine how Baltar's friendly advances had been received and rejected by Bill; he might not have helped her to steal the election, but he was definitely not fond of the sitting President.
"I can't say that it ever really did become friendlier than the meeting of two offices," replies Laura casually, "Admiral Adama has always been very particular about maintaining professionalism, something you might do well to emulate."
"I beg your pardon?" splutters Baltar angrily. "An accusation of being unprofessional would be rich coming from you, Laura!"
Recognising the precarious position she is in – she might lose her opportunity to do some good on this frakking planet if she pisses off the President too much, after all – Laura suppresses what she would really like to say in reply. Instead, she merely responds smoothly, "Not at all, Mr. President. I'm just passing on some friendly advice for how you might be better received by the Admiral."
"Well, I thank you for your insight, but can happily navigate the political waters and nuanced interactions with the Admiral just fine," he replies heatedly, waving her away dismissively.
"Very well, Mr. President. In that case, I shall collect my belongings and be on the next shuttle down."
"Fine, fine," he says dismissively, no longer paying attention to her, but seemingly captivated by something invisible in the air in front of him.
Rolling her eyes, Laura retreats from her former office and onto the waiting shuttle to Galactica. She was going to have to have a tough conversation with Bill soon, and it was not something that she was looking forward to. Still, she knew he'd understand her decision, and wouldn't judge her for it.
Her transfer to Galactica is quiet; having become used to the fanfare and pomp that Bill had insisted on in order to lend her office some credence, Laura is still surprised by how subdued and entirely normal docking on one ship from another really is. Without holding the office of President, even the pilots had become quieter – though sometimes also friendlier, in the case of Starbuck.
"You meet with that frakweasel again?" asks Starbuck without preamble.
Hiding her smile behind her hand, Laura chuckles. "I did," she confirms.
"Was he every bit as slimy as he usually is?" Kara presses with disgust.
"I shouldn't be talking about the sitting President this way," warns Laura, "but yes, he was. In a way, I'm glad that he decided not to offer me a position in government; I can't imagine having to work with him," she finishes with distaste.
"So, what did he offer you?" asks Kara, "I mean, he has to have asked you to do something, right?"
"He did," confirms Laura, "and I accepted." There is a tone of warning in her voice, though Starbuck – as usual – does not heed it.
"You're willing to work with that sonofabitch?"
"I'm willing to work for the people," points out Laura tiredly, "he offered me a place at the school."
Kara smiles wryly, able to respect that Laura is willing to work for the shambles of a Presidency that has yet to truly begin if it means helping the people.
"Going back to humble beginnings, then?" teases Starbuck cheekily.
"Looks like it," chuckles Laura, grateful for the levity injected into the conversation.
"Well, don't tell Ellen that," she laughs, "She might become more insufferable than she has been recently."
"Rest assured that I won't be talking to Mrs. Tigh at all, if I can help it," grins Laura.
As they dock on Galactica, their conversation lulls. Laura mentally prepares to gather her meagre belongings from her quarters before parting with Bill, hoping that their separation won't be nearly as painful as she thinks it will be. She's truthfully not sure how to define their relationship; sometimes, she senses a flirtation with the line she'd so masterfully drawn between herself and Bill as the President. And recently, the line had been crossed a few times – never so severely that they couldn't return to 'normalcy', but enough to make her consider what it might be like to erase the line altogether. When Baltar had asked her that last question, she'd quaked internally – she had wondered if he had somehow divined the feelings that she'd been attempting to stifle for the better part of a year. And perhaps he had, but as a private citizen, she might be entitled to the freedom of finally being able to explore certain options that have been unavailable to her as President.
Still, would it be wise to initiate anything with Bill while he is still in command? Would it be prudent, considering the fact that she is set to leave for New Caprica for an indeterminate period of time?
Sighing in frustration, Laura leans back into the seat of her shuttle, pleased at least that Starbuck had been her escort, rather than any of the other pilots.
"I suppose you'll be settling, then?" prods Starbuck, once they've docked.
The hatch is slowly unsealing itself, the noise of escaping air hissing over their conversation.
"I will be, yes," smiles Laura sadly. The one downside to her decision.
"Well, then, if we don't meet again, I hope you'll do good on the surface. Gods know the children of the fleet need some kind of normalcy." Starbuck grins, "I was personally never much of one for school, but you never know, kids might need something closer to what they had at home, and be more eager to learn from you."
Laura laughs from deep in her belly; something tells her that the kids will quickly adjust and return to being normal children. At least, that is what she's hoping will happen. "It's been a pleasure getting to know you, Starbuck, and I'm sure we'll encounter one another again soon."
"Madame President," she replies respectfully.
Laura hides her bittersweet smile as she leaves the raptor. She had never expected Starbuck to take to her, but is glad that she did manage to get to know the young pilot.
Making her way to Bill's quarters has never been easier; she knows Galactica so well now that it is almost as though she has lived here for her entire life. Laura feels sadness welling up within her at the thought of leaving the home so graciously offered her by Bill – she doesn't want to think about what leaving Bill will do to her. Reaching the hatch to his quarters, she greets the marines outside his door, asking whether or not the Admiral is in.
Having confirmed his presence in his quarters, the marines allow her to enter on his order, and Laura makes her way in quietly, taking in the rooms contemplatively.
"Laura," Bill is sat at his desk, and watches her enter his quarters with some surprise. He had expected her to finish her meeting with Baltar and return to her quarters immediately. Secretly, he'd hoped that the meeting wouldn't go well, and that she'd decide to stay with him after all, but had felt guilty about enjoying the thought when it would have meant robbing New Caprica of a fine educator.
"Bill!" Laura starts, not having seen him at his desk. "What are you doing in the dark?" she questions.
"Resting my eyes for a moment – I was working before you came in," he explains.
"A likely story," she giggles, "are you sure you weren't napping on the job?"
"Caught me red handed," he laughs, standing and taking her hand. "How did the meeting go?" he asks cautiously.
"Well enough," she replies, not inclined to go into specifics, "I'm expected to be on the next shuttle to New Caprica."
"So soon?" there is sadness in his tone, and his voice has softened to a breath.
"I'm afraid so," she replies, equally quietly. She refuses to meet his eyes, not knowing whether she'll be able to keep her own emotions in check if she does. He, however, doesn't seem to care, as he places his hand under her chin and gently tilts her face so that his eyes can meet hers.
"I'll admit, I'd hoped we'd have more time before your departure," he murmurs.
Struggling with the emotions rising within her, Laura combats the tears threatening to well up in her eyes; she has no idea where all this is coming from – after all, she and the Admiral have been friendly, but she'd never realised how much she depended on him, and how much his constancy meant to her.
There is something else there, too, but she doesn't know that she can deal with that, yet.
"It's been so good of you to put up with me these last few weeks," she smiles, trying to lighten the moment between them.
"It's been a pleasure," he replies with disarming honesty. Laura's eyes widen imperceptibly; she hadn't expected Bill to be so forthright, and is now unsure of how to proceed.
Slowly, his head begins to tilt towards hers, and Laura realises in that instant how much she would love to give in to her impulses, and to pull his mouth to hers. But, she can also recognise how terribly sweet the moment is; how much she's enjoying the slow draw of his breath against her cheek as he presses his lips first to her forehead, before dropping to place a chaste kiss on her lips. He smiles as he pulls away, just as he had the last time. Only this time, she's not dying, and has never felt more alive than when his lips had met hers. Fire roars within her, and she itches to take his face between her hands to continue what had been a too-short kiss. She is not sure where these emotions are coming from, but that they are stronger than she can ever remember feeling about any one person. Bill is definitely still a friend – her most trusted friend and advisor – but maybe the potential for more had caused her to think about possibilities that would never truly be available to either of them. She is aware that there is a sense of propriety that has to be maintained; after all, he is still the Admiral, even if she is a civilian.
She smiles sweetly back, attempting to repress the sorrow that threatens to engulf her expression. Yet, Bill seems to sense this, noting the movement behind her eyes and wishing for all the worlds that he was able to ease her turmoil.
"I don't know what to say," she huffs with frustration, laughing at her own inadequacy.
He chuckles softly, "That good, huh?" teases Bill.
Laughing outright, Laura swats his chest gently, allowing her hand to linger. "For that, Admiral, you have to help me shift my boxes from my quarters."
"Anytime," he replies sincerely, his gravelly tones soothing her.
She smiles appreciatively back at him, breaking the moment by removing her hands from his to wipe her glasses.
"Before you rush off, I've got something to give you," he grins, aiming for levity but falling short at sadness.
"Oh, you didn't have to-"
"I know I didn't, but I wanted to," he replies simply. Moving away, he takes a box from behind his desk and places it on the floor in front of her gently.
"Should I open it now?" asks Laura, smiling gratefully.
Inside, Bill struggles against the urge to say 'yes', because he wants his gift to serve his intended purpose. "No," he replies softly, "I'd like you to wait until you have a really bad day – which may just be the day you reach the surface," he warns.
"Then that's what I'll do," replies Laura, acknowledging his warning.
"Well, then, let's see to the other boxes," he smiles, picking up his gift and leading the way to her temporary quarters.
As they reach her quarters, he murmurs quietly, "I'll miss you, Laura." The openness in his expression is still surprising to Laura, despite having known him for over a year, now.
"I will, too," she replies, her voice breaking with the effort of repressing her emotional response to his open sincerity.
He smiles knowingly, and begins to help her with her boxes without another word.
The surface of New Caprica is as bleak and grey as promised, and Laura finds herself missing the sight of navy; of red, and chrome. She has only just arrived, but knows that living here will be a struggle for her – perhaps not physically, though that remains to be seen, but emotionally. After her parting with Bill, Laura's not certain that she has made the right decision for her, even if it is the best decision for the fleet.
Carrying her possessions (a total of one suitcase, and two boxes – one of which is her gift from Bill), Laura trudges through the muddy landing area towards 'civilisation'. Seeing the tents and rickety buildings, Laura doesn't have much hope for the new city, particularly since Baltar has had the last three months that she has had on Galactica to start work on infrastructure. Still, she is determined to make the best of the situation, and continues towards the tents that she assumes have been constructed for housing purposes. Glancing down at the 'map' she had been given on arrival, she sees that her housing assignment is at the far end of the settlement, presumably close to where the school is to be constructed. Lost in her own thoughts – and attempting to understand the directions she has been provided with – Laura doesn't notice that she's about to walk head-on into Tory.
"Laura?" Tory's surprised voice breaks her from her reverie.
Startled, Laura looks up from the scrap of paper and finds herself faced with her former aide. "Tory!" she smiles, happy to find a familiar face so soon.
"You decided to settle, then?" she asks, noting Laura's boxes and suitcase.
"I did," confirms Laura, "and I'd be delighted if you could help me figure out this map," she laughs.
Chuckling, Tory takes the paper from Laura and looks up at the settlement. "Technically, this is how the settlement was supposed to have been constructed," she informs Laura, "but most of the patches of land set aside for housing also happened to be in valleys – there was too much mud to construct anything much. So, the latrines are there now," she points to where Laura's tent is supposed to be, "and most of the housing is here," she indicates a clump of tents gathered around a larger one, "close to the mess."
"So, my accommodation is…?" prompts Laura.
"Probably close to the school," smiles Tory. "Which is here," she points to an area of the map. "But don't worry, I'll take you there."
"Thank you, Tory," replies Laura gratefully.
"No problem, Laura." She takes up one of Laura's boxes, noting that it is considerably heavier than either of hers, and seems to be of a different kind than those issued by Baltar for the settlers.
"So, Tory, have you found any kind of work?" asks Laura, remembering their last conversation as they set off towards the tents.
"Not yet," frowns Tory, "too many people see me as a politician, or a political aide, so it's been quite difficult."
"Would you like to work with me again?" she asks carefully.
Tory stops in her tracks and looks at Laura with surprise, "Really, Laura?"
"What?" she watches her with confusion, uncertain of what to make of Tory's expression.
"You think that I'd make a good teacher?"
"Sure," smiles Laura relief unknitting her brows, "you're organised, efficient, and can definitely maintain a schedule," she laughs. "You'd make a good teaching assistant, until you get your bearings with teaching."
Tory grins, happy to accept her offer. As they continue towards the tented areas, Laura finds herself becoming less hopeful about her housing situation.
When they arrive at her allotted spot (which had been pointed out to them by a helpful passer-by), they realise that Laura's tent is somewhat smaller than even the single tents issued to those with no family. Shrugging uncaringly, Laura sets her belongings down inside, and thanks Tory for her help.
"Anytime, Laura," she smiles.
"I meant to ask, have you seen or heard anything from Maya?" Laura's voice is somewhat concerned.
"I have, actually," replies Tory, easing her worries, "I've been keeping a close eye on her, as promised."
"Would she be amenable to working at the school?" asks Laura.
"She might consider the offer, coming from you," replies Tory, "do you intend on keeping watch on her yourself?"
"I do," confirms Laura, "the child needs to be protected, and therefore, so does Maya."
"Shall I contact her on your behalf?" asks Tory.
"No, no. You're not my aide any more, Tory," she reminds her with a light laugh, "I can handle it."
"Oh, well, in that case, her tent is close to mine, if you need to find her."
"Excellent," Laura pauses, weighing her options, "in that case, I'll be by shortly. If you don't mind, I think I'd like a moment, to allow this to sink in," she finishes, gesturing to the tent's shaking walls.
"I understand," replies Tory, "take all the time you need."
"Thank you, Tory."
Tory turns on her heel, fastening the tent flaps as she leaves. Watching her go, Laura sinks onto the mattress provided for her, feeling despair and grief wash over her at once, closely followed by nauseating uncertainty. She misses Bill like nothing else in the worlds, and wishes more than anything else that working at the school hadn't also meant severing contact with him so completely. Sighing to herself, she pulls his gift towards her, deeming the situation dire enough to warrant opening it, just as he'd warned.
Lifting the lid carefully, she huffs in surprise as the first item in the box catches her eye – a knitted blue sweater that was definitely not originally intended for her wear; it is too large around the shoulders and waist, and smells distinctly of Bill's aftershave. Running the soft fabric under her fingertips, she places the sweater in her lap, recognising that it will be incredibly useful in the winter months on this planet. The second item is what she can only imagine might have been intended as a sleeping shirt – again, it is clearly one of Bill's belongings, and is stamped with the seal of the Colonial Fleet. Grinning softly, she raises the t-shirt to her face and inhales the subtle and lingering scent of him. Beneath the two items of clothing are rows of books, but the first to catch her eye is Prima's Dark Day, returning to her his first gift.
At the sight of the book, she finally cracks, dissolving into tears at the edge of her mattress.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please leave a review :) I haven't written for BSG in quite some time, but recent re-watches of the show have had me itching to write for Roslin and Adama, again. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)