Disclaimer: everything in Battlestar Galactica (re-imagined series) belongs to Ronald D. Moore, David Eick and the Sci Fi Channel, I'm just borrowing some of it. Not making any money. Don't sue.
Thaw
By chimère
It is a reunion, but it feels like a standoff.
Neither of them says anything, staring at each other across the office on Colonial One that still bears traces of Baltar's rule.
He has only recently shaved off his moustache, she is not yet the President.
And the wounds are still fresh.
Four months of separation, occupation, suffering, Cylon holding cells, and ever-increasing desperation in the attempts to save humanity stand between them like a wall of ice, and the room is cold with its chill. Right now, it seems that nothing can melt this wall, break this estrangement - not even the instinctive joy and reassurance both feel at the sight of the other, not even love.
Both of them hold themselves rigidly, backs straight and chins lifted, eyes never leaving the other.
Control.
Don't show emotions, don't let the barriers down.
Neither of them could say why they feel the need to cling to control so much at this moment. Perhaps subconsciously, they are afraid of the floods they might release.
Keep your head up, your face blank, your mouth shut (voice cannot be trusted).
Control.
And then, with a visible effort, Bill lets go. His shoulders slump as he sighs; he looks down for a moment and when he lifts his eyes again, his gaze is so different that Laura flinches.
Guilt. Shame. Anger - at himself. Sorrow. Pain.
Mostly guilt.
"Laura..." His voice is hoarse, and lacks its usual confidence so completely that it brings sudden tears to Laura's eyes.
I'm sorry.
I left you there.
You and the entire human race. The human race, and especially you.
I let you down.
"Bill." Her voice breaks over his name. She didn't think it would be so hard to speak.
You came back.
You saved us.
It's not your fault.
He will never believe that. She can see it in his eyes.
And still Laura cannot let the barriers down, her control the only thing holding her up, while her own self crumbles under exhaustion and sorrow. Her control is strong enough to always keep her on her feet, she knows that. But it is so bleak, and she is so weary. The cold of New Caprica's rains and the concrete detention cell has seeped into her bones, and she just wants to feel warm again.
Bill takes one step forward, very hesitant, but something flashes in his eyes and is gone before she can identify it. Yearning? Laura's tears finally flow over, trace paths down her face and quite unexpectedly ease some of her pain. As if in a dream, she walks around her desk.
You gave me the first moment of hope I had had since the beginning of the occupation when I saw the Galactica falling through the skies.
He stares at her, drinks her in, as though not quite believing she is there.
You're really here. You're alive.
He reaches out, and she grabs his hand, suddenly wanting to reassure herself of his presence.
You're real. This isn't some torturous hallucination in the cold cell. I'm really home.
The wall breaks.
Bill wraps his arms around Laura and she returns the embrace just as fiercely. No more control.
The joy of recovering something indescribably precious soothes some of the pain, and the world feels warmer again.