Adama had wrapped up his business in CIC with brisk efficiency, assigning Gaeta with plotting the next several jumps, setting Helo the task of taking a head count. Almost as an afterthought, he'd tasked Dee and two of his own personal guards with trying to find out if Baltar had made it off the planet. He'd briefly considered asking Starbuck to do the honors but had figured that with Dee, the chances of the little frakker being airlocked were a lot smaller. Throwing him in the brig would not nearly hold the same satisfaction, but if anyone was going to airlock his ass, he reckoned it should be the woman currently holed up in his quarters.

His concern at her continued absence from CIC had gnawed at him. It wasn't like Laura to not be in the thick of things in a crisis.

As soon as it looked like things were under control, he ordered bi-hourly updates on everything from flight status to the housing of the refugees to food and water reserves, then gave Lee the ship and made his way to his quarters. The look on Lee's face told him his son understood and wouldn't disturb his time with Laura under any but the most dire of circumstances.

When Bill stepped into his cabin, he was rewarded by the sight of the former, and in his book soon to be, President of the Twelve Colonies sprawled out on his couch, her feet - dirty socks and all - up on his coffee table, glasses lying beside her in one limp hand.

He wanted to touch her, to hold her in his arms, to re-establish their connection. He wanted to kneel down and ask her forgiveness, he wanted her to absolve him, needed her to. Silently, he crossed the distance that separated them, almost tripping over her boots, left in a haphazard pile next to the table. When had she taken to wearing boots? All she'd ever worn were pumps, damned impractical on a spaceship but he'd loved to watch her purposefully stride along Galactica's corridors in them, high heels rattling like gunfire against the ships metal causeways.

Hesitantly he sat down beside her, almost afraid to breathe lest he disturb her slumber, yet unable to resist touching her glorious hair where it was cascading over the back of his couch.

"Tory?"

Frak, she was really out of it if she could mistake his hulking presence for her former aide's slight physique. Bill smiled and put a heavy hand on her shoulder, intending to alert her of his presence.

As soon as his hand alighted on her shoulder however, Laura bolted upright and he could swear he heard a soft moan.

"Laura, what's the matter?"

"Dream." Not one of her more articulate replies. "I had a bad dream." She leaned forward, massaged her temples with her right hand, her left was between them clutching her glasses. He gently took them from her, laid them upon the table, covered her small hand with his much larger paw. Her fingers felt clammy and when he looked up, he saw beads of sweat dotted her forehead.

"Must have been a doozy." He tried to sound nonchalant, tried to control the irrational fear that had started to eat away at his gut like battery acid at her earlier moan. She was here, she was alive, she was safe, but something was obviously very wrong. For a breathless second he feared it was her cancer, the thought that it might have returned was like a sucker punch to the gut. With a mighty shove he put the notion aside. They'd crossed that hurdle a long time ago, had put all that behind them. The Gods she believed in so fervently wouldn't let that happen again, wouldn't be so cruel, not after all they'd been through, after all she'd suffered in their name. More importantly, he himself wouldn't allow it.

Besides, he'd always prided himself of having pretty good instincts, and his gut was telling him something altogether different was bothering her.

"A doozy, yeah." The admission came out almost like a sigh; another crack, another fault line.

"Let me help." Without waiting for her permission, he got up, grabbed a clean towel and wet it at the faucet, filled a glass with lukewarm water.

As he walked back to the couch, the hatch swung open and Laura's assistant stepped through, a harried expression on her face, a bottle of pills in her hand that she unsuccessfully tried to hide when she noticed Adama's presence.

"Madam President?"

"There you are." Laura looked up at her former aide with a mixture of relief, guilt and shock, none of which Bill was able to place, then she glanced at him and quickly looked away. "Gods, my head aches."

He watched as the younger woman hesitated for a moment, then knelt beside Laura, shook two pills from the bottle, and unceremoniously presented them to her.

"Thank you, Tory." Laura accepted the glass of water Bill wordlessly held in front of her and swallowed the pills her former aide handed her. With an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, she sank back into the couch, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes again. The smudges on her too pale cheeks accentuated the way her cheekbones stood out and all he wanted was to hug her to him and run his thumbs along the planes of her face, so familiar yet so foreign.

For a long moment, Tory stayed on her knees, looking up at the woman before her with an unreadable expression, then she seemed to reach a decision, got to her feet and motioned for Adama to follow her to the other side of the cabin, out of earshot.

Bill followed her lead, silently stood and waited for Tory to tell him what was on her mind.

"Frak," Tory cursed, it was hardly the opening he'd expected from the usually reserved young woman and he suppressed a small smile. "Sir, I'm probably way out of line here, but I am not wrong in assuming you care a great deal about the President?"

"You're not wrong." In fact, he mused, you're more right than you could ever imagine. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. Laura hadn't moved but it looked like the deepening lines around her eyes and mouth had smoothed out somewhat.

"Good." Tory turned and stepped out into the corridor, started to close the hatch behind her. "Then you try and talk some sense into her."

Surprised at the young woman's exasperated tone, Bill turned back towards her, stayed the hatch with one hand. "Excuse me?"

Tory looked up at him, eyes pleading with him to understand. He'd never seen much in the way of emotion in those dark eyes but he could swear she was on the verge of crying now. "She won't listen to me," she said, gesturing in the direction of her former boss. "I'm hoping she'll listen to you. Talk to her"

"That's what I'm intending to do," he said. "Is there anything specific you had in mind?" He sensed that the talk ahead could be a difficult one, some guidance wouldn't hurt.

"Well that's not just a headache for starters, and if I tell you more, she'd probably airlock me," Tory said with a crooked smile. "Anyway, she needs to tell you herself."

With that, the young woman closed the hatch and Bill turned on his heels, contemplated the auburn haired enigma that had taken up residence on his couch.

Where to begin?

"Laura?" It seemed as good a place as any.

One storm tossed eye opened. "Hmm?"

"You look like you could use a shower." He gestured at her clothes, her hair. Normalcy, he figured, there's safety in normalcy.

"Later, would that be good?" she said. There was a note of pleading in her voice that worried Bill. She'd never been one to plead with him for anything, unless it was about the important stuff and she saw no other way to have her way, gain his consent.

He forced himself to smile down at her, to tread softly. "Of course."

"So tired," she murmured.

"Then sleep."

"Hmm." She could barely hold herself upright against the back of the couch, but didn't seem to posses the strength to lie down either.

Her weakness undid him. He was beside her in two quick strides. With an unsteady hand, he helped her lie down, made her comfortable, and removed her socks. If his fingers strayed a fraction too long on the graceful sweep of her ankles, she was already drifting off to sleep and gave no sign that she had noticed.

For a moment, Bill just stood there, towering over her and taking in the sight of her. Funny how in his mind she was always so much taller than in real life. She looked so tiny and vulnerable now, her small form hardly making a dent in his well worn leather couch. Fragile, yet so strong and so utterly necessary to his own continued wellbeing.

The thought of how close he had once again come to losing her haunted him and it soothed his abraded nerves to simply play nursemaid for a bit. That she should go to sleep so easily on his couch made him realize that their closeness apparently extended all the way into her comfort zone; that he did. He liked it there and had every intention of staying, for as long as she allowed it.

Smiling he covered her with a blanket, called CIC for a sit rep and to tell them once again to alert him at the first sign of trouble, then sat down in the chair opposite Laura, and settled in to watch over her.

Later, he roused from a light sleep to find Laura tossing and turning uneasily, still asleep but with slow, silent tears dripping from under her long lashes, leaving silver tracks like scars on her dirty cheeks. He put a steadying hand on her hip in an effort to quiet her down before she hurt herself. She moaned softly and stilled somewhat when he touched her but she didn't wake up which simultaneously relieved and disappointed him. He wondered about her dreams, was curious to know what images had her thrashing about so restlessly, but at the same time was frightened to talk to her, to have his worst suspicions confirmed.

Undecided, he watched her writhe on the couch for a while, but then gradually her face relaxed and he breathed a sigh of relief. He drew his chair up a little closer, clasped her small, strong hand in his much larger one, and promised himself to never let go of it again.