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"No matter what the trouble we carry round inside / We're never safe from the truth but in the truth we can survive / When this wall of denial comes tumblin' down / Down to the ground"

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Laura edged carefully out of the bed, trapping the warmth of their bodies under the bedding. She held her breath until she was all the way out from under the covers, not relaxing until the even rise and fall of Bill's chest told her he was still deeply asleep. Sunlight wouldn't pour through the window until later in the day, and right now there was just a thin trickle of light filtering in through the blinds.

She walked carefully to the foot of the bed, her feet automatically avoiding the couple of squeaky boards under the paisley-patterned rug. She stooped to grab the discarded gown and underwear, wincing as her knee popped…one more part of her body that was reminding her she wasn't eighteen any more.

Shrugging into the white robe, she walked silently to the door, easing the catch back and slipping through before closing it again. As energetic as Bill had been earlier, he needed all the sleep he could get before the day began in earnest.

She padded down the wooden stairs to the kitchen, finally relaxing when she knew she was out of earshot. Ducking into the downstairs bathroom, she tossed her nightwear into the hamper and took a few seconds to wash her face. Damn…she realized her foaming cleanser and lotion were upstairs in the big bathroom. She told herself it wouldn't matter just this once as she squirted liquid hand soap onto a cloth and began lightly scrubbing her skin.

As she washed, she started to pick out red marks here and there, a fine constellation arrayed over her collarbone and the base of her throat. Surely there was a scarf or two somewhere in one of her drawers, or she'd be running by her place on the way to work…she splashed cool water over her skin as she began tallying up what she'd need to do to—

Get back to normal?

Is that what I need to do?

She arched an eyebrow at her reflection. Who the frak do you think you're kidding?

Sighing, she picked up her mother's hand mirror and checked her rear reflection, holding up her hair with one hand as she let the robe drop. Red marks and a couple of scratches were scattered along her shoulder from when she'd been on her stomach, hands fisted into the pillows and a corner of the sheet between her teeth, and her hips had been canted up, and he…oh, Gods, there was a strawberry-sized bite mark on her ass.

She put the mirror down and pulled the robe back around her. Trying to ignore the flush she could feel spreading up her cheeks, she tied the belt again and tried to remember how Bill liked his coffee.

Bill.

She filled the carafe with water and began measuring out fresh coffee. The first time had been from hurt and desperation, and years of stymied love. The second time had been colored by lust and fear that they'd never get another chance, fear of what the night would hold if they stopped. She wasn't sure where their energy had come from, but she had been in no mood to deny it and neither, apparently, had he. She could tell she'd be sore tomorrow, and her muscles would feel worse before they felt better, but it'd been more than worth it.

Humming to herself as she got out mugs and spoons and poured milk into a small creamer, she realized she remembered this particular sweet ache. This was Bill. This was what being with him felt like: a rich satiation edged with the aftermath of going further that she'd thought possible. The stubble of his cheek against the inside of her arm. His callused hand gripping her instep. A jolt of tingly sensation ran through her pelvis so sharp and hot she almost let go of the sugar bowl.

All I need to do right now is make the damn coffee.

She pulled out the shell and bamboo tray her father had brought back from Picon his last trip there. Maybe by the time she got back to her room, and her first lover, she'd figure out what to do about "what happens now".

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He looks younger when he's asleep.

The stress lines had eased in his face, and she could see so clearly the young man he had been, under the weathered skin and morning stubble. She set the tray down on the nightstand and sat on the side of the bed next to him. He looked so peaceful. She hated to wake him, knowing what was waiting. Taking a deep breath, she laid a hand on his exposed arm and leaned towards his ear.

"Good morning."

Part of her wanted to look away from what she knew she'd see. His eyes opened and he gave her a loving smile full of the night's sweetness, and he looked so happy as he reached for her, to take her hand…. She wished she could freeze the moment, let him stay there in the not-knowing place for a while longer. It could be such a cruel place that made everything hurt more, and she knew he'd be visiting that place every morning for a long time.

His face twisted, a beat of confusion showing before reality set in, and grief settled his face into lines that made him look older than his years. He took her hand and looked at it with a dulled gaze.

"Morning." He sighed and looked up. "Every morning, there's that second, you know? That split second before I remember. And then it hits again."

I know, sweetheart." The endearment felt strange and untried on her tongue. She wasn't used to using terms of endearment with Richard, but it seemed to fit here. She wondered if she could get used to saying this.

"It's awful, but…it gets better after a while. It's a nice place to be for that split second, sometimes."

He drew himself up in the bed until he was sitting with his back against the headboard. "I hadn't thought about it like that." He pulled her against his chest and she relaxed into his embrace.

"Last night was…I don't know what to say. I'm sorry I—"

"Of all the things you might say, Bill, 'sorry' is the most unnecessary." She looked up at him. "You could say 'that was amazing', or 'it was about time', or 'I think I pulled a muscle'…" Her grin was met with a surprised smile and a lightening of his gaze as he swatted her shoulder playfully and pulled her tighter against him.

"Gods, Laura, I—"

"I brought up some coffee," she broke in, not ready to hear what he might say next. "You still take cream and sugar?"

The puzzled look in his eyes was fleeting but she still caught it. She kissed his shoulder to take some of the sting out of her dodge and leaned towards the mugs. "I'll take 'that was amazing'. And I agree whole-heartedly."

He took her wrist in a firm grip. "I got that you enjoyed it, Laura. I did, too. I think we're both clear on that part. But me being here, us being here together…are you okay with that? Because"—he held up a hand to stop her as she began to answer—"because this was more than a great lay." He looked down, tracing patterns on the back of her hand before looking into her eyes again.

"We made love last night." A smile flickered around his mouth. "And this morning. That's how it was for me." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. "I'm no temple priest, but I haven't made love with anyone in a long time. Maybe never, besides you."

Tears pricked at her eyes. "Bill, you're in a really raw place right now. I feel the same way, I really do, but…I'm not sure this is a good time to decide what things mean, you know? We made love, and it was wonderful, and…incredibly powerful and right." She withdrew her hand from his and got up from his embrace. As she poured steaming coffee into the thick china mugs, she searched his face, still so unguarded.

"Can we just hang on to that, for now, and not think about what it means?" She stirred cream and sugar into his coffee, focusing on the swirls of light and dark in the heavy mug.

"Yeah…wouldn't want to rush things. It's only been thirty years." The hurt in his voice was mild but unmistakable under the light sarcasm.

She handed him his cup. "A lot's happened in those thirty years, Bill. We're not the kids we were back then." She sipped at her coffee as she searched for the right words. "I think there's probably a reason that we never ended up with anyone else long-term. The Gods work in mysterious ways. Let's be okay with that for the time being."

He nodded slowly. "For the time being. But Laura, when things settle down, we need to talk. I'm not getting any younger, and neither are you. And I don't want to wait another thirty years to take a stand on what all of this"—his arm described a circle beginning at her high school trophies and ended pointing towards the world outside the window—"what it all means. There's something here between us, and it's big, and it's gonna be here after I've made my peace with losing my son."

He got out of bed, placing the mug down and holding her shoulders, wanting and determination in his eyes. The sun had risen higher and the rays through the blinds lit his naked body, glancing off his skin in patterns of bronze and gold.

"It's not always going to be about comfort, Laura. It's too real for that."

She looked over his chest, his markings, and the face that had become beautiful to her so many years ago. It would be so easy, to take all of him, make him her rock, like he'd always been willing to be. She could stop thinking so hard about him, stop asking questions….

Questions.

She moved into his arms, letting her hands play along the warm breadth of his back and shoulders, reveling for a minute in the smooth skin that held ripples here and there from ink and scars.

"I'm not saying you're wrong, Bill. I feel it, too. But there's a lot I need to know before we have that kind of conversation."

"But you'll be there, right? While we work on having that conversation?"

His neck was warm under her lips. "I'm not going anywhere that I don't have to go, Bill. I want this, too."

She shoved thoughts of where she'd have to go come Monday to the back of her mind. Today, the only place she had to be was by his side while he shared her father's secrets. While he shared his life with her. And she'd share as much as she could. She hoped that would be enough for now.

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The study was cool and a bit musty, a thin layer of dust overlaying the desk and bookshelves. Heavy drapes were still drawn from the last time she'd been in here and it seemed wrong, somehow, to pull them back today.

Laura switched on the lamps by the worn leather couch and the small adjustable reading light on her father's desk. She aligned an engraved paperweight that had been shoved awry, maybe as long ago as the night she and Bill were in here, her telling him she never wanted to see him again. "Teacher of the Year" read the engraving. Now she could find out, finally, what more her father had been.

By reflex, she picked up an ink pen and a half-used pad of paper, ready to take notes on a critical meeting. Bill gently took them out of her hands and put them back down.

"It's better if you don't do that. Don't try to fit everything together right now…just listen."

She stared at him, her eyebrow raised, until he added, "And I'd need to ask you to destroy those later, anyway."

"This is going to be complicated, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Do you mind if I sit here?" He laid a hand on the back of her father's oversized desk chair, waiting.

"That's fine, Bill. Whatever's comfortable for you." She sat on the edge of the leather guest chair. She could still get a faint wisp of pipe tobacco and smoke as she looked at her father's desk.

The leather creaked as he sat down across the desk from her, hands tented in front of him and a solemn look on his face. An old dread from her past came over her as she took in his demeanor. Her father had been sitting exactly like Bill was now when he told her about her mother's cancer spreading.

She scooted the chair closer until she could prop her elbow on the desk and got as comfortable as she could, leaning her chin into her hand. Reaching across the desk, she gently tugged his hands apart until she could link her fingers with his.

"Whenever you're ready, Bill."

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He should have rehearsed this. He should have started preparing for this day after he left her house that night, even with her saying she never wanted to see him again. He should have known it would come down to them in this room, her green eyes bright with questions.

"Is there anything you want to hear first?" He had it all in his mind like a history report, but he doubted she wanted a recitation of dates and incidents.

"Yes." He watched the pain wash over her expression. "I want to know why he never told me himself."

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. "I asked him that a couple of times over the years. For what it's worth, I thought he should have said something, but…."

He shrugged. "Your dad always said keeping you out of this part of his life was a gift that he wanted to give to you." His lips tightened. "After my boys got older, I realized he'd been right. I was glad that my kids—that Zak—never had to carry that burden around with them, tainting everything. Lee still doesn't know the whole story." He watched her forehead crease between her eyebrows and hated he was the cause of that.

"So, that's your answer. He thought it would make you miserable...keep you from enjoying life as long as you could."

She nodded thoughtfully. "So, what's this big burden?"

His fingers tightened on hers. "There's a lot of background history you need to know first. It's complicated."

"Just tell me, Bill. You can go back and fill in the background later." She pulled her hand out of his and fell back into the chair, arms crossed. "What's this big burden he wanted to protect me from?" Her words were crisply enunciated, her tone saying this had better be the last time she had to ask.

"Okay, okay..." He held his hands up in surrender. He was terrified he'd say it wrong, that it would come out a confusing mess, but she'd asked a clear question, and he owed her as clear as answer as he could give.

"Your father, and the men he worked with, thought we'd be at war with the Cylons again."

She exhaled loudly and rolled her eyes. "Bill, I've heard that before…my Gods, that's why we've got a Defense Department. That's why we still do emergency drills. That's not news."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He was frakking it up already.

"That didn't come out right, Laura. He thought we'd be at war with the Cylons because certain factions in the military planned to deliberately provoke them into attacking the Twelve Colonies again."

That seemed to be clearer, going by the way she was sitting, frozen and speechless. The aged leather creaked under his thighs and he selfishly wished for just a second that Mr. Roslin had done this before he died and not left it for him.

"Why? Why would anyone want to start another war with the Cylons?" She was pressing herself against the back of her chair, like she was trying to distance herself from him and his words.

"According to your father, the motivation was money."

He watched her struggle to take everything in. Gods knew he'd found it hard to believe himself, years ago when Mr. Roslin had recruited him. He had barely begun adjusting to civilian life again when his uncle introduced him to the other side of Edward Roslin.

He'd known the man all his life, a casual friend of his father and uncle. He'd come over after dinner, spend time talking at the kitchen table with the men of his family, joined now and then by people he didn't know.

Once, when he'd asked too many questions, his uncle had taken him outside. He could still hear Sam Adama's voice….

"Mr. Roslin knew your father's other family, Bill. His first wife, and your sister, Tamara, and your brother, Willie. He was Willie's teacher."

Bill remembered the flash of jealousy he'd gotten at the mention of his dad's first family. It had made him ashamed, and sad for his mother.

"So, why does he still come around?"

His uncle's face had turned cold then, and he had looked more like the Ha'la'tha enforcer he was than the kindly uncle he seemed to be when he was around his nephew.

"Adult reasons, Bill. He's a friend of the family."

His uncle had finally smiled and had given him a half-cubit to go down to the newsstand and buy a comic book, but not before giving him a shark-like look of warning and telling him to keep quiet about who came and went at the Adama house.

Laura had finally gained some composure. "Money...to risk a war that would kill thousands, maybe millions this time? What kind of money would be worth that? And to who?"

"That's what I said, too. It sounded crazy when he told me. But your father spent most of his adult life running data analyses on arms manufacturers, defense spending, companies that made Viper engines and Battlestar components…."

She had started shaking her head. "His adult life...he was a teacher. He was a boxing fan. He had a monthly Triad game with guys he hung around with in college. He belonged to a frakking Caprican History club. He did educational outreach at the Veteran's clubs, did some lobbying. I'm not an idiot, Bill. I just don't see how…."

She stopped talking and he knew something had clicked in her mind. She looked like she had when she had opened her father's safe, and he wondered how hard she'd worked to shut that memory away, only for him to rip it open again.

"Remember that night...here, when I said he had heard some things that were going on at the Defense Department?"

"I remember." Her look had turned wary as she waited for him to continue.

"He had a lot of meetings out of the house, right? And there were times he said he was working on proposals and papers, and he'd be in here working for hours, wouldn't he?"

She nodded slowly, then looked at him with dull, defeated eyes. In the mix of emotions he could read in her face, he thought he saw grudging acceptance winning out.

"This has to do with...I got a flag, Bill. After the funeral. A man who wouldn't say who he was came to my apartment with a Colonial flag. He said it was with gratitude for Dad's service."

Looking down at her hands, she continued, "I stuffed it in my closet. It made me so mad, making me doubt who he was. I haven't looked at it since."

She sighed. "Maybe if I had, I would have asked more questions. Given you a chance to explain."

"We're here now, Laura. That's what counts."

Bill tried to make his voice as gentle as possible as he rearranged everything she thought she knew about how her father spent his life.

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