Summary: The worst part is over...or is it? There's still things that need to be said, and a storm's coming in...

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Laura's black-suited escorts had disappeared while she had been in the President's office. Wanted to spare me having witnesses to my walk of shame, she mused. The elation she'd felt as she walked out of his office for the last time was beginning to ebb. The thickness of the folder on Richard's desk didn't match the thinner sheaf of photographs and reports he'd slammed in front of her. She wondered what other information he had, and on who. And why hadn't he used it?

Her steps slowed and she looked up at the oil portraits of past presidents mounted in heavy gilded frames. Some of what she'd done could be easily spun as treason, if the right person was doing the spinning. A trick of the light gave older portraits the suspicious bulldog glare the Lieutenant Colonel had trained on her in the meeting.

Would she be looking over her shoulder the rest of her life? She'd move, of course…she picked up her pace again and began doing the math. Her savings wouldn't go far with an uptown Caprica CIty apartment.

I have a house that's paid for.

I have a car that runs.

Her mind turned to what was most important, what would get her through everything else that would come.

And I have Bill.

She'd make it work. By the time she was in front of her office, she was thinking of teaching again…maybe tutoring, she silently amended. No telling what sort of cloud she'd have over her after news of her dismissal came out. Maybe Richard thought he was being decent by letting her resign, but everybody knew what sudden resignations meant.

Maybe bikers' kids could use some tutoring.

Laura walked through her secretary's office and stood in the doorway a minute, looking at her inner sanctum with fresh eyes. Her educational credentials were framed and mounted on the wall, evidence that she'd completed a couple of advanced degrees. There were a few pictures bought at the School of the Arts' annual fairs over the years. Too many photographs of her and Richard, him shaking her hand, posture rigid and cool as he handed her a plaque or badge of office.

None of her family. Nothing showing she cared about someone, that someone cared about her.

She turned back and went to the supply cabinet by her secretary's desk. The woman's propensity to hoard was a blessing in disguise: there were a couple of empty boxes that had once held reams of printer paper long since used. Space enough to pack up her professional life.

The framed diplomas went in first. Then the umbrella, the jacket, the set of workout clothes she'd used the first year the building gym was built. She sat at her desk and began opening drawers, pulling the wastebasket over to her chair. Bit by bit, the detritus of years of professional life were sorted out.

The make-up, the packs of snack crackers and raisins, the cups of dried soup, all testimony to long days and demands were tossed first.

Her innate frugality kept her from discarding the unopened package of stockings and the one of new panties. Her face heated as she put them under the diplomas. No need to cause any more scandalous speculation among the staff than she had to.

Some outdated earrings, pens out of ink, and an old box of tampons stuffed in the back of her bottom drawer jarred her, made her realize how long she'd been here, and at other, similar desks. It felt good to drop everything in the wastebasket.

Her hand stilled over a creased envelope. There was no label, no markings…she knew she'd never need any clues about the contents. She opened the flap just enough to see the yellowed newsprint and a partial date of the first clipping. They were all here…Mom, Dad and the girls, and a fresher-looking scrap bearing the brief summation of Zak Adama's life and death.

The wind was picking up, beginning to gust against the window. It was full night, dark enough to mirror her reflection back at her in the light of the office. Laura stood and switched off her desk lamp. She held her hands up to the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the moon above the light pollution of the city. Thick clouds blocked the sight…a storm was moving in over the harbor.

The last storm she'd watched come in over the harbor had signalled the change of everything, even if she hadn't known it at the time. Zak's death, the memories...and then Bill. She winced, remembering how she'd let her job-well, Richard- throw up another painful wall between them.

And then their history, those feelings that had never left either of them, had knocked that wall over like a child's sand castle on a windy beach. Her reflection carried a smile she hadn't realized she was wearing. It seemed fitting, somehow, that her last moments in this office were against a backdrop of a coming storm, poised to clear the thick muggy air with a washing rain.

She was adding the last folder marked "Personal," her contracts and benefits, when a thought niggled at the edge of her mind. Before it could gel, a musical chime from her computer sounded, drawing her attention to the screen.

A high priority email had just hit her inbox. Stomach clenching, she sat and clicked it open, dreading to see what Richard had come up with now. Had he re-thought her actions in light of treason? Would his vindictiveness, or his fear, take him there?

It took two readings for the words to sink in. She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She could read the self-preservation between the carefully crafted lines that would hold up to public scrutiny, should her email ever be made public. The acknowledgement of years spent in educational service. The reference to a conversation they'd never had about retirement. A few false words of thanks and best wishes, and an artificially good-humored line about taking the last of her vacation days so she could get a head start on "her new life."

He still wanted her out by tomorrow. The part about vacation days told her that. He just didn't want the speculation that would come with a sudden dismissal of a close (and she knew there was gossip about just how close) colleague and cabinet member. She snorted at the last line of the email: "Yours Truly, Richard Adar." He'd never been hers. He'd never been true.

The wave of gratitude at his duplicity warmed her. She realized she'd been hoping what had been between them was just a convenient façade over loneliness, maybe for longer than she knew. Not worth him pursuing, once the anger wore off.

At least he could give her that. Whether he realized it or not.

She clicked through the attachments, dry documents about the business of retirement. Her eyes widened as she read over the monthly pension she was entitled to. It hadn't felt like that long ago when she had first stood in front of a classroom of students, but the cubit signs said that it was. Not enough to support her apartment, even if she'd wanted to stay in Caprica City, but enough to let her live comfortably in her family home, pay her bills…and help support Bill's efforts. She typed up a formal request for retirement, backdated it to yesterday, and hit "send."

Thanks, Richard. It would make him look good (and plausible) in the aftermath of her leaving, covering for both of them. She didn't want to speculate what else he might be doing…maybe laying groundwork for mental unfitness if she made further accusations, hinting that some instability led to her early retirement. It was enough, for now, that he was letting her go with an income that would continue for the rest of her life.

Her mouth flooded with a metallic tang. For however long that was. She swallowed heavily. However long it was, it would be with Bill. Somehow, that made the uncertainty okay. Bill was a certainty in her life…he always would be, and she was still realizing how much he'd always been.

A crack of thunder just over the harbor made her jump. Far below her, the wind was tossing around discarded papers, the trash of the day. The rain would start any minute. She ran through a last check of her office, pried the necessary keys off her Mustang emblem keychain, and pulled her security badge out of her purse. They were paltry enough remnants of her career, but walking away from them, Laura felt lighter with each step.

As she switched off her lights for the last time, a bolt of lightning lit up the space, bathing everything in a cold, colorless light. Laura tightened her grip on the cardboard box and closed the door behind her.

Time to go home.

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Bill looked at his phone again, willing the screen to light up with an incoming call. The last report from Jeremiah had been cautiously encouraging…according to the old soldier, Laura had followed his lead perfectly, switching tracks without missing a beat.

That had been hours ago, though. The governmental workday was long done. Maybe she had decided to wait out the worst of the storm, he told himself.

He looked down at the phone again. The black glass reflected his worried features back at him. He was tempted to call her regular phone…surely she wouldn't still be around anyone who would wonder who was calling. But if she was driving in this mess, she didn't need to be distracted.

"Boss? You need anything?" Helo stood in the doorway that led to the hall between the office and the club. The doorway he and Laura had slipped through just that morning, when they—he felt his face flush with remembered heat.

"I'm good, Helo."

"Sure?" Helo held out a bottle of Tauron scotch, some of the top shelf stuff. Bill raised an eyebrow at that. His anxiety must have been more obvious than he thought.

"Save that for later, when we've got something to celebrate."

Helo started to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He turned, closing the door behind him, leaving Bill alone again.

The Accounts Receivable ledger lay open on his desk. After another searching glance out the window into the dreary black gloom, Bill sat again. Maybe getting some work done would distract him from the silent phone. His exhausted eyes closed for a second as he leaned back and tried to rub some of the tiredness away.

The familiar rumble coming from the parking lot brought him upright again. By the time he got to the door, she was already out of the car, running through the drenching rain. The brass bell jingled as he threw the door open, welcoming her in with open arms.

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"Bill, don't! I'm soaked," she said, putting her hands up to hold him back.

"I don't care," he said, wrapping her tight against his chest. The heat coming off his skin felt heavenly, and Laura let herself relax into his embrace for a moment before pulling away. She could feel her hair plastered against her cheeks, water still dripping down her suit. His shirt was soaked in spots from their hug, and a couple of stray drops beaded in his moustache. His eyes…oh, Gods, she should have pulled over and called. She could see the worry in his eyes.

Selfish. She hadn't wanted to take the time. The need to see him had gotten stronger by the mile until she was driving far too fast, a thread of common sense warning her against fumbling for her phone.

"Are you alright?" He held her by the shoulders, looking her over carefully, methodically. His gaze was calmer now, his tension only shown by the strength of his grip. Laura felt herself beginning to relax for the first time in hours.

"Well, I'm soaked to the skin, but yes, I'm alright." She laid her hand on top of his. "I tried to call earlier but the phone you gave me had gone dead."

He nuzzled his cheek against her hand. "Jeremiah told me you did great, but I was so worried…I wish you could have called me on your phone. You wouldn't have had to say much. Just hearing you—"

"Bill," she said, dropping her hand and stepping back, "we need to talk."

"I—sure, Laura. And you need to get dried off." The old note of caution in his voice gripped at her heart and she wished she'd chosen different words.

"C'mon back," he continued, heading to the hallway into the club. "I've got a room here. You can dry off, and we can talk."

"A room?" She glanced at the closed door of the bathroom as they passed. "So, why the bathroom this morning?"

He paused, one hand resting at the small of her back. "The place was pretty crowded this morning, lots of people wanting to talk to me." He gave her an abashed grin. "I didn't want to waste the little bit of time we had making introductions and telling people to wait."

He pushed open a heavy door fitted with more deadbolt locks than seemed necessary. The space behind it was dark after the lights of the hallway, a couple of lamps and some neon over the long bar providing the only illumination. Laura wrinkled her nose before she could stop herself: old smoke, old booze, and a scent she could only describe as "male" hung heavy in the air. This was a space where men gathered after working with their hands and backs, lifting beer bottles with machine-grubby hands, propping heavy work boots on chair rungs.

It shouldn't have reminded her of her father, but it did.

The decorous hallways and thick-carpeted offices she'd just left seemed like a different world. She let herself breathe in this new atmosphere as she walked past a pool table, a half-circle of chairs and a couple of couches. This was Bill's world, his own cabinet room. A figure in the shadows nodded at them as they passed, then went back to playing solitaire on a smudged computer screen. He was the only occupant of the room.

Bill nodded back. "Most of the guys are off taking care of business or home with their families. Somebody always stays here, though."

His own security detail. The thought made her smile. For having such a rough appearance, this felt like a safe place. He turned down another hallway, taking her through another door with deadbolt locks. She realized the maze of connected spaces was designed to create delays for any outsiders trying to force their way in. Better lit, this hallway had a display of pictures on one side. Laura stopped shivering from her wet clothes as her attention was drawn to the images.

Most were men she didn't recognize. There were two shots of Bill; one where he looked just a little older than when they first met, angry eyes and white-knuckled fingers holding a placard with numbers in front of his chest. His first mug shot, she realized.

Two rows down was another picture of him. This time he looked like he did when she took the boys to visit him in prison. The angry glare was gone, replaced by a calm look of acceptance, maybe even a touch of pride. The numbers on the placard were different, and he held the cardboard as easily as she'd held framed commendations in her own office pictures.

He moved to stand at her side, an arm around her waist. "Come on, you've got to be freezing." But he seemed willing to linger with her for a moment longer.

There was something fascinating about the various expressions in the wall of mug shots. Some were defiant. Others were sneering. A few looked almost amused. There was the man she'd seen with Carolanne that one time. Further down was a shot of Lee, trying for bravado but his nervousness peeking through.

Some of the pictures were bordered with a black ribbon. One stood out, conspicuous by the absence of numbers across the front. Her heart twisted. Zak, in his senior picture, smiling out at the world. She touched the black ribbon, stroking the fabric, remembering the little boy he'd been. She squeezed the hand at her waist and stepped back, the moment of remembrance over.

A few more steps and they were in front of a door marked "Private." Bill unlocked it and led her in. It felt good to be in his setting, she realized. It was a rough and rag-tag room, old double bed covered with a Harley bedspread, dented mini-fridge and tiny microwave by a vintage dresser, out-of-date pin-up calendars on the wall. A Twelve Colonies flag hung over the bed, with a Tauron flag beside it. As rough as it was, something about the room made her feel welcome.

"It's not much, I know…but it works for when there's too much going on to go home for the night. Here, let me get you some towels." He stepped into a tiny adjoining bathroom.

The worst of the shivering had stopped, although she was still soaked to the skin. His calm confidence was the perfect antidote to the fear-fueled day she'd had. A sudden chill ran through her, catching her off-guard. Part of her wished she hadn't said anything about needing to talk. That calm confidence was about to take a heavy hit, if she told him everything.

She tightened her lips into a determined line. Everything he'd done, everything they'd been through, told her his love was unconditional. If she held the truth back from him now, she'd be dishonoring what they had together. He'd told her unpleasant truths, things she knew he would have prefered to keep buried. Could she do any less? It'd be hard... She thought back over the past weeks. I can do "hard."

He was back, wrapping a thick towel around her hair after setting a couple more on the bed.

"Let's get you out of these. I've got a washer and dryer in the next room," he said, starting to unbutton her jacket like he'd been undressing her for years. She had started squeezing her wet hair with the towel when she realized he had stopped and was looking at her with curiosity.

"You changed clothes."

She began unbuttoning her blouse, giving him a small lop-sided grin. "I realized I had some grease stains on my skirt after I left you."

His lips quirked as a slight flush started at his jaw. "I was hoping your jacket would cover that."

"It did, just barely, but I didn't know who I might see after the meeting, so I figured it'd be safer to just change."

She slid her skirt down her legs and handed it to Bill, taking the towel he offered. She began drying her legs, still damp and goose-pimpled, keeping her eyes on her task, and tried to make her voice sound as casual as she could.

"Turns out that was a good idea. President Adar wanted to meet with me afterwards."

She could sense his sudden tension, even without touching him.

"Is that what you needed to talk about?" His voice had a carefully casual note that matched hers.

She straightened and finished undressing. Even after she was naked, his eyes didn't leave hers until she looked away first, wrapping the last towel, beach blanket-sized, around her body. The silence pounded at her ears.

"Yes. Some things….happened after the cabinet meeting," she finally said.

"Let me put these in to dry," he said, turning, his hands full of her damp clothes. His voice softened. "Then you can tell me whatever you need to."

The click of the door behind him was unnaturally loud in the silent room.

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Bill had just set the dryer when his phone went off. He grabbed it before the first faint vibration stopped. Saul. Not surprising…Saul had been witness to his anxious waiting, before and after Gaeta's report. He knew how hard it had been, being out of touch while she was making her way through a political minefield.

"How is she?"

He shut the dryer and started it, buying a few seconds to mull over that question.

I wish I knew.

"She says she's alright. But something's going on…Adar pulled her in for a meeting afterwards and whatever it was about, it's got her rattled. You got anything?"

"Just what I told you before, that asshole colonel meeting with Adar and looking pissed when he left."

Bill leaned up against the dryer. "Spread the word to keep the clubhouse clear for another couple of hours, Saul. There's something she needs to talk out and I don't want any distractions."

Saul chuckled. "No problem, man. Ellen's buying rounds every time one of the guys gets up on the pole. That Helo's got some moves. Him and his old lady—"

The smile that thought generated was quickly wiped away with a mental image of Laura waiting for him to come back.

"Later, Saul. Wish me luck, brother."

"You won't need luck, Old Man. Whatever she's got, you can handle."

He ended the call. He could handle anything…as long as she didn't tell him it was over, that the close call of the day had made her think twice about being with him. She didn't scare easily—her commitment even after the reporter's murder told him that. But there could be other reasons.

He flashed back to that picture in the paper he'd seen years ago, Laura and Adar at some society function. He'd taken that as a sign she had settled into circles that would never include him. He hadn't seen it then, signs of a connection between them. That had come much later, when he started hearing the rumors.

And then there was him and her in her father's house that weekend. After that, the thought of her with anyone else was inconceivable. At least it was, to me. He walked back to his room, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Adar's soft, well-groomed hands touching her...the image made him sick.

Had she wanted Adar? Cared for him? He couldn't imagine her frakking someone she had no feelings for...an unwelcome memory of Carolanne, naked and arched under him brought a flush to his cheeks. People get lonely, when they think there's no hope of things ever being right. People...settle. Try to work with what they've got.

His jaw clenched despite his accepting self-talk. Part of him couldn't help but wonder how, where, when? Had she gone from the bed she'd shared with him to Adar? He thought back to a dark parking lot, wife and new baby waiting at home and a wave of shame hit.

Who was he to judge her?

And at this point, did it even matter? Whatever else was going on, she was here with him. And she needed him, even if it was just to listen.

She'd listened to him, while he told her hard truths. He owed her that, and so much more. He took one deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened the door. A fall of damp curls hid her eyes as she sat on his bed with her knees pulled up. She turned to look at him, and the anxiety he saw there cut him deep.

I can do this.

"They'll take about an hour." He sat across from her on the sagging bed and reached over to brush a lock of hair out of her face, letting his fingers linger on her cheek for a second.

"I'm here, Laura. Talk to me."

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