"Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down,
Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town,
Threw out our cloaks and daggers because its morning now."
- Daylight; Taylor Swift
It was no secret that he did not like politics.
Truth be told he couldn't give a damn about the debate either. Of course, he wanted her to win, any sane person would. But he couldn't think of a worse way to spend his down time than to watch Gaius Baltar and Laura Roslin exchange limp, verbal blows in one of his larger ready rooms.
Was she perfect? Gods no! If he could turn far enough around to check, he was pretty sure he sported the evidence of her absolute pain in his arse. But she had proven herself to be beyond competent and if he was forced to choose who he'd rather spend his days arguing with… well… he'd choose Laura.
He supposed that was why he'd offered his quarters to prepare. He wasn't going to stay and watch but he wanted to at least wish her luck.
She'd grown, if not comfortable, then at least acclimated with his space. Even with his things. If there was no official business to be had she no longer waited for an invitation to sit down. Often picking her way over to the very center of his couch, losing her shoes along the way.
But that was not where he found her when he finally clocked off.
She was muttering at double pace under her breath. Eyes flashing across a note card so fast she could have been having a seizure. But then she ripped the page in half and threw it over her head. The falling pieces fluttering down to rest amongst their fallen brethren and Laura's shoes. At least some things stayed the same.
Unwilling to disrupt her cocoon of preparatory intensity he simply poured two glasses of water and waited for a break in her paper tearing.
"Sorry about the mess." She apologized as he proffered the glass, "It's a bit of a ritual… Superstition really…" and took a self-conscious sip. "I used to do this before testifying at committee hearings. This is what I do, I take… a card. Memorise the talking point, then tear the card, let the pieces fall as they may. It helps."
He watched her sense of false serenity fall over her as surely as her hands fell into a familiar, dignified position; clasped loosely in front of her like a ballerina.
"Yeah, my father used to break pencils before he went into court, then borrow one from the clerk." He offered in an attempt to soothe her jangling nerves, "Break preconceptions. Work with what you have."
"You know, I like that. Let me see." And she rushed over to the table and snatched up her pencil, "I like it." Snapped it clean in half as if she'd being doing it for the past 3 hours and took a long steading breath. Her hands falling back into her former relaxed, dignified pose.
"That's good."
"Feel better?"
"Yeah…" before her nerves drained the colour from her face again, "but what if the moderator doesn't have a pencil?"
"Then you're pretty screwed." He didn't know what he was expecting but it wasn't a burst of girlish giggles that sounded like they'd escaped a high school archive. He tried to keep a straight face as she waved him off, fighting to keep herself together.
"Oh." Before failing completely.
"Oh no." she squeaked out as giggles bubbled in her chest like cheap champagne, "I … used to get the giggles before debate team… in high school."
That explains an awful lot. Bill thought with a smile and small chortle of his own before a knock clanged all the air out of the room.
"Yes?" and in an instant the façade fell back into place.
"It's time, Madam President."
"Thank you, Tory."
Bill struggled to keep his face impassive as he stood and offered his arm as she stepped back into her shoes. He heard the long, shaky breath she took before she raised her head again. For an instant he was looking into the hard and resolute face of the President. Until a wide smile shattered the mask and Laura burst into that same uninhibited laugh that broke against him like sunshine. She gripped his arm tighter as she doubled over, shoulders shaking with the effort to tamp it back down.
He took a fortifying step forward as the shadow of Tory's impatience darkened his doorway again but found himself pulled back as Laura shored up her grip in a movement reminiscent of Zak's first day of school. Doubly so when she buried her face in the shoulder of his uniform.
"Are you serious?" a short, sharp voice interrupted.
And it was all Bill could do to drag her forward, her weight hanging comfortably from the crook of his elbow, the scent of spring lilting through the corridors with every frustrated shake of her head.
"You just have to really try to think about something serious." He urged even as he could no longer deny the grin tugging at the corners of his own mouth, "That always helps. All right?
"Like what?" she managed to choke out in a serious voice.
"Well like…" she rallied for less that half a second before she caught his eye and collapsed all over again and this time he happily tumbled after her.
Two discordant voices lighting up his Battlestar with a moment of ridiculous merriment.
"Great." Tory drawled from a few steps ahead, just loud enough for them to hear but Bill Adama could not have been further away from caring.
He'd spent the last 20 years in the dark. It felt good to revel in the daylight.