It was not fancy.
Fancy had been so long ago she wasn't sure it was real anymore.
Fancy had been with a different man.
"When are you expecting your shuttle?" and he moved to top off her glass.
It was the most personal question he'd asked her all evening.
"Mmm… no thank you." And she waved him off, "Actually, I was hoping that I might intrude on your hospitality for the night. Seeing as I'm back again in the morning."
She was toeing the line, she knew. She had already spent what remained of her personal capital just to maintain civility. This just might stretch it to breaking point.
"You are always welcome aboard Galactica, Madame President." He stoppered the decanter, his gaze still fixed to the floor. She noted the shift in her address.
She suspected that his invitation had been an apology of sorts, her acceptance equally so, a peace offering in its barest form. But, as mature, responsible adults trusted to protect the remnants of a dying civilisation, they had, for the most part, decided to ignore the gaping chasm between their feet.
If they were going to maintain this tenuous balance… he had to at least look at her.
"Do you mind? Bill… If I stay?" her voice low and rich, almost sultry.
He shifted slightly in his seat. Interlocking his fingers and sighing through his nose.
"Not at all."
And by some inexplicable reason, the virtue of their buried familiarity, she knew he was truthful,
"But you might…"
She quirked an eyebrow.
"Most executive quarters have been billeted for the Pegasus Officers or are still being repaired after the Exodus… and I, uh… can't imagine that you'd like to bunk with the pilots."
She laughed. Short and sweet. Warmer than mulled wine.
He smiled at his clasped hands.
She sighed happily, small, lingering giggles bubbling in her chest.
The chill finally easing from the room.
"No…" she acquiesced, glowing in the warm cabin light, "Luckily I'm well acquainted with sleeping on a couch."
Bill shook his head and rose from the table, offering his hand to help her up.
Laura took it easily.
"I'll take the couch." He said in a voice that did not broker argument, "I got pretty familiar with it myself once upon a time."
"No. I couldn't-"
"Last time I checked; this is still a war vessel… So, I believe that this matter falls under the purview of the military, Madame President." And he smiled cheekily, like a man half his age.
"Yes, sir." She smirked, conceding defeat, very aware he still had hold of her hand.
There was hope still, she decided, for this tiny flame cradled between their two palms. But reality loomed outside the door and it brought violent winds.
