Title: Error in Judgment; Part 3: Taking Chances
Author: Grace O'Malley NC-17
Word count: 4,513
Characters: Adama/Roslin
Archiving: The more the merrier, but please let me know so I can provide any corrections and/or additional parts.
Disclaimers: Not my world; not my characters :sigh:
Spoilers: Set directly after "Hand of God"
"Sometimes you have to roll the hard six." -- Commander William Adama in "Hand of God."
The door was open and she stood there for a moment, just watching him.
He'd loosened his uniform jacket, and sat slurping noodles while reading one of the printouts scattered across his coffee table.
She knocked softly on the open door. When he looked up, she said, "May I come in?"
"Laura, of course. Please...have a seat." Hurriedly putting his bowl down, he stood and swept a spot of the leather sofa clear of papers and books. "I thought you'd gone back to Colonial One." He returned to his own seat opposite her.
"I couldn't bring myself to drag Billy away from that lovely Petty Officer Dualla. They deserve some time; it's been quite a day."
"Oh," he said. "Are you hungry? I could make some more of these..." He gestured toward the noodles.
"No, no thank you. I'm fine, really--not hungry at all." She was never hungry these days and the noodles looked far too much like snakes.
"I was just hoping for some company..." She bit her lip. He was so obviously uncomfortable in her presence. She should never have come, and now he was stuck with her.
"Ah. I thought you were angry." He kept a completely bland expression on his face.
She gave him a long, penetrating look. Of course she couldn't read his mind, but she tried to put herself in his head, to imagine his view of the situation. "I expect you to do your job; I don't pretend to understand the intricacies. I assumed you were truthful about your reasons for not telling me the details. Because if you weren't, that would piss me off."
A small half-smile crossed his lips.
"Even I could see there was no unrisky solution to our problem--"
He interrupted her, "--which would have been less acute if I hadn't used our reserves searching for--"
She interrupted him right back, "Even if delayed a bit, the problem would have been exactly the same--only we might not have had Lieutenant Thrace to plan that rather brilliant operation. The sad truth is, neither you nor I can afford to trust anyone too much. The Cylons haven't left us that luxury."
They met each other's eyes for a long moment. Cool, appraising. She learned nothing, and could only guess what he might have gleaned from her expression.
He broke the stalemate with a smile. "Would you like a drink?"
"That would be nice, thank you," she said crisply.
Expecting water, she was surprised when he went to a side table and pulled out a bottle of ambrosia and two stemmed glasses.
"Ambrosia?" She laughed. "Where did you get that?"
"Ellen Tigh was stupid enough to carry it into my CIC--in plain view. I confiscated it."
Laura laughed again; the release of tension was a welcomed tonic. "Good for you. I'll enjoy it all the more."
"How's the celebration going?"
"They were just getting warmed up when I made my exit. I stayed long enough to congratulate Captain Apollo, and then I thought it was high time to leave the kids to their fun."
"Same reason I cleared out." He chuckled. "We're not welcome anywhere, are we?" He poured out two glasses of the green liquor, handed one to her, and lifted his own in a toast.
"To Lee Adama," she said. "Who has saved humanity, once again." She raised her glass and took a careful sip. After her recent experiences, she feared alcohol might mix poorly with chamalla, and she did not want to be hallucinating in William Adama's quarters.
"To Lee," he echoed, then drank deeply. "I only wish I could be the father he deserves." He looked away, pressing his lips together.
Laura looked at him, unsure of what he meant or how to respond.
"Every time I try to encourage him, it somehow ends up patronizing--or worse. He's convinced I prefer Kara. That I respect her more...love her more."
Since he seemed to want to talk, she thought she should encourage him. "But the truth is?"
"The truth is she's easier to talk to. I can see her talents and faults more objectively. We've had our...rough spots...but when they're over, they're over. With Lee...I never seem able to say the right thing at the right time."
She leaned back against the soft leather, and considered her words with care. "I've seen the two of you together, the bond is obvious."
"I was a crap father and a worse husband." He took another pull of his drink, then set the glass down and looked at her.
Laura wondered if he was expecting her to contradict him.
When she said nothing, he continued, "I was never home, and even when I was...I wasn't."
She took a sip of her drink, and concentrated on the trail of fire it left behind as the viscous liquid slid down her throat into her stomach.
"I've no idea why Caroline put up with me as long as she did. I thought being faithful and a good provider were enough. Otherwise, I left them to organize themselves, and expected them all to be there for me when I had a few days leave. The boys loved a picture on the wall and a fantasy that went with it. They both followed me into the service because they never had a chance to see any other kind of life."
He knocked back the rest of his drink. His voice was matter of fact, as if he were reciting a cargo manifest. "When Zack was killed, the whole house of cards fell apart. Lee blamed me for bullying Zack into signing up for flight school. The things he said...what I said back... I lost two sons when Zack died, as well as my wife. Caroline couldn't stand the constant..." Unable to find the words, he shook his head and toyed with the empty glass in his hands. "She asked me to remove the few things I kept in our house, then divorced me. Through it all, I couldn't feel anything."
Laura wondered if he was even aware he still wore his wedding ring, but it was not a question she was about to ask.
"The only light was meeting Kara--she'd been Zack's fiancée. She was talented and brash, and a living, breathing connection to my son. And she didn't hate me." He set his glass down on the table, leaned back, and looked at Laura with an expression that seemed downright vulnerable. "As usual, I've been totally self-absorbed, and I realize I've never even asked you about your family, your life before..."
"Not much to tell, really." She gave a little laugh and looked away from him. "I barely remember my father. My mother died a few years ago. She'd been ill...for a long time. I taught. I wanted to do something to improve the quality of education in Colonial schools, so I brushed aside my misgivings and got involved in local politics. That's when I met President Adar--or Mayor Adar, as he was at the time. Things just kind of snowballed from there."
Adama had taken his glasses off. His forehead was creased with concern. He asked softly, "What about your husband? Children?"
"No. No one." Determined to appear confident and comfortable, she slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet up on the sofa. She smoothed her skirt down over her thighs.
He smiled at her.
Wonderful, she thought, certain he saw her as some desperate spinster, ready to melt for any man who'd bother to give her a second glance.
"It's not like I was priest, you know," she snapped. "It just happened that every time the possibility of marriage arose...it was never the right time." Something about honesty relaxed her, so she tried it again. "Thinking back, I suppose all those reasons were just excuses, because I didn't actually want to settle down."
"Did you know I was jealous?"
She looked at him, uncomprehending.
"Of your...ease...with Lee. The way he looks at you with uncomplicated respect. The way you look back. It was something like that with his mother, but their connection was unconditional. The two of you seem to have thoroughly measured each other, and found nothing that didn't pass the test. It's as if you'd been in combat together."
"I guess, in a sense, we were 'in combat' together. On...that day...your son was an island of rock in a sea of insanity. There was no one else with me who had any real understanding of what the Cylons are capable of." She looked at Apollo's father through narrowed eyes. "It must be difficult for him here on Galactica, living on your ship, in your shadow. In Starbuck's shadow."
"He never told me what happened on the day of the attack. I only know he was with you, until the fleet joined us at Ragnar."
"So you want me to tell you about it." She reached for her glass and took a long swallow of her drink. Hallucinations be damned. "Okay." She nodded. "Okay. I think it's something you need to hear."
"Can I top up your drink?" Adama asked.
She nodded, and took another swallow before handing her glass to him. "Well, as you know, after the ceremony, Lee was assigned to escort my transport back to Caprica. We were maybe halfway there when we heard about the attack. Sketchy details were filtering in, but at that point, I don't think any of us comprehended the scale... Anyway, he decoyed a Cylon missile away from us and his viper was damaged in the process. We had some difficulty locating him, but in the end we were able to pick him up."
We started searching for survivors--to get as many civilians as we could out of immediate danger. And that's when I learned that President Adar and forty-one of my other closest friends and colleagues were all dead. Not to mention a few billion other people." She paused to take a sip of her ambrosia.
Adama's face was impassive but his eyes were sympathetic.
She took another quick sip of the drink. "I'm sure you know what that felt like."
He nodded.
"We were in the midst of transferring over passengers from a disabled liner when the Cylons found us again. I had you insulting me over the wireless." She kept her voice level, but her jaw clenched at the memory.
Adama winced.
"And Lee telling me that we had to jump. But I had been their president for all of five minutes, and I could not abandon them." She paused for a little more ambrosia.
"I was wrong, of course, but fortunately Lee was there to give me another chance at the learning curve. I don't know exactly what he did, but he rigged some piece of cast-off equipment to give out an energy burst that looked like an exploding nuke. It fooled the Cylons into thinking they'd destroyed us. That was the second time he saved my ass that day."
"Laura--" He shifted in his chair.
"Oh, don't stop me now. I'm just getting to the good part. Things started to go a little better after that. We picked up Lieutenant Valerii, and were able to use her raptor to locate and collect survivors. Many of the ships didn't have FTL, so our plan was to transfer their passengers to ships that did, top up everyone's fuel, and get the hell out of there."
Then a Cylon scout ship found us. None of us wanted to desert the sub-light ships, but only Lee had the courage to speak the truth out loud: it was either leave them behind or sacrifice everyone. So I gave the order to leave thousands of people to their doom." She picked up her glass of ambrosia and swirled it, staring at the green stain that washed up the sides, then flowed back down again. "Men, women, children..." Tears formed in her eyes, and she struggled not to cry.
"I sat in my first-class seat, waiting for the jump, listening to those I'd condemned to die as they screamed, and begged, and cursed us--cursed me." Her voice cracked, and tears spilled down her face. She was furious with herself for breaking down in front of him, but she was determined to finish her story. "I can still hear those voices... I expect they will follow me to hell--just like they promised."
She looked directly at Adama, defiant about her puffy face and ruined make-up. "I guess when you go through an experience like that with someone, you just bond, and it doesn't have to make sense to anyone else."
He got up without speaking and returned with a tissue.
"Thank you," she said, and began dabbing at her eyes.
He shifted more papers and books, making a space to sit beside her. "We're a pathetic pair of losers, aren't we?" he said gently. "No wonder nobody wants us at their parties."
She smiled, and gave a little laugh that turned into a hiccough.
They sat close enough so his thigh touched hers, not pressing, just touching. They sat in silence for a long moment, both looking straight ahead, lost in their own thoughts. When he offered the solace of an arm around her shoulders, she welcomed it, even rested her head against him.
His proximity disturbed her. Made her long for more. It was, whatever she tried to pretend, exactly what she had come for. Warmth rising off another human being's skin. The scents of soap, cigar smoke, wool, ambrosia, and soy sauce. Her nostrils flared to draw deeply of the comforting masculinity. Nonetheless, when she felt him nuzzle into her ear, she flinched away. The reaction was involuntary, like a snail retracting into its shell. When ordered thought caught up to reflex, she knew it wasn't his carnal instincts that worried her, but her own.
By that time, the damage was done, and he had already jumped up, grabbed the wine glasses and bottle, and returned them to the side table.
"Bill, I--" She stood, poised to flee.
He kept his back to her, and busied himself filling a wineglass from a carafe of water. The ring of crystal against crystal, as he bumped the lip of his glass with the neck of the carafe, betrayed his unease. He didn't turn around, or even incline his head in her direction. "If you're leaving...please go now."
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and she took a series of deep, cleansing breaths to try to bring it under control. Giving her body to William Adama would be the stupidest decision she could possibly make. He might have half her heart already, but the rule of her head told her she shouldn't trust him blindly. Everything was deeply personal to him, and that was a problem. If she gave in to the tightness in her chest, the weakness in her knees, and the moisture between her legs, their inevitable political disagreements would become betrayal.
She stared at his back; he still had not turned around, but gripped the small table with a hand on either side, resting his weight against braced arms. Waiting. He was in no way handsome. Not very tall, bad skin, bad teeth, a tad overweight--even if obviously muscular and physically fit. But something oozed out of his pores and surrounded him like an aura of pure, primal maleness. Laura had been certain she was long past recognizing, much less responding to something so basic and so visceral. Menopause, cancer. She'd thought she was an empty shell of a woman, surviving only to fulfill her responsibilities to those who depended on her. The destruction of civilization, and the probably futile efforts to save the remnants of humanity...surely these things took precedent over the pitiful fire between two people who couldn't even benefit society by reproducing.
Unable to move, she wasn't sure how she managed to speak. "How do you lock that door?"
He pushed away from where he'd rested against the table, and turned his profile to her. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and took a deep breath. Still, he did not look directly at her. "I'll take care of it."
She noticed that his knuckles went white as he gripped the circular handle that would seal them in. Finally, he turned to face her.
"You'll have to come to me, I think." She felt herself blushing, and blushed all the more for being aware he must have seen her discomfort. "I can't seem to--"
Before she could finish her sentence, he was right in front of her, hands at his sides. Not touching, but so close she could feel his warmth. He studied her with his eyes, as if trying to decide where to start. Only she knew it didn't matter--that right now any place on her skin was as aroused as any other. She took his hands, then let them go.
He laced his fingers through her hair and tilted her face up to kiss. He tasted of salt, and sweet, and very slightly of cigars. Little moans and gasps escaped her throat, as if someone else had uttered them. She wrapped her arms around him, under his open jacket, and ran her hands up his back, delighting in the solid feel of hard muscle. Her back arched in a shameless urge to be closer still. He broke away from her mouth to take in air, and made her look him in the eye. He must have seen her terror then, for he pulled her closer to whisper in her ear, "Don't talk. Don't think. Just...be."
His hands were shaking as he eased her jacket off her shoulders, and let it fall. She tugged at one of his sleeves, and his jacket fell away also, leaving her free to explore his bare arms and shoulders. Her blouse came untucked from the waistband of her skirt, and she felt his calloused palms against the bare skin of her back. He circled her waist with his hands, and stroked them upwards so his fingers rested on her back, while his thumbs brushed her nipples through the fabric of her bra. Teasing, circling. She gasped, and shrank back a little, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Her clothes were an irritant she wanted to be rid of, to leave nothing but flesh against tender flesh. To distract herself, she yanked at his uniform undershirts. He had to stop touching her long enough for the soft-cotton tanks to be pulled over his head. She planted kisses on his chest.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth, then laid his cheek next to hers. "Laura, show me your breasts."
She didn't pull away, but she quailed inside. Longing and horror in equal parts sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. He had no idea that her breasts were filled with death, black and rotting from the inside. Just another empty piece of a shell of a body she was already distancing herself from. Yet for now they were alive and sensitive, and a source of erotic pleasure both to herself and her partner...her lover.
Unable to look at him while she undid the buttons on her blouse, she felt her skin flush hot under his gaze. She shrugged one shoulder out of its sleeve, and let him brush the other sleeve off her shoulder and down her arm. The blouse fell to the floor. When she'd packed for her brief trip to open the Galactica museum, it had never occurred to her to bring "date lingerie"--she'd been far more concerned about comfort during long flights and endless standing around through boring speeches. Now she regretted it. She wanted to feel beautiful, not practical. But he didn't seem to care.
He stroked her neck, and studied her, and...waited. Still having trouble meeting his eyes, she reached around behind herself and undid the hooks of her bra, then leaned forward a little to let it fall away. She heard his breath quicken, and the thought of him seeing her naked to the waist was enough harden her nipples and bring on another flush of embarrassment. When he enclosed a breast in one hand, the sensation was almost more than she could bear.
"You are so beautiful."
"I don't think I can stand--"
"Don't worry, I've got you."
Her knees started to buckle, but true to his word he supported her with an arm around her waist. Only half aware of events outside her own body, she wasn't exactly sure how she found herself on her back with her skirt unzipped and halfway down her hips. Books and papers hit the floor with muted thuds and rustling.
"Lift your hips a little."
He hovered over her and planted a kiss low on her stomach before sliding off her skirt and panties. She came to her senses long enough to realize that she was now completely naked, while he still wore half his clothes.
"This isn't really fair," she said in a hoarse whisper, and reached out for the waistband of his trousers.
He shifted back out of her reach, and smiled out her. "We'll get there, don't worry. But I'm not finished with you yet."
She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
As if to offer a compromise, he took of his shoes. Then he knelt beside her and looked her over thoroughly. He kissed her mouth, then traced a finger down her breastbone, past her navel and her belly, and gently parted her legs. He shifted down a little, to bring his mouth to a breast, and allow his fingers to work more deeply inside her.
Part of her was dimly aware that the situation was completely unbalanced. He was keeping her on a knife-edge, while still evading her attempts to touch him more intimately. She realized his intent was to stay in complete control while watching her surrender to his touch. It was maddening, and only served to excite her further. Wanting to be closer and more open, she curled up and rolled partially onto her side towards him. Reduced to a feral state, she didn't know or care exactly what he was doing with his hands and mouth--so long as it didn't stop.
Except that he did stop, leaving her irritated and panting for breath. She opened her eyes to find him grinning at her.
"Get those off--now," she growled at him, pointing in the general direction of his pants.
"Is that an order?" he teased.
"It's not a request," she shot back. "And I'm afraid you're on your own; I'm in no condition to help." She closed her eyes and tried to bring her breathing and pulse under control.
She felt his weight on top of her, and reached down, still wanting to touch him, to guide him where she wanted him to be. Still he refused, grabbing her wrists and pinning her arms over her head. He went back to mouthing her breasts, and at last she could feel his bare skin along the whole length of her body. The metal of his dog tag a tiny bit of coolness surrounded by heat. Her fingers curled and stretched against the restraint, but he had to turn her loose in order to slide further down and put his mouth to her vulva. She felt his tongue, then his teeth, tease her clitoris, while his hands reached up for her breasts. Little cries escaped against her will, and she kneaded a cushion to keep from screaming when orgasm gripped her.
And still he did not stop. She felt drained and passive as he rolled her over, stroking her back and bottom, kissing her neck and ears. Cool leather caressed her breasts and belly. He knelt between her legs, sliding forward to cover her, resting most of his weight on one forearm. She felt his erect penis brush against the inside of her thigh, and her own excitement rose again as she held her breath in anticipation. When he finally entered her she gasped, and nearly came again right then, simply from the realization of who was inside her. At last.
She turned her face to the side, her hair tangled over her eyes, and fought for breath to speak. "Don't move." She tilted her pelvis and made tiny movements with her hips, searching for deeper penetration. He obeyed her command and followed her leisurely rhythm. She experimented, unashamedly selfish, as she rocked and twisted, and clenched and relaxed her muscles to see just how high she could climb and how long she could remain at the verge.
His breathing changed, and she smiled to herself at the proof he, too, had limits. He abandoned her restrained tempo and sought his own, moving quicker and harder. Far from begrudging him, she pushed against him, arching her back and spreading her legs even wider. He clung to her, his cheek next to hers, his breath hot and ragged against her ear, one arm wrapped tight around her torso with his hand holding her breast, the other stretched above their heads, his hand gripping hers. She strained against him in counterpoint, holding onto each stroke with the muscles of her pelvic floor, until his pace became too frenetic for her to follow. Then she stayed still and open, letting him do whatever he needed. His gasp of indrawn breath, final push to release, and the pulsing contractions of his ejaculation set her spiraling to her own orgasm, until they both collapsed in exhaustion.
She awoke from a blissfully dreamless sleep, pinned against the wall in his too-small-to-share bunk. A single, soft lamp illuminated the wreck of his room: books, papers, and clothes strewn everywhere. Adama lay on his back, snoring gently beside her, the sheet twisted around his legs, leaving him largely exposed to her gaze. He looked comfortable, at least. Her back was killing her, she had bruises she didn't recall receiving, and she doubted sitting down would be comfortable any time soon. These things made her smile.
They hadn't spoken of love. Thank the gods. Best to leave it laying there, unspoken between them, like too many other unshared secrets. She listened to his breathing and tried not to worry about how she was going to sneak back to her shuttle, what she would say to Billy about where she had been, or how and when she would tell this amazing man that she would have to leave him--far sooner and more cruelly than she cared to contemplate.
For now, she would study his sleeping form and consider how best to repay what he had done to her. For this moment, she had chosen life. Whatever price she would eventually have to pay for the privilege would be more than worth it.
The End
