and the rest of the ships' crews. Most people had been in a groggy state even before the Cylons had started their timed attacks, but they'd all adapted somehow. It was amazing what you could adjust to when you had to.
Take her for instance. For the rest of the day, up to the point where she'd sent Billy off on his date and bid good night to the rest of her staff, her back-brain had every so often ambushed her with tiny bits of physical data about William Adama. Even though she'd carefully replaced the photo back in its envelope, her memory would periodically snap back to a flash from sapphire eyes, the feel of a strong shoulder under her hand, the metallic trace of warship combined with clean, warm male that was his personal scent ... all things she'd ruthlessly schooled herself not to notice at the time.
And in spite of it all, I still managed to address all the issues on my desk. I feel quite proud of myself, actually.
Her own quarters were slightly larger than Elosha's, but they felt smaller, thanks to the desk with a comm unit that had been wedged in along one wall. Laura would have preferred to have one comm-free refuge, but she bowed to the need for the President to be contactable at all hours. Billy and the rest of her staff were zealous about guarding her sleep, but that meant that, on those extremely rare occasions when she was awoken by an off-hours call, she knew it was deathly serious.
She laid Adama's book and the envelope with the photo on her desk. Sternly quashing the masochistic impulse to look at the stillshot one more time, she turned instead to changing for bed. The one set of sleepwear in her severely limited wardrobe was at the laundry, but someone had provided her with a comfortable alternative: a sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both military-issue grey. She pulled them on.
She was just settling the hem of the shirt around her hips when, completely unbidden, a picture jumped to her mind of Adama wearing a similar outfit--sweat-plastered to his body. She groaned and stifled her overactive imagination before it could elaborate further on the image.
"This has got to stop," she startled herself by speaking aloud. "If it doesn't, my next meeting with the man is going to be a complete, unmitigated disaster."
She sat at the desk and once again started massaging her temples. Enough, Laura. This is just some kind of vision-induced hormonal overreaction. It will fade in time. Until then, well, you'll just have to tough it out.
But in a strange way, she was also relieved to know her body and soul were still capable of such wayward impulses, even if she never intended to do anything about them.
The chime of the comm startled her. A prickle of unease ran down her spine as she answered it.
"Madame President?"
"Yes, Aja? What's happened?"
"Nothing really, ma'am." The young woman sounded extremely hesitant. "I have Commander Adama on the line for you. He said it wasn't urgent if you'd already retired, but I thought, since you just left, you were probably still awake."
Laura blinked. When has that man ever called me concerning something that wasn't urgent? In fact, he avoids calling me unless absolutely necessary.
"Should I ask him to call back in the morning, ma'am?"
"No, Aja, that's all right. You can put him through."
"President Roslin? I hope I didn't wake you."
"Not at all, Commander." I suspect you're going to be keeping me awake later, but that's hardly your fault, is it? "What can I do for you?"
"Well, the fact is ..."
There was a longish pause. This can't possibly be what I think it is. William Adama, unsure of what to say? She suddenly wished she could see his eyes.
He cleared his throat and finally forged ahead in his businesslike CO's tone. "It has not escaped my notice—nor, I'm sure, has it escaped yours—that you and I have been having more than our share of communication problems."
"I would say that's a fair assessment." Now where is this going?
"It occurred to me ... I realize we have official pipelines, but I thought we should have a more direct, less formal line of contact. Even just a few minutes touching base with each other at the end of the day would give us a chance to speak our minds without constantly considering the political ramifications or what the public is going to think ... help keep the air clear, so to speak."
"I—" Damn. He surprises me again. "I couldn't agree more, Commander. I think that's an excellent idea." She settled back in her station chair. "What should we talk about?"
"The idea is not to edit ourselves, so ... whatever comes to mind."
Oh, what's coming to my mind definitely needs editing. Fortunately he couldn't see her blush. "My day hasn't been too eventful. The usual supplies and logistics issues. You'll have full reports on those, I'm sure." She smiled. "I did attend a naming ceremony with Elosha this afternoon. Three babies, and three sets of brand-new parents all looking giddily overjoyed and completely terrified at the same time."
"Mm, I remember that feeling. That's one of life's events that you can never feel adequately prepared for."
Good gods. Is that a hint of the personal creeping into the conversation? Emboldened, she asked, "And you? How has your day been?"
"Ah ... Fairly routine here as well." She heard a faint creaking noise and imagined him stretching in his chair. "I suppose the high point of my day was finding out that two new pilot trainees have taken a less-than-professional interest in your military advisor."
Eyes widening, she tried to stifle a laugh and failed. "Really. That's ... probably not too surprising." She tilted her head. "You keep calling him that, you know."
"Pardon me?"
"'Your military advisor', as if I have some kind of responsibility. He's still your son."
A soft chuckle was her reward for that comeback. Laura marveled at how easily the words flowed between them. When there's no one else in the room to posture for, not even each other, it seems we can just ... talk. Amazing.
"Well, I can tell you're not too concerned. Captain Apollo would never take undue advantage of the situation; he is every inch an officer and a gentleman."
"Yes."
So much quiet pride, concentrated into a single syllable. She wondered how she could have ever thought him cold and unexpressive. His voice alone was alive with subtle nuances of emotion, if you paid close enough attention to it.
"Have you—" He hesitated again. "Did you ever contact Major Cottle after your ... twinge?"
Ah yes. My "twinge". Right. She could feel herself blushing again. "I have an appointment with him tomorrow, for treatment and an assessment."
"...I see."
The ever-so-slight catch in his voice caught her ear and her attention.
"Commander, I want you to know, I am fighting this illness with everything I have. My prognosis is very grave, but anything I can do to change it, I will."
A faint exhalation. "That's ... good to know." She heard him shift again. "You'll let me know if there's any way I can help?"
You just did. "Of course. Thank you." She swallowed around the tightness in her throat. "And what about you? Not too long ago you were being stitched back together from the inside. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, though there has been some discomfort today. I promised—that is, I should probably make a doctor's appointment myself."
Some discomfort. Her mind balked at imagining what Adama would label "some discomfort". "No need, Commander. I'll make sure Dr. Cottle sees you tomorrow after he's done with me." She allowed a hint of steel to edge her tone. You will take care of yourself, damn you, for—for all our sakes.
"Yes, ma'am." Message received, apparently. "I should let you get some rest."
"Yes, I suppose so." She reluctantly realized she would have to let him go. "Commander ... thank you for calling."
"Until tomorrow then, Madame President. Good night."
The comm light turned off.
Laura curled up in her chair, her eyes falling once again to the envelope on her desk. This time she yielded to the impulse to take out the stillshot once more and let memory wash over her.
What would have happened, I wonder, if we had found the courage to dance just a little bit closer?
Sudden realization struck, pulling a startled laugh from her.
Of course. Mayla Coiros surely wouldn't have sent a copy to me without also sending one to ...
Well ... and well.
Things will happen as they will, Elosha said. So ... we'll see what happens.
Laura laid the photo on the desk and went to bed, still smiling.