I love this chapter. I hope you do to!!! Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: I own nothing all belongs to Ron Moore, sci-fi ect.
To Laura Roslin's expectations the press seemed more shocked by the fading shiner she sported just to the side of her eye than by her chosen escort to the play. Apparently the speculation about her relationship with Adama was beginning to lose steam barely a week after the play had premiered.
The lights began to dim as the chatter inside the Vespa theater quieted. Roslin knew the grin on her face probably looked ridiculous and it still caused a little sting around her healing eye but it couldn't be helped. She was about to see a play in a theater. One of the things she missed most about the Colonies was the nights she spent at the theater. The lights, the excitement of an eager audience, the thrill of watching a story told with real people only a few rows away. If she hadn't had an excuse to see the play she wasn't sure her busy schedule would have allowed it otherwise.
Though she was loath to admit it, her excitement was also stirring because sitting next to her, as if they were on a date, was the Admiral. The whole scene was far too domestic and comfortable for Roslin to dare dwell on the fact. Besides, she was trying to prove to the press they weren't an item, not show them just how much of an item she wanted them to be.
"I arranged for us to meet the cast after the show," Adama leaned in to whisper to her just before the lights went out.
She smiled again. Being president did have its advantages. Bianca Marks was one of Roslin's favorite performers. Meeting her would be almost as thrilling as sitting next to the Admiral and watching the play.
Roslin was contented next to Adama and found herself glancing down at his hand every once in a while. Part of her she tried unsuccessfully to ignore wondering if they truly were on a date, would Bill have grabbed her hand? Roslin sat up straighter in the chair and mentally shook off the thought. Was she back in junior high?
Despite the comfortable space they shared during the play there was one scene that cause Roslin to, for lack of a better word, squirm. She did squirm, just as if she were watching something inappropriate with her mother looking over her shoulder. Bianca Marks and Jonathan Shipply, the actors playing Aurora and Saturn respectively, held nothing back in the love scene. Reading it on paper had not conveyed to Roslin the full passion of the scene. Before she shrugged it off as overly dramatic cliché romance but as it was acted out in front of her it was not so easy to ignore.
Roslin felt her face getting hot as she remembered that Saturn and Aurora, the two wrapped in each other arms on stage, were supposed to be her and the Admiral, who were sitting awfully close together in the audience. With clenched teeth Roslin cursed her own instinctive reactions. Naturally all eyes of the press where on them. She couldn't risk a blunder now. Either by a stroke of good luck or a twist of ironic fate she was able to channel her embarrassment into frustration.
Frustration. She hated that word. What had Adama said to her during the boxing match? He needed to take out his frustrations. Perhaps next time she should step into the ring and let a few fly. Anything was better than squirming.
The emotional climax of the play did not affect Roslin as she thought it might. Watching her own death on stage only added to her frustration. At least in the play, Aurora ended up with Saturn, even if she did die. Roslin doubted she would ever get that close to Adama.
Instead of an enjoyable evening at the theater like the ones she spent on Caprica she was only left with more frustration than a feeling of fulfillment. Not that the play wasn't good. It was fantastic and to show her appreciate Roslin gave the clearly hard working actors a standing ovation. Adama followed her lead as did the rest of the audience.
The crowd began thinning and Adama gestured for Roslin to follow him backstage. She was just stepping out from behind the isle when she was bombarded by the press. Although it was no great surprise, Roslin's temper was a little short and the long day she had caught up with her. Four reporters spoke at once.
"Madame President, can we get your reaction to the play?"
"Why did you attend with the Admiral?"
"What happened to your eye?"
"Are you and the Admiral a romantic couple?"
With a deep breath and a forced smile Roslin calmly answered each reporter in turn.
"The play was lovely. I hope everyone in the fleet plans to attend. It's hopeful. Beautiful. Clearly, hard work and craftsmanship went into the making. The Admiral and I attended together to show our mutual support for anything that encourages morale within the fleet. My eye can be explained simply, I tripped. And lastly, please for the love of Kobol stop asking me that frakking question. The answer is no, no, no, no. I can't make it plainer."
She knew it wasn't the most diplomatic response, and Tory would probably scold her in the morning but for right now telling the press to back off in such unfriendly terms felt good.
"Excuse me," Roslin smiled quaintly as she pushed past the open jawed reporters and through the stage door.
The press was allowed backstage but none of them dared follow. After her uncharacteristic outburst perhaps they finally took the hint. Roslin walked a little further backstage gaining polite smiles and greetings from an obviously ecstatic group of crewman and actors. When she finally came upon the Admiral he was smiling and chuckling softly at something the petite Bianca Marks had said. Though she tried to ignore it, a little, tiny, minute twinge of jealousy caught her off guard. She smiled through it.
"Laura," Bill greeted, his smile fading when he saw her.
Roslin's shoulders pulled back and she stood more rigidly. It was just her imagination; he probably didn't realize his change in emotion.
"I'd like you to meet Bianca Marks," he said.
The actress was much shorter than Roslin would have guessed and to Roslin's secret pleasure Marks' extremely attractive face was marked by a few wrinkles around her eyes. Of course, Roslin and Marks were probably the same age, yet the actress looked twenty years younger. The woman's dark eyes sparkled brilliantly even off stage.
Marks extended her hand. Roslin shook it a little too firmly and smiled.
"Madame President, the cast and crew are beyond honored that you came," Marks said, awe and sincerity in her sing song voice.
"Thank you. The play was wonderful," Roslin replied trying to match Marks' sincerity and not quite succeeding.
"It is such a relief to hear you say that. Playing a character based on a real person and having that person in the audience watching you is a bit nerve racking. I usually don't like to know when critics or other celebrities are in the audience," Marks explained splitting her attention between Adama and Roslin.
"You gave a great performance," Adama told her much to Roslin's surprise. This was not a man who gave compliments often.
"Thank you Admiral. Wouldn't you know, my biggest critic, Horton Drake survived the attacks and even he said if awards were still around I would have finally snatched a Caprican Theater Statuette. Oh well, can't win them all," Marks replied and Adama again smiled at her.
"Laura, did you know that Bianca and Jonathan Shipply wrote the play as well as acting in it?" Adama asked.
Roslin maintained her smile though the sincerity of it was leaking away and she couldn't figure out why. He called her Bianca. They were on a first name basis?
"No I didn't. It seems you would have won an acting award as well as writing," Roslin managed to say.
Marks smiled brilliantly and her whole face seemed to rise up to a new level of beauty.
"I hope…neither of you were offended at the relationship between Saturn and Aurora. The drama there was just too good for us to pass up, though I know we raised a few eyebrows with the press," Marks said carefully and slowly.
"Not at all," Adama answered before Roslin had a chance to, "The President and I have nothing to hide. Besides, Bianca Marks wouldn't be Bianca Marks if she didn't get her man."
The smile dropped from Roslin's face completely. Were they flirting!? Bill Adama was flirting with another woman in front of her? After they had just confessed their feelings? Of all the pig headed, arrogant, self righteous, lying hypocrites…
"Thank you Admiral. Can I buy you a drink? I mean both of you. The Vespa's bar is just down the hall," Marks asked after her music like laughter ceased.
"Certainly," Adama again spoke before Roslin could. The two turned to look at Roslin.
"I could use a drink," she muttered giving Adama a death glare to which he seemed oblivious.
Maybe if his eyes hadn't been blinded with stars he could have seen it. Adama nodded and offered his arm to Marks. Roslin clenched her teeth and followed behind them to the bar. This night just kept getting worse.
The bar was crowded and noisy. In one dark corner Roslin spotted a group of off duty Viper pilots and at the bar were a few members of the press. Marks lead them to dark booth near the rear of the bar. At least the actress knew how to keep herself unseen by prying eyes. Roslin wasn't sure being seen in a bar of this nature would be good for her reputation but she needed a drink. Marks gracefully slide into the booth and Adama sat next to her. Roslin was desperate for a drink.
Roslin figured because Bianca Marks spent the better part of the night flirting with Adama she didn't have time to consume the amount of ambrosia Roslin was able to. After her third full to the brim glass Roslin knew she needed to stop but the constant flirting drove her to it. The ambrosia drowned out the sound of Bianca's rich laughter and blurred the all-too-pleased-with-himself smile Adama wore. Her frustrations didn't seem so…she giggled to herself…frustrating, and the tension building in her shoulders disappeared with her inhibitions.
"Of course, we never would have gotten anywhere if not for Dr. Roslin's support on the education side," Roslin heard Bianca saying to Adama.
"I remember that," Adama replied, "It was a planet wide campaign for the arts in education."
"I was only disappointed I never got to meet the Secretary of Education in person," Marks said with a pleasant smile toward Roslin.
Though she tried to smile back Roslin was sure her lips curled into a sneer.
"I'm sure she was too," Adama said for Roslin.
She was really getting fed up with his putting words in her mouth. Marks' pleasant smile was directed back at Adama. Roslin took advantage of the silence by snagging a waiter walking past them.
"Could I get another," Roslin asked, proud of herself for not slurring any of the words.
She'd lost count of how many she'd had quite a while ago though she was sure the number was tallying up to four or five.
The waiter looked surprised and seemed to use his eyes to silently ask Adama for permission. The simple gesture might have been sweet under any other circumstances but right now the look only helped make Roslin more belligerent.
"I think you've had enough," Adama said with a stern low voice.
Roslin narrowed her eyes and glared intensely at the man sitting across from her.
"Oh, you do," she began, "Well, I can still see you so I obviously haven't had enough."
Roslin waved her hand for the boy to go get her another drink. When he just stared with wide eyes she sat a bit straighter.
"Do you need a Presidential decree? Go," she said and the waiter obeyed with even wider eyes.
"I apologize, Bianca. The President is usually civil, even pleasant, but not tonight," Adama told the actress.
"Be warned, Bi-an-ca. The Admiral is a typical man. Have at if you dare," Roslin replied, her voice mocking the actress' name.
"What exactly does that mean?" Adama questioned, his voice growing lower and more controlled with the passing conversation.
Roslin slouched in her seat and grabbed hold of the empty glass in front of her looking down into the pit of drunken despair.
"It means the play is a lie," she replied more to herself than the two others at the table with her.
"I don't think it's a lie," Marks began with seriousness, "I believe whole heartedly that you are the leader of the Prophesy."
As if Roslin didn't have enough reasons already to like the woman Adama was flirting with, now she had to go and play the religious card. The waiter returned to the table with another glass and instead of replying Roslin took a large sip.
"In fact," Marks continued despite Roslin's lack of attention, "Our belief in you was what inspired the play in the first place. You determination to find Earth gives the fleet the hope that we need to survive."
Perhaps Bianca's words were sincere but Roslin really didn't hear much after the word 'inspired.' Adama's entire visage was becoming more of a blur with each passing minute.
"What does any of it matter?" Roslin asked. "Bill doesn't believe in the Prophesy. He thinks it's a hoax. That will cause some martial problems for you two." Roslin giggled to herself.
Adama exchanged a looked with Marks that Roslin didn't pick up on.
"Madame President, I think we should get you back to your ship before you embarrass yourself further," Adama said as he got to his feet.
"Bianca I apologize for this evening. The play was lovely and as soon as the President is feeling herself I'm sure you will receive an apology from her."
"The hell she will," Roslin muttered into her glass again, "man stealer."
Bianca gracefully lifted to her feet and with a smile at the Admiral shook hands with him. Roslin lifted her eyes enough to see the action and then finished off the last of her drink.
"This evening was very…enlightening," Marks said, "Would you like some help with the President?"
"No. Leave her to me," he growled and Roslin rolled her eyes at his machoism.
"Well, then, goodnight Admiral, Madame President," Marks said with a nod and walked off elegantly.
Adama watched her go.
"I thought for sure you were going to invite her back to your place," Roslin snapped.
Adama's expression when he turned to her was one she remembered from long ago, when they had first met and he told her he wouldn't allow networked computers on his ship.
"Get. Up. Now."
The sheer force in his voice caused Roslin to swallow hard and sobered her just enough to make her obey his command. Once on her feet she was far too wobbly to stand. Adama's hand held her up by the waist.
"You're going back to Colonial One and hiding until you're sober again," Adama ordered.
Roslin's response was a giggle. He really was cute when he was angry. His eye twitched just a little and his mouth was tight.
"Yes, sir, Admiral," she mocked with a giggle and brought her hand up to give him a salute. The movement made her loose her balance and fall onto him.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked, his voice still a growl.
Roslin smiled. For some reason everything the Admiral said to her seemed funny.
"It all stems back to my childhood," she said and then laughed wildly at her own joke.
Not only did Adama not laugh but he started moving toward the direction of the hanger deck. Roslin giggled all the way down the hall and was irritated at the Admiral when he wouldn't let her stop to talk to people passing by. She always felt she didn't get out enough and mingle with the civilian fleet and this was the perfect opportunity.
Once inside the hanger deck Adama leaned Roslin up against a wall and disappeared out of view. When he returned after what seemed like forever Roslin threw her arms around his neck and hugged him like he was a giant fluffy bear toy.
"Don't breathe on me," the Admiral ordered grabbing Roslin by the arms and pushing her off him.
Roslin smirked and then smiled quaintly.
"What? You're not going to invite me back to your place either?" she asked and then giggled again.
Adama finally cracked a smile and brushed his over Roslin's cheek.
"You are going to hate yourself in the morning," he said, almost as if he was taking pleasure in her misery to come.
"Yes, but right now I love you," she said taking a step closer to him. "Who cares about the morning? Let's just live in this moment Bill."
Roslin leaned in with her lips ready and tried to will Bill into kissing her but he didn't move. She pushed on his chest with her hands and her expression turned cold.
"I know, you'd rather be with Bianca Marks right now," Roslin hissed.
Nearly before she had spoken the words Adama latched on to her by the wrists and with a grunt drug her to the waiting shuttle. Adama practically lifted the inebriated Roslin up through the open door of the raptor. The young pilot, who just happened to be an off duty Hotdog Adama snagged for this 'special' mission, stared at Roslin with jaw open until a look from Adama made him close it quickly.
"I told you the President wasn't feeling like herself tonight," Adama explained.
"My, you're a handsome boy," Roslin slurred as she stumbled out of Adama's reach and into the seat.
After a brief pause Adama continued.
"Please get us back to Colonial One with as little…attention as possible," Adama finished.
Roslin thought it was so sweet that he was looking after her with so much care.
"You do love me," she said to Adama and smiled widely at Hotdog whose attention she gained once again.
"She doesn't know what she's saying," Adama simply said which seemed to Roslin a confirmation of what she had said.
She giggled and tried to lean forward.
"Yes I do, Admiral Adama," she replied her tone presidential. "For the first time in ages I'm saying exactly what I mean."
Her intense stare was interrupted by a small hiccup which she couldn't help but react to with a chuckle. Her momentary presidential façade crumbled but she didn't care. Right now Laura felt like Laura. Years had passed since she remembered being so carefree. For a brief moment on New Caprica Laura had come out but once Adama rescued them the President forgot all about her first name.
"Let's go," she heard the Admiral order in an un-amused tone.
Laura rested her head back on the seat of the raptor and just relaxed. The ambrosia coursed through her veins and it felt good. She was light headed enough to slouch in the seat and close her eyes. Her blissful sleep was interrupted all too soon by a large cumbersome hand shaking her shoulder. Dreamily she opened her eyes and looked up at Adama.
"It's too early Richard," she said and suddenly realized where she was.
Her embarrassment sobered her a little and she snapped up in her chair.
"Come on, Tory is waiting for you," Adama rumbled.
He was not gentle as he helped her out of the raptor. She found it difficult to find her footing and slipped. Adama caught her and she laughed gaily.
"What did you do to her?" Laura heard Tory demand of the Admiral once they were on the deck of Colonial One.
"She did it to herself," Adama grunted.
Laura let her hands fall away from his arm and rested them on her hips.
"You liar," she accused, "If you hadn't been giving little Miss Sunshine Starlet goo-goo eyes I wouldn't be in this condition."
Laura felt her foot slip out of her high heeled shoe and she lost of little of the height she was using for intimidation. She put a hand on Adama's arm for balance and reached down to pull of her other shoe.
"This is bad. We have to get out of here before someone sees her like this," Tory said to the Admiral.
"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here," Laura told her assistant firmly.
"I beg your pardon Madame President but not all of you is here," the girl retorted with an exasperated smirk.
"Hotdog, myself and Bianca Marks—" Adama began but Laura cut him off.
"Ha!" She mocked.
Adama glared at her, a look she returned with pleasure.
"We're the only three who saw her like this. Hide her somewhere until morning and we may avoid disaster," Adama suggested to Tory, who stood with arms now folded.
The girl nodded and took Laura by the arm. She stopped and Laura heard Adama mutter something in her ear. It sounded like, "Go easy on her in the morning. She's going to have a heavy conscience."
The kind words made Laura smile. Bill was such a good man. He was her man, even if he did flirt with some else in front of her. As Tory led her clandestinely down a darkened hall toward her quarters Laura took pride in the fact her only competition for her man was an actress who in her younger day had once been called the most beautiful woman on Caprica.
After the thought settled into her mind she lost most touch with reality. She vaguely remembered Tory leaving her in her quarters. Within a few minutes she was passed out into a peaceful slumber on the bed, still wearing her dress suit. As the night wore on the soothing effects of the ambrosia wore of and subconsciously she became Roslin again.
Roslin did not sleep as peaceful as Laura had earlier in the night. She started to toss and turn twisting the smooth sheets of her modified couch bed into knots. Sweat started to form on her under the heavy blankets. Then the dreams began. Horribly frightening nightmares about the destruction of the Colonies and the reign of cylon's on New Caprica.
In the worst of them she was walking through a forest wearing a white nightgown. Mist engulfed the forest until she could only see a small distance in front of her. This dream was too familiar. Someone was casing her. She could hear screams in the distance.
Her heart pounded and she ran over the rocky ground until she heard another scream close by. The scream was a familiar woman's voice. Roslin glanced up at a planet hovering in the black starless sky. White clouds drifted above blue oceans and green continents. The planet's atmosphere faded into a dark symbol Roslin suddenly knew was very important. Inside the circular rim was a dead tree with a golden spiral in the center. The symbol turned blood red and began oozing downward dripping into the black night.
When she took her eyes away she was surrounded by Cylon centurions. Their metallic arms turned into weapons and glistened in the blood red light. From behind them she recognized some of the human Cylon models. As they closed in on her the metal centurions grew rusted and old and started to fall apart. Arms and legs started falling everywhere on the ground, clanking loudly when they hit the rocks. The cries of the dying human models rose above all other sound. One of the human models jumped out of the dark and tugged on the bottom of Roslin's nightgown, staining it with red. The model was Sharon Valerii.
Sharon rose up as the other Cylon's began fading away with death cries. Roslin felt weak. She collapsed with her legs unable to support her. She too began to fade away while Sharon stood taller and stronger. Roslin looked down to see her hands becoming rusted and her skin being eaten away by some unknown force. The pain in her chest she recognized from her cancer returned. The other cylon models where dragging her down with hands clasping to her nightgown.
Black smoke started to eat away at the sides of her vision as she watched the rocky cliff Sharon now stood upon lift higher into the sky. A black hole of disease was swallowing Roslin up with the rest of the Cylons. Roslin kept her eyes on the symbol in the sky, watching as Sharon drew closer to it as she fell further away. Without warning her vision was blocked by a Cylon Centurion coming at her with its long sharp fingers grabbing at her neck and a red eye watching her from above a fanged metal mouth.
"…ra…ame…ident…Laura," she heard a voice, faint and far away calling to her.
A voice calling from the real world. Roslin jerked herself upright feeling sweat on her skin. She blinked a few times and slowly recognized the familiar setting of her room on Colonial One.
The faint light from her nightstand hit her eyes with a painful sharp smack. Her arms groped from something to prove to her she was back in the real world now. A hand made contact with her arm, and her vision cleared enough for her to see Tory's alarmed expression. Only then did she remember her ambrosia consumption. It was by far the worst hangover of her life.
"Are you alright," she heard the voice again, this time faintly seeing it come from Tory's mouth.
She put a hand to her throbbing head.
"Tory?" Roslin choked out, still trying to shake the disturbing images of the dream.
"I came in early this morning and heard you screaming," Tory explained.
Roslin opened her eyes a little wider trying to take in the light from the room. Absently she ran her fingers across the scar on her hand.
"Nightmare," Roslin shrugged as if it were not a big deal.
It wasn't a big deal. A nightmare was a nightmare. Nothing more.
"It serves you right," Tory said smugly, "Do you know what a mess you were last night?"
Roslin's headache pounded harder the more awake she became. She stifled the groan of shame that threatened to come out.
"I don't think I want to remember," Roslin replied.
"Lucky for you the Admiral was discrete. If the press would have seen you Kobol only knows the kind of mess we'd be in," Tory scolded.
"Did he…" Roslin trailed off as vague images of the night before replaced the ones from nightmare.
Unfortunately, both images were scary.
"Tory, please send a gift basket to Ms. Marks with my apologies for last night," Roslin began, getting to her feet.
Tory sat on the bed and jotted notes in her black notebook.
"Also, send one to officer…uh…the one with the call sign Hotdog…either I don't know his name or it's not coming through this morning," she told Tory putting a hand on her forehead hoping to stop the pounding.
"I'll have to apologize to the Admiral myself," she mumbled. She was dreading that.
"Yes, you will. The President of the Colonies does not get drunk. People will start comparing you to Colonel Tigh. I guess it's a good thing Adama is used to it," Tory stated.
Roslin eyed the girl with amusement. Tory almost sounded like she was joking. Good thing Roslin knew her better than that.
"Can you think of anyone else I may have offended," Roslin questioned though she wasn't sure she wanted the answer.
Tory closed the black note book and folded her hands on top of it.
"Only me," the assistant said.
Roslin tilted her head and waited for an indication from Tory as to what the girl meant.
"You said that assassin was the best insult you could think of," Tory continued her mouth nearly curving upward at the ends.
Roslin flipped her hair back over her shoulder.
"Why would I say that?" She asked more to herself than to Tory. Even so, Tory answered.
"Because assassin has the word ass in it twice, so it was like calling someone a double ass."
Tory was holding in a smile now Roslin was sure of it. The President took a sly step towards Tory and put her hands on her hips.
"Then you started explaining to me why Dr. Baltar is the biggest assassin of them all, along with a colorful tune about his turn as President. Something about Baltar messed up big/but I don't give a fig/because I'm back in power/like a beautiful eternal flower," Tory finished triumphantly.
"Stop, just, stop…and please tell me that's the worst of it," Roslin said with a hand outstretched as if trying to physically stop Tory's words from reaching her. She was truly in awe of her own stupidity.
Tory lowered her head, seemed to collect herself, and then looked back up.
"Well," she sighed, "We could go into what you said about the Admiral but I really don't think you want to go there."
"Not at all, if you have any mercy," Roslin remarked coolly but she grinned at Tory and earned one in return.
"Would you accept an apology?" Roslin asked.
Tory still remained grinning and then rose to her feet.
"Madame President, the look on your face right now is better than any apology you could offer," Tory said.
Roslin let a chuckle escape once she figured out Tory really was in a joking mood today. I wonder what brought that on, Roslin mused to herself as she paced over to the window and looked out into the blackness of space. High above the fleet in the sky was the same tree symbol from her dream burning with a white glow. The sight startled her and she jumped backwards.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Tory questioned.
"Tory," Roslin began slowly, "Look out the window and tell me what you see."
Tory moved to a window at the foot of the couches.
"The fleet, ships, stars," Tory answered. Roslin sighed.
A nightmare was only just a dream.
"Do you see something else?" Tory asked.
Roslin shook her head and walked away from the window.
"It's nothing," she mumbled and then ordered Tory out of her quarters.
A few hours later she was dressed and behind her desk, fighting her hangover as she dealt with the daily issues of the fleet. The symbol stayed with her, and she found herself glancing out the window each time hoping it would be gone. Tory happened to walk in the office when Roslin was starting out the window.
"Still there?" Tory questioned, setting some papers in front of Roslin.
The President only averted her gaze and avoided answering.
"That's it. I'm calling Dr. Cottle," Tory said, and didn't give Roslin a chance to object.
Though Roslin hated visits from the doctor if she was seeing things that weren't there she wanted to know why. She only hoped Cottle would find an explanation.