The last thing Laura remembers is Bill, kissing her, a blinding flash of light then all encompassing dark; numbers, glowing white in the darkness like chalk on a blackboard. She remembers whispering them to Bill, remembers feeling his tears fall on her cheek, how hot they were on her chilled skin and then nothing; a nothing that stretches for minutes or hours or days, she's not sure which and she doesn't care, doesn't give it a second thought. It's quiet wherever she is, the dark is peaceful, no pain or grief or regrets intrude, no unsettling thoughts invade her mind, no messy feelings impinge upon her consciousness. It's a quiet kind of bliss, like being in the womb, cared for, body floating in nutrient, not a worry in the world.
But it's the quiet before the storm, the calm at the eye of the storm, the nothingness that exists only in the moment before the soul enters and ignites the flesh.
As soon as the thought enters her mind and takes root, the darkness gives way to light; smell and sound and feeling all return in a rush and she gasps as she opens her eyes, jerks upright and notes the pounding in her head, the tired ache of her body. Life Station, you're in Life Station, her brain supplies even as her body struggles to catch up. The overhead lights are too bright, blinding her, and she can't move her arms. Somewhere to her right monitors start beeping wildly as she raises her head in alarm. She almost loses it completely when the fact that she's in restraints registers. Cringing at the thought of all that they imply she starts struggling, unsuccessfully, to get them off. Cottle's familiar rumble stops her just in time from lapsing into a full blown panic attack.
"Lay back, young lady," he says, stubbing out his cigarette in a nearby kidney dish. He shines his penlight in her eyes and she blinks back unwanted tears at his familiar presence, even welcomes the smell of tobacco and stale cigarettes he carries with him wherever he goes. She never thought she would live to return here, never thought she'd see any of her loved ones again; and yes, she counts her crotchety doctor amongst them. How are they all going to react to the revelations Earth brought about her true nature? Did she indeed succeed in what she set out to do? Did Bill recognize the string of numbers for what they were? Where was he? Why wasn't he here? The logical part of her mind tells her he's probably busy in CIC, after all that's happened that would be the most logical place for him to be. The irrational part of her brain supplies the counter argument, he is utterly disgusted with her, told her everything was going to be alright only to get what he wanted from her, and then denounced her.
Scared and apprehensive, she utters the first words that come into her mind, dreading the answer will only confirm that her overwhelming fear of being ousted, rejected by the people that mean the most to her, is justified. "Why am I tied up?"
"Because you've been restless, young lady, and I didn't want you hurting yourself; worse, that is." He bends down and unties her restraints, pats her arm awkwardly.
She huffs a sigh in relief, Cottle's answer supplying her with the strength to ask the next question. "Where's Bill?"
Cottle motions at the next bed. Laura finds Bill there, fast asleep, looking exhausted. Even in sleep, the strain of what happened hasn't left him. He's lying on top of the blankets, his clothes are rumpled, his hair unkempt and he looks like he hasn't shaven in days.
"Is he hurt?" she asks, worried. She remembers him throwing herself over her to protect her, remembers blood on the sleeve of his jacket.
"Nope, or at least nothing serious; just tired himself out worrying over you. Now tell me straight, how do you feel?"
Taking stock of herself, Laura notes her hand hurts and is back in a proper cast, her side where D'Anna's bullet grazed her, throbs like a rotten tooth and her head aches abominably. She rubs her temple, feels the soft scratch of her scarf where it covers her pounding skull. "Like I went one on one with a Viper and lost?"
Cottle chuffs, disappears for a moment, returns and injects something into the IV taped to the back of her hand. "That should help," he says as he tosses the spent syringe in the bin.
It's only then that she thinks to ask. "How am I still alive?"
"Frakking miracle if you ask me," he says as he sticks a cigarette in his mouth, lights it and leans his head back, blowing smoke at the ceiling. "By all rights you should have been dead but somehow they got you back here just in time to give you another one of those shots." He gestures to her hip with the hand that's holding the cigarette and smirks down at her. "I know how much you love those."
"Hmm." She throws him a halfhearted glare, glad of the normalcy of their interaction.
"Counteracted the Chamalla overdose," he continues. "Close call though. When we got you stabilized I fixed your hand back up - again - the wound to your side needed only a few stitches and voila, you're good as new, better even."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she bristles, taking his remark as an affront, even though she knows better. Cottle, as is so often the case, ignores her.
"It's the strangest thing, Baltar, of all people, comes barging in here, insisting he knows how to cure your cancer. I'd already found a way to keep you with us a while longer; human blood. I figured if we just gave you regular infusions of it, and undiluted, not like when we used Hera's blood, you'd be okay. But Baltar said eventually you would build up a resistance. So he goes and pores over your files and I'll be Gods damned if he doesn't find a way to make it stick. Says the last time, the Cylon DNA eventually took over the human DNA that cured you and made the cancer rear its ugly head again. You know I'm far from stupid, some would even call me pretty smart, but even I didn't understand all of it, that man's too brilliant for his own good. Long story short; Baltar's in my lab for a couple of days, sweating and making crazy eyes, spouting a lot of mumbo jumbo and the upshot is, you're cured."
"Oh." Something clicks into place, something else becomes unglued. She is no longer dying. Can it be that everything is going to work out after all?
"You sound disappointed?" He raises his bushy eyebrows, his face a perfect question mark.
She shakes her head no. She is no longer dying. "Stunned, happy, confused, maybe a bit hesitant to believe," she clarifies. "Mostly, I'm flabbergasted, actually. Baltar helped you?"
"Yep, bowled me over too, but whatever caused his change of heart, I'm glad it did; fleet's best off with you at the helm. Well, the metaphorical helm, that is. I think the Admiral and his crew best keep piloting the actual ships."
"How can you joke like that?" She lashes out, furiously. "How can you say you're better off with me?"
"Because we are?"
She needs to say it out loud, needs to make it real in the face of his trademark sarcasm. "You have been apprised of the fact that I'm a Cylon, right? The last of the Five?"
"So what? You know me, never one to take sides. Besides, you're Laura Roslin, are you not?"
"So?"
His voice softens, his entire posture softens. "That's enough for me; you're the best frakking thing to happen to us, ever." She thinks she's never seen him so serious.
"Don't be so sure about that."
"I am, so is just about everyone else."
"How?"
He just shrugs his shoulders. Frustrated at his non answer, she casts about her, remembering how she was able to read things so clearly when she was under the influence of the Chamalla, but either her heightened percipience was caused by the overdose of Chamalla in her system or the drugs Cottle gave her are dampening those perceptions. Whatever it is, she has no more idea what Cottle or anyone else is thinking than she had before all of this happened.
"You know what, I'll let the Admiral answer that," Cottle says as a noise from the other bed alerts them both to the fact that the Admiral is rousing from his slumber. Cottle squeezes her good hand. "Just take it easy, alright? Don't keep nagging him with questions, try to get some sleep; most everything will keep until tomorrow."
Laura nods mutely and watches him leave in a cloud of smoke; unable to believe what he told her is true. She needs someone else to confirm it, needs Bill to tell her everything will be alright, that she will be alright. She needs him to assure her that the acceptance she saw in Cottle does indeed extend farther than just her small circle of intimates, extends, most importantly, to him. Though he's already shown it to her up on that hilltop, somehow, it won't seem real until he confirms it back here, on Galactica, their home.
Blurry blue eyes meet hers as she shifts her gaze to Bill. He's yawning and stretching, working out the kinks as he slowly wakes up in the bed next to her. Once their eyes meet, he's instantly alert, jumps from the bed with an agility befitting a much younger man.
"Bill?" She strains to sit up but her muscles won't obey, her body is still in the grip of a fatigue so profound it's all she can do to raise her hand to meet his halfway. He grasps her fingers in a gentle grip, kisses her knuckles one by one. His glad smile warms her heart like nothing else can or ever could.
"Stay down, you're still weak," he whispers.
"I may be weak, but I'm cured," she says, the wonder of it still fresh, the truth of it having hardly had time to sink in.
"I know." His radiant smile is like a gift. She accepts it gladly, reaches out and beckons him to her. He bends over her and she touches his face, runs her thumb lightly over his stubble. He clasps her fingers in his, pushes his face into the palm of her hand. His other hand strokes her cheek, his forefinger running just under the edge of her scarf, caressing her brow. The familiarity of their interactions, his loving touch, so gentle, makes the tight knot in her stomach unravel a bit.
"How long have I been here?" she finally asks, breaking the spell but needing to know.
"Four days."
She can't suppress her consternation at that. "I've been out four days?"
"Yes."
"And you've been here the whole time?"
He puts her hand down on the bed next to her, covers it with his own, much larger one and sits down in the chair beside her. Wincing as the movement pulls at the stitches in her side, Laura angles her body towards him, dismayed at the effort it takes. Ignoring her weakness, she focuses instead on Bill's exhausted voice, his eyes, where the remnants of fear still swim behind his relief.
"Yes, well most of the time, Kara and Lee took turns when I was needed in CIC, Dee and Caprica too, Saul even, if you can believe it."
"Bill, I…"
"Don't talk, just rest." His voice is a velvety whisper, his fingers stroke a path along her arm, from shoulder to fingertips, trailing warmth into her skin. She wants to just let go, be comforted by his presence, sleep for about a week, do as the good doctor ordered. She suspects Cottle slipped her a sedative when he'd administered the painkiller, her eyes keep refusing to focus, her eyelids droop of their own accord, sleep is beckoning and she longs to follow. She doesn't have time for that though; four days. She'd already been out of the loop for four whole days, she needs to know what happened, needs to know what is going on with the fleet, needs to know how much of what happened on Earth has made it back up here, how the people are taking the news, so many other things besides.
Fighting to stay awake just a little bit longer, she struggles to sit up straighter, slaps feebly at Bill's hands as he tries to push her back. "I can't, not yet, I need to…"
He gives in, looking aghast, probably at the breathless quality of her voice as she strains to push herself upright and talk at the same time, it unnerves her too. Carefully, he helps her sit up straight, pushes pillows behind her back, propping her up.
As he helps her up, Bill keeps up a companionable patter, probably as much to distract her as to prevent himself from swearing at how weak and hurt she is. She can still read him like a book most of the time and thinks that that's something that will never change. "Lee and Kara told me to tell you to take it easy by the way," he says as he sits back down. "Told me to tell you to get better soon."
"They're both okay?"
"They're both fine, Kara didn't even suffer a scratch and Lee is recovering nicely."
"That's not quite what I asked."
"I know, I know." He says thickly, running his hands through his hair. "They're as shaken up as the rest of us, more so, but they'll be okay. I even think they finally gave in and might be getting together for real now."
"Good." Some of the lassitude leaves her, now that she's no longer on her back, she's grateful he helped her up, even against his better judgment.
"Yeah, about time." A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth, it's there and gone but it gives her the courage to face the next question.
"The fleet?"
"We jumped them away before the shooting started; the civilian fleet's all present and accounted for."
"But not your people."
It's not a question and his face twists as he answers her. "We lost a lot of good pilots, crewmen too; Helo and Brynn didn't make it."
Oh Bill. Wanting to give him something to assuage his pain, she tells him, "I saw them." At his surprised glance, she recounts for him what she experienced, what she saw, the river of stars, the souls of their loved ones, their fallen comrades, tells him of the Centurions, the Hybrids, how she freed them, how they pledged their allegiance to her.
"So that was you too?" he says, wonder and awe coloring his voice, replacing loss. "Saul guessed as much, but he didn't look like he believed it himself. You're what stopped the battle, made them stand down?"
"I guess." She shrugs and curses herself when her side twinges in reproach. "Is Sharon alright? Hera?"
"Grieving, as expected, but they'll pull through, they have lots of help." He pauses, looks down at his hands. "Heavy casualties."
"I'm sorry I didn't get there in time," she says, feeling the weight of it, shouldering it with him. "Redwing, Hotdog, all of them, I could have saved them if I'd figured it out sooner."
"Don't blame yourself; you saved all the rest of us." He shakes his head. "I can't believe we have even more to thank you for."
"What do you mean, even more?"
"Those coordinates you gave us? You remember that, right, just before you passed out?" She nods and he smiles and his smile is like the sun dawning over Lake Caprica. "We're about six jumps away from finding the Thirteenth Tribe, maybe claiming our new home."
She gasps then, feels the truth of it. "I didn't dare hope."
"Yet you gave us all hope when we thought that all hope was lost."
"So they're not all out to lynch me?" she only half jokes.
"Nope, far from it. Even if this turns out to be another dud," he raises his hands as she starts to protest, "which I for one don't think will happen, but even if it does, we're no longer running for our lives, we've got time now, time to find a new home, time to settle down, in peace. The people know they have you to thank for that, they're slowly adjusting to the rest."
"And you? Are you okay with what I am? Are we okay?" She looks down at her lap, feels a sob constricting her throat, her eyes feel raw with the need to cry. He's already shown her how he feels, time and time again. From the moment their eyes met as he was waking up, he's been nothing but sweet and gentle, but she needs to hear him say it.
"Laura," he murmurs as he ducks his head, tries to catch her gaze. The sincerity in his voice, the blaze of love in his eyes, it's all too much for her, fat tears wet her lashes, plop down onto the blanket one by one. He hooks his finger under her chin, forces her to face him. His thumb swipes at the tears slowly dampening her cheeks "It does not matter to me what you are or where you came from, just that you are here, with me. If there's one thing this whole mess has made perfectly clear, it's that it's our actions that define us, not our origins.
"That and that I love you beyond reason."
The knot in her stomach finally loosens and she takes a shuddering breath. "Will you hold me, please?"
"Ah, Laura." He bends over her, awkwardly hugs her to him; she presses her face into the crook of his neck, clings to him desperately as the tears she's kept pent up all this time finally start to fall in earnest, wetting the fabric of his uniform. Sobs wrack her body and in a paroxysm of sorrow she pounds her fist into his chest, trying to expel the fury of her grief. He just holds her, rubbing circles into her back as all the fear and rage and heartbreak of the last few days, the last few years, come pouring out in a flood.
"I'm sorry, Bill," she hiccups at last. "I'm so, so sorry. I never meant to deceive you; I didn't even know what I was until…"
He shushes her. "You have nothing to be sorry for, you cannot fault yourself for the way you came into being, none of us can."
As ever, he touches right upon the thing that bothers her most, even if he has no way of knowing this time. "But I chose this, I chose to inhabit a human body," she says, as she draws back out of his embrace so she can face him head on; even if tears are still streaming down her cheeks. "Instead of waiting until I could resurrect into a Cylon one, I moved into this body, I chose to cross that bridge."
"What do you mean?"
"I came to the colonies with the rest of the Five; I died just before we reached Caprica." Calmer now, she wipes away the last of her tears
"I know," he says as he reached for the box of tissues on her bedside table, pauses as she blows her nose. "I spoke at length with Tyrol and Anders and Saul. I know everything and there's nothing in anything I heard that will ever change how I feel about you."
Grateful for his acceptance, she still needs to tell him, needs to get the sting of it out. "I resurrected in a human body, I don't know how I did it, but I did, and…"
"You did so out of need, you were aware of the timeline, you could not afford to languish; you had a plan but time was short. Saul told me all about it."
"But still, I stole a body someone else was destined to claim." There, it's out in the open now, maybe the worst crime she committed against the race she had so long claimed as her own.
He just shakes his head. "Maybe," he says, "and maybe you took the natural next step in the evolution of your species. Maybe that body was meant for you to be born into. In fact, I couldn't think of you in any other shape or form, you're perfect and that can certainly not have been an accident."
She snorts at that. "You should have seen me as a blonde then."
"Blonde, huh? I would have paid to have seen that."
"Pity. You're only, what… three lifetimes too late?" She sighs as some of the tension eases with their shared banter, still, there's so much more to be said. "But seriously, sometimes it seems that all life is, is just a series of accidents; that there is no fate, no predestination, no grand design, just a sequence of random events, strung together without rhyme or reason. Believing in a higher power just seems like foolishness."
"You don't mean that."
"I don't know that I don't." She sighs, looks down. Her fingers are haphazardly plucking at the blanket covering her, a nervous gesture she stills as soon as she becomes aware of it. "I don't know what I believe in anymore."
"The Gods, God?"
"They don't exist except in the minds of the people, they are constructs, ordinary people deified for doing extraordinary things, and maybe that's okay, maybe not. I do now know nothing about them should be taken literally, trust me, I should know, I became one myself; it was not a good experience."
He chuckles, blindsides her with the next question. "What about Pythia?"
It takes her a moment to recover, to formulate her reply. "Parables, folklore. She thinks of Elosha, walking around with her on an abandoned Galactica discussion theology and smiles. "She got a lot of things right, just as many things wrong too."
"Was she wrong about the Dying Leader?"
There is the rub, she thinks as she strives to answer him as honestly as she can. "I don't know. I think it's me, or rather, as it seems, was me. I led the Five to the colonies, the Promised Land of the Twelve Tribes, I died, just before we reached them; the Dying Leader shall not live to enter the new land. It appears I already lived that part of the prophecy, sort of."
"How can you say all that and still maintain you don't believe anymore?"
"I guess maybe a lot of things need to be redefined, huh?" Bill chuckles and she smiles with him.
"I think you're very right there," he replies.
"I believe in something, though," she says. "More than I've ever believed in anything else."
"What's that?"
"You."
He grins that lopsided, full toothed grin she loves as he leans in and rests his forehead against hers. "Good, because I believe in you."
He kisses her then and she throws her good arm around his neck, getting her IV line hopelessly tangled in the buttons of his jacket. She doesn't care, doesn't hear the shrill beep of the various monitors she's hooked up to when her readings go haywire. All she's aware of is the feeling of Bill's lips, moving against her own. , his tongue as it swipes across her teeth, pushes into her mouth. She responds in kind, explores his mouth as if she's discovering him anew, and in a sense, she is. His hand moves to the back of her neck and he presses them ever closer and their kiss turns from tender to passionate, hot and heavy with want. She doesn't mind the bruising force of it, she needs the connection, needs this last piece of evidence to fall into place, he's still hers, she's still his, the heat and passion of their kiss seals it. They don't pull apart until they hear Cottle approach, cursing up a storm.
"What the frak is going on here?" he thunders as he barges in on them in a cloud of smoke. "You two already at it like frakking bunnies? Get a grip, at least wait until you're out of my sickbay, Gods."
Laura grins up at Cottle, unabashedly, and then surprises herself by yawning into Bill's shoulder, perhaps she is not as alert as she'd thought. "When will that be?" she hears herself asking, even as her eyelids grow too heavy to keep open and she drifts, secure in Bill's arms. The answer is lost on her, but the feel of Bill, kissing her forehead as she nods off, is what she takes with her into her dreamscape. Just before sleep claims her, she feels a small smile curl around the corners of her mouth and with a start she realizes she is content.