Bill's eyes took a second to adjust to the dim lights in the Number Ten, but he could hear Saul as soon as he and Cottle came in, arguing with Tom Nuttall over the lack of understandable card games. As his vision adjusted, he saw the empty shot glasses in front of his XO and sighed. He'd been dragging Saul out of dives almost half his life…at least this time nobody was bloody.

Henry Manning was paused halfway between the bar and Saul, a bottle in one hand, a sawed-off shotgun in the other, waiting for instructions from his boss. Both Henry and Tom seemed relieved at their arrival, Tom sending them off with an invitation to return once they got their friend sorted out.

Saul had been "sorted out" in short order, once Bill and Doc Cottle had wrangled him into the Gem, Cottle settling in at a table with the XO. Al called to Bill from his office then, asking for a word with him, a note of concern in his voice.

"I need to speak with the owner, Doc. Are you going to be okay down here?" Bill asked.

Cottle quirked an eyebrow at Saul. "I doubt he can come up with anything I can't handle."

Saul snorted, and then looked around the room, watching the Gem girls in various states of undress as they made their way around the tables.

"At least the scenery's better than in that other dump."

Cottle waved Bill towards the stairs. "We'll be fine. Go talk to the guy."

Bill had barely taken a seat in front of the heavy oak desk before Al started, eyes grave.

"I met with your wife earlier."

Bill started to bristle at the man's presumptuousness, but as Al described the conversation, he felt a small wave of relief. It was good to hear someone else echoing his concerns about her return. Maybe she would take it better from someone not so close to her.

Al's eyebrows shot up when Bill admitted that some of Laura's story was true, even as he hedged on the details. After they paused to pour fresh drinks, Al stepped out to the stairs and called Johnny to fetch Merrick from the newspaper office.

With Johnny dispatched on his errand, Al excused himself to check on Cottle and Saul. He returned to the office, smirk playing around his lips just as Merrick lumbered through the back stairs door, arms laden with books and maps, an intensely curious expression on his face.

Merrick seemed dispirited when Al shooed him back to his editor's desk with his curiosity unresolved. Bill watched as Al began opening books and unrolling maps across his desk. He didn't speak as Al arranged everything to his satisfaction, holding down corners of sepia-toned maps with a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. Finally, he looked up at Bill and put on his reading glasses.

"I suppose an active imagination is a helpful fuckin' trait in those who work with the young. And who among us hasn't exaggerated our burdens at one time or another to garner sympathy or impress upon others the fuckin' gravity of our plight?"

He looked down at the map in front of him, then looked at Bill over the tops of his glasses. "It may be that the burdens you've not chosen to share with me have to do with some type of resettlement. Perhaps friends and family of some number have been displaced from their homes, and Mrs. Adama's...misrepresentation has more to do with fuckin' scale than veracity."

Bill bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Apparently Al had mentally knocked a few zeros off the figure Laura had given and had rearranged the facts in his head to come to a reasonable explanation. As Al called for Dan to go ask Laura to join them, Bill wondered how she would take Al's assumptions that she was partially delusional. Interesting that he was still willing to try to work out a deal. The man seemed to be a master of hedging bets.

He found himself curious as to what the professional schemer had come up with, even if he was thinking in terms of a few dozen people instead of thousands. And with his ability to look at everything with his ledger columns in mind, Bill wasn't surprised that Al was ready to discuss arrangements that, for a fee, would cover a variety of situations.

He leaned over the desk as Al picked up his pen, filled it with fresh ink, and opened his accounts book.

"Let's say, for the sake of argument, that your wife isn't a lunatic..."

By the time Dan had gone to the Grand Central Hotel and escorted a stone-faced Laura up the back stairs, Bill had started to feel a glimmer of hope. She was obviously still angry over his rash threat to remove her from office, but at least she had come.

An hour later, the two of them left, again going through the newspaper office. Bill's mood had improved enough to be courteous to Merrick as he brushed off the editor's questions. Laura had done more thinking than talking, but he reminded himself to be grateful that she was willing to think about options at all.

As Dan reassured them that Saul and Cottle would be fine, Bill and Laura headed back to the hotel for their last night in Deadwood.

Bill leaned against the dresser and watched Laura as she hung up her black and white patterned shirtwaist and skirt. The soft glow from the oil lamps hadn't changed since their first night in Deadwood; same yellow flame, same frosted glass lampshade etched with vines and flowers. It looked different tonight, and he knew it was because he was seeing it for the last time. Seeing her skin, her eyes, her hair in its glow…he was going to miss this.

Laura paused as she rolled down her stockings. Bill wondered if she had any idea how erotic her pose was, poised there with one stocking-clad foot on the bed, the white cotton ruffles of her petticoat bunched up at the top of her thigh while she undressed.

"Why aren't you getting ready for bed?"

Bill was still dressed in his denim trousers and heavy cotton shirt, boots still on. He wanted nothing more than to lock the door, strip everything off and try to love her enough to last them through their return to Galactica and whatever came after. But as she kept reminding him, they had responsibilities.

"I'm gonna check on Saul and Doc before I come to bed." He came up behind her and put light hands on her shoulders. She didn't react as he leaned towards her, his lips an inch away from her skin. He could hear her sigh as she pulled the black stocking off of her foot and shifted, starting the process on her other leg. She moved like he wasn't there at all.

"It'll just take a minute. Do you feel like waiting until I get back?"

Second stocking gone, she turned to face him, and his breath caught for a moment. She was wearing the finer-spun cotton chemise, a ribbon threaded through the lace. The corset she'd hated before she got used to it accentuated her curves even after she'd loosened the laces. The light behind her illuminated the shadowy outline of her legs through the thin white petticoat. He wished he had a camera with him. She was so pretty like this, half-dressed and her hair already down, falling over her shoulders and catching the lamplight's glow.

He'd seen her in less clothing on Galactica and Colonial One. He'd seen her in less on his visits to New Caprica. This was different.

He'd never seen her so beautiful as she was in this rough primitive town. Her healthy color was almost a taunt, reminding him of what they were going lose, starting tomorrow. His feelings must have shown in his eyes, as she nodded and returned his regretful look.

"I'll read a little more of that book of sonnets. I guess this'll be my last time of reading by an oil lamp." She smiled. "That part of being here has been nicer than I would have expected."

Bill swallowed hard and hoped that all the other parts had been nicer than expected, as well. Probably best not to go into that now. He hoped for another hour or two of denial, of pretending to be man and wife before they fell asleep and woke up as Admiral and President again.

"I'll be back before you know it." He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand, then left, closing the door quietly behind him as he went to Room 5.

.

##################

.

Cottle had a slight flush to his face, the whiskey poured at the Gem being smoother and easier to drink that the ship-brewed rotgut. Saul snored in the narrow bed nearest the window, oblivious.

"How's he doing?" Bill asked quietly.

"He'll be fine. The girl scraped most of the mule dung off his pants." He snorted. "At least all the shit in the street cushioned his fall. I've tried to tell him intoxication would frak with his depth perception and being aware of what's on his blind side, but…he's been in a mood since we lost your Raptor."

Bill leaned against the door, arms folded. "I'm kind of surprised you okayed him to be at the Gem."

Cottle pulled a hand-rolled cigarette from a pouch in his pocket and turned the flame in the table lamp up to light it. He took a deep drag, obviously savoring the smoke before blowing it back out.

"Have you tried these? The blond girl over there—the one who's not a prostitute, says she's kind of a friend of Laura's—gave me these. They're really good." He took another drag and stared at the embers at the tip.

"Don't change the subject, Doc. In Saul's condition—"

"In Saul's condition, capping off weeks of worry with you leaving him behind at the Raptor while we came into town, I thought blowing off some steam and getting laid couldn't hurt, and might do him some good. I'd rather see him do that than grit his teeth through his CIC shifts, then hole up in his quarters, drinking alone until it's time to do it again."

Bill sighed and looked at his snoring XO. He was sleeping on his back, supine and relaxed. Bill had come into his quarters a few times after the exodus and found him half-asleep, curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around himself like he was seeking protection in his sleep. Maybe Cottle had a point. He didn't look as damaged now as he had when Bill saw him last. Still…

"Any concerns about disease? I mean, you saw the townspeople in the streets and saloons. Those are the girls' customer base."

"I'm going to give him a broad-spectrum antibiotic when we get back. Should knock out anything he might've picked up. I did have a chat with the local doctor while I waited, though. For what it's worth, he says he checks them every week for signs of disease. Interesting guy. Asked some questions about Saul's eye, if he'd been traumatized during the war. I kept it vague." He drew another puff and let it out slowly.

"How's she doing?" he asked.

"Now that we've actually got a plan, she seems better."

Cottle snorted. "After you quit talking about relieving her of duty, you mean."

A flush crept up from Bill's collar. "That was a mistake. I shouldn't have done that." He looked down at the rough wooden floor. "She told me I had been derelict in my duties…and she's right. I should have followed procedures for rescue."

He looked up at Cottle, uncertain. "It was just…we'd been through so much—she'd been through so much and I hadn't been able to help her then." His voice turned hard. "I broke the rules for selfish reasons. If anyone should be relieved of their position, it's me. If she feels she has to do this to feel like she's honoring her responsibilities, I don't have the right to stop her."

Cottle ground out his cigarette with a touch of wistfulness. Bill suspected there'd be a bigger pouch of native tobacco and papers carried on the trip back.

"It's a good compromise, Admiral. We're burning some fuel with the trips down, but the people who're willing to go are enjoying the rotation. They liked the feel of grass under their feet and the fresh air, and I think it helped that they all know they'd be back in the Fleet within a few hours. It's been good for morale…from my viewpoint, it's worth the tillium. Frankly, I can't imagine why that region is so empty. It's a beautiful area. Hell, I plan to do a rotation after we get back and I set up some tests for the president."

Bill watched Saul's chest rise and fall a few more times, envying him his peace at the moment. "Transportation's an issue on this world. They don't have air travel, so getting to those areas involve sailing ships over long distances. They're gonna be pretty isolated for some time."

"Well, that's the kind of thing the Quorum…the people need to hear. That, and plans for protection from the Cylons. But you and the president have got to be together on this, and the more New Caprica settlers buy into this, the better." Cottle turned to Saul's sleeping figure. "At least he's more likely to look at this favorably than he was before. Maybe getting to interact with some of the locals helped."

"I'm surprised he wanted to be with a prostitute. I guess I was expecting him to be more torn up over losing Ellen," Bill said.

Cottle knitted his eyebrows. "I think he was, in a way. The first girl your friend brought out was a pretty blonde, had long wavy hair. He didn't react well to that at all. But when he brought a different girl over, they seemed to hit it off better than I expected. I never thought he'd agree to a bath in a brothel, but she shepherded him upstairs with no problem."

"Huh. Do you remember who it was?"

His hand trying to hide a yawn, Cottle answered, "Reddish hair, a bit on the plump side. Your friend said she was experienced in dealing with 'querulous old men'."

Bill finally laughed, the first time he'd done so all day. "Dolly. Saul must have made an impression on Al…she used to be his favorite before he started his involvement with Mrs. Ellsworth."

"You sound like you put some time and effort in to getting to know these folks, Admiral. I agree the people need a voice in what happens next, but part of me really hopes that your efforts won't go to waste."

Bill opened the door and checked the hallway before he stepped out, relieved that there was no sign of Farnum to be seen.

"At least the next decision of this magnitude will be an informed decision."

The doctor nodded. "I just hope we can keep her healthy enough to be part of it."

Bill turned towards their rooms. "So say we all."

.

##########################

.

The old man had finished his cleaning and was back in front of the mounted moose head again, standing on the landing below Bill and offering up the small pair of antlers he always had somewhere on his person. Bill looked down and realized Richardson was part of what he would miss, the soft-spoken elder with the odd intelligence that came and went.

"Mr. Adama, may I have a word with you?"

"Sure."

Bill turned down the short flight of stairs, Richardson meeting him halfway. The old man scrabbled in his deep apron pocket for a few seconds, then pulled out another small antler, rubbed smooth and forked at the top. Bill examined it, running a finger over the thin velvet coat that covered the horn.

"So small...why would anyone bother to kill such a young animal?" The light weight and delicate lines saddened him for the life lost.

"Oh, that wasn't from a kill, Mr. Adama. The young'uns shed their baby antlers, make room for new growth. You see a bunch of these in one spot, all different sizes, you know you've found a place where the herd comes back year after year." His watery eyes looked hurt. "I wouldn't give anything to Mrs. Adama with death on it. This is for regrowth and returning." His eyes cleared at Bill's slow nod.

I'll be prayin' for safe travels, Mr. Adama. For all of you."

.

###################

.

The lights were low in the front room and Bill had a moment of fear that she had finally gone to bed, then he saw her curled up on the loveseat under the window, book held close to the lamp as she read. Her shoulders had that soft rose-gold sheen he loved and he thought about requisitioning more candles for his quarters when they returned, maybe see if they could capture the same effect.

She looked more peaceful than she had all day. He decided the book was coming back with them.

"Everything okay?" Her voice had that little hum and he knew her mind had eased.

"Yeah. Saul...he's asleep. Cottle said the time spent at the Gem seemed to have helped." He sat down next to her on the narrow loveseat.

She marked her place in the book with a ribbon before she closed it. "Should I ask?"

"I'll save that story for when we're back on Galactica and need a break." He couldn't imagine what they would be walking back in to…weeks behind on everything and a Fleet that would want answers to all the questions about their disappearance, but he knew it'd be rough. And then thinking about her cancer coming back, watching for that…his gut clenched as he thought about the breaks they would need and probably wouldn't get.

"You ready for your last night as my wife, Mrs. Adama?" His tone was wistful as he watched her get up and start to unfasten her corset.

She kept her head turned away from him. "Bill, if you had done things like you should have, contacted Galactica, told me what was going on…if you had followed all the rules, how long would we have been here?"

He could hear the guilt in his voice as he answered. "About a week, probably. Depending on atmospheric conditions."

She looked at him then. "And in a week, we wouldn't have realized something was reversing my cancer. We would have gone back, and it would have progressed as Doctor Cottle's tests said it would."

Her eyes were glistening now. "And according to his tests, I would probably be dead by now. But I'm not, because you let your feelings overtake your rules." She slipped the chemise off of her shoulders and let it pool at her feet.

"And our people have some options today that they didn't have before, because you let your feelings get in the way," she said, as one tear traced down her cheek. She held his gaze as her fingers worked the buttons through the buttonholes on her petticoat and let it drop as well. The underdrawers soon followed.

She stood in front of him like a gilded statue of Aphrodite, her thick auburn hair curling to the tops of her breasts, her hands clasped in front of her.

"No, Bill. I'm not ready for this to be our last night. I know things will be different when we're back in the Fleet, and I know a lot of this was just pretending." She reached for his hand, and as he rose, she brought it to her lips and kissed his fingers.

"But the part that wasn't…"

He held her hands in his and brought them to his lips in turn. "The part that felt like we were really married?" he asked hesitantly.

She nodded. "I don't think I'll ever be ready for that to be over."

Her skin was warm through his clothes, and an overwhelming need came over him to be skin to skin with her.

She moved closer, trapping their clasped hands between them, her lips next to his ear as she whispered, "I think a part of me will always be 'Laura Adama', no matter what happens. No matter what we have to do for the Fleet. For as long as you'll have me."

He stepped back and held her face between his hands. Part of him wanted to stop what he was doing and go find a priest, even as he knew there were none to be found and no time to look, and he didn't know if she would have accepted it if he did. That didn't make him want it any less.

Her lips were warm and soft against his as he kissed her as gently, as softly as if they'd been in a temple. He'd never felt more married as he did right now, with this woman.

At her smile, he bent down and put his arms under her knees and back, sweeping her up until she rested against his chest. "I accept whatever part of you wants to be Mrs. Adama, with all my heart, for as long as you want me."

He caught their reflection in the dresser mirror, her looking like a primeval goddess and him looking like an old soldier playing at being the hero. If he had any sense he'd feel silly, or scared of what the future held for them both. Instead, he felt that wave of right-ness he'd caught when he first told her the truth.

"And for now, the other parts need to take a hike. Mr. Adama is ready to take Mrs. Adama to bed."

.

########################

.

Laura stretched out on the bed, amazed at how quickly her feelings of sadness for all that was ending had changed until she felt like a bride on her honeymoon. The morning would change things, although maybe not as much as she had feared. Even if her cancer came back as soon as she left the planet, she'd have this night, free and clear.

She watched him start to undress, noticing how trim and muscular he'd become in a few weeks. She hoped he would have time…no, make time, to keep up this new hardness his body had taken on.

And not only his body.

Her gaze slipped lower as she smiled appreciatively at his hardening erection. Being together would be difficult to manage, with their schedules and being on different ships, security details, and a million other frakking things, but they'd find a way. As long as she was healthy enough to handle it, they would steal a few hours for themselves here and there, maybe carve out a night or two for themselves out of shipboard routine and spend the night in his quarters.

She was glad now that she'd told Swearengen everything, although he still seemed on the fence as to whether she had lost her mind. She supposed she owed him a debt of gratitude for forcing her and Bill both to put their cards on the table, although she suspected he had already calculated what he stood to gain from whatever happened next.

As to what had driven him to lecture her about questioning whether the prophesies really meant she had to be the Dying Leader…she'd speculate about that another time. Right now she meant to admire the lines and planes of the form of her lover…no, her husband, at this moment at least, before he dimmed the lamp and got into bed.

"What do you want, Laura?" he murmured near her ear as he moved over her, ending his question with a light nip to her earlobe. "Anything..." He began naming some of the things they'd tried in their too-brief sojourn in Deadwood.

"I want you to stop talking and come here." Laura pulled him down roughly until his mouth was on hers. Her tongue was dancing against his and her teeth grazed his lips and the corner of his mouth. She could feel him almost sinking into her as they kissed, and then he pulled back, as if he was afraid of matching her fervor.

Like he was already worrying about hurting her.

She wrapped her fingers through his hair and pulled down in one long, strong steady motion, not letting up until his face was against her cheek.

"Godsdamnit, Bill, I don't know how soon I'll have to ask you to be gentle, to take it easy." She was practically hissing the words and they came out hot and sharp against his neck. "While I can still take it, I want you to give me everything, as hard, as strong-"

She gasped as she felt him lay his fingers firmly over her mouth and he let some more of his weight settle on top of her body.

"Stop talking so frakking much, Roslin."

She felt everything between her legs turn liquid and lush at his words, at his insistent hardness touching her. She rolled her hips against him in silent encouragement as he growled against her skin that he was going to frak her until she couldn't walk.

He prayed he was doing the right thing, then her hips rolled again under his and he knew his prayers were answered.

A soft giggle at his ear told him she recognized his "tough guy" act for what it was. He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Too much?"

She moved against him again. "The delivery was a little over the top, but the sentiment…that was perfect." Her words trailed off into a contented hum that reverberated through him as she kissed his throat.

The scent of her skin smelled like sunshine and rose-scented soap as he trailed light kisses from her lips to her neck, sucking and biting until she gasped and tensed underneath him.

"Bill, I'm going to be back in normal clothes tomorrow. You're going to leave a—"

"Thought you didn't care."

He watched the beginnings of concern cloud her eyes and knew she was thinking of the press corps, the other politicians who would be watching her every move when they got back. Even if she stayed healthy, nothing was going to be like this again. He could feel himself start to shake as his frustration over the unfairness built, softening his erection and tingeing his vision with red at the edges.

"Oh, gods, Bill…it feels like we're back already." She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and drew a shallow sigh under his weight.

The years fell away and he was Husker again, pulling his Viper out of a downward spiral, whispering "no" under his breath as the pressure built inside him.

He pushed her hand off his shoulder and leaned back, sitting on his heels. He watched her for a second, hating how she seemed to have lost the heat she'd been burning with a few minutes ago. His thumbs brushed the valley between her breasts, moving down to her naval, her mound, then back up, past her collarbone, coming to rest at the line of her jaw.

"We're not back yet. We're right here, Laura, and I know every piece of clothing you own. You're gonna have to trust me that I won't leave any marks that'll show to anyone but us."

Her eyes grew wider as he moved his hands back down again, this time squeezing his palms over each breast almost hard enough to hurt. He watched her carefully in the flickering lamplight until he saw her nod. A low growl came from deep in his throat as he bent over her and pressed his lips to her left breast almost reverently before his mouth opened and his tongue was on the hard pebbled tip. Her fingers circled the nape of his neck as she rolled her hips again against his cock, voicing another low hum as he stiffened against her.

"You still feel like you're back to being President Roslin already?" he asked as he ran firm hands down her belly to the soft curls between her legs. She was reaching back now to grab the brass headboard, wrapping her fingers around the bars. Her whimpered "no" was all the encouragement he needed as he slipped back on the bed until he could lean forward and press rough kisses down her stomach, slowly moving towards her delicate open folds and the sensitive nub they sheltered.

She braced herself against the headboard as he slipped his hands under her ass and brought her center up to his mouth. Bucking against him as his tongue began exploring her slickness, she shivered and brought her legs up to rest on his shoulders. He felt his moustache stroke against her skin as she groaned and began moving herself against his mouth, shuddering when his tongue circled and pressed her clit. He had two fingers deep inside her when her back arched off the bed, muscles clenching in rhythmic spasms as she cried out, then fell back, legs sliding off his shoulders.

"Oh, Gods, Bill…that was…."

"Mrs. Adama…we're nowhere near done." He stroked her skin, running his fingertips over the surface of her skin until she shivered.

.

#################

.

"Looks like Adama's wife is in a better mood," Al said as he stood on his balcony overlooking the thoroughfare, the crisp night breeze cool on his face.

A gloved hand slipped around his waist. "I'm glad I never realized how well you could see into that room from here," Alma murmured as she leaned against him.

"Why Mrs. Ellsworth…I assure you, any knowledge I gleaned of your activities came from other sources, not by direct observation." He smiled down at the primly dressed widow.

"But the shadows indicate a reconciliation, if not the fuckin' particulars thereof, and I do have some interest in their continued ability to work together."

"Language, Mr. Swearengen, please." Alma sighed. "I confess I'll be sorry to see them leave tomorrow. Sofia quite liked Mrs. Adama. And her husband was certainly an able buffer between you and Mr. Bullock."

He nodded. "I told them I'd take the four of them up to the meadow tomorrow so they can meet some private stagecoach Adama arranged."

He kept his thoughts to himself about how the formerly friendless couple had worked out to hire a private stage without him knowing about it. Them being recently deposed leaders of some tiny unknown foreign land was his latest fanciful notion, although he kept quiet on that line of thinking so's not to have others speculating on his own mental fitness.

"You're going to drive a wagon? I don't think I've ever seen you even ride in one." There was a soft amused note in her voice that he had to admit, if only to himself, that he had come to love.

"I'll have you know I used to take my own wagon to Chicago and back regularly, to freshen my stock. Managed a team plus a gaggle of whores with no trouble at all."

"You haven't done that since I've been in camp. Will you be doing that again, at some point?" Her cool tone grated against his ears as she removed her hand from his waist.

"I'm thinkin' I'll have Dan take care of that, comes the time there's a need for it. Gettin' too old for that kind of travel."

And it causes you some distress, which I'd avoid if I could, he added to himself. He pulled her hand back and tucked it in the crook of his arm, gratified at her returned ease.

"The last bit of strangeness is Adama askin' me to drop 'em at the meadow, then head back to town before their transport arrives. No tellin' what kind of oddities he's wantin' to conceal."

"That is strange. Aren't you curious as to why he'd make such a request?" Alma asked.

"Nope. He's done nothing to me to make me disregard his requests for privacy, even if it does leave me wondering, in the rare moment when I have nothing else to occupy my mind.

"He's given me a fair sum of those gold coins to act as his agent in some land transactions, and I've not found him untrue in any particulars…." He shrugged. "I can live with a little mystery."

Alma looked at the clock as it chimed another hour gone. "I need to be going. I told Miss Stubbs I'd be back in a couple of hours." She glanced back at the shadows thrown up by the lamplight over at the hotel.

"My goodness…I can hardly find your statement credible that Mrs. Adama is at risk of falling deathly ill. The stamina of both Adamas seem to indicate that they enjoy the best of health."

He followed her gaze and reflected on Adama's grave concerns for his wife. "Appearances can be deceiving. Time'll tell the truth of their worries. And for what it's worth, he's leaving too much money here not to come back."

He could almost see Bill Adama striding back into town, in a year's time: determined, that air of honor and leadership about him, asking to see the results of their arrangement.

He wished his vision of Mrs. Adama, walking by her husband's side, was equally as clear.