Part 27: A stranger comes into Deadwood with a message for Al Swearengen: the Adamas have returned...and they could use some help.

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Spring was best observed up here, away from the slimy muck of the thoroughfare. As long as he ignored the light stench wafting up towards the balcony, Al could take some enjoyment out of the rampant green of new foliage against the dark blue-black of the old-growth pines covering the hills. Spring had officially started a month ago, but he marked his own spring by the first day he could come out here without a coat for his morning coffee.

Cup in hand, he noted the vendors setting up their stands by their tents, baskets full of potatoes, onions, turnips and cabbages held over from winter. Bullock and Star Hardware had their doors standing open, already started on the day's trade. Wagons laden with bricks came in from the Sturgis Road, brought in by rail from the brickyards in the East. For the first time in several years, the scent of new-cut wood and fresh sawdust mixed with less pleasant odors to form an aroma that smelled like progress.

He was in the middle of mentally calculating if there were enough new workers in Deadwood to expand his stable of whores when a figure walking into town from Spearfish Road caught his eye. He set aside his figuring and leaned over the railing for a closer look. Something seemed out of place with this dude. The figure stopped and scanned storefronts, finally looking at the banner hanging from the railing, and then up at him. He wasn't surprised when the figure made a beeline towards the Gem. He slurped down the dregs of his coffee and went to find his coat.

The expected knock came as he seated himself at his desk.

"Yeah." The word was barely out of his mouth when Dan opened the door.

"Boss, you ain't gonna believe who's just sent a message for you," Al's burly right-hand man said as he walked in.

Al thought about the precise, almost military swagger of the dude walking into town. He had come in from the road that eventually led to a path ending in a high meadow. He put two and two together and feigned a casual look.

"Wouldn't happen to be Bill Adama, would it?" He smiled at the crestfallen expression on Dan's face.

"Uh, yeah. Just come in, had a note for me to bring up here." He cocked his head and gave Al a puzzled look. "How'd you figure that out? Been almost a year since we last seen him and his wife."

"I got eyes in my head, don't I? Watched that fella stroll in off the Spearfish Road whilst I was having my coffee." He gave Dan a faint smirk. "I thought that gait looked familiar, and something about the bearing reminded me of Adama.

"Observation, Dan." He tapped his temple. "When you get your own joint, you gotta observe everything, figure out what things mean before the other guy. Only way to get ahead."

Dan returned his smirk as his features took on an air of cockiness. "Did your keen observation tell you anything else about Adama's messenger?"

Before he could answer, he heard quick footsteps coming to his door, accompanied by an unfamiliar voice.

"I'm not trying to be rude here, but I need an answer like, today."

Al stared at the woman dressed in dun-colored trousers, chambray shirt, and unusual-looking black boots. She had walked through his open door like she had every right to be there.

"Who the fuck might you be?" he said, shooting a glare at a still-smirking Dan.

"Adama told me to get a message to you about transport into town. Is this going to take long?" The woman raised an eyebrow at Dan.

"You'll kindly direct your fucking questions to me, first answering the one I put to you before anybody does anything. Now, who the fuck are you?"

She was practically quivering with energy, looking like she wanted to drag Dan out and make him produce transportation by brute force.

"I'm Kara Thrace. I…work for Ad—Adama."

As she spoke, Al realized there was worry in her eyes, maybe even a touch of panic. He reached for his bottle of good liquor and a handful of glasses.

"Sit the fuck down and drink this. You're jumpiness is playing on my fuckin' nerves." He poured as he talked, handing her a glass of Kentucky's best and taking one for himself before pouring for Dan. She slammed it down like she'd had a lot of practice. He cocked an eyebrow in inquiry and she nodded for him to pour a refill. He thought carefully about how to phrase his next question.

"So, Miss Thrace, how many will need transport from the meadow, as I surmise that's the pertinent location?"

"Just two." She stared at her glass before downing it in one shot again.

He looked over at Dan."Get a couple of horses from the livery, take 'em out to the high meadow the Adamas bought."

"No." The woman looked uneasy as she shook her head. "It needs to be a wagon. Something that a person could lie down in."

Al could hear Adama's words from the past summer echoing in the room.

His voice was a touch kinder as he asked, "Will that be on Mrs. Adama's account?"

"Yeah. She's—" The woman looked away and blinked a couple of times before meeting his eyes again. "She's sick."

His black eyebrows drew together as he lowered his voice. "Sick in the way she suspected—they both suspected—she'd become if they returned?"

If I go back, there's something there that will make me sick…that'll kill me.

"Yeah. She's pretty bad." Her shoulders slumped a little as she spoke.

He downed another shot himself. "Dan, get a wagon—a buckboard, from the livery. Bring it around back." He slammed the glass down. "Fuck me if I don't believe the last time I drove a wagon was on their account as well."

He pulled out a roll of bills and peeled off a few, handing them to Dan. "Tell General Fields I'm payin' for a week in advance, and I want the steadiest ride he's got."

Dan took the money and left the office, sparing a final glance at the blond woman in men's clothes.

"I've got to put some things away, lock up before I leave. Why don't you continue this," Al nodded at the glasses, "at the bar and make yourself comfortable? If you've a mind for company, there's a whoremistress down the thoroughfare who might have knowledge of them that cater to those with a fondness for their own sex."

Kara Thrace snorted and finally grinned. "I, uh…I'm actually into guys, but thanks for the suggestion."

"Oh." He frowned. "Refrain from approaching my payin' customers, then, as I'd not have my whores come up short on account of an amateur's competition."

He was met with an eye roll as he went to the door. "Gods, you're just like he described you."

Al realized he'd almost come to miss the little oddities of the Adamas' speech. "After you, Miss, or Sir, or whatever fuckin' honorific you prefer."

"'Sir' works for me, Mr. Swearengen."

"I'm fuckin' thrilled to hear it. Now let's get you squared away at the bar while I go fetch the Adamas."

He walked behind her down the stairs, calling to Johnny to put her liquor on Adama's tab.

"The Adamas are back?" He gave the woman in a trail-hand's clothes a doubtful look.

"Just pour for that one, huh? I'll be back in a couple of hours."

He strode out the back to the black buckboard, Dan waiting with the reins in his hand. Al swung himself up to the seat with a groan and took the reins, wondering why the blond woman's eyes had briefly crinkled with mirth every time he mentioned 'the Adamas'. Ignoring the curious looks from the hoopleheads in the street, he headed the team towards Spearfish Road and the Adamas' meadow.

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The wooden steps and front porch were attractive, in their way…well-crafted and sturdy, every angle true, every line plumb, as was the rest of the house. Clean-lined and unpainted, the grain of the wood showed through, the boards just beginning to show the first signs of weathering. Bill thought he would have enjoyed examining the workmanship, if the circumstances had been different.

As it was, he had noticed the lack of comfortable surfaces more than anything else, setting up a couple of tarps and blankets on a springy bed of tall grass near the first of the houses. A tarp slung over a tree branch overhead provided some shade. He paced some more of the grasses down around them, sinking to his knees when the blanket-wrapped woman seemed too still for his liking.

"Laura? How you doing?"

Her puffy eyelids fluttered and she took a second to focus on his face. She smiled wanly, her cheeks creasing like tissue paper.

"I'm…about as well as can be…expected, Admiral." A dusty-sounding chuckle came from her throat.

"Do you want some more water? A protein bar?" His instinct to do something, anything,to ease her discomfort warred with his rational mind telling him all they could do was wait.

Wait to see if the environment would kick-start her Cylon blood properties again.

He almost wished he had been the one to walk into town, just to feel he was taking some kind of action. Shifting to lie by her side, he gently pulled her head onto his chest, and knew this was the best place for him right now.

"It looks wonderful, Bill."

He followed her line of sight, taking in again the sight of the semi-circle of neat, two-story houses built around a common area. There was a space containing a large community well, with several hitching posts on either side of a long horse trough. The ground between the front yards and the commons had been hard-packed into a smooth road, not yet churned into a muddy mire by hooves and wagon wheels.

At the far edge of the circle, a narrower path cut off to the east. It led to a sturdy-looking dock standing over a crystal-clear lake that reflected prisms of light off its surface. A wooden structure had been built at the end of the dock: curving crosspieces that swooped up at the ends, resting on pillars painted a bright glossy red. It reminded Bill of pergolas he had seen in fancy water gardens on Caprica, and he wondered again about the connections between this Earth and home.

He turned to her, sweeping the lank auburn hair away from her cheek as he began to share his observations. "Laura, did you see-" Her closed eyes silenced him, and he moved his face close enough to hers to assure himself once again she was still breathing.

The edge of something hard poked his leg as he moved. He looked down to see the cover of Searider Falcon on the blanket between them. He moved it closer to her hand as he stared at the first house in the grouping. Shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, he tried to get a glimpse of the interior through the bay windows next to the front porch. All he could see was the reflection of the black hills and forests rising behind them, seemingly going on forever. He wondered what the hills would look like from inside the tidy house.

The meadow they had built in had a gentle slope to it, the hills falling away to the east in the distance. If the nearest house was their home, they'd be greeted with a sunrise every clear morning, maybe shining into their kitchen as they had their breakfast. He'd have to point that out later, see if that would be something she'd like.

The house at the end of the semi-circle was closest to the small lake, though. She might prefer that, being close to the water. Laura had talked about building near a lake once. He could still see her face, lit up with the image of the home she'd built in her mind down on New Caprica.

"You need to get better," he whispered. "I'm gonna need your help to pick the right place."

A tiny figure in the distance grew to a four-seated buckboard, a sturdy dray horse in the traces and a scowling Al Swearengen holding the reins. Bill gently moved his shoulder from under Laura's head, replacing it with a pack before he stood. As she stirred, he said, "Our ride's here."

She nodded and tried to sit up. She grimaced with effort as she braced herself with one hand on the springy grass, arm trembling. He put his arm around her.

"Easy, Laura, take it easy. Relax until I get the wagon packed."

Her grateful nod as she eased back down shot another crack through his heart. Even a week earlier she would have ignored him and gotten up. Probably would have given Swearengen a formal welcome, even if five minutes speaking on her feet now meant thirty minutes resting, trying to get her strength back.

This morning he had helped her into the blouse and skirt she had last worn in Deadwood. He hadn't bothered with the corset: even tied with no space between the lacing, it would have fallen down to her hips. The looseness of her clothes was one more sign of the toll her illness had taken. The ring he had bartered for (to add to their cover, he had told her at the time, and she had just smiled) was just barely staying on her finger, her fist curved protectively around it.

Al nodded a somber greeting, unsmiling as he got down from the wagon and walked towards them. Bill could read the pity that flashed across the other man's face and a wave of resentment ran through him at the hopelessness it implied.

"Adama, Mrs. Adama." He spoke formally, giving Laura a respectful nod.

The spark of pleasure Bill got from hearing "Mrs. Adama" again more than made up for any ill feelings created by unwelcome sympathy.

"Thanks for coming to pick us up."

"Don't look like walkin' in would be a fuckin' option this time."

"No." Bill glanced down, and remembered how boldly they had strolled into Deadwood a year ago. "Not this time." He bent and lifted Laura in his arms until she was snuggled against his chest.

""Good to…see you again…Mr. Swearengen." She gave him a thin smile.

"Wish it were under better circumstances." He approached the couple, face drawn with concern. Glancing at Bill as if asking permission, he reached out and brushed back a strand of her hair that had fallen over one eye.

"This cocksucker not been takin' care of you? I could arrange an accident to befall him, if you like." He smiled, and his tone was as gentle as if he were talking to a child.

Her faint chuckle reverberated against Bill's chest. "My condition is…my own fault, but…" her head eased back against his shoulder. "…thanks for the offer." This time the faint laugh turned into coughing that shook her body while Bill held her tight.

"Let's get her settled," Al said. "There's a pallet of sorts in the bed of the wagon. I don't see her making the trip upright, but we can stop outside of town if she wants to sit on the back bench to make her entrance."

Bill carried her over to the wagon and looked into the bed. There were a couple of bedrolls and blankets spread out that looked adequate. He gently lifted her into the buckboard and arranged her as comfortably as he could. Laura touched his cheek as he tucked the blanket around her shoulder.

"I think I'm feeling…better already."

Her tired smile sent another crack through his aching heart as he stepped down to get their packs. When he looked up, he saw Al glaring at him as he held the horse's bridle.

"Hope I ain't goin' through all this trouble just to turn around and have to help you bury her." His tone was too quiet for Laura to hear him. At least, Bill hoped so.

"That makes two of us." He slung their packs into the wagon. When he started to get in the back,beside her, Laura held up a shaky hand.

"I'm fine, Bill. Why don't you ride up by Mr. Swearengen?"

He examined her carefully, noting with relief that she seemed to be breathing a little easier. He tried to tell himself not to give in to wishful thinking, but it almost looked like her skin had lost a little of the deadly pallor she had carried for the past several days. Finally he nodded in agreement and got up in the seat next to Swearengen.

"Where've you been traveling, that's made her so fuckin' sick anyway?"

"Different places."

Al snorted as Bill twisted in his seat to keep an eye on Laura, lying a few inches below him. He didn't fully understand the effects of the atmosphere on her Cylon antibodies-he wasn't positive that even Cottle fully understood it-but it wasn't just wishful thinking.

It couldn't be.

"She do what she needed to do for her people?"

"She did." He lowered his voice. "Even with what it cost her." He cleared his throat as he felt his eyes prick with tears. "She's been incredibly strong."

"Hope you two didn't leave it too late. That state"—he nodded at her still form—"that's gonna take a lot to come back from, looks like to me. You got your doctor handy…that Cottle fellow? Or will you be wantin' Doc Cochran to look in on her?"

Bill smiled at the note of concern hidden in the gruff words. "Cottle will be joining us soon."

"Well, for Christ's sake, make your arrangements to rent enough rooms as soon as you set foot in the hotel. I got enough on my plate without dealin' with E.B.'s fuckin' vapors, thinkin' you're chiseling on the rates."

"I'll take care of it." He turned to look back at the neat, vacant settlement as they left it behind. "The place looks good. I like the dock set up like it is."

"Got Wu to thank for that. Took a notion to have his men add that foreign-lookin' frill to the end of the dock…looks like something from his homeland, I suppose."

He looked back at the red pergola at the end of the dock, then looked down at their passenger, thoughtful expression on his face. "Folk bein' so far from home, not likely to see it again…they'll try to hang on to that which reminds them of what they left behind."

They rode along in silence as the tall pines cast their cool shadow over the trail, the sunlight breaking through the trees in bright streaks of gold. Bill felt the tension he'd been carrying around for weeks start to ebb out of his shoulders as he watched Laura turn her head this way and that, taking in the sight of trees, earth and sky. Al had just started asking about Kara and her background when he felt Laura tug at his arm.

"Look!" she whispered, pointing up at the sky.

He looked where she directed as Al pulled the wagon to a stop. A brown and black bird, its wingspan at least a half-meter across, soared over their heads, circling over the settlement. As they watched, it swooped down low over the water, then climbed again, finally perching on the curved pergola for a second before unfolding its wings once more and taking off back into the sky. Its white underbelly flashed as it flew back over them and disappeared above the trees.

"Huh. Don't see many of those this far into the Black Hills." Al slapped the reins lightly against the horse's broad back and they began moving again.

"What was that?" Laura's tone was the liveliest it had been in days, and Bill felt a rush of gratitude towards the huge bird that had seemed to give its blessing to their new home.

Al looked back at Laura again, then spoke low enough so only Bill could hear him.

"Looks like she's taken a step or two back from death's door already."

In a louder voice, he answered Laura's question. "That's a prairie falcon, Mrs. Adama. Rare, but not unheard of, to see them around here. Must've been lookin' for a safe place to rest for a while."

Bill watched as Laura ran a finger over the embossed cover of the book still pushed into her blanket and smiled."We'll need a name for the settlement, Ad—Mr. Adama."

"Do you have something in mind, Mrs. Adama?" He had missed the warm thrill of calling her "Mrs. Adama" more than he'd realized.

"I do. What do you think of 'Falcon's Rest'?"

Her fingers traced the letters of Searider Falcon, and he thought he could see a touch of color beginning to come to her cheeks. He reached down to hold her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, their rings clinking together.

"I like the sound of that."

She brought their clasped hands to her cheek and smiled up at him.

"So say we all."

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