PLEASE READ: This is not a new addition to the ExPres, I have just decided to break it down into smaller pieces, but for those of you who got excited, the next bit's going up under 'The ExPresident 2' ;)

That Frakking Music

Chapter II

Bill wasn't sure if he was taking his life into his own hands or not. He had contemplated delegating the task to Starbuck or Tigh, those in his crew with the thickest skin, but in the end he'd come to the conclusion that if things went south the consequences should land on his head alone. He'd sent his officers on dangerous missions before but this one could be particularly unpleasant for everyone involved. No, this one was his to shoulder - not that he hadn't had a little help with the rewiring from Dee. Wouldn't want to wake the entire ship, now.

He was leaning against a bulkhead in corridor five on F-Deck watching a certain hatchway. He glanced at his watch, waiting. The other crewmen in the corridor shared a small smile at the muffled start-up of reveille suddenly sounding on the other side of the hatch, recognising it, no doubt, from basic training. Less than thirty seconds later an extremely disgruntled redhead all-but-staggered out into the corridor to find out what the frak the racket was. She spotted Bill opposite in his work-out clothes, saw the extra sweats in his hands, the calm, assured look on his face.

Then she saw red.

'What the hell is this?' Laura demanded, her voice deadly, tying her dressing-gown with strong jerks as if imagining the belt around his neck.

'The only way I've been able to get your attention in over a week,' he replied, standing up straight as she closed on him.

'Well you have it,' she assured him furiously. 'What?'

Suddenly Bill was having second thoughts about his oh-so-clever plan. He was glad to see her though, even if it was staggeringly obvious that the feeling wasn't mutual. Of course he knew that she'd been getting her meals regularly delivered to her quarters but he hadn't personally clapped eyes on her since the day she'd arrived aboard Galactica and that was a situation he just wasn't comfortable with. Now that she was standing in front of him, with dark circles under her eyes and less flesh on her bones than he remembered, he wondered if he shouldn't have made this house-call a little sooner.

'I'm worried about you,' he admitted, his quiet words almost drowned by the cacophony still issuing from her quarters.

'Concern noted,' she bit off, turning away.

'You can't just lock yourself away like this,' he called after her.

She stopped, swivelling back to face him and he thought he saw a couple of people pull about-turns out of the corner of his eye. 'Can't?' she repeated dangerously.

Ignoring the (obviously very well honed) self-preservation instincts that were telling him to run for his life Bill instead opted to close the gap between them. 'You can't let Baltar chase you into hiding like this, you're stronger than that, Laura. You're-'

'You don't know what the frak you're talking about,' she said, looking disgusted. 'You think you know me? We've known each other what, less than a year and you think you've got me all figured out? Well, I've got news for you, Admiral: you don't know shit.'

'Laura -' began Bill, taken aback at the contempt in her voice.

'Don't touch me,' she hissed, knocking his arm away. 'Don't call, don't write, just shut that frakking music off and leave me the hell alone.'

Bill flinched slightly as the hatch slammed shut behind her.

Should've gotten Saul to do it, he thought.

Where the hell did he get off telling her what she could and couldn't do? And what was with this frakking music? What was she? A frakking recruit? Probably thought he was pretty frakking clever, Laura fumed, prowling up and down the small room. Of course it didn't help that she had lain awake most of the night before (and every night since the election) and had barely been asleep half-an-hour when she'd been so rudely awoken. She had half a mind to find accommodation aboard another ship! But the mere thought of being lost out there amongst the crowds was enough to make her chest feel tight and she paused in her pacing, loosening her dressing-gown. Better to hide away in the belly of the whale than be regurgitated into that choppy sea of indifference.

The music wasn't stopping, in fact she was half-convinced it had gotten louder. She ought to go back out there and give him another piece of her mind. How difficult was it to figure out that she didn't want to see him? She didn't want to see anyone.

She didn't have to and she wasn't going to. Period. If Bill didn't like it, it was his own tough luck, he should have thought about that before he handed the presidency to Baltar. It was gratifying to blame Bill and, better still, it was easy. Even with this music ringing in her ears she felt some satisfaction at keeping him from getting his. The more wounded he looked the harder she wanted to kick him. He'd ruined everything, he could have covered it up safe in the knowledge that it was for the greater good, but no, that would make them criminals. Never mind that a cylon collaborator was now sitting in the presidential chair then, so long as they weren't criminals… and he'd had the temerity to use her as his excuse! She wouldn't be able to do it? she thought hysterically. She'd been doing it until he'd interfered.

Why hadn't he just looked the other way?

Her own uselessness was like the constant taste of vomit in the back of her mouth, bitter and unrelenting. She'd tried telling herself that she'd been through worse, hell, losing her job was nothing compared to losing most of humanity but fear of losing the rest shattered any perspective she might have otherwise gained.

Meanwhile the wireless rang with Baltar's praises for every day that passed without a cylon sighting - as if he had anything to do with that - and for the first time in her life Laura found herself wishing the cylons would attack because then Baltar's assertion that the nebula could hide them indefinitely would disintegrate and they wouldn't be able to go ahead with the settlement. How far the mighty had fallen.

The music finally stopped after half an hour and there was a knock so soon after that she wondered how long they'd been standing out there. It was a crewman with a breakfast tray, much earlier than she usually took it, which she would have found suspicious had her brain not been addled by sleep-deprivation. She poured herself a welcome cup of coffee after he'd departed, noticing a folded piece of paper on the tray. She recognised the handwriting the moment she opened it.

Same time tomorrow. Bill.

Son of a bitch.

Laura hurled the tray against the wall in an unwonted fit of pique, not only making a tremendous mess of her room but getting caught by the backsplash herself, which only made her madder and she kicked the door of the metal wardrobe, too, with an inarticulate shout of what could only be termed rage. She raged against Bill for having lost nothing, she raged against Baltar and Zarek for having gained everything, she raged against the gods and Fate for ever having placed the future of humanity in her hands, but most of all she raged against herself because she should have begged, pleaded with Bill to help her - and maybe he would even have done it. Perhaps it had been within her power to stop all of this…

And she had failed.

She raged because right now her rage might very well be the only thing holding her together and she desperately needed something to hold onto.