CHAPTER 7

As she made her slow return to the party, Laura was determined not to allow her discussion with Richard to permeate the remainder of her evening. She had spent far too long already allowing him to overshadow her decisions and to influence her choices. It was time to steer another course, time to start living again and to cease merely going through the motions. Sometimes it's easier to simply "get by" than to face the beast head on. She didn't want to be content with survival; she wanted to live. Although she didn't know exactly what that meant or what direction she was headed, she was certain about one thing – anything was better than the persistent numbness that she had settled for.

Maybe she didn't love Richard. Maybe she never had. But love him or not, the man knew how to nudge her where she was vulnerable, right up to the bitter end. He always made it so damned hard to leave. It was difficult to look back on the scattered debris of their relationship and admit that it had been built on a lot of wishful thinking. It would be easier to do what she'd been doing for the past few years, nibble absently on the lotus flower, and simply believe in the kiss. The reality was a lot harsher.

But at least it was the truth. She could start with that.

When she had finally returned to her table, Laura had found the seats over half empty. A waiter collected empty dessert plates and crumpled napkins while couples meandered to the dance floor for one final dance before the band finished their last set.

"Is that ankle of yours healed enough for a dance?" Laura turned to face the sound of the voice behind her, although she knew immediately to whom it belonged without having to look. His eyes were bluer than she remembered, such a deep azure, the cobalt blue of a winter ocean, brisk against a pebbled shore - only infinitely warmer.

She met his eyes. "Are you asking?"

He wasn't sure which mesmerized him more – the lyrical sway of her voice or the way he simply enjoyed watching her lips move. He didn't want to even begin to analyze why he was so fascinated with her mouth. "Do you always answer a question with a question?" he rumbled gruffly.

She tilted her head to the side, considering. A speculative half-smile flitted unbidden across her features. It was like watching a stream of sunlight peeking out from behind a cloud. "Don't all politicians, Bill?"

Bill grinned. "Only the ones who want to stay in office." He offered her his arm. Laura accepted the gesture by tucking her own arm into the crook of his in one graceful motion.

They reached the dance floor and assumed the traditional posture for a slow dance. Bill rested his right hand against the small of her back while his other hand clasped hers, drawing her closer. Laura's hand slid into place against his shoulder. Their stance was polite, modest even – admiral and Secretary of Education, father of the groom and mother of the bride-to-be. There was no reason then, nothing in their well-mannered posture to account for the heady current that swept over them both, stopping all conversation and making them suddenly awkward. They counterbalanced for it with stiffness and a concerted mutual effort not to draw too close. An uncomfortable silence settled over them that was all the more pronounced after the light banter that preceded it.

Bill cleared his throat.

"My ankle is better," Laura affirmed quickly, simply to fill the silence.

"Good to hear, Madame…." Bill paused, took a breath…."Laura."

They avoided one another's eyes and tried not to think about why. Laura promised herself that the tiny shiver that sped through the nerve endings of her spine was merely a repercussion of frayed nerves after her heated exchange with Richard. Her emotions were high – that was it. She had a letter of resignation to write and a whole lot of explanations to give on Monday. Bill convinced himself that the quickening of his pulse was due to the reality of retirement finally hitting him square in the chest. It wasn't because of two luminous eyes, impossibly green, and inexplicably familiar – that he wanted to immerse himself in. And Laura refused to entertain the reckless notion that what she really wanted was for the man who held her so lightly to pull her closer. It made no sense. They barely knew one another. They were mature, seasoned. These whirlwind feelings had no basis. It was far better – far wiser to push them down, ignore them, suppress them.

The song had ended. Other couples were beginning to separate, chatting easily as they moved back to their tables to retrieve pocketbooks and other odds and ends or to say final goodbyes. Laura and Bill missed a beat somehow, lagging behind the rest.

"I'm glad you could come," said Bill as they separated.

"I'm – yes – thank you. Congratulations again." They avoided another handshake and simply nodded at one another. When they returned to the table, Kara was smiling like the cat who had swallowed the canary while Lee looked like he wanted the floor to open up and engulf him; he wouldn't meet Laura's eyes. If Kara didn't look so happy, Laura would have sworn that they had argued. She frowned.

Laura was so distracted and off-centered after her haphazard dance with Bill that she merely accepted Kara's exuberant hug with a maternal smile and a soft goodnight, refusing the heartfelt invitation to join Kara and Lee at one of Galactica's lounges. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and get off this gods-damned ship first thing in the morning, pen her resignation letter, and get her life back on track, preferably with her sanity still intact.

It was only a few moments later that Laura remembered that she had nowhere to sleep tonight. She had completely forgotten to touch base with Kara – who had probably already arranged to share a room with Lee. It wasn't a big deal. Galactica was a large ship. No doubt she could find some quiet little unobtrusive corner to catch a catnap. She was scheduled to leave at 7 AM. Laura glanced at her watch. Only hours away. She gave her tired eyes a cursory rub; sleep was overrated anyway.

Bill was glad to see the festivities wind down. There were too many people wandering around disturbing his late night jaunt around the ship. He felt particularly restless tonight. It was surreal to him that in another forty-eight hours, he would never roam these gleaming corridors again. There was nothing quite like the hum and pulse of a battleship. He'd miss the old girl and he wondered what shape his life would take now that the role that had always defined him was dissolving. He wasn't sure he knew how to be anything else. It was time to go but like most goodbyes, it was a bittersweet parting.

It was that desire for solitude that drew him to the deserted alcove across the foredeck. But as soon as he saw her, as soon as he felt something in his chest simultaneously tighten and soften when his eyes rested on that tumbling sweep of red hair – Bill wondered why on a ship over half a mile long, why in the name of the blessed gods would he have to run into her? She was curled up, eyes closed, cheek resting against her hand, glasses in her lap. She had a pianist's hands – long, elegant tapered fingers. Graceful. Lee had heard her play once, a few years ago when he and Kara had started dating. Bill wondered what she was like at the piano.

She's a little too expensive for you, Bill, don't you think? Practically Caprican nobility. What would she want with a working-class hack from Tauron? Carolanne in his head. Perfect. That was exactly what Bill needed right now.

He told himself to walk away. A myriad of good, solid reasons even accompanied the advice but Bill's mutinous vocal cords had a mind of their own.

"Madame Secretary." His deep, rich baritone echoed in the small alcove.

Her eyes flew open as she took him in with that first furtive glance. "Frak," she murmured.

Bill almost smiled. It was such an honest reaction – unpolished, completely unguarded, and very human. It was pretty much the same thing that he'd wanted to say the moment he saw her dozing on his ship.

"I was sleeping," she informed him crisply by way of explanation.

"I noticed. The ship might not be state of the art but we do have sleeping quarters." Bill realized that he probably sounded like an arrogant son-of-a-bitch. He really hadn't meant to. There was just something about Laura Roslin that made him want to press her buttons.

Laura sat up abruptly, grabbing her glasses and putting them on hurriedly. She reached for her purse, one of those fancy little black things with a designer label etched in gold lettering on the bottom. Bill wondered how she fit anything of any significance in it. She stood up and slipped her feet back into her shoes.

"Thanks for the tip, Admiral," she huffed. Her shoes made a staccato tap against the floor as she retreated.

"Laura…." She didn't stop so Bill continued. "You're headed toward the elevator that will take you down to the brig." She stopped then and turned.

"I am?" She seemed to thaw a little.

Bill smiled. It was a kind smile; he wasn't mocking her. He nodded. "You are. Come on. Where did they put you? I'll take you to your room."

It was the wrong thing to say, although Bill didn't know why. But he could see it. Anger flashed in those expressive green eyes. She was Lee's future mother-in-law. He was being a gentleman, offering to escort her where she needed to go. How the hell was that the wrong thing? He wanted to throw his hands up in frustration. What the frak did this woman want anyway?

"There was a mix-up," Laura said rapidly. "An oversight. I don't have a room. But I'm fine. I don't need one. I'm leaving early and I'm not tired anyway. I just needed a little power nap."

It didn't make sense that Laura wouldn't have a room – not with her political clout and the fact that she was traveling with Adar's little retinue but Bill decided not to press her. "Come on," he coaxed. "Do you know where your things are?"

Probably with the President's Chief of Staff or already in Adar's room. But Laura didn't tell Bill that. "No. Really, Bill, I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

"Kind of the way you took care of yourself at Altura?" He could still see the headlights of that car as it careened sickeningly toward her and it still made him angry as hell every time he thought about it.

Laura stormed past Bill in the opposite direction of the elevator. She'd follow the signs to a lounge and wait out the rest of the evening. As long as her feet carried her as far away from Bill Adama as possible, she would be a happy woman. The morning would come soon enough and she would take a shuttle off this thing and go back to Caprica where she belonged.

And with any luck, she could avoid the admiral and the unwelcome torrent of things that he made her feel until the wedding – or longer. She'd prefer indefinitely. But right now, she'd settle for even a few hours of clarity to get her head on straight.