Chapter 14

"How's the studying going?" Kara asked her fiancé in between gulps of water as she cradled the phone against her neck.

Lee yawned loudly into the mouthpiece of his own phone. "Sorry, hon. It's good. I've drunk so many cups of coffee that I've lost count." He rubbed his eyes and tipped his head back, stretching muscles tight from hours of leaning over law books while reading endless lines of fine print.

"Doesn't sound like the coffee is working. I bet I could wake you up. I have an arsenal of methods for that, you know." Kara's laugh was slow. An undercurrent of sultry promise prowled seductively beneath the innocent words.

Lee smiled. "You, Kara Thrace, are terrible for my grade point average."

"Are you trying to say that I'm a distraction?

"That's an understatement. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Kara looked at her watch. "I only have a couple of more minutes; otherwise, I'd distract you thoroughly." She took in a quick breath. "Have you talked to your dad this weekend?"

Lee frowned. "No. Is everything okay?"

"He's in Galatea. At the cabin." Kara gave a dramatic pause. "With my mother."

Lee sat up straighter in the chair and rubbed the flat of his palm along the length of his face making the word come out muffled. "What?"

"I sort of invited him to spend the weekend with you and me at the cabin, leaving out the part that we really wouldn't be there. Mom hasn't stayed there in years and I didn't want her to be alone and I know they like each other. Don't freak out. I was merely helping fate."

"Kara, you really need to let them figure things out on their own. You don't have to trick them into spending time with one another." Lee despised himself for the almost plaintive whine in his speech. It was one of the many differences between them, her clear-cut directness and his softer discretion.

Storm clouds brewed, heavy and thick, in Kara's voice. Nothing could rile her up as much as the feeling that she was being lectured. It brought out every rebellious streak in her nature and rebelliousness was a quality that she possessed in spades. "Do you dislike my mother, Lee? Is that really what this is about?"

"No. Of course not. I love Laura. I just –" Lee swallowed, trying to get a handle on his thoughts. "Your mom is working through some stuff right now. She's been through a lot. They've both been through a lot. I just don't think we should be pushing them into things that they might not be ready for."

"I'm not pushing," Kara insisted vehemently. "I'm nudging."

"That was a pretty big nudge. Nudge them any harder and they'll topple over. I know you mean well. I'm just not so sure I agree with your methods."

"Sometimes, Lee, I really don't get you. I'd think that you'd be happy for them."

"Kara, have you ever considered the possibility that they might uh…." Lee cleared his throat. "….already be involved?"

"Are you trying to tell me that the Old Man is serious about someone else?" Kara's water bottle made a protesting popping noise as she drained the last of its contents.

"No," said Lee weakly.

"Well, my mother works over fifty hours a week and we tell one another about everything so – "

Lee wished that he'd kept his damned mouth shut. He closed his eyes as he spoke, as if the action of blotting out his vision would somehow mute the words. "At the decommissioning ceremony dinner, when you asked me to go look for Laura, I found her. She was in the observation room with the president. And he was kissing her. They didn't see me so I just slipped away unnoticed."

Kara was quiet, which made Lee even more worried than if she'd had an immediate reaction.

"Kara?"

Her voice was non-committal. She might as well have been discussing the weather. "I'm here. But I have to go, Lee. My five minutes are up."

Jack Cottle was sitting on the porch on the wide cushioned swing with its fluffy array of mismatched pillows that had been gifted to him and his wife by one of the ladies across the street who loved to embroider. There were gray elephants and shockingly pink flamingos, neon flowers and jewel-toned hummingbirds. The earlier sunshine had faded to clouds that were quickly taking over the horizon, leaving only occasional patches of blue. Jack was half asleep when his wife pulled into the driveway. He didn't see or hear her until she climbed up the steps with a couple of grocery bags balanced precariously in her arms. He quickly grabbed his book and pretended that he'd been awake and alert.

"Do you have any more bundles?" he asked drowsily, as he stood up and opened the door for her.

"Just one," she called from inside. "Sherman Cottle, were you smoking in the house again?"

Sherman Jack Cottle had been going by his middle name since his early twenties and Beverly was the only person left in the twelve colonies whom he'd allow to get away with calling him by his given name, something she did only when either very irritated – or very pleased with him. This case was most definitely the former.

"No, Bubbles," he fibbed. Did half a cigarette count? Surely not. "I'll get that last bag for you." Beverly cranked open the window by the kitchen sink with an angry turn of the lever and he could tell she wasn't buying his little white lie. He placed the bag on the counter and began putting away the perishables with overly solicitous care, hoping to make amends with the extra effort.

"We're having dinner guests," she announced, swatting his hand away from a package of orange cookies coated with chocolate – his favorite. He'd consume half a row of those things, wouldn't touch her dinner, and then would spend the rest of the evening grouchy from a belly ache, popping antacid like it was candy. Jack opened the package anyway with the cheeky defiance of a five year old while he looked directly into his wife's hazel eyes, bit into a cookie with a vengeance, and then silenced her protest with a quick chocolate-orange flavored kiss.

Not to be outdone, Beverly slipped her arms around him and grabbed the box of cookies with ninja-like dexterity and stealth while she distracted him by initiating two more exuberant kisses. By the time her husband had turned around to reach for a second cookie, she'd slipped the box into her tote bag to hide later.

"You know I'll find them," scowled Jack as his hand swept along the empty countertop.

"Yes, but not before dinner," she chirped, with that same winsome smile she'd been laying on him for the past fifty years. It was still as potent today as it had been the first time. He was a besotted old fool and he knew it.

Jack's only response was a half-hearted grunt and a glare. "Guess who's coming to dinner?" asked his wife with the same kind of effervescent sparkle in her vivid eyes that had long ago won her the nickname "Bubbles."

"Probably someone I don't like."

"Laura. She got in Saturday morning. And she's bringing Admiral Adama with her. Kara's future father-in-law. Oh, you can leave the peaches out. I'm making peach cobbler for dessert. It's her favorite."

"Well, I was half-right," he complained. "I don't like him. What is it, then, like a date?"

Beverly shrugged. "You've never met him. Don't be an ass. Well, yes, I'd assume it's a date if she's spending the weekend with him."

"Laura stayed at the cabin last night? Alone with him?"

"Yes, dear, it would seem so. Don't be so parochial. She's forty-seven years old. I was only nineteen when –"

"I know how old you were. That was different, Bev. It was a different time. How long has she known him? I don't trust him. Military types. Notorious womanizers," he rambled.

"You had a short stint in the military," Beverly reminded her husband gently.

"It's not the same thing," he insisted stubbornly.

"Oh, Jack. Please behave yourself tonight. The poor thing deserves some happiness after everything she's been through." She kissed his cheek and the frothy tone disappeared. "Now hurry up and get the hell out of my kitchen so that I can start dinner."

"Do you want some help with dinner?" he stalled as he put away a bottle of maple syrup, scanning the pantry one more time with careful precision for the mysteriously vanished box of cookies.

Beverly narrowed her eyes at him and shooed him away. "You can help by not helping, love. Out, out, out."

"I'll be out, out, out on the porch," Jack called to his wife. As the screen door closed behind him, he peered down the road toward the direction of the Roslins' cabin and watched the sky darken as he pulled on a light jacket over his t-shirt.

Laura Roslin was back in Galatea. It was about time. After the accident, she hadn't been able to bring herself to stay at the cabin. Not overnight anyway. She and Kara, the few times that they had spent a weekend, had stayed with him and his wife. Beverly had welcomed them with open arms, only too happy to try to give Laura what she needed as she recovered from the aftermath of the tragedy.

Jack could still envision Laura the way that she'd looked at the funeral in her black pant suit as she stood in the receiving line with Kara on one side and her father's brother on the other. Pale and hollow eyed, she'd murmured monotone half-sentences as condolences were given. There was nothing sloping in her graceful posture, and yet she carried the appearance of someone who was barely keeping both feet on the floor. Her voice was hardly recognizable. It was as if the grief had stripped away the vibrant richness, leaving it diluted and faint. Jack wasn't a sentimental man but the image of the Roslins' eldest daughter mourning her family would haunt his memory forever.

She'd come back with Kara a couple of times to take care of some business from the estate.

And once, just once by herself. He wouldn't forget that either.

Jack still didn't know what had made him stop over that night. Even a retired doctor was on informal call in a remote place like Galatea where the nearest medical facility was miles away. He was driving home well past 2 AM after having checked on a neighbor who hadn't been feeling well. As he drove by the Roslins, he saw a couple of lights on and he knew that Laura was alone there. He imagined her sitting up, sleepless, trying to cope with an overwhelming rush of feelings and memories in the empty cabin.

So he'd stopped. He parked the car in the driveway and knocked on the door. No answer. Galatea is the kind of place where people don't lock their doors and so Jack slipped inside, calling out her name so that he wouldn't startle her. The kitchen and the living room were silent and empty, lights still on.

He found her in her parents' bedroom, lying at an odd angle diagonally across the bed. She still wore her white silk robe over the matching nightgown. There was a half empty glass of water and an open bottle of pills on the night side table.

Her color was wrong. She was ghostly pale. Jack bent down in a panicked rush and felt her pulse as alarm quickened his own. Slower than it should be but steady – and she felt cool. He called her name as he gripped her shoulders and gently shook her. His heart lurched with sudden and sharp gratitude as her eyes moved and her mouth twitched.

"Laura, look at me,' he growled with authority, giving her another shake, more vigorous this time. "How many did you take?" He pulled her into a sitting position, forcing her upright. She murmured something incoherent as her head dipped to the side for a moment before she straightened it and tried to focus on his face.

"How many, Laura?" Jack grabbed the bottle with a free hand and gave it a loud shake. It was a prescription for sleeping pills and there were only a few left at the very bottom.

Her voice was throaty – slow and thick. "Four. I took four. I just wanted to sleep for a little while. I wasn't trying to – "

"Do you realize that your frakkin' heart could have stopped?" He shook her again, this time in angry relief, and then pulled her hard against his chest. "I'm calling your daughter," he told her gruffly.

Laura sat up a little straighter and pulled away enough so that she could look at him. "Please don't call Kara. I just wanted to sleep. Please, Jack. Look…" She brought her hand over to the bottle of pills that he held, closing his fingers around them with her own. "Keep them. I didn't mean to -. I took one and it didn't work so then I took another one. And then two more. It was stupid." Her voice was softer. "I just wanted to forget for a little while."

Jack slipped the bottle into his pocket. He would flush them later. "Stand up and walk around with me." He helped her stand and allowed her to lean against him, forcing her to walk around the bedroom with his assistance, not satisfied until she was steady enough to take a few steps on her own. "I'll help you pack a bag. You're not staying here alone. Now hurry up."

"Jack –"

"No arguments," he rasped. "Gods, I need a cigarette. You drive a man to smoke."

"Thank you," she said simply, and she hugged him. Jack put his arms around her and grunted as he hugged her back.

He'd never told anyone about that night, not even Beverly. He'd kept Laura's secret, and along with it, a fierce fatherly protectiveness had taken root.

In fact, the instinct was still strong.

Normally, Laura would have walked to the Cottles since they were only down the road but the sky had suddenly split open and the rain came down in slanted sheets. She and Bill made a mad dash from the car to the porch and they were both saturated and laughing about it when Beverly opened the door for them and ushered them inside.

"The skies just opened up," exclaimed Laura with a soggy smile. "I forgot how heavy the rains can be up here."

"Don't either of you own a frakkin' raincoat?" asked Jack. He took in the appearance of his soaked guests while Beverly fussed over them with an armful of towels.

"I came up in such a hurry – I didn't really think too much about what I was bringing," explained Laura.

Beverly pinched her husband – hard - and he emitted a low growl. "Don't pay any attention to him. He's a bear when he's hungry."

"Well, get over here, young lady," said Jack as he pulled Laura into a tight and possessive hug. He peered disapprovingly over her shoulder at Bill as he embraced the woman that he'd thought of a little bit like a daughter since the death of her parents and the loss of her sisters.

"Jack," said Laura as he released her from the hug, "this is Admiral Bill Adama. And Bill, this is Jack Cottle."

The men shook hands. Bill smiled while Jack glowered as Beverly watched the entire exchange with cautionary scrutiny, ready to rein in her husband at a moment's notice.

She had a feeling that she'd be pinching Jack many more times during the course of the evening.

Beverly had made summertime favorites, fried chicken and potato salad, yellow squash mixed with zucchini, a garden salad, and corn on the cob drizzled with butter.

Bill observed Laura from across the table as Beverly inquired about Kara and Lee's wedding plans. She seemed more relaxed, certainly, than she had appeared when he'd first arrived at the cabin. The Cottles seemed like family to her and Bill suspected that she needed family around her. He knew that he was a poor substitute.

"The wedding will be in the spring. Lee and Kara want something simple and small." Laura slid her hand across the table and squeezed Beverly's. "Of course you'll be invited. We'd love to have you."

"Did you and Bill know one another before the engagement?" asked Beverly with a small and curious smile.

Laura shook her head. "No. Bill and I only met a couple of weeks ago. Poor Bill had no idea what he was getting into this weekend. Kara invited him to spend the weekend with her and Lee here – without telling him that what she was really doing was springing me on him. I guess she didn't want me to be by myself."

Jack chuckled as he took a sip of his beer. "Heh, that sure sounds like our Kara." He picked up the plate of chicken and offered it to Bill. "Do you want to sample a breast, Admiral, or would you prefer to sink your teeth into a juicy thigh?" he asked Bill suspiciously with a quick, protective glance toward Laura.

Laura looked horrified at the thinly veiled innuendo while Beverly nearly choked on the piece of lettuce that she was chewing. She delivered a sharp kick to her husband's leg under the table. It had no effect.

Bill cleared his throat. "I think I'll just have a wing."

Jack scowled at the deft way Bill handled himself while his wife positively beamed. Bill caught Laura's eye as he placed the chicken wing on his plate and he liked what he saw there, a sparkle of amusement and a soft admiration – for him. Her look warmed him, seeping into corridors of his heart that had long ago been abandoned, to forgotten places that had turned to ruins after things had fallen apart with Carolanne. It was such new and unexpected territory, feeling like this again. He hadn't thought that he was capable of it anymore. There was a part of him, in fact, that wished that he weren't - and another part that never wanted it to stop.

The rest of the evening meandered along a bit more smoothly. Jack relaxed a little after the meal was over, although Bill still got the feeling that if the retired doctor could get a moment alone with him, he'd resort to any and every interrogation tactic known to man – and maybe even invent a few new ones – if it meant that he'd get some straight answers about Bill's intentions toward Laura. They left the Cottles with plastic storage containers full of leftovers and heartfelt invitations to return again, sooner rather than later.

A different kind of awkwardness settled over Bill and Laura when they finally returned to her cabin, as they shuffled past one another in the small hallway, as they bumped shoulders when they both made a simultaneous beeline for the bathroom. The cabin space seemed to have suddenly shrunk. Laura felt as if Bill were everywhere at once – but somehow never close enough.

"I'm going to head to bed, Bill," said Laura from the threshold of her bedroom while Bill leaned against the doorway of his. Her eyes rested a little too long on the outline of his chest, just visible under the blue t-shirt, before she finally met his eyes. He didn't notice though. He was too busy admiring the curved slope of her neck against the white silk of her robe, too preoccupied by the way the hall light enhanced the russet and gold in her hair.

Bill's mouth was dry and the words came out in a deep rumble. "Bed. Yeah. Me, too."

"Do you want a wake-up call in the morning?" she asked.

Bill didn't answer. He couldn't answer because he was thinking about morning activities that had absolutely nothing to do with the tick of a clock.

"Bill?"

"Yes. I mean – no. I don't usually have a problem getting up. Out of bed. Getting up out of bed. In the morning. All those years in the military. I kind of developed my own internal clock." Bill forced a smile in her general direction because he couldn't look at her. "Well - goodnight, Laura."

"Goodnight, Bill," echoed Laura.