July, 2005

Laura pressed the doorbell again, leaning in close to check if it was working. It sounded like it was, but she banged on the door with her fist just in case.

No one answered.

Bill's car was parked in the driveway. But he could have gone for a walk, or caught a cab somewhere, she reasoned.

She bent down and yelled through the keyhole like she'd seen people do in the movies. "Bill!"

The house remained silent. Her cell phone, however, chose that moment to start buzzing in her handbag. Laura fished it out and flipped it open.

"Roslin."

She instantly recognized Wallace Gray's voice. "Laura? The President is waiting for you in the Roosevelt Room."

"I'm afraid he'll be disappointed," she replied. "I'm not in Washington."

"What? Where are you?"

"I'm taking a few days' leave, Wally. My aide has all the details." Details which, she was now guessing, hadn't actually been passed along to anyone. Laura made a mental note that she would need to find a new aide when she returned. This wasn't the girl's first blunder.

"Are you okay? You never said anything to me."

"I'm fine," Laura quickly assured her brother-in-law. "It's Bill."

"Bill?"

"Bill Adama. You remember Bill Adama?"

On the other end of the line, Wally was silent for a moment. He had only met Bill once, and that meeting would undoubtedly remind him of Cheryl. "Yeah, yeah, of course," he finally murmured.

"It's his son. You can read about it in today's Post. Page seven. A young soldier dies in Iraq, and they only manage to find room on page seven," she said in a bitter voice.

Wally's next words were uttered slowly, precisely; he seemed to be testing the waters. "Laura, I didn't think you'd even talked to the guy in years. Don't you think you're becoming a little too personally involved? Is this really any of your business?"

Laura closed her eyes briefly. Wally had just said aloud what she'd been thinking all morning on the trip down. Yet she hadn't turned back.

"You're right. I haven't seen him in two years." And even then, their last meeting hadn't been at all enjoyable. Any chance that it could have been was blown when Sean turned up on her doorstep.

Her last contact with Bill had been a year later, when she had made a fool of herself by calling him. Her aide at the time had been highly efficient, and had dealt with his subsequent phone calls swiftly and without further ado.

Laura wasn't even sure how long it had taken for Bill to give up at last.

"But you're still going to see him?"

Laura straightened her spine. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"All right. Call me later? Just to let me know you're okay."

"Wally, I'm a big girl."

"Humor me," he said before hanging up.

Putting her phone away, she knocked on Bill's door one more time, but was once again met only by silence. Sighing in resignation, she stepped down off the porch and decided to go around to the back of the house. Bill used to keep some outdoor furniture there; she could sit and wait until he returned.

The sliding glass door looked in on the kitchen. She could see enough evidence to believe Bill had definitely been in town a couple of days at least. Empty beer bottles were lined up along the bench, as well as two empty bottles of some sort of spirits; rum, perhaps.

Laura tapped at the glass with her knuckles, thinking Bill might be on this side of the house. The door rattled under her touch, indicating that it was unlocked. She slid the door across and poked her head through the opening.

"Bill?" she called.

Laura hesitated for a few moments, then decided to enter the house in search of him. She wandered along the hallway until she reached his beautiful living room.

"Bill?" Her voice automatically dropped to a reverent whisper as she stepped into the masculine space, decorated in rich shades of brown and orange, lined with wall-to-wall bookshelves. There was a lamp burning in the corner, but no other sign of Bill. He wasn't curled up on the long leather couch, or in the rocking chair which sat forlornly still beneath the window.

Reluctantly, she slipped back out of the room. At the foot of the stairs, she called up to him: "Bill!"

For the first time since first pressing the doorbell, it dawned on Laura that he might be in bed, asleep. Before she could lose her nerve, she climbed the stairs. Her familiarity with the other side of the duplex helped her find her way to the master bedroom.

She tapped gently on the door. "Bill?..."

A cough and a groan issued from the other side of the door.

"Bill? It's Laura," she repeated. "Can I come in?"

She heard more coughing. Bill was probably drunk, she thought, judging by the bottles down in the kitchen. The sounds she could hear might be him throwing up. Laura pushed open the door; at the very least, she told herself, she should roll him into the recovery position.

She had expected to walk into a dark den. Instead the room was bright; too bright. All the curtains and drapes were pulled back. The afternoon sun was pouring into the room, making it overly warm and humid. The light fixture overhead only added to the stifling heat.

Laura's nostrils burned with the sickly-sweet smell of rum. That was all. No urine, or cigarettes, or vomit. She thanked God for small mercies, and approached the figure propped up against the headboard of his bed.

"Bill?"

He looked up then. His beautiful blue eyes were streaked with red. Heavy, dark circles had bloomed underneath them, smudging their way toward his cheeks. His cheeks were also shadowed with at least three days' worth of stubble.

Bill frowned, and then closed his eyes as his upper body swayed. "Go away. Now is not a good time," he muttered, knocking his teeth on the bottle as he took another swig.

Laura turned back to the doorway, switched off the light, and pressed a couple of buttons to bring the room to a more comfortable temperature.

Abandoning her shoes by the climate controls, she went to check the bathroom. Once again, she was surprised that nothing looked out of place. Bill seemed to be a clean drunk, at least.

Taking a deep breath to steel her nerves, Laura returned to Bill's side, perching cautiously on the edge of the mattress. She unwrapped his fingers, one by one, from around the bottle, gradually prying it loose. She carried the bottle back into the bathroom and poured the remainder of its contents down the drain. Then she found a clean washcloth and ran it briefly under the tap.

When she returned, Bill's head had fallen to his chest. Laura wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

"Bill?" she said tentatively.

"Dammit, woman," he growled. "Get out of my head!"

He kept his eyes closed as she began to wipe his face with the damp cloth, cooling him down.

"I'll never be free of you, will I?" he slurred.

She hesitated for a brief moment, and then swept the cloth down to his chest, which was bare. His lower body was hidden beneath the sheets; she couldn't help but speculate if he was naked there as well.

"Feels good," he mumbled.

She had to agree. He felt so different from her past lovers. His muscles felt strong, but not in an affected way. His physique was achieved through sheer hard work and the occasional bout with a boxing bag. They felt real. Bill Adama was real.

He would never wax his chest or cap his teeth like Sean. He would never indulge in manicures or tan himself in a salon like Richard.

Laura swirled the cloth down further, momentarily intrigued by his lack of body hair. She would have presumed from his coloring that he would have quite a lot of it.

She should stop. She had come to comfort him, but instead, she was behaving like some crazy nymphomaniac.

Suddenly Bill moved, faster than she could ever have anticipated. He pulled her down onto the mattress and rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath his body. In that moment, Laura realized how hopelessly naïve she'd been. She hadn't even considered the possibility that he could become violent when drunk.

"Can't I even mourn my son without you haunting me?" he sneered.

Laura opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced by his lips moving against her own. His tongue plunged into her mouth; the taste of rum was so strong, it was just like she was drinking it herself. It wasn't as unpleasant as she expected.

Then he pulled back and stared down at her, his eyes wide. "You're really here?" he said in wonder. "You're not a dream?"

"I'm really here," Laura confirmed, pushing a lock of his hair back from his forehead.

He collapsed down into her neck, sobbing. "He's dead," he moaned, repeating those two words over and over again, making her heart break.

"I know, I know," she said, stroking his hair soothingly.

She wasn't sure who moved first, but, in the next moment, his head was no longer buried in her neck. Instead their lips were pressed together and they were kissing again.

From the amount of alcohol in Bill's system, Laura would have expected him to display scant finesse; but once again, he was proving to be a contradiction. His kisses were slow, drugging, making her lose sense of time and place. His tongue was neither wet nor intrusive in her mouth. It teased hers, just as the thrusting of his hips began to tease her.

His hands pulled at her clothing, but his fingers were a little clumsy, and the buttons on her blouse were proving a challenge. Laura sat up to help him, shedding her clothing eagerly, modesty and good sense both forgotten.

Once she was completely naked, he tugged her back down onto the mattress, and with one thrust he entered her.

She had been sufficiently aroused, so that it didn't hurt; but it was still a shock. After the slow passion of his kisses, she had expected more foreplay from Bill.

He was well endowed. Her body stretched to accommodate him. But he made no further effort to thrust, lying still and quiet now that they were joined.

"Bill," Laura whimpered, confused.

She tried to catch his eye, but his head was again buried against her chest. She felt the wetness of his tears pooling between her breasts. When she reached out and stroked his hair, his entire body shuddered.

"He's dead," he murmured against her skin. She felt crushing guilt at his words, but she forgot it quickly enough when the angle of his head moved just a fraction and he began to kiss the curve of her breast. She shivered when he took her nipple fully into his mouth.

Her hands swept down the broadness of his back, feathering across his taut buttocks before moving back up to squeeze his shoulders reassuringly.

He still hadn't moved within her, but she'd become oddly content with this arrangement. Her inner muscles gripped his erection deep inside her, holding him to her possessively.

When he began to rock his hips at last, it was almost as much of a shock as his initial penetration had been. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders; he let go of her nipple, simultaneously hissing with pain and pushing deeper into her.

Her legs wound themselves around his waist, causing her pelvis to tilt so that he filled her, more satisfactorily than she could have ever imagined.

"You're here," he groaned as he quickened their pace.

His eyes were still glazed with tears, anxiety evident in their blue depths. Laura closed her own, trying to forget about how nobly Bill had behaved, back when their positions had been reversed. She had thrown herself shamelessly at him when she had been vulnerable, after Cheryl and Sandra's deaths. But he'd done the right thing, and not taken advantage of her.

She couldn't do the same. Instead, she clung tightly him as he pounded into her.

"Harder," she encouraged.

He instantly obeyed, and Laura conveniently forgot the question of whether or not they should be doing this. She forgot everything; everything but how wonderful it felt.

Faintly, she heard him moan her name, but she was too wrapped up in her own sensations to take much notice. She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to hold back the moans and whimpers he was eliciting.

Then, her only thought was the pleasure as she came. She stilled, moisture rushed to where they were joined, and her whole body shook with her reaction.

"Laura," he called out, "I'm sorry."

But her befuddled brain was too busy luxuriating in her orgasm's aftermath to process the apology. She had to shake herself out of her selfish reverie when he collapsed on top of her and began to weep uncontrollably.