Laura walked into Bill's kitchen to find him leaning against the counter, fiddling awkwardly with the coffee maker.
He swung around, clearly surprised, when he heard her enter.
"I thought you'd left," he said.
"No, just went out for some groceries," she replied, setting two bags down on the countertop.
Bill had showered and shaved, and she even detected the faint scent of toothpaste in the air as he spoke. He was dressed like he had been on the day when they first met, in an old t-shirt with cut-off sleeves; but this time he had on a pair of shorts instead of sweatpants. Laura found herself admiring his sturdy limbs until, disappointingly, he reached for the brown terrycloth robe that hung over the back of a kitchen chair and pulled it around himself, tying it loosely at the waist.
After weeping against her for a long time, he'd eventually fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep. She had slipped out from underneath him then, and helped herself to the shower. Even though it was early-only five o'clock in the afternoon-she'd been careful not to disturb him when she'd crept back into the bedroom and dressed.
Once downstairs, she'd telephoned Wally to reassure him she was okay before making a quick inventory of his pantry. She'd realized that Bill had been more intent on purchasing liquor than food, so she'd run out to the shops, hoping to find something that might tempt his appetite.
"When is the funeral?" she asked.
He took a deep breath. "Tomorrow morning," he replied, staring intently at the floor.
She waited for him to ask her to join him, but he remained silent, continuing to avoid her gaze.
"I'm sorry," he finally said.
"Sorry?"
"For the way I behaved."
She frowned, unsure what part of his behavior he was talking about. Was he sorry for having sex with her? Sorry for crying? Sorry for drinking?
"I forced—"
Her cell phone buzzed to life. She swore and fished it out of her bag.
"Roslin," she snapped. It was her aide, with a list of messages. She put her hand over the receiver. "Sorry, Bill, I have to take this."
She slipped outside onto the back deck to take the call, while he moved to unpack the groceries she had bought.
When she returned about a half an hour later, he had put together a salad. Two pieces of chicken also sizzled in a pan.
"Sorry," she said, leaning over his shoulder and sniffing appreciatively. "Smells good. Can I set the table?"
"Or we could juggle our plates on a tray on our laps in the living room. That's my usual."
"Sounds even better."
She moved back and watched him as he finished preparing the meal, then arranged a tray with cutlery and a bottle of water for each of them.
He ushered her through to the living room and set her tray down on an ornate maple coffee table. She sank down into the tan leather of the couch.
"Are you sure you want to eat in here?" Laura asked. "I wouldn't want to ruin the furniture."
"It's a living room, not a furniture showroom," he replied. "If you spill something, we'll wipe it up."
"You make life sound so simple."
He shrugged. "Sometimes it is."
Life with Bill could be simple. Eating meals together. Choosing and reading a book from his impressive collection. Making love...
Laura shook her head to dispel her wandering thoughts. They had only slept together once. It had been beautiful and awful, all at the same time. But she wasn't sure he'd want to repeat the experience. The whole thing had probably been just a simple reflex on his part; a way to stop some of the pain.
She decided not to think too hard about what it had meant to her. Bill Adama had become an itch she desperately needed to scratch. And now that she had…
She became aware of Bill putting down his tray and moving toward the bookcase. He returned with a large leather-bound album.
"Zachary Tobias Adama. He turned 22 in March."
He sighed heavily and opened the book. Laura set aside her own tray and moved over, closer to Bill, looking over his shoulder at the photographs.
"My other son, Lee," Bill said, indicating the older boy who joined his brother in almost every shot.
"How many years between them?" Laura asked.
"Two and a half. They were as close as twins, though."
"How's he coping?"
"By blaming his father."
Laura frowned. "What? Why is it your fault?"
Bill let the album fall open on his lap. He leaned his head back and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.
"I encouraged them both to join the military. I was… drifting for a few years." He paused for a moment, immersed in his own memories. "The navy gave me purpose. When Zak asked if I thought he should enlist, I told him what a good idea it was. Told him all the advantages of a career in the military. But I forgot all about the disadvantages." Bill paused again, his voice cracking slightly before he pulled himself together with a harsh shake of his head. "The military was right for me, not them. I was just too old and stupid to see that."
Laura reached out and touched his hand. "I don't think you're old. Or stupid."
"Zak would have never even thought of enlisting if not for me."
"That's right. He was proud of you. He could see what a good man you were. Even if you'd never given him one word of encouragement, he would probably have enlisted anyway. You lead by example, Bill. You can't stop your son from wanting to be like his father."
Laura clutched her hands back into her own lap, wondering how much more she should reveal. Sometimes it felt like she was always baring her soul to him.
"My mother was a teacher; a wonderful teacher. But my father was my hero. He was a political journalist. He talked day and night about politics. So, when I was old enough, I went to college and became a teacher just as my mother expected. But I dreamed of becoming a politician. To make my father proud."
"And you did."
She grimaced. "I'm not sure about the 'make my father proud' part."
Laura got up abruptly, avoiding any further discussion regarding her worth as a politician. She collected their plates, carrying them back into the kitchen to stack them in the dishwasher.
She moved to look out the sliding door into the night. It had started to rain, and she had the urge to go out and cry in it; tears for Bill, and herself, and their terrible timing.
She felt him silently enter the kitchen.
"I should go soon. Try and get home before it sets in," Laura said, without turning around.
"You can stay in the guest room," he offered in a gruff voice. "I promise I won't disturb you. I don't like the thought of you returning to Washington, by yourself, in this weather."
"I've been looking after myself for years now, Bill. I don't need mollycoddling."
He didn't reply, but she swore she could feel his gaze burning into her back.
Laura watched as the downpour began to ease. Even Mother Nature was against them. A storm of some sort would ensure that she had to stay.
She didn't know how to conclude their evening. Thank you for dinner and sex?
A sigh involuntarily escaped her.
"Laura, I—"
She turned and met his gaze. He looked just as uncomfortable as she was. At the very least, she thought, it probably meant that he didn't have casual sex often-if he had it at all.
She slipped past him and picked up her handbag from the kitchen counter. She stood awkwardly for a moment, wondering where her usual wit had escaped to.
"Goodbye, Bill," Laura said. She turned and left.
0.0.0
After supplying the Secret Service agents with her credentials, Laura finally found a spot where she could observe the funeral at a discreet distance. She stood alone, partially hidden behind a tree.
She seemed to be alone on this side of the cemetery. On the other, there was a ruler-straight row of uniformed soldiers ready to fire off a salute. Beside them, a team of Secret Service agents stood in formation, surveying their surroundings, pressing at their ears and speaking into their cuffs. Finally, a scrum of media obediently huddled behind a rope, cameras of all shapes and sizes at the ready.
On either side of the grave itself, a group of chairs was set out.
To one side, in the front row, a woman in a black suit and a hat festooned with netting was putting on a show for the photographers. By her side sat a young man with classically handsome features. Laura recognized him from the photos Bill had shown her last night: his son, Lee. The woman, whom Laura presumed to be the mother of Bill's children, leaned heavily on her son for support, sobbing uncontrollably.
On the woman's other side sat a man with a ramrod spine. His expression was a well-rehearsed one, conveying empathy and understanding, as well as gritty determination. Richard really did care about the young soldiers and sailors who were dying in Iraq. But he also cared that the bad publicity could swing the vote away from him in the upcoming election.
Every seat behind them was taken up by various people, none familiar to Laura, paying their respects.
Bill sat in front on the opposite side, wearing his full dress uniform and a stoic expression. Beside him was a young blonde, also in uniform. A few mourners were scattered in the chairs behind him.
Laura frowned. Were all Zak's friends and relatives blaming Bill for his premature death?...
A priest stepped forward to began the service.
The girl at Bill's side began to shake. No tears fell down her face that Laura could see, but her whole body began to tremble, perhaps with shock. Laura watched with pride as Bill reached out and took the girl's hand, calming her within a few minutes.
Next, the President gave a speech. Laura knew, even before he began to speak, that it would be laced heavily with patriotic sentiment. She saw Bill stiffen as cameras began to flash inside the press gallery.
When Richard sat down again, the row of soldiers behind them moved into formation and raised their rifles in the air. The girl at Bill's side flinched during each volley.
The flag that had draped the coffin was folded and passed to his ex-wife.
Bill stood and turned to leave, the girl automatically following his lead.
Laura swung around and hid herself fully behind the tree. She suddenly craved a cigarette, even though she'd given them up over twenty years ago.
0.0.0.
Laura entered the President's office as directed.
"Laura, come in," Richard's voice boomed from behind the desk. He was madly scribbling his signature. One of his assistants expertly pointed out the spots required, adeptly flicking over page after page.
"Are you going to tell me why you were skulking around at that soldier's funeral today?" he asked, once he'd dismissed his assistant.
Laura sat shakily in the chair he'd indicated. "How—"
"Security report included one of my trusted Cabinet members looking on from afar," he pre-empted her question. "You know the Adamas?"
"No. Yes," she stammered. "Only the father."
"Captain Adama? Then why didn't you just attend the service?"
Laura sighed. "It's complicated."
Richard stared at her for a long time, without speaking. Then, in a soft voice, he finally asked: "Don't tell me he broke the golden rule and fell in love with you?"
Laura flinched at how close Richard had come to the truth in just a few brief questions.
"Are you going to let him see you again?"
"I don't think he wants to," she said slowly. "I don't think he wanted me there today. I think he's regretting that we were intimate."
"Regretting sleeping with you?" Richard chuckled. "I doubt that, darlin'." He rose and pulled her up from her own chair. "Give it a couple of months, Laura. No one should ever have to bury their own child."
He shook his head slightly, and when he spoke again, the words were more his usual style; his tone that particularly alluring one he liked to use, the one that could persuade the devil himself.
"I need you, Laura. For the election. You're still going to be here for me, aren't you?"
"Of course," she said.
If she'd never had her career, what else would she have?