17 Years before cylon attack
Laura Roslin age 35
Location: Caprica – Caprica City Riverwalk Residential Complex

A stream of deep violet paint flowed across the canvas with each sweep of the bristles. "I'm sorry." The wooden handle of the brush pressed against her fingers as she drew it across the canvas again. "She's not responding to the diloxin anymore." Right to left, left to right, until bands of violet covered the canvas. "How long?" A brief slosh of water could be heard above the piano music in the background. "Two months, maybe three, at the outside."

Peacock blue was loaded onto the clean brush and spread in an arc down the left half of the canvas, a pause for more paint, then another arc on the right half so that they met in the middle. "I'm so sorry…" More blue went inside the boundaries, up and down, back and forth ever closer the edge. "I have to go." Then again on the other side, up and down, tighter and tighter, gathering intensity with every pull of the brush.

Then thoughts fell aside, one by one, like drops of water. All that was left was the aroma of the oil paints and turpentine, the interplay of light and shadow, the shifting pressure and rhythm. And by degrees the image was refined. The shades grew darker, plunging into troughs. The hues grew brighter, pulling out the crests. Two ripples on their way to colliding were taking shape. Life was breathed into the color with every stroke—

FRAK.

Laura's concentration shattered once she realized that someone was knocking on the door to her apartment. She sighed, put down her brush and strode across the room with her mind still somewhere between immersion in the painting and awareness of reality. She glanced through the peephole before opening the door and recognized the distorted form of Richard Adar. She opened the door.

"Mister Governor Elect, what brings you here?" she asked. After two rounds of primaries and a general election spread out over three years, today he had finally been elected Governor of Caprica.

"You weren't at the party," he said. "I was worried." His gaze dropped momentarily to take in the rest of her appearance. I probably look like a disaster, all covered in paint.

"Everything is fine." He didn't appear convinced. She brushed a few strands of her hair out of the way. "I just didn't feel like celebrating with so many people." He leaned against the frame of the door and smiled in an attempt to be charming.

"Are you going to make me stand in the hall?" Laura apologized and invited him in. He followed her and hesitated awkwardly at the threshold to the living room. He poked his head in to assess the area before choosing where to go. He had never been in her apartment before.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she offered. He opted for a glass of Ambrosia. Thankfully, he didn't stop to examine her unfinished painting, but had wandered over to the image of the Government Plaza that hung above her couch while she went in the kitchen.

"Aaron Thrace's 'Valley of Darkness', interesting piece," he called, noting the piano music. She told him that it was one of her favorites and paused to turn it down on her way to deliver Adar his drink. "So you paint. And it looks like I interrupted work in progress," he said with a gesture toward the canvas on her easel. "My apologies." She told him it was fine and that she was used to interruptions. He took a sip of Ambrosia and looked up at the Plaza painting again. "I must have walked by this spot a thousand times, but I don't think I've ever seen it quite like this. The detail is just… amazing. Is there anything you're not good at?"

"Math," she said flatly as she stood beside him with a glass of red wine in her hand. His hazel eyes caught hers in sidelong glance.

"I don't believe it for a second." An unconscious grin spread across his features that reminded her of how candid he used to be with his reactions to people and how particularly inept he had been at restraining his indignation when she had met with him to discuss his school board proposal. Somewhere, between balancing his duties as mayor and his campaign for governor, that aspect of his honest nature had been buried. It resurfaced only in glimpses.

"You caught me," she sighed. "But I'm not just good at everything, I'm fantastic," she said with mock haughtiness and turned to sit down on the couch. He hesitated a moment and then sat down beside her at a close, but comfortable distance. "So, mister Governor, you didn't come here just to discuss my varied talents, why aren't you out getting hopelessly drunk with Wally?" His effortless good humor faded into an affected smile. The politician in him had taken over again.

"To be honest, I had to escape from that party because I didn't feel like I deserved all the accolades." He leaned back a bit into the cushions and stretched his free arm across the back of the couch, finally relaxed. "It wasn't any fun without you there. I wanted to thank you for keeping me from behaving uncivilized in front the press. That alone almost single-handedly saved my campaign. The party should have been for you and you know it, even if you keep letting other people take the credit." He ran his thumb down the side of his glass. "That, and I am a bit worried." He edged a bit nearer and watched her intently while he spoke.

"Something's wrong," he sighed. "You've been distracted at work, unfocused. I know you value your privacy and I haven't pressed, but—we're friends, whatever's been happening, let me help." She took an extra long swallow of her drink so that she could think of an answer, but one didn't come. Instead, she was suddenly very aware of just how close he was sitting, the way his voice had softened into a slightly lower tone and the concern in his expression that gave way to poorly concealed disappointment when she told him that there wasn't anything he could do.

"Alright." He finished his Ambrosia and set it down on the end table to his left. He got up to leave, but he was only halfway to his feet before he changed his mind. "No. It's not alright." He had returned to his place on the couch. "Laura—the last three years I've kept my distance and I understand there are—boundaries. I wouldn't dream of crossing them, but it's not just me you keep at arm's length, it's everyone." He made a visible effort to continue. "I know things are…complicated, but don't push me away. You can't push everyone away forever. Tell me what's going on."

She wanted to tell him that it hadn't always been that way, but even before her mother's diagnosis she had been a bit guarded when it came to relationships, be it friends or otherwise. For awhile nothing had really changed, then her mother's condition had started to require more and more of her attention and by degrees it just became easier to be alone. But she couldn't tell him that. It sounded too much like cowardice, like being afraid of getting hurt, a fear that eased considerably if she had no one to lose.

"I'm sorry Richard," she said. You have no idea how hard this is… "There's nothing anyone can do right now. It will resolve itself." In two or three months. "And you won't have to worry. I'll be fine." His jaw clenched.

"See you at work tomorrow?" was all he managed. She nodded.

He leaned forward to kiss her good bye on the cheek in that way common to politicians and celebrities, except instead of just a quick, almost careless, sign of affection somewhere along the way it turned into a real kiss. Apparently, his job was not the only thing that he was passionate about. For the briefest moment she let her justifications fall away and felt the firm press of his lips, the slight tingle that ran down her spine and the warmth of his hand on her cheek. Don't stop.But as soon as he realized what he was doing he did stop.

His gaze dropped to somewhere on the carpet and his ears had turned bright red. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said. "I apologize." If he hadn't looked so terribly uncomfortable Laura knew that she probably would have kissed him again and then—

"I'll let you get back to your painting," he mumbled and got up. He left before she could form an intelligent response.

After she heard the door close behind him, she went and turned the piano music back up. Then she returned to her spot on the couch and tried to make sense of what had just happened. He had kissed her. That part she remembered quite clearly. So clearly, that she could still feel the phantom sensation of heat and pressure where his lips had met hers…

Oh snap out of it, he's engaged for frak's sake. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the couch. Frak. That was a poor choice of words. Laura forced aside a particularly inappropriate thought that had come to mind. Very, very poor choice of words. She determinedly reminded herself again that Adar was going to be married in a couple of months.

Even though it was strictly a political deal meant to further his eventual bid for the presidency, she knew that he wasn't about to infringe upon that arrangement. He couldn't even handle a little unearned praise, or a simple kiss, she couldn't imagine how badly he'd cope with an affair. Don't imagine—You have something to do—a painting, you have a painting to finish.

But she didn't finish her painting. Instead, she thought about how nice it would be, just once, to do something impulsive, something selfish and to hell with the consequences. And she thought about how well she had come to know Richard Adar over the last three years. He wasn't always as scrupulous as he seemed to be. If he had to compromise his integrity in order to benefit something or someone he cared about he wasn't above doing it. Granted he had limits on how far he was willing to go, but those limits could be pushed a surprisingly great distance before they were broken. If only.

If only he was a little more persistent and a little less moral. If only she hadn't rejected him. If only days and weeks hadn't passed without comment regarding that kiss until it was nearly forgotten. Then maybe she wouldn't have had to endure being alone while watching her mother's condition deteriorate. And maybe he wouldn't have gone through with the marriage after all. Then maybe, when she received a phone call from Doctor Gallagher two months later, just maybe, everything would have been different.

"I think you should start making arrangements and come down to the hospital. It's almost time."

AN: Thanks for reading. Reviews would be much appreciated. There might be a significant delay until the next post since I'll short be transitioning back to college, but the upcoming material will most definitely be worth the wait. And if it isn't you can throw virtual rotten tomatoes at me. :)