Chapter 2

It wasn't long before Tom was out-pacing her. He was going to wind up with a crick in his neck from all of the head craning he kept doing. His mouth would open, probably to offer her an arm or some other unwanted solicitation, but as soon as he saw the resigned expression on her face, he'd push forward in silence. Laura hurt, but the pain wasn't as bad as the nausea or the overwhelming desire to just lie down and close her eyes for a little while. She wouldn't show weakness. Her anger was a bitter engine, propelling her to keep going. She allowed it to.

They'd landed in some kind of dumping ground. The half moon above was muted by clouds that rolled in and out but it gave them enough light to pick their way through the debris. Fog covered the sooty landscape, making everything seem gray and dull in the pale light. She wondered if the rest of their world was like this, an apocalyptic wasteland on the brink of extinction. Maybe all worlds were destined for the same fate. Maybe all roads led to this. The thought made her unbearably sad.

When they reached the embankment, Tom scouted for the easiest route up. Together, they scrambled up the makeshift path that he'd found, his hand gripping hers. A heavy cloud blotted out the moon and made their ascent that much more difficult. Laura's foot skidded in the sand and she watched as one of her shoes slid down to the valley below to become just another piece of trash.

The top was close. Tom let her go first so that he could support her weight, giving her added leverage to make the final push to more solid ground. He stumbled behind her, finally landing next to her with a low grunt as they both collapsed on the dusty side of a road in a battered heap.

The engine of the car must have been terribly quiet. It was either that or Laura was so out of it by then that she didn't notice the sound. It seemed as if she and Tom were panting together in the vast darkness one moment and then in the next, drenched in a light so bright it made her head swim.

The pale yellow vehicle screeched to a halt a few inches from them, the purr of its engine rumbling in Laura's ear. She could feel the warmth from the motor. Tom dragged himself up, wobbling as he got to his feet. In the light she could see just how banged up he was - pants torn at the knee and soaked through with dried blood, a gash on his forehead, an assortment of scrapes and cuts along his arms. Laura willed her body to rise but it wouldn't obey. The headlights were too much. She blinked against the overwhelming glare. A car door flew open and a driver burst out. Blond. Tall. Undeniably human. And when he spoke, Laura understood every word, even if the accent was a bit odd. Her inquisitive brain wondered at such an anomaly of shared language. Some kind of interplanetary evolutionary linguistic symmetry? She couldn't even begin to guess. Or maybe the whole frakking thing was a hallucination.

"My God," said the man, "did I hit you? I was coming around the turn and you just - " He glanced from Tom to Laura, brow furrowed with concern. His hands were clenched at his sides and he squeezed them anxiously. His movements were jerky, as if he had five or six different things that he wanted to do all at once and his body just couldn't decide. When he released his fists and squatted down to look at her more closely, Laura saw that his hands shook.

"You didn't hit us," said Tom. "We had an accident. Car's totalled. We climbed up here just as you came around the curve." Tom turned to Laura. "Can you get up?"

"Give me a hand," she said, hating to ask Tom for anything. He pulled her to her feet.

"You two are awfully banged up," said the man with his unusual twangy accent. "I can take you to the hospital - "

"No," said Tom and Laura in unison.

"Maybe you could just drive us into town? We're...uh….not from around here. We'll grab a hotel room," said Tom.

The man scrutinized Laura with concern. "Ma'am, you look like you could use a doctor."

"I just need some rest," said Laura in the same self-assured but not unkind tone that she used with her students when they asked too many questions.

"I'm Jay Gatsby," said the man as he offered Tom his hand. He tipped his hat at Laura while inclining the upper part of his body toward her in a sort of half-bow. It was a peculiar gesture but Laura read it as a deferential one.

"Tom Zarek," said Tom, shaking Jay's hand.

Laura leaned forward to offer him her own handshake. "Laura - " Still unsteady on her feet, she faltered. Tom steadied her and she found herself leaning into him out of necessity.

"Let's get you two in the car," said Jay quickly.

"Thank you," said Laura. "We appreciate the ride."

"Least I can do after almost running you down."

Tom helped her into the back seat and then tumbled in beside her.

As the car slid along the road, Laura willed herself not to vomit in the nice man's automobile, an automobile that looked expensive and smelled new. With each bump in the road, each clicked stop, she pushed down the heavy nausea, not risking even a syllable. She closed her eyes.

"Listen," said Jay, "I don't live far from here. Got a big house up in West Egg. Heck, I've got more rooms than I know what to do with; you and your wife would be welcome to stay with me. As long as you need to."

"Thanks," said Tom, "That's nice of you. Maybe just for tonight anyway."

"In the morning, I can take you down and help you retrieve what you need from your car."

"We didn't have much," said Tom vaguely, "and the car's ruined. It's not even worth it."

There was an awkward silence.

"Where are you two from?" Jay asked as Laura felt the car turn. She opened her eyes for a moment and saw that they were traveling along a winding drive, better lit than the desolate place where they'd crashed. She wanted to take in the view but her stomach protested. She shut her eyes again.

"The south," offered Tom.

Jay chuckled but the sound wasn't derisive. There was something sincerely good-natured in it, like he understood them and didn't judge the two quirky strangers who had fallen (literally) out of the sky and into his path. Another wave of nausea passed and Laura opened her eyes again just as Jay turned his head back toward them. The expression in his blue eye was benign.

"I get it; no questions."

"We're just really tired," said Tom. "This is kind of - a new start for us," he improvised.

Jay nodded and Laura caught a kind of wistful smile in the rear view mirror.

"Well, I understand about new starts. You two okay back there? We're almost at the house."

Tom glanced at her and there was something watchful in his expression that reminded her a little bit of the way he'd looked the night of the evacuation on New Caprica when he'd handed Jammer his gun. Keep your eye on her. Don't let her out of your sight. A reciprocal gesture, she supposed. She'd taken care of him - once. It seemed like a long time ago now, even though it really wasn't.

"I'm okay." She mouthed the words to him, catching his eye in the dim light of the car.

"Yeah, we're all right," said Tom, nodding toward Jay but continuing to look at her.

Jay Gatsby wasn't just bragging about the size and scale of his house. Of course, house wasn't the proper term. The place was a sprawling mansion of gargantuan proportions. It reminded Tom of some of the worst of Caprican excess, ostentatious to the extreme. Acres and acres of manicured gardens and winding walkways surrounded its ridiculous bulk. There was even an ivy covered tower on one side. A tower, for frak's sake. The damned thing almost gleamed. The copious greenery of the lawn was lit up with the glow of hundreds of lights, all positioned to showcase every facet of the overall design to best advantage. It was preposterous.

"Nice place," snorted Tom.

"Thanks," said Jay as he pulled the car up to the entrance. Tom got out and limped around the back to Laura's door. He opened it for her and helped her out.

"Oh gods," she said when she stood up. She teetered forward and Tom caught her waist. She was half doubled over when she proceeded to throw up all over the pristine stone walkway.

"I'm so sorry," she said when she finished.

"Don't worry about it," said Jay. "You're certainly not the first."

Tom picked her up and Laura didn't protest. He followed Jay into a posh marble entryway that opened into the main courtyard of the house. A servant appeared to take Jay's coat. If the old gentleman thought that his boss' guests were in any way out of the ordinary, he schooled his features well. Jay leaned over and said something to the man in a low voice that Tom couldn't hear. The servant nodded.

"I'm afraid I don't have any bedrooms on the first floor," their host apologized as he inclined his head toward the stairs. "Can you make it with her?"

Tom didn't like the idea of passing Laura off to this stranger like a sack of barley but his knee was a mess and he wasn't so sure he could carry her up the stairs without slipping. She sure as hell didn't need any more injuries.

"No," admitted Tom, clearly unhappy about it.

"I'll take her."

Tom reluctantly released Laura into Jay Gatsby's arms. "Careful," he warned him. There was an edge to his tone.

Laura moaned during the exchange. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed again. "I've got you," said Jay reassuringly.

They made a slow, careful walk up to the next floor and Jay directed them toward an enormous chamber decorated in shades of peach and cream. Occasional accents of buttery yellow added warmth to the otherwise pale color scheme. A wide window overlooked a circular rose garden and the elaborate marble fountain at its center. On the top of the fountain, a mischievous stone cupid aimed his arrow toward the bedroom window. Tom watched Jay place Laura on the large bed with excessive care, rearranging the pillows for her.

He turned to Tom. "Listen, Mr. Zarek, she needs a doctor." His voice was hushed. "I'm going to give Dr. Cobrin a call. He can come on over and check you both out. I can have him here in ten minutes, old sport. It's no trouble. No trouble at all."

The tension in Tom's face and shoulders lessened a little; he released a breath.

"Thank you."

"No problem," said Jay. "Now, there's a bathroom right over there around that corner." The room was so big it actually had its own hallway. "And, " continued Jay, "there's a phone on the desk. You'll find a little card tucked into the blotter on the left hand side with all of the numbers you'll need. Can I have something brought up for you to eat or drink?"

"Just some water. Maybe some crackers for her."

"Bucket of ice and some glasses are right over on the end table. I'll go make that call. Oh, I told Dennis - my head butler, the man that greeted us at the door - to take good care of you. You call him if you need anything. I'll have breakfast sent up at 11:00 tomorrow morning. Give you two a chance to sleep in and get some rest. And I'll have some clothes brought up for you, too."

"Thank you, Mr. Gatsby." said Tom. And he really did mean it. Maybe he didn't trust the stranger completely, but if it weren't for him they'd probably still be wandering around on that isolated road.

"'Course. Don't mention it." He clapped Tom on the shoulder. "You can call me Jay. And don't worry. Dr. Cobrin will take good care of her."

Alone with Laura, Tom stepped closer to the bed. Gently, he lifted her glasses off of her face and placed them on the nightstand. She looked less formidable without them and he was instantly reminded of their briefly shared detention cell on New Caprica, the way she'd looked leaning her head against the concrete wall, eyes closed. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. Steady.

"You asleep?" he asked. He needed to know that she was sleeping and not out cold.

"Mmmmmm."

"What's my name?"

"Pain in the ass," she mumbled, half opening one eye.

Tom smiled. "Jay's got a doctor coming."

"Mmmmmm."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Dim the lights?"

"You got it."

"Thank you."

Tom lowered the lights and drew the curtains. He staggered into the bathroom. It was a lavish affair of cream and blue tile and gleaming silver fixtures. The enormous sunken tub could easily fit two people. The double-wide closet was chock-full of large fluffy towels. Two pristine terry cloth robes hung on wide hooks. He washed his hands with lavender-scented swan-shaped soap and dried them on a hand towel that was so luxuriously soft he almost wanted to bury his face in it just to feel more of the wondrous fabric against his skin.

There was a knock on the door of the suite; it was the butler. He wheeled a large trolley, the kind wielded by bellhops at posh hotels.

"May I come in, sir?"

"Sure," said Tom. "Thanks."

Tom watched as the man - Dennis - unloaded a veritable department store's worth of clothing into the closet. The items were either completely new or had been recently dry cleaned. They were still covered in plastic. Suits and dresses, shoes and pajamas, a nightgown and peignoir set, slacks, skirts, shirts - anything and everything anyone could possibly need or imagine. After unloading the clothing, Dennis brought in a tea tray with small finger sandwiches, lemon squares, and a few small packets containing the crackers Tom had requested. And besides the hot tea, there was also a pitcher of iced tea and a small bowl of fresh lemons, mint leaves, and honey.

"Do ring me, Mr. Zarek, if you need anything," said the butler with a kindly smile. He began to wheel the trolley out, but suddenly paused at the door. "Dr. Cobrin is here, sir."

"Thanks. Send him in," said Tom.

"Aren't you a sight?" said the doctor as he greeted Tom. "Mr. Zarek?"

"Yes. You can just call me Tom." He eyed the doctor warily.

"Dr. Cobrin." The doctor gave Tom's hand a quick shake. He was a tall white-haired gentleman with cornflower blue eyes and a pleasant countenance. "Mr. Gatsby said that I should look at the lady - " The doctor spoke as he walked briskly into the bedroom carrying his large black bag. - "ah, there she is." He placed his bag on the bed beside Laura and reached for her wrist, taking her pulse. "You're her husband?"

"Uh….yeah." Tom shuffled his feet. He was afraid the man would make him leave if he said otherwise and he didn't relish the idea of leaving Laura alone with this stranger, doctor or no.

Dr. Cobrin touched Laura's brow. "Mrs. Zarek?"

Laura opened her eyes and shot Tom an accusatory look but she didn't correct the doctor. "Laura," she croaked.

"Hello, Laura. I'm Dr. Cobrin and I'm going to take care of you. How are you feeling?"

Tom watched the man pull out a stethoscope - a peculiar looking model - and slide it under Laura's blouse.

Laura sounded so tired. Her voice had the diluted quality of watered down paint. Thin. "My head hurts. Dizzy. Nausea that comes and goes. I feel…..heavy. Sluggish."

"Deep breath," said the doctor. "Very good. Did you hit your head?"

"Yes. The back of it."

The doctor helped Laura sit up a bit so he could inspect the bump at the back of her head. "Did you lose consciousness?"

"Yes."

Dr. Cobrin frowned. "How long?"

Laura looked to Tom, uncertain.

"She was in and out. Maybe five minutes altogether." Tom couldn't be sure. He wanted to tell the doctor about the smoke inhalation and the toxic fumes from the burning ship but how could he explain that?

Dr. Cobrin lifted Laura's chin up and looked closely at her eyes. "Do you remember what happened before the accident?"

"Yes," said Laura. "We were having a serious discussion."

"Do you remember what it was about?"

"Oh, about…responsibilities. Politics."

Dr. Cobrin nodded and smiled. He seemed almost amused by their topic of conversation. "And you remember the accident?"

Laura shuddered. "Yes."

"You're lucid. Memory seems to be intact. But it's pretty clear you have a concussion. Best thing for you is going to be rest." He turned to Tom. "I want you to call me immediately if there's any sign that she's disoriented."

"All right," said Tom.

The doctor checked Laura for fractures and broken bones and he treated her deeper cuts. "I'm going to give you something for the pain and the nausea, Laura. And I expect absolute bed rest until I give you the all clear. I'll be back to check on you tomorrow afternoon."

He turned to Tom. "Let's have a look at you, shall we?"

Tom allowed the doctor to stitch his knee up but he refused to have his cuts and scrapes treated with antiseptic, barely tolerating the doctor using it to clean his knee. The smell reminded him of cleaning products, of bleach and ammonia, of powdered tile cleaner. Of prison. It was rank with the stench of long dead memories he'd prefer not to resurrect. He almost couldn't stomach it.

After the doctor left, Tom managed to clean up and change his clothes. He flopped down on the far side of the mattress, giving Laura a wide berth. She stirred only once, making a clumsy trip to the bathroom and then hobbling back to bed.

"Jay left us some clothes," said Tom. "You want me to bring you something to change into to sleep?"

"I'll get it," said Laura, sitting back up slowly. She looked woozy as she painstakingly made her way to the closet. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"I'll live. You know," said Tom with a ferocity that he couldn't quite account for, "you're supposed to stay in bed." If she was hell bent on exacerbating her injuries, why should he care?

"Mmmmm, well you're supposed to care about your people. Supposed to and reality don't always match up." She unwrapped a long turquoise silk nightgown from its plastic. "Could you turn around please?"

Tom rolled over. Neither spoke. He listened to the soft sounds of clothing being removed and then put on. He heard her pad unsteadily back to bed and he felt the slight dip of the mattress as she slipped under the covers beside him, keeping to her own side. There was a wide distance between them.

He wanted sleep to be numbing and all encompassing. It wasn't. He dreamt of smoke and falling and ashes.

And water, always water.