WARNING: This chapter does contain a brief description of torture.

Chapter 3

Laura's body demanded rest even while her mind raced. The urge to sleep was an overwhelmingly physical one but the deep slumber she needed only came in short intervals. She lapsed repeatedly from sleep into consciousness, always waking with the sickening sensation of falling. She wasn't sure where she was either. Sometimes she believed she was back on New Caprica, jostled out of bed by Tory alerting her to yet another mysterious disappearance. Other times she believed she was in detention again, head pressed against the wall with her knees curled to her chest - waiting. Or lying in sickbay, dazed and sick from the medication Dr. Cottle administered to help her fight her cancer before Baltar's miracle cure.

Laura's head hurt but the questions still kept coming. What had happened to Colonial One? The Fleet? Do they know I survived? Is there any possible way to communicate with them? Is this place Earth? The Earth? And if it is, what does it all mean? Passages from the sacred scrolls darted through her splintered thoughts. She murmured the familiar lines during intermittent rounds of sleep, grasping for answers that were always too far beyond her reach.

She dreamt about the crash again and woke with a jolt as she gasped for breath. It was past noon but the room was dim with the heavy curtains drawn tight. Tom slept. Sleep softened the more angular lines of his face, smoothing out the furrowed creases. She felt her fiery anger toward him flicker and then sputter. He'd saved her life yesterday. They weren't exactly friends, not given their history, and certainly not with him trying to hold onto power - but the shadow of a common enemy and the pain of New Caprica had forged a peculiar alliance between them. She lived. They lived. And the lives of 41,133 people hung in the balance because of it.

She slipped out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. The hammering in her head had lessened but her body ached even more today than it had yesterday. Maybe her massive headache had simply overshadowed her other injuries, mostly cuts and strained muscles. She'd heal. A shower was a tempting prospect but she didn't trust her balance yet so she settled for a thorough sponge bath and fresh clothes. She chose a cream colored summer dress with a ruffled neckline, pale blue sash, and empire waist. All of the clothes seemed so formal. Didn't women on this planet wear pants? Laura couldn't find even one pair of slacks in the closet.

When she returned to the bedroom, Tom was sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing his face. She poured a glass of iced tea for herself and one for him, glad she'd skipped the shower for now. Her coordination was still shaky.

"Good morning," said Laura, as she placed Tom's glass on the bedside table on his side of the bed. She wasn't exactly sure if she meant it as a peace offering.

"Morning," he mumbled, without looking at her; she could see he was still waking up. He glanced at the glass of iced tea - well, cool tea anyway. The iced cubes had melted a long time ago. "Thanks." He took a swig.

"I want to talk to you," said Laura, lowering herself carefully into the chair across from the bed. "I have a lot of questions about that contraption that stranded us here."

"That contraption saved your ass."

"Mmmmm, and yours, too."

Tom's gaze was steady. The former grogginess evaporated as he focused his full attention on her. He set the glass down. Hard. "Yes, it did. What do you want to know?"

"Everything you can tell me about that pod and how it got us here. And where we are."

"The escape pod was a prototype Baltar modified while we were on New Caprica. A two person evacuation ship that could operate on autopilot. He called it Icarus. I got the impression it was something he'd been working on during Adar's term but hadn't finished."

Laura frowned. Richard had never mentioned such a project to her but knew he hadn't always told her everything. And it was true he'd been friendly with the eccentric scientist. "Baltar never said a word about it."

Tom expelled a puff of air. "And that surprises you?"

"No. It doesn't." said Laura wryly. "You didn't say anything about it either, in any of our post exodus meetings."

"You think I was withholding information?" Tom's eyes widened. "It was a crackpot project. It was Baltar for frak's sake. I didn't even know if the damned thing was fully functional. Baltar's toy was the last thing on my mind after we escaped that hell hole."

She tried to keep her tone neutral."But you took it anyway, not knowing whether or not it would work - or where it would take us?"

"You really did hit your head pretty hard, didn't you? I didn't have time to think about anything. Colonial One was going down." He raised his voice, waving a frustrated hand in the air. "I could barely see anything through all the smoke. When I dragged you through those corridors I wasn't even sure if you were going to make it. There was no standard procedure to follow. No security. No direction. People couldn't get to masks. The ship was on fire. I was sure we were going to die." Tom made a choking sound. "Laura, there were already bodies lining the floor and it was only a matter of minutes. So yeah...I grabbed you. I put you in the pod, initiated the evacuation sequence, and we crashed here. As to where we are...I don't know. The ship wasn't supposed to land anywhere. It was supposed to jump to a random location and then send a distress signal back to the fleet but not all at once - in bits and pieces of code. There were supposed to be enough supplies available to sustain two people for up to eight weeks, until a safe recovery could be made. This was all theoretical. I took a chance, made a try for it. I'm just as baffled by the whole thing as you are. Except for one crucial difference."

Laura arched a questioning eyebrow at him as she processed all of the information.

"I'm glad to be alive," said Tom quietly.

"What does that - you think I'm not?"

"You seem awfully bitter about the whole thing."

Laura gave a brittle laugh. "We abandoned all of those people - people who are probably all gone now. I'm not exactly feeling celebratory."

"I'm not happy about it. And I'm never going to forget - " Tom swallowed. "- what I saw. But would going down with Colonial One have saved anyone?" He searched her face for an answer - an answer that she didn't have.

"No, but it might have given us a small shred of integrity," answered Laura coldly.

Tom stood up. "Are you saying what I did was cowardly? I was just watching out for myself? I'm like - Baltar?"

Laura rose, too, and the tension in the air intensified. She took a breath. But before she could answer him, the telephone on the desk rang. She watched as he stomped over to the receiver and picked it up.

"Yeah?" he said, not bothering with any pretense of politeness. He turned so he was no longer facing her. She could see the anger in his coiled body, the tightness in his shoulders.. His voice was colorless. "That's fine. Thanks." Tom hung up the phone. "Dennis is going to bring up breakfast and Dr. Cobrin wants to come up to see you." He didn't turn around. Instead, he walked to the closet and roughly grabbed some clothes off of hangers. "And I'm going for a walk."

Tom knew he must look ridiculous as he clambered down the long staircase in the baggy, ill-fitting suit. He'd grabbed the first thing his hands touched and hadn't bothered to try on anything else. It was already bad enough having to wear another man's underwear and now he also needed to continuously hike up the waistband of his pants. Scratchy pants no less. His body ached. His head throbbed. He'd barely run a comb through his hair. And Laura Roslin wanted to lay a guilt trip on him for getting them off the ship the Cylons were using for missile fodder - all before he'd even managed to fully get out of bed.

Servants gave him odd looks as he stalked out the front door. But when he stepped into the early afternoon air, Tom stopped. It was a dazzlingly clear summer day. Gatsby's place was sure different from the dreary dump where they'd crash-landed. Tom took in a slow breath, savoring the way the fresh air inflated his lungs. Whatever world this was, it was beautiful. They'd never had weather like this on New Caprica, never this warm, and never so heart-wrenchingly bright. Tom blinked; the light was probably exacerbating his headache but he wanted to bask in it anyway.

Gatsby's lavish house was as gaudy in the daylight as it had been when he'd seen it last night but somehow less offensive, maybe because he wasn't as preoccupied with the architecture but was more focused on the natural landscape instead. The wide grounds were extensive. Although every step he traveled ripped at his knee, Tom kept on, finally sinking down on a more remote area of shaded grass under a cluster of trees. He seemed to be approaching the edge of the property line and the greenery was less cultivated here, more wild. Tom laid back into the grass, tucking his hands behind his head, and gazed up at the sky.

There'd been more ease between him and Laura up until the exodus, not that his relationship with her had ever really been "easy." She seemed to have forgiven him for supporting Baltar, or at least had put her feelings aside. In detention they'd found common ground, even if it had come at a price.

At first the Cylons seem content to knock him around a little, nothing he can't handle, nothing that hasn't happened to him in prison. Most of the time they keep him in a cell, by himself. Fed. Clothed. A daily shower. Regulated trips to the bathroom. He's their prisoner poster boy for a while. Doral takes his picture. See? We're not harming our human prisoners. We just want cooperation. Peace. God's plan.

It remains largely uneventful until the night he winds up in Laura Roslin's tiny cell, sputtering, shivering, and drenched in icy cold water with his waterlogged clothes sticking to him. He suspects the Cylons do it as a kind of demonstration to intimidate the former president. Propaganda for pictures or an example of what they could do to Laura, he is just an instrument for them to control. They all are. He is all too familiar with the nature of captivity.

It's Doral who does the thing with the water, Doral who delivers him to Laura. When he's shoved into the cell, his eyes ache so much she's just a blur of beige uniform and red hair, only he doesn't make sense of the distorted image until he hears her familiar voice. He hasn't seen another human being - besides Gaius - for weeks, and the last time he saw Laura was before the Cylons picked him up for "deliberate insurgency." What kind of insurgency isn't deliberate?

"Tom..." Laura sounds surprised to see him. There is heavy dismay in her voice, too, but she manages to keep pity out of it. He's grateful for that.

She moves toward him and he feels her hands stroke his face. She's never touched him before, except for the cheek kisses she offered to impress the media on Colonial Day, and a few handshakes. But imprisonment has a way of dissolving boundaries. Tom staggers and she places her hands on his shoulders, grounding him.

"Wait." Her tone carries an edge to it, a cold and certain confidence she is going to get what she asks for. "Could I have a blanket? Please." Tom realizes she's talking to Doral, not to him. He hears the Cylon's footsteps retreat as he departs without making any promises. Bastard.

"Tom, you're freezing," says Laura. She captures one of his numb hands in both of hers.

He wipes his runny nose ineffectually against his soaked sleeve, coughing and then gagging into the fabric. His lungs burn. He rubs his damp eyes and the action clears his vision a little, bringing Laura into focus. He tries to talk but lapses instead into another fit of gurgling and choking. His body heaves and he ejects what he hopes is the last of the water - all over the concrete floor.

"Don't try to talk." Laura rubs his back. Tom hears the door of her cell clang open and watches as Doral chucks a dingy mustard colored blanket at her. He listens to her mumbled thank you and decides it sounds far more like a snarl. She snatches the blanket off of the floor.

"Tom," murmurs Laura, her voice softer than he's ever heard it when she's addressed him in the past. "I'd like to get you out of your clothes and into this blanket. Can I do that?" Her hand rests against his arm. She wrinkles her nose. "It smells like mold but at least it's dry." She gives a light laugh and Tom appreciates her attempt at levity - at normalcy. "Just nod when you're ready and I'll take care of you."

He sucks in a few more shaky breaths and then nods his head at her. Her soothing tone must be the kind of voice she uses with her students when they scrape a knee or fret over a test grade. It's a different kind of power she wields here, different than what he's used to seeing her command, but no less spectacular. Nurturing, protective, comforting….fierce. He feels like one of her people. He feels like someone who matters. She works at his buttons and he watches her fingers move with quick precision. Her resolute control steadies his frayed nerves, gives him strength.

"If you'd wanted to get me out of my clothes so badly," Tom finally manages through chattering teeth as she peels his pants off, "all you had to do was - ask." His ravaged throat hurts and his voice is raspy but he needs to talk. He flinches when he swallows.

"I figured it was time I got you back for putting us up in that meat freezer," she teases. "Turn around, would you?"

He turns. He expects her to immediately wrap him up in the blanket but she doesn't. He almost gets a little bit annoyed that he's standing here shivering in his underwear. But when he feels her bare skin press against the back of his body, he understands the reason for the delay. She pulls him closer.

"Sit," orders Laura gently, as she eases them both down so she's leaning against the back wall of the cell. She wraps the blanket around his front, forming a cocoon so he's snug between the blanket and her.

"It d-d-does smell."

"Lean back," says Laura.

And he does. She rubs his arms and legs. There is nothing sensual about it. Just kindness. He is thankful for the warmth she gives so freely. Soon his chills taper off as the heat from Laura seeps into him and he suddenly feels bone-weary and limp.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Laura asks. Her fingertips brush his temple as she smoothes his hair.

"No." Tom tenses. He doesn't want to talk about it. He wants to forget about the whole thing, about the tube they shoved into his mouth, down his throat, and the water…..so much water gushing into his lungs, cutting off vital oxygen. Too many hands holding him down, each pair belonging to the same face.

They never even asked a single question.

Laura senses his distress because she nestles closer and whispers words of comfort, bringing him out of the underworld of memory. "I fell through the ice once," she tells him candidly.

"Yeah?"

"Mmmm. Skating on a pond with my dad. Spring thaw came a little early. My father was so quick. He pulled me out before my head even went under."

"Did you ever skate again?" She combs her fingers through his hair. He can't remember the last time anyone touched him like this. He gives a ragged sigh and closes his eyes.

"Yes," says Laura. "I did the following winter. I just needed a little time."

"It's good to have somebody there to pull you out." His voice is fading.

"Yes," she agrees, "it is."

The angle of the sun was brighter now and sharp pinpoints of light poked through the shade of the swaying tree branches. Tom sat up, shading his eyes from the glare. He and Laura didn't talk about detention. They'd had one conversation about it after fleeing New Caprica, when Laura asked him if the Cylons had hurt him again. They hadn't. She claimed they hadn't physically harmed her during the two days she'd been held. He wasn't so sure she'd tell him even if they had - but he didn't press her.

He wondered now if that's why he'd thrust his gun into the palm of Jammer's hand during the evacuation, why it had been so important to get her off of that burning ship, and why - whether or not they were at odds - he'd still do it all over again.

Maybe this time it was simply his turn to pull her out of the abyss.

Laura offered Dr. Cobrin some breakfast on his way out; there was more than enough food there to share. She knew she and Tom would never eat it all and it seemed like such a travesty to waste any of it. He wrapped a danish in a napkin and took a banana, placing them both in his black bag.

"You need to continue to rest. I don't know you, Mrs. Zarek, but you don't seem like the resting type. A concussion is nothing to play with."

"I'll take it easy." Laura almost smiled. His manner was softer than Cottle's but in that moment he reminded her of him.

"I left some clean bandages and some ointment for your husband. He should change the dressing twice a day. I left instructions. Here's my card. Call me if if you need anything. Mr. Gatsby is taking care of the bill."

"Thank you, Doctor." She showed him out.

Laura still didn't want to eat anything. All this food and her stomach felt like someone was squeezing it with a vise. She picked up one of the packets of saltines Tom had requested for her the previous night, opened it, and took a disinterested bite. It was thoughtful of him to think of the crackers. It's the kind of thing Billy would have done.

The chewed cracker felt like thick wet plaster in her mouth. She crumpled up the packaging and remaining uneaten crackers, crushing them in her tightened fist. The sobbing came next and she hated herself for it.

Billy. At least he hadn't had to live through the horrors of New Caprica, through that terrible attack on Colonial One. Through the kinds of things the Cylons had done to Saul Tigh…. to Tom Zarek. So many people gone and there didn't seem to be any end to it.

She wondered what number she'd have to subtract from her count now. Laura buried her face in her hands, muffling the sounds she made. It had been a long time since she'd cried like this, shaking shoulders and soaked cheeks. A solid ache settled into her midsection and crept up into her throat. A faint knock on the door startled her into sudden silence. She didn't want Tom to see her like this.

"Just a minute," she called, not quite able to keep the distress out of her voice.

She rushed to the bathroom and searched for a box of tissues without finding any. So many amenities and not a tissue in sight. She quickly wiped her wet face with toilet paper instead and splashed cold water on her cheeks. She patted herself dry.

She took a slow breath in through her nose and then released it. "Come in," she called.

Laura was relieved when one of Gatsby's staff entered instead of Tom.

"I just came in to clear the breakfast dishes." She was a young woman with auburn hair and big brown eyes. Her inflection was different than Jay's.

"Thank you. I appreciate it. I'm Laura Ros-. Zarek." Well, that's an entirely unnatural statement.

"My name's Fiona. Mr. Gatsby asked me if it's okay for him to stop in when I finish?"

"Yes," said Laura. "Of course. Is it all right if I take something for Mr. Zarek? He went for a walk and missed his breakfast."

"Oh! I can come back later."

"No," said Laura, wrapping up what she believed was a banana walnut muffin. She felt terrible about their wasted meal. "Would you like to sit down and have something? There's so much here."

The woman shifted from one foot to the other. "Oh. No, thank you. Maybe another time." She packed everything up, looking a bit flustered when Laura helped. She paused at the doorway. "Mr. Gatsby will be up shortly. Good afternoon, ma'am."