Bill arrives at the hospital completely out of breath, having run up the eight flights of stairs after seeing the crowd of people by the two elevators, one of which was out of order.
"My wife, Laura Adama," he gasps at the nurses' station. "Where is she?"
"We don't have a Laura Adama here, sir," the nurse replies after looking at her computer.
"Laura Roslin-Adama, look under R," he growls impatiently.
"Bill!" he hears from down the hallway.
Laura sits in a wheelchair being pushed by a nurse toward a room. He runs to her as quickly as he can.
"Sit rep!" he yells, resulting in a very confused look on his wife's face while the nurse smirks. "What'd the doctor say?"
"False labor, Bill, but they're keeping me overnight to monitor the baby just in case," Laura says, relieved.
"But she's okay, right? And you're okay?"
"Yes, they just want to make sure I don't fully go into labor," she replies, closing her eyes, a red flag for Bill.
"There's something you're not telling me."
"And they want me to rest," she sheepishly admits.
His heavy sigh conveys his thoughts on the matter. I told you so. When Laura started putting in 10-hour days at school, then a few more hours when she got home at night, he told her it wasn't a good idea. However, his wife being the stubborn woman that she is, informed him it was temporary and assured him that she and their baby were doing fine. Right up until she announced she was in labor during a late afternoon meeting with the principal. An ambulance arrived at the school, the resource officer phoned Bill to let him know where his wife was being taken, and Bill, who has always prided himself on having a level head, who has fought cylons and kept a cool demeanor during the bleakest moments of the war, who has prepared himself for the birth of his daughter by reading every book about child birth he could get his hands on, became so incredibly emotional he could barely function. If Saul hadn't grabbed him by the collar, forced him into his car, and driven him to the hospital himself, he would likely be sitting at his desk weeping openly at the thought that his daughter is arriving much too early.
"I'm sorry, Bill, you were right," she says as he and the nurse help her climb into the hospital bed. "I've been working too hard. Gods, to think I put our daughter in jeopardy because I'm worried so much about my presentation…" Unable to meet Bill's eyes, she glances down at her hands caressing her bump. A single tear rolls down her cheek as she draws in a shaky breath, horrible thoughts clouding her mind. "I'm going to be a terrible mom!" she whimpers, sobbing uncontrollably now.
"No, Laura, no, shhhhh," Bill says in a soothing tone, sitting on the edge of the bed pulling her face into his chest. His hands smooth her hair as he lets her cry against him while his chin rests on the top of her head. "You're not going to be a terrible mom. You just need some rest. Our baby is fine."
"I hope so," she gasps, turning her face to look at him. "My blood pressure has gone up, too," she confesses before bursting into tears again. "I'm not even good at being pregnant, how am I going to be a good mom?"
"Laura, listen to me. You're going to be a terrific mom."
This earns him a snort of disbelief and an eyeroll, so he tries again.
Staring deeply into her eyes, he smiles warmly at her, holding her gaze until she calms down. Those blue eyes of his have an uncanny ability to communicate with her when words aren't enough. He feels her body start to relax, her breathing even out, and finally she smiles a sweet smile back at him. "Love you."
The doctor provides an update to them as they cuddle together in the hospital bed. Laura's blood pressure is still within normal range but has become noticeably elevated since her last check-up. She earns a disapproving look from him when she states she has been working 10-to-12-hour days. The baby is currently healthy, but he warns her if she doesn't cut back on her hours and get more rest, then she's at risk of complications.
"And when I say cut back on hours, I don't mean to 40 hours per week. I mean 20-30 hours per week, and you need to check your blood pressure daily."
"Twenty to thirty?" Laura asks, surprised.
"Work 4 hours in the morning, have lunch, then take a nap. When you wake up, if you feel like it, then you can work 2 more. The school nurse can check your blood pressure at lunchtime. Make sure you're getting enough rest and take the weekends off. Don't overdo it."
"Can I go home tonight if I promise to go to bed right away?" she asks hopefully.
"I prefer to keep you here to ensure a good night's sleep. Bill, you can stay for another 10 or 15 minutes, but then we'd like Laura to rest. A nurse will be by shortly to set up some monitors."
After the doctor leaves, the nurse stops in to set up several monitors for Laura and the baby. A short 5 minutes later, Laura is asleep in Bill's arms. He holds her tightly, placing gentle kisses to her face, then carefully slips out of bed so that he doesn't wake her.
Saul is waiting in a lounge area in the maternity ward, pretending to read the latest issue of Modern Caprican Baby, but the scowl on his face gives him away.
"Everything alright, Bill?" he asks his friend who appears much calmer than the last time he saw him.
He shares what the doctor said, including keeping Laura overnight for observation.
"C'mon, I'll drive you home. You look like you could use a drink."
"Okay…yup…good…that's good…alright," Dave mumbles as he nods his head while talking on the phone. "Thanks for letting me know, Bill. Hmm? No, I won't disturb her tonight. I can talk to her tomorrow. Goodnight."
"Daddy, is everything okay?" Sandra asks. The way he jumped up from the table and left the room after just ten seconds into his phone call from Bill had left both her and Cheryl worried.
"Laurie's in the hospital, but everything's fine. She had some false labor. They have her and the baby hooked up to monitors and are letting her rest."
"Is Peanut coming early?" Cheryl asks. Deciding it was too difficult to come up with a call sign for someone she hadn't even met yet, Cheryl had started referring to her niece as Peanut. The call sign will come later once she discovers Peanut's personality.
"I don't think so. Your sister has to work shorter days from now on and get more rest, but I think if she does those things, Peanut will get here when she's supposed to get here. Your mom went through something similar when she was pregnant with Sandra."
"I was a troublemaker before I was even born? Why doesn't that surprise me?" Sandra snorts.
"No, you weren't a troublemaker," Dave smiles at her. "Your mom was working some longer hours and it caught up with her."
"Do you remember when I was born?" Sandra asks.
"Of course, I remember! You came out of the womb screaming your lungs out, your little hands balled into fists, swinging away at the world. A tiny little ball of fire," he reminisces. "A lot like your mom."
This bit of news is something Sandra has always suspected. Laura had told her when she was a young child that she was extremely dramatic as a baby, very demanding of attention from her family. Their mother seemed to be the one that could soothe her the best, like she could always read her mind.
"What about me, daddy? Do you remember when I was born?" Cheryl asks.
"I will never forget that day. You weren't supposed to be here for another two weeks but decided to check out the world a little early."
"Was I screaming like Sandra?"
"No, you were very quiet. When they handed you to your mother, you were so strong already, you were able to hold your head up. You slowly looked around the room, then sighed and went to sleep. I don't think you were very impressed with what you saw."
"Are you going to have a baby with Larissa?"
Sandra chokes on her sushi, wondering where Cheryl would get such an idea.
"I have said before that you will always be my baby, Cheryl," he calmly assures her, hoping she didn't notice the flash of panic in his eyes when she sprang that question on him.
"Good. Because it would be weird if you had a child that's younger than your grandchild."
The pizza delivery box sits in the middle of the coffee table with two slices remaining, several gnawed-on pieces of crust littering the area beside them. An open bottle of whiskey sits next to that, approximately half empty.
"I haven't drank like this in a long time," Bill states, setting his liquor glass down so hard some of the liquid spills out.
"Me neither, Bill. We should do this more often!" Saul states, raising his glass in the air.
"To drunkenness," Bill toasts, reaching for his glass and accidentally knocking it on the floor. "Oh-oh," he says, his eyes wide staring at Saul. "Laura's gonna kill me."
"It's not broke," Saul says plucking it from the floor and holding it over his eye, peering through the bottom at his friend. "See? Good as new."
"Gimme that," Bill swipes at the glass, finally getting it from him and pouring more Tauron whiskey inside.
"Did you – did you – did you know-" Saul stutters.
"Did I know what?"
"Lemme finish. Did you know," hiccup, "that milk comes out places other than the tit?"
Bill straightens himself, looking at Saul with his lips pursed, wondering if his drunken ears heard him correctly. "Milk comes out other places."
"Oh, yeahhh," Saul says. "It comes out the arugula, too."
"Noooo," Bill replies shaking his head.
"It does! I read it," hiccup, "in that magazine at the hospital."
"It doesn't come out the arugula. It comes out the areola."
"That's what I said."
"No, you said arugula."
"What's the difference?" Saul asks.
"Arugula goes in salad. Areola is the entire nipple, the tit and the pink part around it."
"Ahhhhh, okay. So milk comes out of that, too," Saul winks.
"I know, I read it in a book."
"Hey, Bill, were there pictures?" Saul asks with a pervy grin on his face.
"Drawings."
"Damn. The manganese said the arugula gets really big."
"You're so drunk you don't know what you're saying."
"Maybe you're not drunk enough to understand me!" Saul snaps back.
"Good point. I'll have some more whiskey," Bill says grabbing the bottle, this time filling his glass to the rim. "The areola gets big, and so does the nipple. Laura's are huge right now. And a lot darker. And sensitive."
"To large sensle-tive tits and arugula," Saul raises his glass in a toast.
"I'll drink to that," Bill replies clinking his glass.
"She'll need to toughen up her nipples. They'll take a beating till she does," Saul informs Bill.
"I know. They're going to be sore and bleed for a while, but then it'll get better."
"Ouch," mouths Saul, moving a hand to his chest. "I couldn't handle that. I'd use a bottle."
"You've fought cylons in hand-to-hand combat. You can handle bloody nipples."
"Noooo, I'd rather face down a pissed off centurion than bleed from my nipples. I mean, that would frakkin' hurt, Bill! I could kill the centurion and be done with him, but nipples bleed forever!"
"Wait here." Bill staggers down the hallway to the master bathroom, returning a few minutes later with a plastic jar of herbal nipple balm. "This is supposed to help. Laura got this at her baby shower."
"Lemme see." Saul pulls his tanks over his head, now sitting bare chested on the sectional next to Bill.
"They aren't bleeding, Saul."
"I know. But why wait till they bleed, Bill? Ima be proactive." He opens the jar, dips his finger inside, and removes a generous amount of balm, which he then smears on both of his nipples.
"Well? How does it feel?"
Saul stares at the ceiling deep in thought. "Kinda oily. Has a nice minty smell. Go ahead, smell my tits," he says thrusting his chest toward Bill.
"No, thank you. I'll smell the jar."
Bill awakens at the crack of dawn in his bed, instinctively reaching for Laura, but not finding her there. His head is pounding from the night before, and slowly the previous evening falls into place. It takes all his willpower to pull himself out of bed and trudge to the shower, where he stands beneath the steaming hot water for a good ten minutes trying to shake the hangover effects from his body. He dresses in a clean uniform after taking some pain reliever, then walks to the kitchen to get some breakfast and coffee in him.
He finds Saul passed out on the sectional still shirtless, his chest glistening with herbal nipple balm, while a tipped over empty bottle of whiskey lays on the coffee table next to a demolished box of pizza.
"Saul."
No response.
"Saul!"
No response.
"Hey, you alive?" Bill says, lightly slapping his face.
"Gods dammit, Ellen, just climb on top and do what you need to do, then let me sleep!" Saul growls.
"I ain't your wife and I'm not trying to do you," Bill says loudly. "Get up – we can't both be late to work."
"Ahhh, ffraakkkk," Saul groans as he opens his eyes and orients himself to the room.
"I'm making coffee and toast. If you get up now, you have time to shower."
"Nah, I'll skip it. Can you lend me a pair of underwear?"
"Top drawer on the left, dresser in the bedroom. Keep them. I don't want them back after your hairy ass has been in them. And, Saul? Laura and Ellen can't know about last night. I promised Laura I wouldn't drink while she's pregnant."
"Don't worry, Ellen's on Picon planning a wedding so she won't even know I was over here."
They eat their toast and drink their coffee black, Bill quickly straightens up the living room area, then they take his car to the shipyards. On the way, Saul sniffs the air, turning to Bill with an inquisitive look on his face. "Do you smell something minty?"