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singerdiva01Title: Unbreakable Glass
Rating: M
Summary: Set post Epiphanies. As President Roslin regains her strength after her improbable cure & deals with the implications of how she survived, Admiral Adama & Billy conspire to protect her from overdoing it. Both Bill & Laura sort out what "the kiss" meant & might mean now that she's going to live.
A/N: This was my first foray into multi-chapter fic and was originally posted on FF.net before I knew LJ and fandom existed. It's complete, there are 12 chapters and I'm trying to get them archived as quickly as possible because my anal side needs all my fic in one place. :)
Somehow I doubt he'd be this concerned about President Adar.
Cottle hid the smile the thought threatened to bring to his lips and turned toward the pair arguing in front of him. The President of the Twelve Colonies was seated on the bed next to her ever present black bag and was, for just the second time in a week, fully dressed. She was still more pale than she should be and so thin it was almost painful to look at her. However, her voice carried with surprising strength as she glared up at the Admiral who was hovering protectively by her side. His worried, comforting presence had become a familiar one in Life Station in the five days since her cancer had miraculously disappeared.
"I can walk, Bill. I will not be seen being wheeled through the halls of Galactica. The press is already saying I'm too weak to make decisions and, with you in and out of here at all hours, they're saying you're taking advantage of it to control me and the government."
President Roslin put her hand to her head for a brief moment, trying to force back a headache caused by this argument and the knowledge that she'd need to expose herself to the wolves known as the Colonial Press Corps as soon as possible. She saw the twin looks of concern the small gesture elicited from both men in the room and dropped her hand with an annoyed sigh.
Bill considered asking the president if she was alright but saw the look on her face and decided against it. He was not, however, done arguing with her.
"You're not so weak I can control you, obviously, but you're still recovering. It's a long walk to the hangar deck and you don't need to be needlessly expending energy you don't have." Bill's tone made it clear that he was more than a little displeased that he didn't actually have the control over Laura attributed to him by the press.
She shot him the look that she used with nap deprived kindergarteners and unruly Quorum members alike. Seeing that his reasoning was not going to have any effect on the president, the Admiral turned to his old friend and chief medical expert for backup. "Doc, what do you think?"
Cottle groaned inwardly before joining the fray. "Madame President, you can walk but the Admiral here is right. You're going to have limited reserves of energy for a while and you'll have to learn that doing one thing means you probably won't be able to do another."
He paused at her icy glare and was about to continue when Adama interrupted again.
"Expending energy needlessly like shuttling back and forth every day from Colonial One?"
Cottle raised an eyebrow, unsure of where this line of questioning was going. The president, however, was not confused and her voice was sharp as she turned her glare once again from the doctor to her self-appointed protector.
"No. That discussion is settled. I will return to Colonial One and come back every day for a week to see him," she said, thrusting her finger in Cottle's direction angrily. "I will not be staying on Galactica. Did you not hear me the first time about the need to restore the trappings of the government as soon as possible?"
He wanted her to stay on his ship. Likely in his quarters. Now that he definitely would not have done for Adar.
Cottle decided he'd wasted enough time listening to the leaders of the fleet bicker at each other. As he took out a cigarette, he addressed them both.
"Ok, expending energy needlessly is this argument." He pointed at the president with the unlit butt. "I'm not going to sentence you to living with him; I think you two would kill each other and while I don't mind, some might. You are free to go as long as you take it easy and come back here every day for the next week to let me run tests and make sure we've really beaten this frakker. I mean it, Madam President. Take it easy. No more than four hours of work a day, no staying up all night reading reports. You will eat three meals a day, you will just rest and let your body sort itself out. If I hear you are breaking the rules, I'll give you to him." He punctuated his last point by jerking a finger at the Admiral and turning to leave the room.
When he turned back, he saw the president giving the Admiral a gleeful look of victory. However, her face fell when he remembered what he'd returned to say. "Oh, and use the damn chair, Laura." He left and stayed gone this time, missing the look of victory that Bill now wore on his face.
Ignoring it, she moved to get off the bed, purposefully angling away from the arm Bill was offering for support. But as she stood, spots dotted her vision and the room tilted to the side. Reluctantly, she took his arm and stood up straighter, hoping he hadn't noticed the momentary blip of weakness.
No such luck. Bill moved to stand in front of her, moving both his hands to rest firmly on her upper arms, pushing her gently back to the bed. "Alright, sit down. This is too much for you, too quickly. I'm going to get Cottle."
She pushed him back with a strength that shocked both of them. "No, Bill. I'm fine. I just got up too fast and got a little dizzy. That's a good thing; it means I'm still alive. I swear to Gods if you do anything that messes with me getting out of this place in the next five minutes my first order of resuming business will be finding a new Admiral."
Bill smiled but the worry hadn't left his eyes. He released her arms but stayed rooted in place, almost sure she would collapse as soon as he let go. She sensed what he was thinking and rolled her eyes, brushing past him to take the few steps to the wheelchair and sitting down slowly.
"Get my bag and get me out of here, Bill." She felt slightly guilty for barking orders at a man who'd helped save her life. She added, more softly, "please."
The Admiral nodded, swooping the bag off the bed and settling it gently across her lap. If he noticed there were three days worth of files tucked underneath her extra clothes, he wisely decided not to mention it.
As Admiral Adama took the handles of the chair and began to push her through the exit of Life Station, Laura sighed at the show they would be giving Galactica's crew. The most powerful man in the world wheeling the most powerful woman left in the world, now weak and certainly painfully thin, through the halls of his ship. A feminist used to projecting a collected and powerful facade at all times, Laura bristled at this humiliating blow to her hard-earned image.
However, as they rolled through the halls, she had to admit she was a tiny bit grateful that the two men had ganged up on her and forced her to use the chair. It was much further than she remembered to the hangar deck - she'd never noticed the distance before the cancer stole her strength and she'd been forced to admit several weeks ago that she could no longer travel for meetings off of Colonial One.
As they continued to the shuttle, crew members stopped, gasped, and threw off salutes that the president knew were directed at her. She straightened her back as much as possible and set her face in her presidential mask, nodding in response to each expertly bended elbow with a practiced mix of solemnity and gratitude. She would never admit to anyone, especially the Admiral, that even that small show of strength had tired her by the time they reached the door of the waiting Raptor.
Bill stopped, set the brake on the chair, and moved to the president's side. He bent down to put his arm around her waist but stopped when he felt her body tense and a sharp gasp escape her throat. Her voice low to avoid being overheard by the pilots and crew milling about to see the resurrected president for themselves, she whispered an order and a threat at the older man.
"If you try to pick me up, if you do anything other than take my hand, I will have to find a new Admiral because you will be dead." She said this with a smile he knew was meant for everyone else in the room but him.
Noticing their growing audience for the first time, Bill pasted on his own practiced smile and nodded, moving in front of the president to take her hand. She put her small one in his and leveraged her weight against him. Her only concession was placing her other hand on his shoulder and using it to balance herself as she stood. Once upright, she nodded reassuringly at him and he shifted to allow her to take his arm before slowly leading her to the stairs. Once they reached the top one, she turned slowly, forcing the Admiral to shift so as not to drop his hold on her.
She smiled radiantly as she looked out over the gathered crowd. Some faces barely masked disbelief, most seemed reverential. In a strong but quiet voice the president addressed her supporters and the deck fell eerily silent as bodies moved closer to catch her words.
"I'd like to thank all of you for your prayers and well wishes over the past few weeks. I'm immeasurably grateful to have been given a second chance at serving as your president and I look forward to getting back to the business of finding Earth and ensuring the survival of the human race. As always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for the work you do, as members of the Colonial military, to support this, our most important mission."
Admiral Adama looked at the president with equal parts shock, concern, and respect. He felt her slight tug at his arm, indicating she was done and ready to move inside of the Raptor, and paused to address his crew as well.
"Thank you, everyone. You heard the president - time to get back to work!"
As the two leaders disappeared inside the shuttle, a small smattering of applause broke out as the crew began to scatter, following their leaders' orders.
Inside the Raptor, Admiral Adama helped the president turn and settle into the passenger seat. She leaned back into the leather gratefully, closing her eyes, a small and decidedly satisfied smile playing on her lips. She made one of her small humming sounds, the one that the Admiral had learned to read as a sign of pleasure.
When she opened her eyes, Bill was looking down at her disapprovingly. He narrowed his eyes and addressed her roughly, careful not to be overheard by Hotdog, the shuttle pilot assigned with flying her back to Colonial One.
"You just can't resist an audience, can you, Madame President? That was quite the stunt."
She didn't even try to mitigate the look of annoyance that passed across her face. "Bill, you're never going to learn about politics, are you? That little speech will be all over the ship in an hour and by the end of the day, the fleet will be talking about how I gave a full length address on the hangar deck. I need to make that the story, rather than you wheeling me through your ship looking half dead." The implication that his protectiveness had made her exert herself in a way that would have been unnecessary hung in the air. Only she knew that she'd written the short statement in her head early that morning and would have delivered it no matter what.
Duly chastened, the Admiral simply nodded and turned to retrieve the wheelchair, which he folded and placed in the small cargo area normally used for storing small bags. He settled down next to the president and started to fasten his seatbelt, noting that the president had secured her own restraints during his brief absence.
"Where do you think you're going, Admiral? Last time I checked, you're on your ship," the president said, exasperated.
"I'm escorting precious fleet cargo. Top military priority," he quipped, hoping the levity would head off an argument.
She shook her head forcefully. "Oh, no. Billy will be waiting for me when I get there to treat me like a breakable object and force me into bed even though it's the middle of the damn morning. I cannot and will not deal with both of you at the same time."
He considered her words and, remembering Cottle's earlier point about unnecessary arguments, decided not to push it. He dropped the seat belt straps, stood, and sharply saluted her, just as the members his crew had done. His voice was warm but his tone slightly hurt as he addressed her with a formality specific to members of the military.
"It's been an honor to have you on board, President Roslin. I'm glad we will have that honor for a long time to come. Please let me know if there is anything else we can do for you."
She nodded her thanks sharply and he knew he was dismissed. He turned to the pilot who'd been trying to disappear into his flight suit as he waited for the leaders of the fleet to finish arguing.
Getting close to the young man's ear, the Admiral said softly, "Hotdog, get her back safe. And when you get there, help her. She's not as strong as she thinks she is." The pilot nodded, answering with a louder than intended, "yes, sir!"
As he turned to go, he chanced a glance at Laura, whose eyes were closed, head resting once again on the headrest of the seat. Her eyelids were thin, almost translucent veins giving them a light blue color. Her pale skin betrayed dark circles under her eyes and her delicate hands looked fragile in her lap. He didn't know if she'd fallen asleep or had simply expected this appraisal and didn't want to endure it. Deciding it was probably the latter, he resisted the urge to scoop her up and carry her back to his quarters, never to be let out of his sight again, and instead trotted quickly down the steps onto the hangar deck with practiced ease.
As he headed back to CIC, Bill Adama considered the overwhelming, almost primal urge to protect that Laura Roslin brought out in him.
I just don't want to do this alone. She's good at her job and I certainly didn't want to be left with Gaius frakking Baltar.
Bill stopped his own train of thought, daring to think about the chaste kiss he'd impulsively shared with her the day he'd given her his Admiral's pips. He'd been wondering since that moment what compelled him to be so bold as to actually kiss the president of the Twelve Colonies.
She was dying. I wasn't sure I'd ever see her again. I was grateful for the gesture, for blessing my leadership with some of the last remaining strength she had. It made her happy and that was all I wanted to do. Give back to her.
They hadn't discussed the kiss or its implications since her improbable cure. After visiting the cult leader in the brig, she'd been spent and mostly slept for the next two days. He was still beating himself up for allowing her, even helping her, go down to the brig and tire herself out so thoroughly. He'd wanted to believe that she could just bounce back and immediately be the vibrant woman he'd met, and hated, on the day the world ended.
Dr. Cottle had quickly disabused him of that hope, explaining in quiet tones that the cure was by no means certain to be permanent and, even if it was, the president's lungs had suffered irreparable damage during her illness. He'd lectured her sternly, over and over, that overdoing it could send her right back to her deathbed. In a private conference the doctor had ordered with him and Billy, he'd warned them that it would be weeks before she was at full strength, that she would need physical therapy to regain lost muscle tone, and that she needed to be watched for symptoms that suggested her body was rejecting the Cylon blood that saved her life. Since he'd never done anything remotely like the treatment she'd received, he couldn't tell them what those symptoms might be. It could, terrifyingly, be anything.
I can't lose her again. Even if she hates me for it, I won't let her work herself to death.
He thought of the kiss again. Once she'd woken up and started arguing with him, Cottle, and Billy about working from bed and holding meetings in sick bay, she'd treated him with a cool kindness, erecting the same professional barriers that were knocked down that night on Colonial One.
But she muttered my name while she slept.
He'd walked into her room to check on her late the night of the visit to the brig. At first, he thought he'd imagined her whispering his name. The second time, he thought she might be calling him and had stepped closer to the bed to answer. But she turned slightly on her side, away from him, and it was clear she was lost in slumber.
What the hell was she dreaming about? Why does she want me in her sleep and then push me away when she's awake?
The Admiral shook his head to clear his thoughts as he stepped back into CIC. Laura Roslin was a mystery to be solved. He liked mysteries and he was for damn sure going to make sure she was around long enough to get to the final chapter.
Adama stepped onto the bridge and addressed Lt. Dualla. "Dee, get me Mr. Keikaya on Colonial One, please." He noticed a slight blush on her cheeks as she connected her boss with her beau and filed that away for future use if necessary.
Picking up the headset, he addressed the young man who had improbably become his civilian XO in a very important mission.
"She's all yours, Billy, and she's in quite a mood. Good luck and don't let her bully you into letting her overdo it. Stubborn woman is already trying to work herself back to the grave." He disconnected the call and turned his attention back to running his ship.
On to Chapter Two
Rating: M
Summary: Set post Epiphanies. As President Roslin regains her strength after her improbable cure & deals with the implications of how she survived, Admiral Adama & Billy conspire to protect her from overdoing it. Both Bill & Laura sort out what "the kiss" meant & might mean now that she's going to live.
A/N: This was my first foray into multi-chapter fic and was originally posted on FF.net before I knew LJ and fandom existed. It's complete, there are 12 chapters and I'm trying to get them archived as quickly as possible because my anal side needs all my fic in one place. :)
Somehow I doubt he'd be this concerned about President Adar.
Cottle hid the smile the thought threatened to bring to his lips and turned toward the pair arguing in front of him. The President of the Twelve Colonies was seated on the bed next to her ever present black bag and was, for just the second time in a week, fully dressed. She was still more pale than she should be and so thin it was almost painful to look at her. However, her voice carried with surprising strength as she glared up at the Admiral who was hovering protectively by her side. His worried, comforting presence had become a familiar one in Life Station in the five days since her cancer had miraculously disappeared.
"I can walk, Bill. I will not be seen being wheeled through the halls of Galactica. The press is already saying I'm too weak to make decisions and, with you in and out of here at all hours, they're saying you're taking advantage of it to control me and the government."
President Roslin put her hand to her head for a brief moment, trying to force back a headache caused by this argument and the knowledge that she'd need to expose herself to the wolves known as the Colonial Press Corps as soon as possible. She saw the twin looks of concern the small gesture elicited from both men in the room and dropped her hand with an annoyed sigh.
Bill considered asking the president if she was alright but saw the look on her face and decided against it. He was not, however, done arguing with her.
"You're not so weak I can control you, obviously, but you're still recovering. It's a long walk to the hangar deck and you don't need to be needlessly expending energy you don't have." Bill's tone made it clear that he was more than a little displeased that he didn't actually have the control over Laura attributed to him by the press.
She shot him the look that she used with nap deprived kindergarteners and unruly Quorum members alike. Seeing that his reasoning was not going to have any effect on the president, the Admiral turned to his old friend and chief medical expert for backup. "Doc, what do you think?"
Cottle groaned inwardly before joining the fray. "Madame President, you can walk but the Admiral here is right. You're going to have limited reserves of energy for a while and you'll have to learn that doing one thing means you probably won't be able to do another."
He paused at her icy glare and was about to continue when Adama interrupted again.
"Expending energy needlessly like shuttling back and forth every day from Colonial One?"
Cottle raised an eyebrow, unsure of where this line of questioning was going. The president, however, was not confused and her voice was sharp as she turned her glare once again from the doctor to her self-appointed protector.
"No. That discussion is settled. I will return to Colonial One and come back every day for a week to see him," she said, thrusting her finger in Cottle's direction angrily. "I will not be staying on Galactica. Did you not hear me the first time about the need to restore the trappings of the government as soon as possible?"
He wanted her to stay on his ship. Likely in his quarters. Now that he definitely would not have done for Adar.
Cottle decided he'd wasted enough time listening to the leaders of the fleet bicker at each other. As he took out a cigarette, he addressed them both.
"Ok, expending energy needlessly is this argument." He pointed at the president with the unlit butt. "I'm not going to sentence you to living with him; I think you two would kill each other and while I don't mind, some might. You are free to go as long as you take it easy and come back here every day for the next week to let me run tests and make sure we've really beaten this frakker. I mean it, Madam President. Take it easy. No more than four hours of work a day, no staying up all night reading reports. You will eat three meals a day, you will just rest and let your body sort itself out. If I hear you are breaking the rules, I'll give you to him." He punctuated his last point by jerking a finger at the Admiral and turning to leave the room.
When he turned back, he saw the president giving the Admiral a gleeful look of victory. However, her face fell when he remembered what he'd returned to say. "Oh, and use the damn chair, Laura." He left and stayed gone this time, missing the look of victory that Bill now wore on his face.
Ignoring it, she moved to get off the bed, purposefully angling away from the arm Bill was offering for support. But as she stood, spots dotted her vision and the room tilted to the side. Reluctantly, she took his arm and stood up straighter, hoping he hadn't noticed the momentary blip of weakness.
No such luck. Bill moved to stand in front of her, moving both his hands to rest firmly on her upper arms, pushing her gently back to the bed. "Alright, sit down. This is too much for you, too quickly. I'm going to get Cottle."
She pushed him back with a strength that shocked both of them. "No, Bill. I'm fine. I just got up too fast and got a little dizzy. That's a good thing; it means I'm still alive. I swear to Gods if you do anything that messes with me getting out of this place in the next five minutes my first order of resuming business will be finding a new Admiral."
Bill smiled but the worry hadn't left his eyes. He released her arms but stayed rooted in place, almost sure she would collapse as soon as he let go. She sensed what he was thinking and rolled her eyes, brushing past him to take the few steps to the wheelchair and sitting down slowly.
"Get my bag and get me out of here, Bill." She felt slightly guilty for barking orders at a man who'd helped save her life. She added, more softly, "please."
The Admiral nodded, swooping the bag off the bed and settling it gently across her lap. If he noticed there were three days worth of files tucked underneath her extra clothes, he wisely decided not to mention it.
As Admiral Adama took the handles of the chair and began to push her through the exit of Life Station, Laura sighed at the show they would be giving Galactica's crew. The most powerful man in the world wheeling the most powerful woman left in the world, now weak and certainly painfully thin, through the halls of his ship. A feminist used to projecting a collected and powerful facade at all times, Laura bristled at this humiliating blow to her hard-earned image.
However, as they rolled through the halls, she had to admit she was a tiny bit grateful that the two men had ganged up on her and forced her to use the chair. It was much further than she remembered to the hangar deck - she'd never noticed the distance before the cancer stole her strength and she'd been forced to admit several weeks ago that she could no longer travel for meetings off of Colonial One.
As they continued to the shuttle, crew members stopped, gasped, and threw off salutes that the president knew were directed at her. She straightened her back as much as possible and set her face in her presidential mask, nodding in response to each expertly bended elbow with a practiced mix of solemnity and gratitude. She would never admit to anyone, especially the Admiral, that even that small show of strength had tired her by the time they reached the door of the waiting Raptor.
Bill stopped, set the brake on the chair, and moved to the president's side. He bent down to put his arm around her waist but stopped when he felt her body tense and a sharp gasp escape her throat. Her voice low to avoid being overheard by the pilots and crew milling about to see the resurrected president for themselves, she whispered an order and a threat at the older man.
"If you try to pick me up, if you do anything other than take my hand, I will have to find a new Admiral because you will be dead." She said this with a smile he knew was meant for everyone else in the room but him.
Noticing their growing audience for the first time, Bill pasted on his own practiced smile and nodded, moving in front of the president to take her hand. She put her small one in his and leveraged her weight against him. Her only concession was placing her other hand on his shoulder and using it to balance herself as she stood. Once upright, she nodded reassuringly at him and he shifted to allow her to take his arm before slowly leading her to the stairs. Once they reached the top one, she turned slowly, forcing the Admiral to shift so as not to drop his hold on her.
She smiled radiantly as she looked out over the gathered crowd. Some faces barely masked disbelief, most seemed reverential. In a strong but quiet voice the president addressed her supporters and the deck fell eerily silent as bodies moved closer to catch her words.
"I'd like to thank all of you for your prayers and well wishes over the past few weeks. I'm immeasurably grateful to have been given a second chance at serving as your president and I look forward to getting back to the business of finding Earth and ensuring the survival of the human race. As always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for the work you do, as members of the Colonial military, to support this, our most important mission."
Admiral Adama looked at the president with equal parts shock, concern, and respect. He felt her slight tug at his arm, indicating she was done and ready to move inside of the Raptor, and paused to address his crew as well.
"Thank you, everyone. You heard the president - time to get back to work!"
As the two leaders disappeared inside the shuttle, a small smattering of applause broke out as the crew began to scatter, following their leaders' orders.
Inside the Raptor, Admiral Adama helped the president turn and settle into the passenger seat. She leaned back into the leather gratefully, closing her eyes, a small and decidedly satisfied smile playing on her lips. She made one of her small humming sounds, the one that the Admiral had learned to read as a sign of pleasure.
When she opened her eyes, Bill was looking down at her disapprovingly. He narrowed his eyes and addressed her roughly, careful not to be overheard by Hotdog, the shuttle pilot assigned with flying her back to Colonial One.
"You just can't resist an audience, can you, Madame President? That was quite the stunt."
She didn't even try to mitigate the look of annoyance that passed across her face. "Bill, you're never going to learn about politics, are you? That little speech will be all over the ship in an hour and by the end of the day, the fleet will be talking about how I gave a full length address on the hangar deck. I need to make that the story, rather than you wheeling me through your ship looking half dead." The implication that his protectiveness had made her exert herself in a way that would have been unnecessary hung in the air. Only she knew that she'd written the short statement in her head early that morning and would have delivered it no matter what.
Duly chastened, the Admiral simply nodded and turned to retrieve the wheelchair, which he folded and placed in the small cargo area normally used for storing small bags. He settled down next to the president and started to fasten his seatbelt, noting that the president had secured her own restraints during his brief absence.
"Where do you think you're going, Admiral? Last time I checked, you're on your ship," the president said, exasperated.
"I'm escorting precious fleet cargo. Top military priority," he quipped, hoping the levity would head off an argument.
She shook her head forcefully. "Oh, no. Billy will be waiting for me when I get there to treat me like a breakable object and force me into bed even though it's the middle of the damn morning. I cannot and will not deal with both of you at the same time."
He considered her words and, remembering Cottle's earlier point about unnecessary arguments, decided not to push it. He dropped the seat belt straps, stood, and sharply saluted her, just as the members his crew had done. His voice was warm but his tone slightly hurt as he addressed her with a formality specific to members of the military.
"It's been an honor to have you on board, President Roslin. I'm glad we will have that honor for a long time to come. Please let me know if there is anything else we can do for you."
She nodded her thanks sharply and he knew he was dismissed. He turned to the pilot who'd been trying to disappear into his flight suit as he waited for the leaders of the fleet to finish arguing.
Getting close to the young man's ear, the Admiral said softly, "Hotdog, get her back safe. And when you get there, help her. She's not as strong as she thinks she is." The pilot nodded, answering with a louder than intended, "yes, sir!"
As he turned to go, he chanced a glance at Laura, whose eyes were closed, head resting once again on the headrest of the seat. Her eyelids were thin, almost translucent veins giving them a light blue color. Her pale skin betrayed dark circles under her eyes and her delicate hands looked fragile in her lap. He didn't know if she'd fallen asleep or had simply expected this appraisal and didn't want to endure it. Deciding it was probably the latter, he resisted the urge to scoop her up and carry her back to his quarters, never to be let out of his sight again, and instead trotted quickly down the steps onto the hangar deck with practiced ease.
As he headed back to CIC, Bill Adama considered the overwhelming, almost primal urge to protect that Laura Roslin brought out in him.
I just don't want to do this alone. She's good at her job and I certainly didn't want to be left with Gaius frakking Baltar.
Bill stopped his own train of thought, daring to think about the chaste kiss he'd impulsively shared with her the day he'd given her his Admiral's pips. He'd been wondering since that moment what compelled him to be so bold as to actually kiss the president of the Twelve Colonies.
She was dying. I wasn't sure I'd ever see her again. I was grateful for the gesture, for blessing my leadership with some of the last remaining strength she had. It made her happy and that was all I wanted to do. Give back to her.
They hadn't discussed the kiss or its implications since her improbable cure. After visiting the cult leader in the brig, she'd been spent and mostly slept for the next two days. He was still beating himself up for allowing her, even helping her, go down to the brig and tire herself out so thoroughly. He'd wanted to believe that she could just bounce back and immediately be the vibrant woman he'd met, and hated, on the day the world ended.
Dr. Cottle had quickly disabused him of that hope, explaining in quiet tones that the cure was by no means certain to be permanent and, even if it was, the president's lungs had suffered irreparable damage during her illness. He'd lectured her sternly, over and over, that overdoing it could send her right back to her deathbed. In a private conference the doctor had ordered with him and Billy, he'd warned them that it would be weeks before she was at full strength, that she would need physical therapy to regain lost muscle tone, and that she needed to be watched for symptoms that suggested her body was rejecting the Cylon blood that saved her life. Since he'd never done anything remotely like the treatment she'd received, he couldn't tell them what those symptoms might be. It could, terrifyingly, be anything.
I can't lose her again. Even if she hates me for it, I won't let her work herself to death.
He thought of the kiss again. Once she'd woken up and started arguing with him, Cottle, and Billy about working from bed and holding meetings in sick bay, she'd treated him with a cool kindness, erecting the same professional barriers that were knocked down that night on Colonial One.
But she muttered my name while she slept.
He'd walked into her room to check on her late the night of the visit to the brig. At first, he thought he'd imagined her whispering his name. The second time, he thought she might be calling him and had stepped closer to the bed to answer. But she turned slightly on her side, away from him, and it was clear she was lost in slumber.
What the hell was she dreaming about? Why does she want me in her sleep and then push me away when she's awake?
The Admiral shook his head to clear his thoughts as he stepped back into CIC. Laura Roslin was a mystery to be solved. He liked mysteries and he was for damn sure going to make sure she was around long enough to get to the final chapter.
Adama stepped onto the bridge and addressed Lt. Dualla. "Dee, get me Mr. Keikaya on Colonial One, please." He noticed a slight blush on her cheeks as she connected her boss with her beau and filed that away for future use if necessary.
Picking up the headset, he addressed the young man who had improbably become his civilian XO in a very important mission.
"She's all yours, Billy, and she's in quite a mood. Good luck and don't let her bully you into letting her overdo it. Stubborn woman is already trying to work herself back to the grave." He disconnected the call and turned his attention back to running his ship.
On to Chapter Two
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