A Frak A Day

Fic: Caprican Liberation (the hope springs eternal remix)

2014-06-26T21:04:35Z

Title: Caprican Liberation (the hope springs eternal remix)
Author: afrakaday
Word count: 2000
Rating: T
Remix of: fragrantwoods' fic Caprican Occupation
Summary: “Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.” Don’t let the bastards grind you down.
A/N: Thanks to my betas, lanalucy and miabicicletta. Thank you, wonderful mods lls_mutant and plaid_slytherin of bsg_remix, for putting together yet another fantastic Remix. And finally thank you, fragrantwoods, for creating such a wonderfully dystopian AU for me to expand and an excuse to re-read one of my favorite novels of all time.

( Caprican Liberation (the hope springs eternal remix) )

Just because...

2014-05-02T17:32:41Z

Happy Friday!

Fic: The Littlest Fan (Ikeaverse)

2014-03-24T00:54:37Z

Title: The Littlest Fan
Rating: K
Word count: 300
A/N: Happy, happy birthday, newnumbertwo! I hope you don't mind me borrowing your Ikeaverse and your adorable OC for a little bit.

“You’ve gotta be frakking kidding me,” Kara growled from the couch. “C’mon!”

“Let's go, Owange!” Judy chimed in. “Shoot. Shoot!”

Having successfully ignored the game for much of its duration, Laura finally tossed aside the education journal she’d been trying to read. While she hadn’t as much as attempted to fill out a bracket, it sounded like things were getting interesting. Upon walking into the living room she saw her daughters, both decked out in identical shades of orange and blue, fairly bouncing on the couch cushions with nervous energy.

A buzzer rang out, and Judy joined Kara’s wailed “fraaaaak.”

“I thought he had it,” Kara said despairingly.

“I tot he had it too,” Judy said.

Laura wasn’t sure how much the toddler actually understood of the game, much less the tournament, but she was certainly as emotionally invested as her big sister. Kara and Sam had indoctrinated her as a baby; Judy’s third word had been “Boeheim,” according to Kara’s version of their family lore.

“Dayton,” Kara said to Laura, shaking her head incredulously. “Dayton. Who the heck ever heard of Dayton?”

“Let’s not malign the fine cities of Ohio in front of the impressionable one,” Laura said.

“Sowwy, Kawa,” Judy said, giving Kara a hug. “Dey win da next one.”

“That’s the thing, baby,” Kara explained. “This was the tournament. Once you lose, you’re out.”

“So who are we gonna cheer for now?” Bill’s deep baritone joined the conversation, and he came into the room and sat next to his girls. Judy scrambled into his lap.

Kara scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Ugh. Who’s left?”

Judy pointed at the flat-screen excitedly. The game had already changed. “Owange and bwue! Owange and bwue!”

The three adults looked at one another.

“UVA it is,” Laura said, sitting down to join her family in their fair-weather fandom.

bsg_epics multi-ship war personal roundup post

2014-03-14T04:38:01Z

There was a super fun "multi-ship war" over at bsg_epics last weekend. The idea was to write as many different 'ships as possible. They've got voting going on through the end of this weekend, so go check out some of the fics that have been nominated and cast some votes! (And show some love for the many awesome fics that were written, while you're at it.)

These were mine...definitely some pairings I've never written before. Links are to the epics commentfic, spoilertag has fulltext beneath. :)

From the Belly of the Beast (Gaeta/Hoshi)
Louis panted heavily as he raced down the halls of the Pegasus. His legs turned over quickly, automatically, as his head twisted from side to side as he searched for his curly-haired lover.

Passing crewmates looked at him curiously as he flew by them, but they barely registered with Louis. "Felix!" he screamed into the void of the darkened hangar deck. A sob escaped his tightening throat as he circled around to search yet another level. Sweat poured off his body and he struggled to breathe. He stepped into the lift, and it went dark as the bottom dropped out from under him. He flailed down the shaft from the bowels of the Beast out into space, falling ever-faster toward the planet called New Caprica…

Louis startled from his sleep and sat up with a gasp. The world was still dark, but he was constrained by rough, tangled sheets that kept him safely anchored to his rack. He was as sweaty as he remembered being in his dream.

Felix, he thought hopelessly, as he returned to his waking nightmare of thinking about his lover in the arms of Gaius Baltar.

What Is and What Was Never Meant to Be (Adama/Roslin, Laura/Wally, Laura/Maya, Laura/Cottle, Bill/Saul, Ellen/Saul)
“It’s a beautiful ceremony, huh.” Bill slides his hand into Laura’s as they watch Maya gently hand Isis over to the priestess. The baby squirms in her pale pink, sacklike dress and vocalizes her presence, but doesn’t cry.

She turns to face him and smiles. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d think so . . . Admiral Atheist.”

“We had naming ceremonies for both Leland and Zackary. Even if you’re not religious, it’s a good feeling, of presenting your baby out into the world, ready to be his or her own person.”

“To accept their destiny, whatever it might be,” Laura says softly.

“It’s a lot for a little person to handle,” Bill agrees.

She wraps her arm around his and holds tight.

* * *

Later, when they’re back in her tent and a little drunk from the post-ceremony celebration, Bill looks up at her earnestly and asked a question she had long ago assumed he had determined too personal to ask. Maybe things have changed more than she thought.

“Did you ever have a child, Laura?”

She takes her time answering, stirring her tea. “No…”

He can sense that there’s more there, and he waits her out.

“In my late thirties, I decided that I wanted to be a mother, and it didn’t matter that I hadn’t found a partner to do that with.” She sips her tea, and a practiced, distant grief settles over her lovely features. “A good friend was willing to help me out, and even co-parent-- he and I were never romantically involved, but we would have been good partners in this.”

Wally Gray had been a good friend. He’d always been just a little bit in love with her, and it had been enough to get them to agree to take that journey together, when her family was gone and she was running out of time to start her own. It had made it that much more painful to pull the plug on his candidacy. Walking with him on Cloud Nine, that little bit of love had vanished for good.

“What happened?”

“I finally got pregnant after the third round of IVF. I lost the baby at about fourteen weeks, and never tried again.” She looks thoughtful for a moment, then her eyes crinkle slightly as a realization hits her. “I haven’t told anyone about that since . . . well, long before the Colonies fell.”

* * *

She’s as surprised that she answered him honestly as she was at the fact that he asked the question at all, and that sad bit of her past joins the other secret weighing heavily on her chest.

“Bill,” she begins, and his hand slowly stops rubbing circles on her back and slips back into his lap. “There’s something I have to tell you about Isis.”

She wouldn’t tell him all the reasons for what she’d done: Maya’s soft brown eyes, so guileless as she spoke to Laura of the baby she’d lost in the attacks; the thrill that had run through Laura’s body when the younger woman threw herself into Laura’s arms with a resounding cry of thanks when Laura had brought up the possibility of an adoption; the chaste kiss they’d shared in Maya’s new quarters when Laura stopped by with a baby gift to see how Isis was settling in.

No, those weren’t her reasons at all. “The child was in danger,” she said. “I couldn’t let them have her. And they would have taken her, and the rest of us would be at risk until that day came.”

“Who, Laura?” Bill’s blue eyes are intent.

“Isis,” she said, “is Hera.”

* * *

Bill chokes on his tea and jumps up-- whether to try to clear his throat and breathe, or to get away from her, she’s not sure.

“Frakking hell, Laura,” he growls once his coughs subside. “That baby belongs to my officers. They grieved for her. They still do.”

She’s impassive, but stands as well to face him at eye level. The easy warmth between them has evaporated at her revelation.

“You kidnapped a baby and told her parents she was dead,” he says grimly. “And you roped my CMO into your scheme.”

Now that he thinks about it, he can remember Laura meeting with Cottle in sickbay without him; their heads bent together, their words ceasing as soon as he stepped into the room. Those interactions, which he’d written off as innocuous, a closeness born of Cottle’s care for Laura during her illness, now took on a more sinister meaning. What else had they been plotting? Doing?

Bill’s not just disappointed; he’s furious. Laura finds that she feels unburdened at having finally told him the truth, but it’s not clear that it’s worth the price.

It wasn’t, she decides, as he yanks on his boots and storms out of her tent.

* * *

Bill’s not sure where to go -- all of the rows of tents on this planet look the same to him. It takes a few loops of wandering until he finally comes across the lean-to that functions as a bar and meeting place for the settlers.

Some of the revelers are still there from Isis’s--Hera’s--naming ceremony after-party, though the baby and her mother are both gone, and for that, Bill’s glad. He returns their waves and ignores their confused looks when they realize Roslin’s not there with him.

Saul’s at the end of the bar, studying the small glass of brown liquid in front of him, and doesn’t notice Bill until Bill sits down next to him.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Saul asks pointedly.

“She’s not. Where’s Ellen?”

“Frak you!” Saul rejoins. It’s a dialogue as old as their friendship; it’s the basis for their sometimes-more-than-friendship.

“Joe! Get us another round.” Saul throws back what’s left in his cup to make room for the shots the bartender pours out before them.

The shots multiply, and Bill’s unsteady on his feet as they walk back to Saul’s tent. The burning ball of anger at Laura in the pit of his stomach has only been inflamed by the alcohol, and when Saul ties shut the flap to the tent and tentatively kisses him, Bill reaches for his belt buckle.

* * *

Bill wakes up to the sound of Ellen and Saul making love.

“You’ve gotta be frakking kidding me,” he huffs from his blanket on the floor. They didn’t even have the decency to wake him up and either kick him out or invite him to join in first. Some friends.

“See ya later, Bill,” Saul says from the corner of his mouth, barely audible over Ellen’s moans of pleasure. The creaking cot’s tempo is increasing, and Bill knows he’s got mere moments to get out of there.

“Yeah. Right,” Bill says, pulling on his boots and making a hasty exit through the tent flap for the second time of his shore leave.

* * *

Once he’s found some bread to eat for breakfast and a twig to brush his teeth with, Bill feels human enough to go find Laura and try to make things right.

He’s still struggling to understand her decision-- it doesn’t speak much of her faith in his ability to provide security, and he hates that she shut him out of it completely. But he can admit to himself that he would have struggled, and still does, to be objective about it.

“Isis is Hera,” he can hear Laura say, and it competes with Sharon’s heartbroken cry of “My baby!”

But Laura had lost a child too. The woman he’d spent the previous day with wouldn’t maliciously inflict that kind of pain on someone else.

She’s not in her tent, but he finds her a few tents down, playing with Isis in the morning sun. Hera.

She notices the shadow he casts over them first, and looks up, squinting at him. “Hello.”

He sits down next to them, his eyes trained on the baby as she bounced up and down, holding onto Laura’s hands for support.

“I forgive you, Laura,” he says.

“Doesn’t that sound familiar,” she huffs. “I don’t need your forgiveness, Bill. What I do need is your cooperation.”

“Helo and Athena should know,” he says.

“It’s too--”

“Dangerous. I know.” He reaches out and gently touches her chin so she’ll face him. “But they’re coming back, either way. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“I don’t--”

“I’ve got to go back to my ship,” he says. “I’m not going to say anything to them.”

“Good,” she says, and stands up, scooping Isis into her arms. “Say goodbye to the Admiral, Isis.”

“Isis,” he repeats, and shakes his head as Laura takes the baby into the tent behind them.

She emerges a few minutes later, after a few unhappy squawks have come from the tent, and holds her hand out to Bill to help him up.

“I’ll walk with you,” she offers.

They make their way toward the landing field, an unsettled silence between them, until Bill finally breaks it when his Raptor comes into sight.

“I wish I could have been that friend, for you,” he says.

It takes her a moment to realize his meaning, and she blushes.

“You are,” she says, and presses her lips to his cheek.

Lazy Sunday (Kara/Sam)
When the Colonies fell, the C-bucks were at training camp. As a result, more than a few of his pyramid jerseys survived the Exodus.

Kara loves being naked; she’s comfortable in her own skin after years of co-ed locker rooms. And Sam appreciates his wife’s form, so soft and strong all at once.

But his favorite look for her is when she pulls on his old jersey after they’ve made love. Just the jersey and a pair of skimpy panties, and he can almost believe that their lives are normal: her apartment on a lazy Sunday morning, the sun streaming. highlighting her golden hair as they decide where to go, what to do next.

He glances around their dingy rack as Kara shifts uncomfortably against him. Almost.

What's the Appeal (Kara/Dee)
Kara doesn’t usually concern herself with the ship’s communications officer, aka her lover’s wife, but there comes a point where Dee’s withering glances bring Kara’s temper to the surface.

”What, she snarls at Dee when Dee comes out of a stall one morning and gives Kara, the only other person in the head, her usual look of loathing. “Yeah, you got a problem. Suck it up, cupcake.”

“I am,” Dee responds tightly. “I have been, for months now.”

Kara turns to face her, leaning against the sink basin casually. Her swagger intact, it threatens to overwhelm Dee, who slinks away.

“You ever wonder why?” she asks Dee. “Why he keeps coming back?”

When Dee doesn’t answer, Kara moves in closer, and her hand wanders to Dee’s waist.

Dee doesn’t flinch, and Kara leans in, her breath hot against Dee’s ear.

“Lock the hatch,” she says, “and I’ll show you.”

Meow (Romo/Lance)
The cat looked up at him inquiringly, pleading for attention. “Meow.”

“Not now, Lance.”

“MEOW!”

Lance jumped up on top of the papers comprising the defense of Gaius Baltar.

“Dammit, Lance. Get away from me.”

Furry white paws stretched out over the papers possessively.

“No, you can’t help. Go lie down and lick yourself some more.”

Lance yawned lazily and rubbed his face against the cover of Caprican Criminal Procedure.

“Gods, I hate you, Lance. You are the worst pet ever. I should make you go live with Gaius and his harem. They’ll take good care of you, I bet.”

Lance cocked his head indignantly. “Meow!”

Sighing, Romo stroked the cat beneath its chin and clucked his tongue. Mollified, Lance jumped off the papers and into Romo’s lap.

“I hate you,” Romo repeated softly, perjuring himself with every word.

Projecting (Sam/Seelix)
After everything he thought he’d known about himself has turned to ash, Sam finds solace in the rec room. Tossing the pyramid ball, flirting with Diana, he feels almost normal again.

It’s easier, now. That frakking music is still there in his head, but it’s muted, and he’s found that when he lets his mind wander, he can sometimes take himself to places he’d rather be.

Like with Kara…in Kara. Back on Caprica -- not the frakked-up, yellowed ruins, but before.

Or even back on the other Earth...he was a musician and she was his muse,

Inside the pilots’ duty locker, his body is with Seelix, but his mind is somewhere else.

bsg_kink Valentine Exchange fic and eterna-rec: Apron Up!

2014-03-04T04:22:03Z

Posting this to my journal for posterity, because I loved my gift so much!

Title: Apron Up!
Author: madampresident
Pairings/Characters: Bill Adama/Laura Roslin
Word Count: 2,320
My take: Best gift!fic evah! A totally adorable AU with perfectly in-character younger Bill & Laura, along with kiddies Lee and Zak. Thank you, thank you, Madam Prez!

Read it HERE

Fic: Starting Over (Bill/Saul/Laura)

2014-02-24T03:00:25Z

Title: Starting Over
Word count: 2200
Rating: MA
Summary: Cylon technology saves Laura.
A/N: Just some smutty, fluffy OT3 written as a gift for plaid_slytherin for the bsg_kink Valentine exchange.

( "You sure this is going to work, Saul?" )

Fic: Tauron Tales

2014-01-26T21:41:19Z

Title: Tauron Tales
Rating: T
Word count: 3400
Summary: The twins are turning seven, and Tsattie brings the party--in addition to schooling the family in their history.
A/N: Part of the 'babytattoofic' Tauron Cherry AU 'verse.Thanks to fragrantwoods for the inspiration for this installation.

Previous fic: Tauron Surprise.

fic art by scifishipper

The knock was light, like a cat that wanted to be fed; thump thump thump thump. And nearly as insistent.

But it wasn’t the cat. “Mama?” whined a soft voice through a slowly widening crack between door and jamb.

Maybe it’s a dream, Laura thought hopefully. As she came closer to consciousness, she remembered that there was already a small child nestled in the middle of the wide king bed. What’s one more, as long as Cy doesn’t wake her up?

“Come on in, sweetie,” she whispered back, trying not to wake Isabelle and Bill.

Cyrus padded softly across the bedroom floor to Laura’s bedside. “I can’t sleep,” he said seriously. “Tsattie snores louder than Daddy.”

Laura bit back her laugh; if that was true, poor Cy must have been having a tough time of it indeed. She hadn’t known what she was subjecting him to.

“Climb on up,” she offered, pulling back the coverlet. She could see his small white teeth gleaming in the moonlight as he grinned and tucked himself between Laura and Isabelle.

“Thanks, Mommy,” Cyrus said. “I think I’ll sleep now.”

“Me too,” she whispered, giving him a squeeze as Bill and Isabelle slept on.

It couldn’t have been more than three hours later when the same tell-tale knock occurred, albeit a much more forceful one. Dual giggling confirmed Laura’s suspicion. Unlike Cyrus, Sephie didn’t wait for Laura to tell her to come in.

“We wanna get in bed, too,” Sephie demanded.

“Shh, quiet, Seph,” Phin warned. “You’ll wake Isabelle.”

It was Bill who woke first, as Sephie climbed on top of him. “Ow! What the--”

“Sorry, Dad,” Sephie said unapologetically. “Belly, move over.”

“There’s not room,” Phin said.

“Try this side, Phin,” Laura offered.

“Hang on,” Bill said. He blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes, and carefully lifted two-year-old Isabelle onto his chest. Sephie fell into the empty spot immediately and flung her arm across Cyrus, smacking him in the face with her arm.

“Ow!” Cyrus cried. “What?!”

“We play now?” said a suddenly alert Isabelle, trying to push herself up into a sitting position.

“No, Belly, we sleep,” Laura said.

Phin climbed up from the foot of the bed and slipped between Cyrus and Sephie. “Warm.”

Bill tried to coax Isabelle into laying down again, rubbing her back. “Shhh. Quiet down, everyone.”

“It’s still sleepy-time,” Laura added.

“It’s almost light out,” Sephie countered.

“Then go back to your room, sweetheart,” Laura said. “This bed is for sleeping only.”

Bill smirked at Laura from across the sea of children. Isabelle yawned, put her head back down against Bill’s chest, then farted loudly.

“Stinky, Belly,” Cyrus commented.

Sephie grimaced and pulled the sheet up over her and Phin’s heads.

“I can’t breathe!” Phin squealed.

Isabelle began to bawl.

“Better than near Belly stinky-butt,” came Sephie’s voice from beneath the covers.

“Persephone Jane,” Laura said. “Calm down, quiet down, or leave.”

“Night-night,” Cyrus said, looking perfectly content using Laura’s upper arm in lieu of a pillow.

Laura leaned over and kissed his forehead, then reached across Cy to pull the sheet back from over Phineus’s face. “Better?” she asked, smoothing his dark hair back from his eyes.

He nodded and shifted closer to Cyrus and Laura. Sephie turned as well, taking on the role of the big spoon to Phin’s small one.

“Get off me, Sephie,” he mumbled halfheartedly.

“Fine,” she said, dramatically turning over and burrowing against Bill.

Bill was trying to soothe Isabelle. “Ever seen a little light before the dawn of the light. Got me a Belly by a stream...gonna tell her all my dreams…”

“Daddy, your singing’s so bad,” Sephie interrupted him.

“I wike stream song,” Isabelle said sleepily.

“Me too, Belle,” Laura said, turning her head to smile at Bill. That song always transported her back to a time, early in their courtship; a late-evening picnic on the outskirts of Qualai, snuggling on a blanket beneath the stars. Bill had pointed out his ship, docked just beyond the Caprican atmosphere for the length of his four-day shore leave. They hadn’t made love that night, but laying there with her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart, she’d known to a certainty that they would.

“Why, Mom?” Sephie said. “It doesn’t even make sense.”

Laura directed her smile to their daughter. “Someday I’ll tell you.”

Bill blindly reached his hand toward Sephie and tousled her unruly red curls. “I’ll stop singing if you go back to sleep, Seph.”

She sighed loudly, but closed her eyes compliantly and eventually joined her siblings in a light sleep.

At the next knock, the room was beginning to fill with light and the children were considerably more sprawled than how they had started out. Laura strained to lift her head and realized that there were some wonderful home-cooked smells filling the room along with the day’s first rays.

“Morning, Ruth,” Laura said, nudging Cyrus’s arm off her stomach. “I take it you’ve found everything okay?”

“Everything except my roommate,” Tsattie replied. “I figured he must have come in here, but I didn’t expect to find all six of you.”

The twins had woken up during the exchange. “Tsattie!” Phin exclaimed, scampering down and off the bed to give her a hug.

“Ow,” Cyrus said. “Phin, you hurt my leg.”

“I wanted to see if I could find some helpers to make breakfast with me,” Tsattie said.

“Sure!” Sephie loved to please her grandmother, and she scrambled out of bed as well.

Sensing the commotion, Isabelle began to stir. She began patting Bill’s face. “Dada!”

“Hmmmm?” Bill shook his head, trying to avoid the small hand. “I’m up, I’m up.”

“You don’t have to be,” Tsattie said. “I’ll take the children downstairs and give them breakfast. You two sleep a bit more.”

“Ruth, you’re a gift from the gods,” Laura said. “Cyrus, will you help Tsattie with Isabelle?”

“Yes, mama. I’ll put on the Muffit video.”

“Good boy.” With a groan, she lifted him over her body and placed him on his feet at the side of the bed.

“Come on!” Sephie was already halfway down the stairs, a flash of red curls and pink pajamas.

“I’ll have some breakfast ready for you in about an hour,” Tsattie said as she lifted Isabelle up from Bill’s chest. Isabelle eyed her warily, but stayed quiet.

“Thanks, Tsattie.” Bill sat up and gave his grandmother a kiss on the cheek.

“Just like old times,” she said with a knowing wink.

Laura blushed and pulled the blankets over her head, finally able to curl up against her husband. She waited until she heard the door close to throw them back off.

“Sleep well?” Bill asked rhetorically.

“Well enough,” Laura responded, turning her body in his arms so that her back was pressed to his front.

He began lazily stroking her arm, bare but for her tattoos. "We've got a lot of things that need to get done before the party tomorrow," Bill said, his voice low and breath hot against her ear. "Maybe we should just get up."

Moving fluidly, Laura twisted to face him and threw one leg over his body, pinning him in place. "Are you kidding?" She leaned down to lightly nip at his earlobe. "Not a chance."

"Yes, sir," Bill said, grinning before he kissed her.

* * *

"Tell me another story, Tsattie," Sephie begged.

"Please," added Phin.

Laura had banished them both from the kitchen, where she was setting up the food for the twins' birthday party. Between their asking when the uncles would arrive and provoking Cy and Isabelle, who were placidly coloring at the small plastic table in the corner, she'd given up on getting them to help and told them to go find their grandmother.

“About Ha’la’tha,” Laura heard Sephie say.

Laura sighed; Sam and Larry must have been telling Sephie more than Laura knew.

“Well,” Ruth began. “You see this tattoo, here?” She pulled the collar of her knit shirt down so that the kids could inspect the dark lines beneath the fleshy skin of her neck.

“It’s an arrow?” Phin guessed.

“Not quite,” Tsattie said. “It’s a dagger.”

“Cool!” Sephie was impressed.

“I got the tattoo when I first established myself within the Ha’la’tha,” Ruth said. “Each line that got added to it represents another job I got done.”

Don’t ask her, Laura silently urged, what her job was.

“What was your job, Tsattie?” Phin asked.

“I had several,” she replied. “I operated a safe house for a while. Then I moved on to offsite work.”

“Where, Tsattie?” Sephie was rapt.

“Here on Tauron, then later, on Caprica.”

“That’s where we used to live!”

“That’s right,” Ruth said. “So when I started out in the organization, I was just cooking, and cleaning, and sometimes doing some driving.”

“Who were you driving?” Phin asked.

“Uh...other freedom fighters,” she said. “But sometimes, bad people would be out in the city, and I would have to practice my self-defense.”

Twin gazes blinked at their grandmother, not understanding.

“I got good at fighting,” she explained further. “First with my feet and fists. Then, I got my first set of daggers.”

“Daggers? Awesome,” Sephie said.

“Much more elegant than a gun,” Tsattie said, “and easier on the hands than a garotte.”

“You stab people, Tsattie?” Phin asked, his eyes huge.

“Not for a long time, darling,” she said in reply, draping her arm over his shoulders and pulling him close in a comforting hug. “Things were different, then.”

Lords, I hope so, Laura thought as she began washing a sink full of dishes left over from food preparations.

“How many people?” Sephie wanted to know.

“Well,” Tsattie replied, “each line over the dagger represents a different job.”

Phin leaned in and started counting. “One...two…”

“Shut up, Phinny,” Sephie demanded. “I wanna hear more story.”

“Forty-two,” Tsattie supplied.

“Wow!” Sephie bounced up and down on the loveseat.

“Who gave you the daggers?” Phin asked.

Laura wanted to know the answer to that question as much as her inquisitive son. Leaving the remaining dishes for after the party, she took a look around the kitchen and deemed it passable for entertaining. She could keep an eye on Cy and Isabelle from the living room if she sat on the couch, and sat down quietly, not wanting to interrupt the tale.

“Well,” Tsattie began, “his name was Aron.”

* * *

“You don’t have to do this, Ruth,” Aron said, sweeping her hair away from her face so he could look tenderly into her eyes. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, anchoring her in place. “You’re already made. You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone.”

“It’s not about that,” she huffed, annoyed that he would even suggest that her decision might be selfishly motivated. “It’s about retribution. That frakking Leonese cell is responsible for Sarai’s death. I need to be there.”

It had been nearly six months since her younger sister was killed in a cafe bombing, and the pain still felt as raw in her gut as it had been when it first settled there when Aron came into Connie’s, looking more sorrowful than she’d ever seen him. And they’d seen their share of sorrows.

Sarai wasn’t even involved in the resistance. She’d been collateral damage, the wrong place at the wrong time; a university student, and the only family Ruth had left. Ruth hadn’t gone to university herself, and she’d been so proud of Sarai for continuing her education. She’d thought that her little sister might even have a shot at making it off-world someday. But between the Virgonese, the Leonese, and finally the Hercs, there was always a group wanting to step in and run Tauron, to suppress the fierce independence of the Tauron people and exploit the planet’s vast mineral resources.

She and Aron had known each other since they were children playing pick-up pyramid games in the old neighborhood. But very little about that time was idyllic. They’d both experienced loss early on. They’d found their way into the Ha’la’tha separately, but for similar reasons, and had quickly teamed up to support one another. He was her best friend.

“I’m going to be there,” she insisted. He knew her better than anyone; she couldn’t understand why he seemed to think that she shouldn’t take part in the raid. Some heads would roll, to be sure, but hers wouldn’t be one of them.

“I just worry about you,” he admitted.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice sharp. She worried about him, too--he was always volunteering for the riskiest jobs, and she was more likely to find out about it from the clientele at Connie’s than from him--but she wasn’t telling him not to go.

“Can’t help it,” he said, and suddenly his hand was at her waist, and his lips were getting closer--

“Ruthie! We gonna get some more coffee anytime soon?” bellowed a low voice from the other side of the swinging doors.

“I have to get that,” she said breathlessly, her eyes searching his. “I’ll see you tonight.”

When she got back to her station after refilling drinks and serving up bowls of spicy stew, he was gone, but there was a box with her name written on it.

She briefly considered waiting until her shift ended to see what was inside, but her curiosity couldn’t be suppressed. The small box had a surprising heft to it as she lifted it.

* * *

The front door opened, and Sam and Larry filed in, followed by Bill, who was carrying a large sheet cake.

“Hey, Tsattie,” Sam said, leaning down to give his surrogate grandmother a kiss. “About time you made it out here.”

“Samuel. And Larry! It has been too long,” she said. “I was just telling the little ones a story about the old days.”

Larry raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You sure that’s appropriate?”

“Perfectly,” she said with a withering glance in his direction.

“We are seven today, Uncle Larry,” Phin informed him. “That’s pretty old, you know.”

Tsattie rolled her eyes at Phin’s pronouncement.

“I know, bud. Happy birthday, and happy birthday,” Larry said to each of the twins.

“What are you telling them, Tsattie?” Bill came in from the kitchen with Isabelle on his hip and Cyrus’s hand in his own. Bill sat down next to Laura with the baby on his lap, and Cy crawled up into Laura’s. Sam and Larry found chairs, as well; Tsattie had everyone’s attention.

“Oh, just some ancient history,” she said vaguely.

“We were just getting to the good part,” Sephie said. “You were about to open the box.”

“Ah, yes,” Tsattie said.

“Box?” Bill asked. “What box?”

“I think it had daggers in it,” Phin guessed.

“I was working as a waitress at Connie’s,” Tsattie filled in the newcomers. “It was the inspiration for Goldie’s, back in Little Tauron--you remember Goldie’s, of course, Bill. And there was going to be a big raid; the plan was to take out some high-ups in the Leonese occupying force while they were carousing.” The distaste on her face was evident even now, some seventy years later.

“Tsattie had a boyfriend,” Sephie added.

“Not quite. Not yet, ” Tsattie said. “But we cared about one another very much.”

* * *

“Oh, Aron,” Ruth said when she lifted the top from the box and pulled back the tissue.

Inside the box was a set of twin daggers, each one about six inches long. Long enough to inflict mortal damage, while still easily concealable in a sleeve or from a belt. It looked like he intended for her to wear them in the former fashion, as there were adjustable leather sheaths in the box as well.

She removed one of the daggers and inspected it under the light of the bread warmer. There was intricate etched scrollwork all along the handle, while the blade itself was gleaming pristine steel. A single blood-red ruby adorned each hilt.

There was a note, too. Mars be with you, it said. Love, Aron.

Later, it was his face she saw in her mind’s eye as she carried out her work in the name of her sister. And it was his arms that wrapped around and held her close after the team returned to the safe house and the adrenaline ebbed, leaving her twitchy and unsettled.

* * *

“Ah, I remember those days well,” Sam commented.

“Me too,” said Larry. He stroked Sam’s arm soothingly.

“Have to say, I don’t miss it,” Sam said.

“So did you end up with Aron?” Sephie wanted to know.

“Of course,” Tsattie said. “We moved in together a few weeks later. And a year after that, our daughter Shannon was born.”

“You had a baby?” Cyrus asked, looking from Tsattie to Isabelle.

“Did you keep working as an assassin, Tsattie?” Sephie asked.

“I did have a baby. My daughter grew up and married Joseph Adama, and that’s why we--” she gestured around the room “--are family,” she said. “And yes, Sephie. I kept working until long after she and I moved to Caprica when she was young.”

“Just the two of you?” Phin asked. “What about Aron?”

“He returned to the soil,” she said, her voice slightly strained with emotion. “Toward the end of the Third Occupation. I left Tauron not long after.”

Phin snuggled closer to his grandmother, and Sephie patted her hand in what Laura thought was a surprising show of empathy from her daughter.

“I never knew that’s what prompted your move to Caprica, Ruth,” Sam remarked.

“It’s what’s kept me away, all these years,” she said. “Too many memories, best tucked away.” Her gaze rested on Bill and Laura across the room and grew wistful. “You know, if you were to have another boy, Aron would be a good name.”

Laura started to explain that it was out of the question, but Bill’s squeeze to her knee interrupted her nascent protestations.

“And Ruth would be a good one for a girl,” he said.

* * *

“Tsattie, I don’t want you to go!” Sephie cried. She wrapped her arms around Ruth’s leg, and Phin moved to do the same on the other side.

“Ah-ah,” Laura said, catching him by the back of his collar. “You’ll take Tsattie out. Be gentle.”

“Take out?” Sephie said, stepping back and looking up at her grandmother with a grin. “That’s what Tsattie said I should do!”

“Oh?” Laura said.

“I’ll be back for good in a few weeks,” Ruth said smoothly. “I just need to take care of some things back home.”

“Yeah, like get our daggers,” Phin said.

”Oh?” Laura said again.

“Tsattie’s giving us the daggers that Aron gave her,” Sephie said, and dropped the register of her voice in an attempt to mimic Ruth. “If a young man tries to get fresh--”

“Take that motherfrakker out!” the twins finished together.

“I must have missed this part of the story,” Laura said.

“Don’t worry, Laura,” Tsattie said. “I told them they could have my daggers, but that you would hold onto them for them.”

“We’ll be happy to have you and your daggers back here with us soon, Ruth,” she said.

The twins beamed, probably relishing the fact that Laura hadn’t said no. She really had come a long way, she realized.

“‘Scuse me, pardon me, coming through,” Bill said, making his way down the stairs with Tsattie’s bags past Cy and Isabelle, who were sitting on the bottom step, trying to read a book to the cat. “All ready?”

“Ready,” Ruth said, giving each of the children a kiss before turning to Laura. “Thank you, dear. For bringing me back out here at last. It’s been so wonderful...I was a fool to stay away.”

Laura hugged Ruth tightly. “No, thank you,” she said. “None of this would have happened-- none of the kids would have even been born-- if you hadn’t shared that recipe with me all those years ago.”

Ruth laughed. “I don’t know about that, but maybe it moved things along a bit. And for that, I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Bill said, ruffling Phin’s hair, “but we’ve got to get going if Tsattie’s going to make her transport.”

Laura picked up Isabelle and ushered the kids to the front stoop so they could wave goodbye as Bill walked Tsattie down the walkway to the waiting car.

“Bye Tsattie!” Cyrus called. “Next time bring me a present, too? And more stories!”

“You got it, buddy,” she called back. “See you soon!”

Fic - Eighth Night

2013-12-25T18:06:20Z

Title: Eighth Night
Universe: Special Prosecutions
Word count: 500
Rating: K
A/N: This was written as a birthday gift for nixmom, but not posted until now. It's doing double duty as my contribution to the Twelve Days of Laura Roslin on rememberlaura.

December 5, 2013

“So. It’s the last time for the next 78,000 years that your birthday will fall on the last day of Hanukkah,” he said casually over his menu.

Laura snorted. “Please. I’ve heard enough of this eighty-thousand-years numerical-oddity crap for the past eight days to last me a lifetime—and beyond.”

“Still,” he said. “Seemed to call for something special.”

They didn’t make a habit of exchanging gifts for Hanukkah, and certainly not all eight nights, although Bill had adorably and gamely tried during their first year as an actual couple. Laura absentmindedly rubbed the silver bangle bracelet that she still wore nearly every day, the most memorable of many gifts from that time.

“Yeah?” she asked, sliding her foot up the inside of his calf. She closed her menu and placed it conspicuously at the edge of the table, ready for some latkes. She felt an odd yet seasonally appropriate surge of guilt at getting dinner at the deli near the train station instead of Ambrosia’s, even though they’d already eaten there twice that week.

“Yeah,” he agreed, setting his menu down as well.

He began to reach into his briefcase, but the waitress inauspiciously chose that moment to show up at the table. Laura placed both feet solidly on the floor beneath her.

“What’ll it be?”

Bill inclined his head toward Laura, giving her unspoken permission to order for them both. “Two orders of latkes, applesauce, a brisket, and the roast chicken, please.”

He smiled appreciatively at her order and handed the menus to the waitress. Waiting until the server’s back was turned, he reached toward the floor once more. "You want your present now?"

"Mmm. Sure." She winked at him. "Yours will have to wait till we get home, though."

He pulled from his briefcase a rectangular package wrapped in blue and silver spangled paper and offered it to her across the table.

"Nice wrapping job," she said.

"I made Tory do it," he admitted.

She pulled the ribbon off eagerly, then slowed down to carefully peel back the festive paper.

"Oh, Bill." She blinked in surprise, taking a moment to examine the cover, then carefully opened the battered tome and checked the publication date. "A first edition of Clarence Darrow's Attorney for the Damned?"

He grinned sheepishly. "I figured you probably miss the drama of the jury trial."

"Sometimes," she conceded. "This is great." A rare find, for sure. "I'm just surprised that you of all people would buy a book by a self-congratulatory defense attorney."

Bill reached for her hand across the table and gave it a squeeze. "The appearance of impartiality is paramount, Your Honor."

"You're right," she said. She moved the book to the side of the table to make room for the plate of steaming latkes being set before them. "Applesauce, sour cream, or both?"

"Definitely both," he said. "I don't discriminate."

Fic: Five Dawns

2013-11-23T19:08:10Z

Title: Five Dawns
Rating: T
Word count: 1550
Summary: Five mornings across Laura's life.
A/N: Written for the prompt "dawn" for the adama_roslin Month of Love, day 20.

( Finally the day had arrived when she would have to go to the Galactica )

Fic: The Upside of Shutdown

2013-11-16T22:31:59Z

Title: The Upside of Shutdown
Universe: Special Prosecutions
Word count: 4100
Rating: MA
Summary: Federal workers Bill and Laura are furloughed and having fun.
A/N: Written for fragrantwoods for the occasion of her birthday. Thanks for the timely prompt. :)

October 2013

Bill was fairly certain that when the Chief Judge’s reluctant but necessary edict had come down, announcing that all three of New Jersey’s federal courthouses would be closed as of the third week of the government shutdown due to a lack of funds, it had been intended to apply equally to the court’s judges as well as the court reporters, pretrial services officers, and docket clerks who were all now wondering how they’d be able to support their families. Bill felt for them; he was in the same boat, having been indefinitely furloughed by the Justice Department as a non-essential worker since the first day of the shutdown.

Laura, however, was not so resigned.

“It’ll just take a few minutes,” she’d wheedled, after he shook his head at her suggestion that they run by the courthouse so she could pick up some files she’d forgotten.

“I thought we would stay in bed all day,” he said, pulling her closer. “It’s the first day we both don’t have to go to work. Let’s just enjoy this for a little while longer.”

She squirmed away from him and reached for her glasses from the bedside table. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Nightmares about that antitrust case. I really need to go get the file so I can wrap my head around it.”

He made a disapproving noise. “The main reason the courthouse is closed during the shutdown is that they couldn’t afford to pay the Marshals and Security Officers. It’s not secure, Laura. And you may not even be able to get in, anyway.”

“I have a key,” she said. “And you.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss--a brief kiss that hinted at more. “And if you come with me, I promise to spend at least part of the rest of the day in bed with you.”

He never could say no to her, he mused as he watched her pull on her robe.

On the drive over, Renee Montagne was interviewing people who were affected by the shutdown. After the second set of husband-and-wife federal workers lamented their situation, Bill switched off the radio.

“Hitting a little too close to home?” Laura asked, looking up from her iPhone.

“We’ll be back at work soon,” he said, with more optimism than he actually felt.

“Very soon,” Laura said happily, as he pulled the 240Z off the McCarter Highway and the courthouse came into view. She patted his hand as they waited for the door to the judges’ parking garage beneath the courthouse to open up. The guard wasn’t in his booth, so Laura handed her access card over to Bill to let up the gate. “We’ll be fine, honey. I hate that my staff isn’t getting paid because of those clowns in Congress--”

(Bill’s anger flared. Those same clowns had taken well over a year to give Laura the benefit of a confirmation hearing.)

“--but you and I don’t have much to worry about.” She smiled at him, the same brilliant smile that had rendered him helpless to resist her all those years ago. “Roof over our heads and all that.”

He suspected that she intended to spend her time under that roof as if her chambers was merely relocated. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have things to do, as well -- mundane administrative tasks that he normally pushed off -- but with no new investigations, and no new information, and no new indictments -- well, he’d lost a little motivation. It would be nice if Laura saw the shutdown as an excuse to play hooky for at least a day, instead of a chance to get caught up on the fine points of antitrust law.

They walked through the darkened halls together, looking for signs of life and finding none. Normally bustling with attorneys, litigants, and courthouse staff, the building was eerily quiet. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way to the elevators.

Riding up together still took him back to their early days of working here together, getting off at the fourth floor for Judge Cottle’s chambers after a quick lunch at Ambrosia’s. Later, when they were both at the US Attorney’s Office, they’d tacitly agreed to take the stairs to the second floor instead. And now, after Laura’s promotion, the ride took much longer-- up to the top floor. The light under “8” glowed and the doors opened before Bill had a chance to take advantage of the long ride and the fact that there was probably no one minding the surveillance cameras.

“There’s a new painting in my courtroom, if you want to take a look,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute. I’ll meet you back in here.” She gently pushed him in the direction of the heavy dual mahogany doors, while she got out her access card to disappear behind a much simpler, unlabeled door.

Bill vaguely recalled that Laura had been tasked with commissioning a new artwork following her investiture. Most judges would opt to sit for their own portrait, while a few others would pay homage to a retired or deceased jurist who hadn’t yet been memorialized in oils. As he entered the courtroom and looked to the wall over the jury box, however, he recalled that Laura had chosen neither of these options.

Instead, she’d chosen to have a painting done of the courthouse. He smiled as he drew closer. The landscape was broad enough that small shops on the next block over from the courthouse, including Ambrosia’s with its distinctive green awning, were discernible in the right-hand corner. But there was no doubt that this was a tribute to the structure itself. He leaned closer and read the small gold plaque at the center bottom of the frame: “Beacon of Justice.”

It was a fitting tribute to the place where they’d both spent the entirety of their careers. He peered closely and noted that the artist had painted certain windows dark and others lit from within, contrasting with the dusk settling over the building and its environs. Judge Cottle’s chambers on the fourth floor were, unsurprisingly, lit.

He stepped back to get the effect from counsel’s table. He liked it, he decided. It was more evocative of the purpose of the place than yet another stern-faced robed figure posed in front of shelves of leatherbound Federal Reports. Not that Laura herself wouldn’t make a beautiful portrait, he quickly qualified his thoughts.

His attention turned to the dais, and his heart expanded with pride at thinking of her sitting up there. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted for himself, but it had been his privilege to support her as best he could on her arduous journey to the imposing desk and rich leather chair at the front of the room. He walked closer to the dais and after a quick look around to ensure that he was still alone, pushed past the bailiff’s swinging half-door and up the several steps behind her desk.

He hadn’t checked out her new courtroom from this angle yet. As he leaned against the green tufted-leather rolling chair, he could understand a little better why she was so motivated to continue throwing herself into her work, even as Bill was finding his own work less engaging than when he’d first started out. At this point his favorite part of his job was mentoring the new recruits and showing them how to get the job done. But this--he eased down into the chair and picked up her gavel--this would give anyone a rush.

And apparently, she thought about him while she was up here. Among the neatly arranged containers of office supplies and stacks of paper, he was surprised to note a framed photograph of himself. He picked it up and examined it; he couldn’t recall having seen it before, but he remembered the day, one of those perfect evenings at Cape May when they’d taken their cocktails and the camera down to the beach to try futilely to capture the peachy purple of the impending sunset, settling instead for flattering portraits in the softening light. He smiled and set down the photograph.

“You’re the only person who I would let get away with sitting in that chair, you know,” Laura’s voice broke in. “Looking good, Adama.”

“Not as good as I did when this picture was taken,” he countered, picking up the small frame once more to make his point. The Bill in the photograph was at least eight years younger, plus had the benefit of being captured in a moment of relaxation. The Bill in the photograph might have been stressed about work, but Bill now had the added burden of stressing about not working. He grimaced as his neck and shoulders tightened at the thought of spending the rest of the year being instructed not to work, knowing what a mess it would be once the federal funds started flowing once more. Neither the streets of Newark nor the back-room dealings of the politicians he prosecuted were suspended for the damn shutdown.

“You’re as gorgeous to me now as when we first got together,” Laura insisted, coming up onto the dais and setting down a hefty stack of redwelds and binders on the desk. “Although I do particularly love that shot of you.” She began massaging his shoulders, her thumbs pressing expertly against knotted muscles. “God, you’re tense.”

“Someone wouldn’t let me sleep in and forget about this whole shutdown fiasco for a couple more hours.”

Her lips brushed against the side of his neck, causing him to shiver. “Sorry, honey.” She pushed the chair so that he swiveled toward her, then lowered herself into his lap. “Maybe I had an ulterior motive.”

He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her familiar scent. “Mmmm?”

Her fingers toyed with the placket of his button-down. The well-worn plaid shirt was one of her favorites -- she always said it brought out the blue in his eyes. “We’re all alone,” she said.

It took him a few moments to process that. “You can’t be serious,” he said, even as he slid his hand up her thigh to cup her bottom through her slacks.

Apparently, she was; in lieu of answering, she tilted her head up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt before bringing her mouth to the newly bared skin. She placed gentle kisses there, working her way up to his neck. An involuntary moan escaped him as she lightly nipped at his earlobe.

Bill performed a quick risk assessment: while the courthouse had seemed empty, and certainly the rest of this floor, the courtroom itself was unlocked. On the plus side, there were definitely no security cameras in the courtroom itself-- only in the hallways and elevators. “Laura,” he said, straining to get the words out past her lips. “This is probably not a great idea.”

She pouted. “Come on. Let me make things up to you for making you come here with me this morning.”

He doubted that this was really about any such amends, and was rather some long-running fantasy of Laura’s, but as she continued kissing his neck, whispering the things she wanted to do, he began to see the merits of her proposition. He shifted slightly beneath her to adjust for the suddenly growing situation in his pants, then moved his hand from her ass to the front of her shirt. She was wearing one of his favorites this morning, as well-- the white wrap shirt that he found incredibly distracting whenever she wore it. He slid his hand beneath the stretchy material and fondled her breast over the smooth satin of her bra. He glanced down and pulled his hand away slightly to confirm his suspicion: she was wearing the peach-colored one today.

Her tongue laved against the line of his jaw, working her way back to his mouth. His thumb swept back and forth over her nipple, causing her to squirm and shift against him. She sighed contentedly, and he took advantage of her blissful distraction to capture her mouth with his own.

Her lips opened eagerly to him, settling into a familiar but no less exciting silent communication. I love you. I want you. He stroked his tongue against hers, then drew her bottom lip between his own and sucked gently. She whimpered and threaded her hands through his hair, holding herself tight against him. He reached further into her shirt and slid his hand under the material of her bra, causing her to gasp when his fingers closed in on the sensitive nipple.

The heat between them was about to ignite. Bill attempted one last appeal to reason. “Why don’t we move this into chambers?” he asked, knowing that they could barricade themselves in her office without fear of being interrupted.

To his surprise, she shook her head. “Been there, done that.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “Here?”

Laura grinned in response. “No one’s around, Bill. And no one has any reason to come in here, anyway.” She leaned back and reached behind her, unhooking her bra and sliding it out from under her shirt.

He let out a long whistle and unbuttoned the remaining buttons of his shirt. “If we get busted by the Marshals, it’s on you to intimidate them into silence.”

She stood up and shimmied out of her pants, her movements determined and deliberate, and Bill took her silence as assent. Laura straddled him and began working on the button of his jeans. “Work with me here, Bill.”

Rather than assist with her removal of his pants, his hands drifted up to her breasts, deliciously unrestrained beneath the stretchy white jersey. He tugged the overlapping panels apart, exposing and framing her luscious flesh.

Vaguely aware of her frustration at a lack of process in getting his jeans down over his hips, he shifted up and off the chair as he brought his mouth to her breast, circling a taut nipple with his tongue before capturing it in his mouth and sucking hard. Her moan of pleasure turned to one of satisfaction as she finally freed his erection from the confines of his pants.

Now it was his turn to moan, as her hand slipped inside his boxers to stroke his hot length. She pulled the material down and away, leaving his member exposed. She rolled her palm over the head, then shifted atop him to grind herself against his hardness.

“Laura,” he groaned at the sensation of damp satin sliding against his cock. He moved his mouth to the opposite breast, giving it the same loving treatment as its twin. He bit lightly at the nub, knowing how it turned her on. One of his hands moved from its station on her ass to the crotch of her panties. He pushed the material aside and gently stroked her pussy, swirling the wetness he found there before slipping his finger inside.

“Need you. Now,” she said.

“Mmm…” he mumbled back inarticulately. If that’s what she wanted, why was she still riding his hand? “You’re still wearing underwear.”

“Tear it off,” she said.

“God, Laura. This is so wrong,” he growled, slipping his hand from her dripping cunt so he could grasp the skimpy material at her hip. The string bikini gave easily, and she pushed the torn panties down off her leg as she shifted above him and sank down on his cock.

“Yesssss,” she hissed, as she began to move. Her knees were wedged between his hips and the thankfully-padded armrests of the leather chair, and Bill found that he had little leverage to move himself. He focused on keeping his feet on the ground and the chair still, as Laura braced her hands on the top of the chair and slid up and down on his cock in long, slow strokes.

She arched her back as she moved, thrusting her breasts into his face. He pushed them together and suckled both nipples at once, making her moan loudly. She quickened the pace, both of them panting, both of them needing more---

SNAP!

“Bill?” Laura said, stilling her movements. “What was that?”

He didn’t have a chance to answer her before he realized that the chair had dropped out beneath them, separated from the swiveling base. He held her close to shield her from hitting the ground as the chair toppled over onto its side, along with both of its former occupants.

“Ohhhh,” wailed Laura. Her face was buried in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if the shudders he could feel emanating from her were from sobs or laughter. Maybe a mixture of both. “I really--” hiccup “-- liked that chair.”

They were no longer joined, but Bill’s hard-on raged despite their total upending. “You okay, sweetheart?”

She was still shaking against him, laughing quietly. “I think so. You?”

“Fine,” he said. “Except that we were in the middle of something.”

She moved to push him onto his back so as to straddle him again, but he caught her wrist and stood up, pulling her to her feet as well. He was vaguely aware that he must look ridiculous, with his jeans around his ankles, open shirt, and jutting cock, but at that moment, the only thing he cared about was taking advantage of this adrenaline rush and bringing them both to completion.

“Bend over,” he said, pushing her gently against the solid mahogany expanse. “You had your chance to drive. Now I’m going to fuck you on your desk. Your Honor.”

She raised an eyebrow, but complied. “Yes, sir. Okay, sir. Anything you say, sir.” She leaned over and propped her upper body up on her elbows. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she giggled as he stepped up flush against her. Her giggles ceased, replaced by a deep moan, when he grasped her hips and sank his cock into her heat.

He bent over her, slipping his hands beneath her breasts so he could fondle them as he moved against her. After the constraints of the swiveling chair, it was a huge rush of freeing sensation to be controlling their pace, the depth and angle of his strokes, even as she bucked against him.

And he had to admit that it was a rush to be doing this here. Now she’d have plenty of naughty thoughts to ruminate on during endless oral arguments. The noises she was making beneath him were decidedly lacking in judicial gravitas. He pinched her nipples and sank his teeth into the juncture of her shoulder and neck, eliciting a loud “God, yes!”

“You like that?” he said, his voice low and rough. His hand slid down her stomach to the juncture of her thighs, stroking between her folds with each thrust and withdrawal of his cock. She cried out when he turned his attention to her swollen bud, capturing it between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing gently.

“I’m so close,” she panted.

“I know,” he said. And he pulled out of her, and stepped back.

Laura let out a keening wail not unlike the one she’d made when she’d realized that they’d broken her chair. “Dammit, Bill!” She stood up slowly, placing a hand at her lower back, and turned around to glare at him.

“This is too fun to be over too soon,” he said, advancing on her. Her eyes darkened as she realized his intent.

“Ooh-kay,” she breathed, as he sat her on the edge of the desk and brought her legs up around his hips.

He eased into her slowly, his eyes trained on hers. The desk was of a perfect height for their purpose, and the position far more comfortable than the chair had been for either of them.

She clutched at his bare ass, urging him to start moving again. But he was biding his time, intent on drawing out the experience even as her heat throbbed around him. “Uhh...give me a second,” he said, and placed kisses along her cheekbones. She began to undulate against him, finally accepting his slower pace. Her hair was beginning to frizz along her hairline and she was glowing with exertion; he’d never seen her more beautiful. As good as taking her from behind had felt for both of them, the position lacked the emotional connection that this one enabled.

She felt it, too. “Love you,” she murmured, lightly scratching her nails along his back beneath his shirt. “So good, love.”

He knew she was sincere, because he could feel her inner muscles twitching and tightening in the tell-tale warning signs of impending orgasm. He slid his hands under her bottom to increase the leverage with each thrust, having abandoned his previously cavalier attitude about taking their time. He was claiming her, marking her on her own turf. He was making love to her; his partner, his mate. She dug her heels against him and cried out as the elusive orgasm finally overtook her.

“Bill!” she cried, holding him close to her body as she trembled and shook. Bill, realizing that they may have just about exhausted their odds of avoiding unwelcome interruptions, lasted just a few more strokes until his pleasure erupted and he emptied himself into her there on the dais.

Laura looked dazed, her hair disheveled. “As good as I hoped for,” she declared, reaching into a desk drawer for a box of tissues. “And I’d hoped for a lot.”

“Deviant,” he clucked, pulling up his pants and tossing her pants to her. Her ripped panties got stuffed into his pocket.

“Mmmm. Do you see my bra anywhere?” she asked, tugging her top back to cover her breasts once more.

He lifted up the toppled chair and saw the satin garment beneath. “A casualty of your fantasy, Laura.” He handed the bra over, then tried to set the chair back up on its base. The central point of the chair stubbornly refused to fit once more on the base.

No wonder; the metal connector was completely bent. When he finally gave up on the chair as a total loss, he looked at Laura, who was dressed once more and looking at the broken chair in wonder.

“I suppose,” she said, frowning, “that I’ll have to buy my own replacement chair.”

One week later

The courthouse already showed more signs of life than it had a week ago, notwithstanding that the sun had yet to rise. The lights were on, the HVAC was whirring its familiar hum.

“Hurry, Bill!” Laura called over her shoulder. But the top part of the chair was far more unwieldy than the base she was carrying.

“We should have done this days ago,” Bill complained. “Or you should have had Billy do it for you. You know he would have.”

Laura ignored him as they reached the cavernous sub-garage. The loading bay and dumpster area wasn’t one where either of them went frequently, although they both had access. Laura held the door for Bill as he carefully maneuvered the broken chair through the doorway.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

The gruff, cigarette-scratchy voice was unmistakable. Bill saw a flush creep across Laura’s chest and face before turning to confirm what he already knew.

“Hello, Judge,” Laura squeaked.

Bill cleared his throat. “Jack,” he said in greeting. Even after years of being instructed to knock off the formality, it still sounded wrong.

“So what brings you two down here at this hour? Just overjoyed to be back at work?” their former boss asked, looking from Laura to Bill and back again.

Laura laughed nervously. “Just a little cleaning up. But what are you doing down here?”

The elderly judge fished out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. “Haven’t you heard? When you’re the oldest judge on the court, they let you have the closest parking spot.” He waved over to where his Caddy was parked.

“That is convenient,” Laura said. “Why are you here so early, though?” Judge Cottle had taken senior status nearly two decades earlier, and with his reduced caseload, really had no reason to be the first person at the courthouse.

Cottle shrugged. “The older I get, the earlier I get up.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Well, I’m heading up. Nice seeing you two.”

“You too, Judge,” they said in unison.

He started toward the door, then paused and shuffled in place to face them again. “You know, you really ought to make sure your next courtroom chair’s a little more industrial and a little less decorative, if you’re going to be abusing it like that.”

He gave them both a little salute and walked off.

Fic: Heliopolis

2013-11-04T03:56:48Z

Title: Heliopolis
Words: 1300
Rating: T
A/N: Written for the adama_roslin Month of Love prompt, "phoenix." Thanks to my betas for all their help!

( Gray wool, red silk. A red-orange feathered mask and its dark-horned companion... )

Comm Pimpage: Womenverse

2013-11-04T02:24:32Z

The womenverse landcomm is starting up a new round! Come join the fun. It's a fantastic, multifandom community that uses challenges and games to celebrate female characters. I've had a ball writing some short fics, meta, and even a few graphics for it.

womenverse womenverse womenverse womenverse

Apply for a team here and tell them afrakaday sent you! (Team Combat Boots all the way.)

Oh my gods!

2013-10-07T18:54:18Z

It's happening! I am registered for the 2014 Paris Marathon!

A little fic-ish meta...

2013-10-07T05:20:23Z

375 words of something (fic? meta? I'm not sure what this is) written for a womenverse challenge.

I'm going to meet Laura Roslin...

Fic: Tauron Surprise

2013-09-30T16:07:40Z

Title: Tauron Surprise
Word count: 6200
Rating: M
Warning: May contain gluten and/or saccharine
Summary: A little over a year in the lives of Bill, Laura, and the babies Roslin-Adama, culminating in the uncles' coming over for a family ceremony.
A/N: Thanks to fragrantwoods for the beta.

Previous story: Tauron Transitions

The kids had fallen fast asleep before their little heads hit their pillows, exhausted after a day of playing and swimming at the community pool. Laura switched off the overhead light in their room and gently closed the door behind her, then went to find Bill on the couch.

“Feel like taking a shower?” she asked him. The late-summer heat permeated the house, and a cool shower seemed like just the thing to wash away the day’s residue of chlorine and sunscreen-- particularly if her husband would join her.

“Mmmm?” Bill looked up from his book, A History of Libran Legal Education and Its Effect on the Militaries of the Twelve Worlds.

Slow going; it looked like he hadn’t made much progress from the afternoon, when he’d tried to read for a few minutes but had instead been recruited into a game of catch with Phin and Sephie before being led into the wading pool by an insistent Cyrus.

“Shower? Together?” Laura stepped closer, insinuating herself between his knees.

He placed the bookmark at the open page and leaned back, eyeing Laura up and down appreciatively. “That,” he said, “sounds like an excellent idea.”

Within minutes they had stripped off their clothes and were standing in the close quarters of their shower. A baby monitor receiver sat on the vanity and their robes hung from the back of the door in case one of them needed to make a quick escape. Laura wet her hair and her face, then turned to Bill with an inviting smile: let’s get started. “Hi.”

He let his hands come to her waist and gently pushed her out from under the spray so that he could rinse himself off. Laura giggled and slid her hands down his flanks to his hip bones, knowing that the proximity of her hands to his cock would move things along toward her ultimate goal. Rivulets of water streamed down his well-defined abdominal muscles, a translucent spray dripping over his wedding tattoo as she admired the view.

His erection grew instantly as her hand finally encircled his length. She gave it a few lazy pumps, then reached for the soap and lathered up her hands.

Bill hissed in pleasure as her palms stroked him, tight and slick, one after the other until she changed the tempo, focused on rolling the tip of his cock in her fist while the other hand reached beneath the action to stroke his balls.

With each thrust Laura moved closer to him, shifting her body against his and adjusting his length so that instead of thrusting into her hand, he was sliding between her thighs while she squeezed him tight. One of his hands found its way to her breast, teasing the nipple until it was tight and pebbled. Laura leaned back against the shower wall, tugging Bill closer to her as he alternated gentle kisses with sharp nips to the side of her neck. His tongue slowly traced the green and burgundy lines of the vine tattoos that crept from her shoulders across her clavicle to the tops of her breasts.

“More,” she moaned, rolling her hips against his. Bill growled, a deep, animalistic sound that sent Laura’s pulse racing. Laura lifted one leg and wrapped it around his hip, opening herself up to him.

“Already?” he asked, a question in his eyes that his fingers answered by reaching down and finding her slick and ready to receive him.

“Gods, yes, Bill. Do it.” She guided him in, whimpering into the side of his neck as he began to move.

He braced one arm over her head against the dry part of the wall and thrust into her, his movements quick and shallow. As their passion built, mouths met and melded, neither one wanting to break the connection to do something as trivial as breathe.

“Bill, Bill--”

“Yeah, honey?”

“My leg is cramping.” It took a fair amount of effort to keep her calf propped up over the ridge of his hip, especially with the water streaming down over their bodies, and the discomfort was beginning to distract her from the otherwise immersive pleasure.

Bill answered with a deep, open-mouthed kiss while his hand found her leg and gently guided it back down to the ground. Laura moaned in relief, then rose up on her toes to try to get a better angle. As it was, his cock wasn’t in very deep, and she arched her back to try to allow him to penetrate deeper.

“That’s not going to get you there,” he muttered, running his hands down over her breasts, flicking at the nipples before continuing down to cup her ass. He lifted her up briefly, and her squeal at being unbalanced soon became a cry of pleasure as he slid deeper inside.

But that full sensation was taken away all too quickly, as Bill eased her back down. “Sorry. My back can’t handle that,” he admitted. One of the benefits of over five years together was a reciprocal honesty and appreciation of one another’s respective self-preservation tactics. Besides, a few minutes of pleasure wouldn’t be worth running after three kids by herself and taking care of Bill as he recovered from a thrown-out back. “Turn around, sweetheart.”

Laura tilted her head to the side and nodded in approval. She gently pushed him away so she could comply with his suggestion and bend over. The brief loss of their connection was offset by the intense pleasure of him entering her from behind, his hands firmly at her hips as he sank into her as far as possible. Laura braced her hands against the slippery wall so she could push back against him with each quickening thrust. His hand found its way to her clit, circling it in time with his bucking hips.

“Oh gods,” Laura said, her voice almost unrecognizably husky with desire. “Harder, Bill.”

It had been at least a week since they’d last made love, and neither one of them was going to last much longer. Laura reached one hand behind her, blindly seeking out Bill’s solid mass, clasping his thigh and urging him on. His strokes were quickly going from long and sure to short and erratic.

She gave his hip a last encouraging squeeze and brought that hand around front to replace Bill’s between her legs. Bill didn’t miss a beat as she nudged his hand up to squeeze her breast and took over the task of stimulating herself.

“Oh, oh, yes,” she sighed, sweeping her fingers back and forth over the most sensitive spot she could find--just a little to the left, there, oh. Her inner muscles began to contract around his cock, and her unintelligible cries became higher-pitched as her whole being coiled, shimmered, then exploded, taking him with her.

~~two months later~~

“Bill?” Laura walked into the house, happy to find the kids damp-haired, pyjamaed, and sitting down to dinner around their little table in the nook off the kitchen. Sephie and Phin would soon be too big for the miniature chairs, but for now it was so much easier to contain their inevitable collective mess in the kiddie corner.

“Hi Mama!” shouted Cyrus, spewing half-masticated carrots.

Would the fourth chair be filled before the twins moved on to full-sized furniture? “Hello, my darlings.” She leaned down to kiss the tops of their heads, then turned to her husband.

“Hey.” Bill looked up from the newspaper he was reading at the counter and slid off his stool. “How’d your appointment go?”

She bit her lip, trying to stop the smile that would be a surefire giveaway of her news. Sure enough, he picked up on it, and brought his hands around her waist. His toothy grin relieved and emboldened her at the same time.

“Surprise,” she whispered just before his lips came down on hers. It was a kiss that contained a multitude of emotions: exhilaration, anticipation, gratitude, a hint of disbelief.

It was on this last feeling that he pulled back. “How?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She rose up on her toes to give him another kiss. “Do you really have to ask?”

Without warning, Bill scooped her into his arms, carried her into the living room and dropped her on the couch before settling beside her.

“Love you,” he said, cupping her cheek with his hand as his other arm pulled her close.

“I’m so glad,” she said, beaming. “All thanks to that time in the shower--”

His smile couldn’t be suppressed. “I remember.”

“The doctor lectured me about the silphium tea. Says it probably reacted badly with something, I should have known to use a backup.”

Bill shrugged. “We knew what odds we were playing.” After Cyrus, they’d briefly discussed a more permanent contraceptive solution, but agreed to continue with the traditional homeopathic herb for the time being.

“You’re really happy about this? I know how much of the childcare has fallen on you over the past few years--”

“Of course I’m happy,” Bill broke in. “How many term papers did I write with Cyrus on my lap? The next one can help me write my thesis. And Sephie and Phin are getting much more self-sufficient.” His hand came to rest on her abdomen as he did the math. “So you’re what, two months?”

Laura nodded. “We’re due at the beginning of the summer.”

“I gotta say, Laura, excellent timing.”

“Academic timing,” she said, “if not intentional.”

“Oh,” he said, “I seem to remember it being very intentional.” He slipped his hand behind her head and brought his lips to hers, deepening the kiss, his tongue stroking hers--

“What are you doing?” Phin’s voice was vaguely accusatory. “Gwoss.”

Bill eased himself away from Laura as she blushed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“All done with dinner?” Laura asked, ignoring Phin’s question. “Should we read together?”

Sephie and Cyrus wandered into the living room from the kitchen to join their brother. Cyrus’s face was smeared with ketchup.

“Nuh-uh,” Bill told Cyrus when he reached toward Bill to be picked up onto the couch. “We gotta wipe your face first.” Bill stood up and carried Cyrus into the kitchen.

Laura turned her attention to the twins. Phin was studiously browsing the bookshelf in search of something to read. Sephie was tumbling on the floor, turning somersaults and attempting handstands.

“Nice job, Seph,” Laura said, happy Sephie had learned to channel her energy into appropriate spaces. It meant that they couldn’t have a coffee table or unupholstered chairs—anything with sharp corners—in the living room, but the inconvenience was worth it. “Oh--you almost got it.” Sephie’s legs had neared inversion, but she lost her momentum and toppled back to the ground in a heap.

“Help me do handstands, Mama,” Sephie implored. “Hold me up.”

Laura smiled. “Okay.” She got up and stood behind Sephie in the middle of the carpet, ready to catch her legs and hold them for her.

“Me too,” said Phin, having lost interest for the time being in the pile of books he’d pulled off the shelf. “Help me too, Ma.”

“I can only do one of you at a time,” Laura said, even as she waved for Phin to come closer. “Sephie, go ahead.”

Sephie threw herself forward and upside down, her little legs kicking up from the floor. Laura grabbed her ankles and held her taut, and Sephie started giggling.

“Higher!” she squealed.

“Honey, this is as good a handstand as you’re gonna get.”

“Pick me up. Make me fly!”

“Okay...since you asked for it.” Laura tightened her grip on Sephie’s ankles and twirled her around in a circle a few times. The little girl laughed hysterically, showing no fear whatsoever at being in the vulnerable position as Phin looked on curiously. Laura started to feel dizzy after a few rotations and slowed until Sephie was hanging upside down again and could safely somersault back to the ground.

“Whew.” Laura took a cue from Sephie and sat down, then took it a step further and lay back next to her daughter, taking a moment for the room to stop spinning.

“Bit much, eh?” Bill’s tone was amused. He stood over her, holding a much cleaner baby Cyrus.

“Now me. My turn,” begged Phin, tugging at Laura’s arm.

“Hmm. How about I help you into a handstand, and daddy will spin you?” Laura offered. She was fairly certain that another stunt like that would send her straight to the bathroom to retch; morning sickness wasn’t limited just to mornings. She kneeled next to Phin, helping him place his hands to the ground and lifting his legs up for him when he proved unable to kick them off the ground. “Okay, Bill. Phin’s ready to fly.”

Bill handed Cyrus off to Laura and grasped Phin by the shins. Phin’s shriek was more indicative of fear than delight, Laura thought, but Bill kept at it, twirling Phin around the room until he was a blur of yellow shirt and dark hair.

“Bill, put him down before you drop him,” Laura said. She was leaning against the front of the couch, Cyrus on her lap and Sephie curled into her side. “That’s enough family gymnastics time for now, I think.”

He came to a slow stop, but instead of depositing Phin on his hands as Laura had done with Sephie, he flipped Phin up into his arms. Phin yelped, his face red from all the blood that had run into it from the centrifugal force. When Bill set him down on his feet, Phin took a step in the direction of his pile of books, wobbled a few times, and then completely fell over.

Bill seized the opportunity to take a floor rest of his own. “Always forget how dizzy that makes me till it’s too late,” he said, turning his head to look at Laura. “How are you holding up?”

“So far so good,” she said, gesturing briefly to her stomach.

Cyrus toddled over to the pile of books, then returned with three of them. “Let’s wead!” he announced to his family. He handed one to each of his siblings. Sephie got The Little Viper That Could, Phin received Muffit’s Really Big Adventure, and he kept A History of Libran Legal Education and Its Effect on the Militaries of the Twelve Worlds for himself.

“Hey,” Bill said. “How’d you get that?”

Cyrus laughed, and Bill pulled him into his lap.

“Okay, kids. Cy picked this one, so we’ll read it first.”

“Noooo!” the twins shrieked. “Daddy, it has no pictures!” But they went to his side anyway, ready to listen.

Laura reached over Sephie to place her hand at his back. “Love you,” she mouthed to Bill before he began reading.

~~three months later~~

“Daddy, where we go?” Cyrus asked as Bill fastened the buckles on his car seat.

“Hypatia Heights,” he told his youngest son. “You up for a little adventure?”

“Really big adventure,” he replied. “Yah.”

The twins were at preschool, and Bill had finished his reading assignments for the week. The few hours of relative peace allowed him to finally get around to doing something he’d done for each of his children from soon after he knew of their existence. He just hoped Laura wouldn’t mind that he took Cyrus with him.

“You gotta be good, buddy,” Bill said over his shoulder, glancing at Cyrus in the rearview mirror. “We’re going to a place that’s not really for kids.”

“I be good, Da,” Cyrus promised.

He was going to start running out of real estate soon, Bill thought as he considered his arms. Phin and Sephie on his forearms, Cyrus on his ankle. Maybe his other ankle? The back of his calf?

Another girl. They had found out just last week. He grinned at the thought of his three rambunctious kids learning to care for the new baby, to treat her gently. It would be good for them.

Three, now four. He and Laura must be crazy. But it was a way to establish themselves here, to put down roots. To give the kids more family connections when he and Laura were gone.

Put down roots...

Since moving to Tauron, Bill had found himself thinking about the grandparents he’d never known. Tsattie wasn’t even his blood relation, technically; she was the mother of his father’s first wife. His own grandparents had been killed during the Troubles, slaughtered by the Hercs after they helped the resistance blow up a silo of wheat.

Tsattie had lost her own family in more or less the same way, from one generation to the next, on Tauron and then on Caprica, until he was all that was left. He and Laura kept asking her if she’d move to Tauron to be closer to the family, but she always resisted, said it wasn’t her time yet.

His grandparents Isabelle and William’s time had come far too early. Maybe it was time to honor that, along with his unborn child.

The place didn’t look like much from the outside, housed in a square slab of concrete that might have once been a wartime blockhouse. But the Dancing Bull Body-Art Collective had come highly recommended from some of the parents of the children on the twins’ pyramid team. The sun-faded sign hanging over the door announced “Quick and custom ink!”

Bill held Cyrus on his hip, not willing to chance letting him run around and piss off other patrons or, more irrationally, potentially insert himself between needle and customer, before he had a chance to do some reconnaissance. “See all the different tattoos, Cyrus,” he said, pointing at the sample designs lining the walls.

“I get one?” Cyrus asked, his eyes wide with excitement. “Tat-too?”

Bill shook his head. “Not till you’re bigger, little man.”

“But I wanna!” he whined.

Bill looked over rows of sunbursts, hearts, and tridents; traditional Tauron symbols and more contemporary designs. Nothing appealed. “Don’t feel bad, bud. I didn’t get my first one until I married your mother.” A slight flush rose to his cheeks as he remembered his first ink, the interlocked rings nestled low on his pelvis.

“Mommies and daddies have tattoos.” Cyrus nodded with conviction. He pointed out a poster with different stylizations of the symbol for Tauron, small representations intended for the traditional mark of manhood. Bill recognized the symbol from the wrists of his father and uncle. He’d never gotten one himself, his father too guilt-ridden about his past to want to indoctrinate Bill when the time had come. He walked closer so he and Cyrus could admire them.

“I want,” Cyrus reminded Bill, slapping his hand against the poster. Bill wondered if Cy had noticed Sam’s mark of manhood. He doubted it—Sam had so much ink that the tiny mark hardly stood out. He shook his head and turned to find some assistance, only to find that a young bearded man was approaching.

“Hey, man. Coming in for some ink for you and your mini-me?” He looked past Cyrus to the poster behind them. “I usually won’t do kids until they’re at least about yea-high.” He gestured to an imaginary line around the height of his elbow. “Don’t want things to get stretched out, ya know?”

Cy lunged excitedly in Bill’s arms, but Bill held him tight and shifted him over to the opposite hip. “Just me, today,” Bill said with an easy smile. “Couldn’t get a sitter, so this guy had to come along.” Bill whispered in Cyrus’s ear and gave him an encouraging nudge.

“I Cyrus!” he blurted out to the stranger, eyes transfixed on the man’s wide-stretched ear gauges.

“Well hello, Cyrus,” the guy said. “I’m Revel.”

“Rebel,” Cy repeated.

“Ah, great,” Bill said. “You’ve done some nice work for a couple of acquaintances. I was hoping you’d be here today.”

“Yeah?” said Revel, pleased. “What are you looking to get done?” He gestured for Bill to follow him over to a workstation equipped with what looked to be a dentist’s chair and trays filled with paper-sheathed needles and a rainbow of ink-filled tubes.

Bill had thought about this some more on the drive over, and he was pretty sure he’d come to a decision, assuming the guy could do it. “Could you do a sheaf of wheat, on the back of my calf?”

Revel pulled out a sketch pad and tapped a pen thoughtfully against his temple. “A sheaf? You mean like, a bundle?”

“Right. It’s called a sheaf. There should be four distinct stalks in the bundle.” He hugged Cyrus, smushing his little face to his cheek. Cyrus squirmed away. “One for each of my kids.”

Revel started sketching, the wheat stalks quickly taking shape. “Got it.” Within moments he’d gotten the basic shape sketched out, and looked up to Bill for approval.

“Looks good.” The third stalk looked the best, so Bill pointed it out. “If you could make them all consistent with that one--”

“Got it. It’s pretty primitive-- I can give it more texture, put some individual grains at the bottom of the drawing or something.”

Bill shook his head. “No, just the silhouette is fine.”

“You gonna hold him while we do this?”

Bill nodded, then sheepishly dug a picture book out of a diaper bag. “As long as you can work while I read The Little Viper That Could.”

Revel laughed and began pulling out inks in blues and blacks. “I’ve worked with worse distractions before.”

~~eight months later~~

Isabelle was a chunky, happy baby, more likely to fill the room with the sound of her laughter than her wailing. At three months old, she was holding up her head without a problem, notwithstanding that it was approximately the same size of an Aerilon melon.

Laura glanced into the dining room where Bill was arranging a spread of food around the centerpiece he’d surprised her with that morning, stalks of wheat bound up in a blue ribbon. Though she hadn’t been thrilled that he’d taken Cyrus to the parlor with him--couldn’t he have waited until they lined up a sitter so they could go together?--she had to admit that Bill’s latest adornment was a thoughtful addition.

She smiled at Bill when he looked up from his task to catch her eyes, then returned her attention back to the living room floor. Cyrus was sitting against the sofa with Isabelle propped up against his side. He appeared to be reading to her, though when Laura started listening more closely to what he was saying, she realized that he was just making up his own version of Muffit’s Next Big Adventure-- one in which Muffit stowed away on a Raptor, made a friend on the scary moon, and then had ice cream.

“And dey ate ice cream every day and every day,” he concluded. “The end.”

Isabelle grinned and reached toward the book, but Cyrus had tossed it aside and looked like he was ready to get up. Laura moved in before he could do so, picking up Isabelle lest she flop over without her brother’s support. The infant was strong, but still relatively helpless.

“Nice job, Cy,” she said. “She loves to have you read to her.”

“I know,” he said proudly, picking up the book and returning it to the shelf. “Muffit is her favewit.”

“Do you know what we’re doing today?” she asked him, curious about how much he’d picked up on.

“Sam and Lar-Lar come over.”

“That’s right. They’re coming over because we’re going to have a ceremony for Isabelle.”

“Say-mony?”

Before Laura could explain further, a knock at the door indicated that their guests had arrived. Sephie ran to answer it, her fast little legs just barely beating Bill’s longer, calmer stride.

“Lar-Lar!” she shouted, launching herself into Larry’s arms. Phin, never far behind, wrapped himself around Sam’s knees in greeting.

“Phin, Seph. Back off so they can come inside,” Bill said easily. “Good to see you guys. The priest should be here soon.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the worlds,” Larry said. He put his arm around Sam’s waist, helping him over the threshold and into the house where more hugs and kisses awaited them both.

Laura could see the grimace on Sam’s face as he bent down to accept Sephie’s hug. He ruffled Cy’s hair, then turned to face Laura. “How’s our little princess doing?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Laura joked, turning Isabelle in her arms to face out toward their company. “Oh, you mean her. She’s great. Getting bigger every day. Finally letting us get some sleep.”

Sam kissed Laura on the cheek. “Thank you for this,” he said softly, his voice hoarse. “It’s been so long—our family hasn’t had one of these since Bill’s.”

Laura smiled and held Isabelle out to him. “It seemed appropriate, for our last baby and the first one born here.”

Larry looked from Laura to Bill. “You two are really done after this?”

Bill shrugged. “We’ll see,” he said noncommittally.

Laura rolled her eyes. Sam had barely noticed the exchange, too enamored with his newest great-niece. He took her into the living room and sat down on the couch with her, examining her tiny hands, patting her chunky belly. Isabelle cooed happily, then spit up on the bib covering her pretty smocked dress.

“Oops,” Sam said, looking for either Bill or Laura to come in and rescue him. Instead, it was Cyrus who came forward with a cloth to wipe off her face.

“Better now than all over the priest,” Bill said, unperturbed.

“There you go, Belly,” Cyrus said encouragingly. Isabelle blew spit bubbles at him.

“Well, aren’t you the best big brother?” Sam said, patting the space on the couch next to him. Cyrus climbed up and hid his face in Sam’s sleeve, embarrassed by the sudden attention of all the adults in the room. Only Phin and Sephie were unimpressed, and both wandered into the dining room to help themselves to snacks.

“You’re going to have to take care of her, watch out for her,” Laura heard Sam saying softly to Cyrus. “Phin and Sephie have each other. Isabelle and you will be the same way. Just like Yusef was to me.”

Protector and protected, Laura thought, reflecting on Bill’s surprise for Cyrus. It had been Sam’s idea, after hearing the story of Bill’s latest tattoo and Cyrus’s excitement over the prospect of his own eventual ink.

She hadn’t been crazy about it at first, but had promised to revisit the idea once the baby actually arrived. Once Isabelle was here and Laura witnessed the solicitousness with which Cyrus treated his new sibling, she’d decided there was no reason to resist (except perhaps the possibility that Phin and Sephie would get jealous and demand their own tattoos).

But Cyrus deserved his own recognition, and today was as much about him as it was about Isabelle.

The priest arrived a few minutes later, and Bill and Sam went about helping her set the altar for the ceremony while Laura and Larry sat in the living room, supervising the kids.

“Is Sam doing all right?” Laura asked Larry. “He looked like he was in pain, walking into the house.”

Larry shook his head. “Stubborn old bull did something to his back a few weeks ago while he was lifting weights, refused to go to the doctor even though he could barely walk.”

So that was why the uncles had been around so little of late. Laura frowned. “That’s too bad.”

He shrugged. “Getting old. A blessing and a curse. But how are you doing?” Larry asked. “You look great, as always.”

Laura flushed and shifted Isabelle on her lap. The baby yawned, but remained alert, watching her three siblings play a spirited game of “Father, May I?”

“Thanks, Larry.” She’d learned years ago about the power of a good under-eye concealer. “This one’s pretty easy, and the kids are more helpful than I’d thought they’d be.”

“They’re all getting so big.”

Laura nodded. “They are. Phin and Sephie have started school—”

“I love school!” Phin offered from his spot frozen in the middle of the carpet. Sephie just scowled, waiting for Cyrus to give her permission to take three hops forward.

“—and Cy is going to preschool a few days a week. He seems to like it, and he’s even starting to read a little bit.”

Bill came into the living room. “We’re ready,” he said, lifting Isabelle out of Laura’s arms and then holding out his free hand to help her up.

“We need to get a photo of the six of you today,” Larry said. “You’re all so dressed up.”

It was true—both of the boys were wearing traditional Tauron short pants with suspenders, while Sephie had on an embroidered linen blouse and floaty blue skirt, along with suspenders like the boys’ that Laura had purchased for her to preempt Sephie’s preferred rainbow ones. Bill had traded in his grad-student uniform of faded jeans and t-shirts in favor of a button-down and dark slacks, and Laura was pleased to find that her favorite A-line dress was comfortable to zip up for the first time in nearly a year. The kids had been slightly confused about why they had to wear new clothes today, but once Sephie discovered that she could still high-kick in the skirt, they’d all fallen into line rather quickly.

“We’ll have to get the priest to take one of all of us,” Laura said. “After the blessing.”

Bill squeezed her hand and they led the group into the den, where the priest stood behind Bill’s desk. Usually his desk was covered in stacks of books, folders, and notebooks, but today it had been cleared off to make room for a cloth runner, a few plants, and several pillar candles.

“Hang on a minute,” Laura said after taking in the scene and deciding it needed something else. She dashed into the dining room and grabbed the wheat sheaf, then carried it into the den and placed it at the side of the altar. She winked at Bill as she returned to his side and ran the top of her sandaled foot across the back of his calf where the inked version lay.

Cyrus was looking around nervously, while Phin and Sephie had gravitated toward Sam, who sat in a chair at the side of the desk. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. Laura hoped it would have the intended calming effect and allow the twins to behave for the five minutes the blessing would take.

She and Bill weren’t strongly religious, but they’d agreed when the twins were born that they wanted their children to have at least some exposure to Kobolism. Here on Tauron, the religion of the Twelve Worlds wasn’t strictly followed, and cultural traditions transcended religious ones. The priest bridged the gap between the two. Laura had felt instantly at ease with the woman, whose fierce spirit belied her short stature. She was Gemenese, a transplant on Tauron like them. Her cocoa-colored skin and turban marked her as an outsider here as much as Laura’s fair complexion and red hair did.

And she was at ease with babies, that much was easy to see as she took Isabelle from Bill and sat her on the desk-turned-altar. Isabelle looked around curiously, her eyes coming to rest on her uncharacteristically calm brothers and sisters. “Life here began out there,” Elosha began. “And it continues, from one generation to the next, each one entrusting their world and its traditions to those who come after.”

She handed Isabelle the small figurine that would become her totem. Isabelle put it in her mouth, but the priestess continued on, unperturbed.

“I consecrate this child, Isabelle, in the name of Aurora, goddess of the dawn. May the goddess protect and watch over her with the sunrise of each new day, wherever she may go.” Elosha secured her grip on the baby with one hand and gestured for Bill to bring up Cyrus.

“And you, Cyrus,” she said to the little boy, whom Bill had placed on the desk next to Isabelle, “will be her protector as well. Do you take this charge willingly, and agree to look out for her all the days of your lives? Will you do your best to keep her safe from harm, and be her friend whenever she is in need?”

Cyrus looked from Elosha to Isabelle to Bill and finally Laura, a quizzical look on his face. Finally Laura whispered, “Say yes, honey.”

“Yes honey!” he repeated.

“Very good,” Elosha said. She handed Cyrus an ebony figurine of Zeus. “Having taken this charge willingly, you become a man in the eyes of the gods. Sam?”

Sam stepped forward and accepted the stone dexameni of henna and primitive quill Elosha handed him. “Hold out your wrist, buddy,” Sam said softly to Cyrus. “You’re a man of the Tauron now, for always.”

Cyrus watched, fascinated, as Sam painted the traditional mark of Tauron onto the underside of his wrist. Phineus and Sephie moved closer to the altar, propping their chins on the desk to watch the marking ceremony. Laura could see them both fidgeting, the cost of not speaking up and demanding “me too” obviously paining them both dearly.

Maybe Bill bribed them, she thought gratefully, as moments passed and the twins yet remained quiet.

Sam’s hand shook as he finished his task. “That’s your mark of faithfulness to the soil, your mark of manhood,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss Cyrus’s cheeks, the left then the right. “Ha’la’tha.”

Sam turned to Isabelle, lifting her from Elosha’s arms. “My mother’s name lives on through you, Isabelle Adama.”

“Roslin-Adama,” Bill corrected quietly, and Laura didn’t think it was possible to love Bill any more than she did in that moment.

“The mark of protection,” Elosha said, keeping the ceremony on task.

Sam smiled at Laura in acknowledgment and handed the baby to her. “You’ll be faithful to each other,” Sam said to the two youngest children. “As Roslin-Adamas.”

Isabelle began to cry as Sam started painting the coordinating mark on the back of her wrist. Laura held her close and made soothing noises, but it wasn’t until Cyrus got her attention by waving his new mark on front of her face that she became distracted enough to stop. “Look, Belly! You get one too!”

That was the final straw for Sephie. “I want one too, daddy,” she pouted, tugging at Bill’s sleeve. “Me next, me next.”

Bill reached down and swung her up to his hip, groaning a bit at the movement that had once been so facile. “Shh,” he said, patting her back. “You’re getting new sneakers if you’re good for the entire ceremony, remember?”

“But I want mark of manhood,” she said through wibbly lips, albeit not nearly as loudly as she was capable of being.

Phin was just looking on in interest, his green eyes wide, as Sam finished Isabelle’s protected mark. Bill set Sephie down next to him, and Phin looked over to his sister and draped his arm over her shoulders. “We don’t need one ‘cause we’re twins, Sephie. Don’t you want new pyramid shoes more than you want a mark?”

Sephie grumbled in response, but piped down, obviously soothed by Phin’s proximity. Laura made a mental note to ask Sam later whether there was a comparable mark of womanhood and at what age it would be appropriate for Sephie to get one.

The henna dried quickly, and Bill lifted Cyrus up so that he could lean in to kiss both of Isabelle’s cheeks, as Sam had done to him.

Elosha took a bunch of sage from the altar and lit the end with one of the candles, then waved it over the heads of each of the children. “Protected and protector,” she said, lingering the burning sage over Isabelle and Cyrus. “So she is named, so he is chosen.”

“So say we all,” responded the adults together.

Elosha tossed her burning sage into a small bowl of water, extinguishing it, and looked up with a bright smile. “So how about a family photo?”

“I’ll get my camera,” Larry offered. “Be right back.”

Laura saw Sam moving to slip into the dining room. “Oh no, theios. Get back here.”

Sam nodded and returned, picking up Sephie with hardly a grimace. She grinned and lay her head against his shoulder, tracing the marks on the side of his neck with her little finger.

Figures that she’d be attracted to the tattoo marking him as an assassin, Laura thought wearily. But the giggling bundle in her arms pushed away the thought. She and Bill stood together holding Isabelle and Cyrus, with Sam and Sephie on Laura’s other side. Once he’d handed the camera to the priest, Larry and Phin stood next to Bill.

“Smile, everyone,” Elosha said, as she took several shots of the group. Once the group began to disperse, Bill leaned closer to Laura, Cyrus still on his hip. “Love you so much,” he said.

Laura smiled and rubbed her cheek against his rough one briefly before whispering her response in his ear. “Not possibly as much as I love you,” she said. “And tonight...I’ll show you.”

Next story: Tauron Tales

Fic: Nothing but the Rain

2013-09-26T13:14:21Z

Title: Nothing but the Rain
Author: afrakaday
womenverse Challenge No. 8, “Rainy Days”
Word count: 346

I can’t hear much of the world outside, here in this facsimile of my old apartment on Caprica, but when it rains--and it rains on this frakkin’ planet a lot--the place feels a little less fake.

What do you hear, Starbuck?

Nothing but the rain.

Space rain, the sound of the nothingness of space slipping past the hull of a ship. Ascribing peculiar noises to external events other than enemy attacks grounds us pilots in a good way, you know?

The rain outside is the real thing. Droplets of water against slate roof--or whatever this place is made of.

It’s comforting, but it can also take me back to a place I’d wanted to forget long before the Cylons nuked it to hell.

I look around me; the handlike leaves of the trees in the park are turning inside-out, a warning confirming what the dark clouds overhead have already told me.

I don’t want to go home. Socrata is angry, told me to get out. I like it here at the park.

Usually I can find some kids to play with. But the last ones left at least twenty minutes ago, the mom loading the little kids into a wide double stroller and the two older ones walking alongside.

My skin prickles as the wind picks up. I wrap my jacket around me tight and begin to walk home, torn between running from the storm and dawdling toward that unhappy place.

When I get there the door’s been deadbolted from the inside. I know my key won’t work, but I try anyway.

A clap of thunder sounds nearby, startling me into dropping my key. I don’t even think about banging on the door.

My small body slides easily under the rotting wood of the front stoop, where I wait out the storm with the spiders and try not to cry when the lightning illuminates the dirt streaks across my pink windbreaker and the sinuous threads covering concrete slabs.

Even this is better than inside with her.

Even that was better than this.

Fic: A Disquiet Follows My Sole

2013-09-09T20:31:56Z

Title: A Disquiet Follows My Sole
Rating: T
Word count: 1700
Summary: After her run, Laura remembers and revives.
A/N: Written to celebrate the awesomeness that is miabicicletta. Way to go, lady!

Her lungs burn, lactic acid blossoms from her muscles. She’d had time for this, once; years ago, before the end of the worlds, before politics and travel took over what was left of her life.

She’d forgotten how invigorating it was. Awash in endorphins, aloof to everything except the soothing sound of one footstrike followed by another. The metronymic rhythm is more pronounced here on the ship than in her memories, her heavy black shoes smacking against metal plating far more substantially than her light-soled sneakers ever had against the oft-traveled asphalt of her favorite jogging path.

Bill’s question had caught her off guard. You run the whole route? It hadn’t occurred to her that her first real run since pre-occupation New Caprica (she doesn’t count the desperate, defensive running that she did after the Cylons arrived on that godsforsaken planet) might be measured by a particular distance as opposed to her original plan of just running until she got too tired to go on and decided to turn around. To her surprise, she hadn’t tired, and seeing Bill had only energized her. That was quite some time ago. Just how many clicks was the “whole route”?

Curious crewmembers’ looks don’t slow her down. Neither does Bill’s warning: the government is spinning out of control. Right now, she can’t deal with that. She won’t.

So she runs, and it feels good. And she keeps running, until she finds herself back at her guest quarters, having gone from one end of Galactica to the other. Stern to bow, port to starboard.

* * *

The comm rings, and this time, she picks it up. “Roslin.”

”Laura. Good, you’re back. I’m on my way over.”

“What, to hassle me some more about the Quorum? Bill, I told you, I just need a little more--”

”That’s not it.” He hesitates. ”I just...want to see you. Live life as people again, you know?”

She touches the knot of her green headscarf, briefly contemplating putting the wig back on and just as quickly rejecting the notion. “Get over here.”

* * *

She’d gotten as far as lighting some candles around her quarters, imparting a soft glow to the imposing bulkheads, before exhaustion overcame her and “resting her eyes” became a full-fledged nap. The rap at the hatch startles her out of her light slumber.

Her muscles protest as she stands, stretches, and goes to let him in.

His face holds the hint of a smile. His eyes are warm, and her stomach trips over itself when he steps toward her.

“Hey,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Still feeling good?”

“Tired,” she admits, wrapping the button-down shirt that’s the closest thing she’s got to a robe in these quarters a little tighter over her ivory nightgown. “But it’s a good tired.” She lets herself lean into him, lets his solid presence support her. “I earned it,” she adds, mumbling into his shoulder.

She means the sore muscles, but realizes that Bill’s surveying the room and probably thinks her words are a callback to her declaration a few hours earlier.

“You have,” he agrees. His wide hands sweep up and down the plane of her back, and she relaxes even further, suddenly resenting their vertical position. And though she loved every step, every moment of her run earlier in the day, she resents too -- just a little -- that she’d spent that euphoric detoxifying time by herself instead of with him.

But they’re here, together, now, and she doubts that would have been possible without putting her body through those paces long enough to get her mind out of the dark room, lit only by pages of flaming prophecy, where she’d been lingering since they first returned from Earth.

Earth.

Bill senses the tension that’s returned with those thoughts and gently turns her to lead them deeper into her quarters. He hesitates in front of the single leather chair where he’d sat earlier and pleaded with her to get back to work, but she gives him a little tug and he follows her willingly to sit on her bed. She’s glad he does because, in line with her earlier dismissal of his entreaties, this is where she wants to be and what she wants to be doing.

Oh, yes. This is really what she wants, she thinks, as Bill eases her shirt off her shoulders and begins rubbing her back in earnest.

“Mmmmm,” she sighs happily, rolling onto her stomach. “Might have overdone it a bit.” She turns her head and looks at him sidelong. “Because someone put the idea in my head that I ought to run the whole route.”

His eyes widen in equal parts surprise and concern. “Did you really? I didn’t mean to--”

She reaches for his hand and gives it a squeeze before placing it at her lower back in a clear suggestion. He obediently begins kneading the tight muscles that none of her efforts at stretching had managed to loosen. “Sorry I’m so demanding, Bill.”

“That’s okay.” His thumbs press against the dimples at her lower back, his hands come to rest on the curves of her ass. “I never took you for much of a runner before, Laura.”

“Oh no?” She turns her head again and quirks a small smile. “I love it.”

“I don’t doubt that you do. I just never thought about it before today, seeing you out there, running laps around the hangar deck.”

A giggle escapes as she thinks back. “I jogged quite a bit on New Caprica. It was the best way to explore, see what was out there.” A way to escape the demands of her students, neighbors, the people who still looked to her as a leader. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, savoring his touch. She shifts slightly under him, shivers as his hands cup each buttock firmly through the thin satin of her nightgown before turning his attention to her hamstrings. “I just wasn’t very interested going for a run on those rare occasions when I had a visitor.”

(Passionate reunions separated by weeks of lonely drudgery. Piles of scratchy blankets, a little fire in Laura’s stove keeping them warm. All the time in the worlds, except it wasn’t. Remember what we said?)

Laura maneuvers around, arranging herself to face him on the narrow rack. She leans forward and unbuttons his tunic for him, a wordless instruction to get more comfortable.

When she leans back against the pillows and her knee creaks and pops in protest at being stretched out, she presses experimentally against the muscles just above her knees, the front first and then the outside, and marvels at the feeling of tautness beneath.

“Sore, huh,” he says as he takes off his jacket and places it at the end of the bed.

She is. But after what her heart’s been through lately, her body needed this catharsis, to rediscover a purpose to her continued existence. Not as a prophet or a god, or as a president; just as a woman. As Laura. “I remember feeling almost this exhausted,” she begins, “right after I ran my first marathon. I was so tired, I practically fell asleep in the shower afterward.”

“You ran a marathon?” he says doubtfully. “Which one? The Pheidippides Classic?”

She shakes her head in answer, but nods in approval as his hands reach for the fastener to his pants.

“The race was on Aquaria,” she says. “During their Summerfest.”

“Aquaria. Not really a place I would associate with athletics.”

He had a point. The Aquarian festival was the planet’s main attraction and generally attracted revelers who tended toward the debauched. The small population of fishers and surfers made welcoming hosts for the festival that emphasized and celebrated the planet’s short but intense summer season as well as a philosophy of free love. It was notorious for putting even the most dedicated partiers to shame. Any running race would have been a minor sideshow at best.

Laura searches through stuck drawers of long-filed-away memories. Why had they gone to Aquaria instead of participating in the much bigger Caprica City-to-Delphi race?

“My sisters and I originally planned on running Pheidippides, but only Sandra had signed up by the time the race sold out. Aquaria was just a week or two after, and we’d already been training, so…”

She eyes his torso appreciatively and pulls him down beside her, burrowing against him and reveling in the feeling of the his body’s warmth seeping into her own tired soul.

“Did the three of you run the whole thing together?”

She shakes her head, laughing. “No! Maybe for the first five miles or so. But Cheryl had slacked off in her training and was hurting, so she let us go. And by the halfway mark, Sandra was itching to make a go for it. She said she just wanted to get it over with sooner, but I think she was really delighting in kicking our asses. Especially mine.”

“Fair enough,” Bill chuckles. “So you all finished. Impressive.”

“It was great,” she says. “Gods, Bill. I felt like I could take on anything after doing that. It hurt to walk, or go up and down steps, but I felt absolutely invincible anyway.”

“Not a bad way to be during Summerfest,” Bill says wryly.

“We got back to our campground, and I was so tired, I could barely get dressed again. But then my sisters and I started drinking beer, and talking about our races, and I just got this--I don’t know, infusion of energy.” She turns to him, her eyes wide and body thrumming with remembered experience and contemporaneous excitement. “We ended up staying up all night, laughing and chatting. And eating! Oh my lords, did we eat.”

“Are you hungry now?” he asks. “I could call the galley--”

She shakes her head definitively and places a finger on his lips. “No, Bill. Not now,” she says, and replaces her finger with her lips. “I think I’m getting that second wind.”

Fic: it's such a good day (maybe i'll stay) (part 2 of 2)

2013-08-06T02:42:39Z

Here's part 2 to it's such a good day (maybe i'll stay).

Are you listening to marzipanilla's FANMIX? Because you should be. (All cut lines courtesy of fanmix lyrics!)

He keeps coming here, every couple of days. More frequently at first, though now his visits have dwindled to a mid-week visit or two. He can see why she said she liked it; the fountain is serene, and coming to its edge imbues him with a sense of peace. It’s enough, even though he’s come to accept that his original mission must be futile.

Nearly two months it’s been, and not a sign of her. She hasn’t been around the Riverwalk, and he knows she could track down his number if she wanted to.

Just wasn’t meant to be.

He leans back for a moment, letting the sun’s rays wash over him. His eyes scan the crowd briefly--it’s instinctual at this point, he can’t resist checking several times a minute, even though he continues to be disappointed each time--then returns his gaze to the small print of yesterday’s Caprican Times that had blown up beside him shortly after he sat down.

It takes his eyes a few moments to adjust--if they hadn’t forced him into retirement because of the whole Valkyrie debacle and turning the Galactica into a museum, he would have been ousted from active duty eventually for his ageing eyesight--and he skims the page of local news. Armed robberies on Caprica City’s south side; Tauron gangs suspected. The opening of a new park in Delphi, near the museum. Caprica City School District teachers, threatening to strike for the third time this year.

Another scan of the milling crowd, then he flips the bifold and turns his attention to the next section. Not that he expects to see anyone he knows (he doesn’t actually know that many people, not on Caprica) but out of a morbid curiosity and, truthfully, a lack of anything better to do than read the paper in its entirety.

His perusal comes to a halt at a grainy picture of a familiar face near the top of the right-hand page. The face he’s been looking for in the crowd, day after day, finally stares back at him. It’s a formal photo, a professional headshot befitting her former position, and in it she looks more like the pained, biting woman who took his ship away from him than the beautiful, carefree lover who’d shared his bed for an afternoon.

Laura Roslin.

A shaky fingertip traces the regal line of her cheekbone, the long overly styled layers of her hair, before he brings the paper closer and forces himself to read.

Former Secretary of Education. Longtime aide and advisor to President Adar. A brief illness.

He looks harder at her picture, then back at the final paragraph.

Preceded in death by her parents and two sisters. No family. No one to mourn for her.

Images come back to him: an angry pink scar scrawled beneath her breast; the sunlight glinting off the coppery gold threads of her hair as she bent down to capture his lips with her own; her hand wrapped around his length, stroking mercilessly...

If it’s meant to be...

They’d only had that one day. As he closes the newspaper and looks out over the reflecting pool, he wonders what could have been.

If only they’d met each other sooner. If only she hadn’t been sick...

They could have been good together. If only they’d had more time.

He folds up the paper and heads toward home, his feet heavy with each step.

“Package for you, Bill,” the concierge calls from his station behind the front desk, barely raising his eyes from the Pyramid match on the little screen on the counter.

Bill blinks a few times. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Raul.”

His hand is still shaking as he fumbles with his key ring to find the little mailbox key. He removes a small stack of adverts and envelopes, and finds the package slip on top. No details, so he hands the slip over to the mailroom clerk and waits, curious.

It’s a plain padded envelope, his name and address scrawled in a tremorous script. No return address, though the postage meter printout says Ilythia Hospital-Caprica. Bill thanks the clerk and heads up the elevator, clutching the mail to his chest and trying not to remember the time they’d ridden up together, the tension between them growing thicker with each story ascended.

He waits until he’s inside his apartment and has a chance to pour himself a stiff three fingers of whiskey to sit down with the curious envelope and see what’s inside. It’s surprisingly heavy--

Oh. His first view inside the envelope tells him it’s a book. He pulls it out and looks at the spine, and the tears that have been threatening since his eyes first came to rest on that grainy photo and three columns of text in the obituaries section finally start to fall.

Dark Day.

“Dammit, Laura, it was a gift,” he mutters, leaning back into the couch and taking a long sip of his drink. The sharp burn trickling down his throat reminds him that he’s alive.

He sets the tumbler down on the coffee table and picks up the envelope, checking to see if there’s anything else. The envelope itself is empty, but when he picks up the book again, the pages fall open to where a folded sheet of paper lay between pages.

Dear Bill,

This was a pretty good mystery. I have to thank you for ensuring that I didn’t leave this world without having read Prima’s classic novel.

I’m sorry I never went back to the Riverwalk after that day. I would have liked to see you again, truly.

But life had other plans for me.

~~I wish~~

Here the ink changed from blue to black. He wondered how much time had passed in between. How soon after their day together had she become so acutely ill?

I’m grateful to you for giving me an afternoon of happy memories to get me through these past few weeks. And a story to distract me from these long, dull days at the hospital. (My former assistant was good enough to read it to me, but I have to admit, his voice has got nothing on yours.)

You’re a good man, Bill. I’m happy to have gotten the chance to know you, short though our time was. You made me feel so good while we were together that I felt less alone after I left.

Be happy and have a good life.

Laura.

He sits there for a moment, eyes closed, the weight of the book on his lap and her words heavy on his heart.

Was this really it? Their story still felt so unfinished.

As he drains the rest of his glass, he braves another look at the obit page and finds the address. The funeral should have ended by now, and the Gardens of Hera aren’t too far away.

Her letter gets tucked safely away in a drawer, though he’s sure it’ll be coming out again later today. He heads to the closet and rifles through a toolbox until he finds a small trowel. Grabbing the book and his keys, he sniffles a few times and walks purposefully through the door. He could do this. For her.

Always faithful to the soil.

It was a gift, not a loan.

Fic: it's such a good day (maybe i'll stay) (part 1 of 2)

2013-08-06T01:41:25Z

Title: it’s such a good day (maybe i’ll stay)
Rating: MA
Word count: 11,000
Warnings: so much explicit sex
Summary: Sparks fly and a connection is made when a newly retired Commander and the former Secretary of Education meet by chance in a Caprican bookshop...
Author’s note: Written for the bsg_epics big bang. Many, many thanks to nixmom and fragrantwoods for beta and encouragement.
Fanwork: marzipanilla made the gorgeous cover art below. You rock, lady! Thanks so much for sharing your skills.
Suggested listening: This amazing FANMIX, courtesy of marzipanilla.

He isn’t sure it’s her at first. The flash of dark red hair, the sway of her hips as she walks down the aisle filled with books on Colonial history, tug at his memory.

She looks more relaxed than the woman he’d last seen leading the applause for his speech during the decommissioning, and it throws him a bit as he remembers how tightly strung he’d thought her. She’s wearing a simple black wrap dress in place of that odd lavender suit, flats instead of heels. But a few more moments of observation convince him. It’s her.

He knows he looks different, too. His hair is longer, which makes the gray patches stand out more. He’s replaced his duty blues with their closest civilian counterpart, dark jeans and a navy sweater. Retired with nowhere to be, he’s whittled down his midsection paunch with near-daily sparring sessions against guys half his age.

Bill’s intrigued and a little aroused at the idea that she might be here, of all places. He doubles back and around the aisle so he can get a better look at her as she browses the travel section, jumping behind a shelf when she turns and walks in his direction.

He keeps an eye on her progress as she meanders the shop. She thinks she’s hunting books, but she’s the prey, he thinks to himself as he pushes up his sleeves. He’s pleased when she stops in front of the mysteries, scornful when he sees she’s picked up Dark Day. Shouldn’t the Secretary of Education have read that one already?

“Take a picture, Commander, it lasts longer,” she says without looking up from her examination of the dust jacket.

He clears his throat and looks around: who, me? soon turns to why me. He’s grateful for his dark complexion as he feels the heat rise in his cheeks at being caught looking.

“I recognized you, too,” she says. “Come here often?”

He chuckles at her sardonic invocation of a pick-up line and moves closer to her, leaning against the shelf she’s been browsing.

“Got a lot of time on my hands these days,” he says.

“Same here,” she says, and a flash of sadness crosses her face. “I ... retired, myself, shortly after the decommissioning.”

He takes a moment to consider her. She’s certainly less … hostile … than she’d been on board his ship, advocating for a networked computer system with barely veiled disdain. It’s worth a shot, he decides.

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” he asks. “Once you’re done browsing?”

She looks him up and down, and looks pleasantly surprised at what she sees. Her acquiescing nod triggers the flood of male pride that washes over him. It feels good.

“I’m finished,” she says, gesturing toward the copy of Dark Day nestled in the crook of her arm. “Have you read it?”

“One of my favorites,” he confirms. “I haven’t read it in a few years, but I’m pretty sure it made the move to my new place.”

She leans back, sizing him up once more. “Perhaps you could just lend it to me, then.”

It’s been a while, but he recognizes her invitation for what it is. His eyes hold hers as he reaches and gently takes the book from her, returning it to the shelf. “I make it a point to never lend books.”

Her posture becomes defensive and she narrows her eyes.

“But I do give them as gifts.”

Roslin’s lips twitch upward, and he knows they’re on the same page.

“Why did you pick me up?” she asks bluntly as they walk together away from the shop. The question is curious, not accusatory. “I know you don’t even like me.”

“Didn’t,” he says, then clarifies at her raised eyebrow. “I didn’t like you. I don’t know you.” He reaches down for her hand, clasps it lightly. “Maybe I’d like to.”

She hums and links her arm with his. Her skin is soft against his bare forearm, and she leans into him experimentally as they approach his apartment building.

“Nice place,” she comments, looking up at the high-rise, and Bill is grateful that he took Lee’s advice and gave up his slummy crash pad for something less austere after retirement. Carolanne’s recent remarriage had brought a stop to the alimony payments he’d been making for years and freed up enough cubits to easily afford the rent on the spacious condo.

He shrugs modestly and gestures for her to proceed first through the heavy glass-and-gilt door held open by a doorman.

Her dress flows fluidly from her waist, leaving less to the imagination than her business attire had. His dick swells at the thought of sliding that dress down over her curves, leaving her in just--

Laura clears her throat, and her expectant stare makes him realize he’s missed something.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, what floor?”

“Oh. Nineteen.”

She punches the button the same way he wants to frak her--with determination and a little finesse.

The ride to his floor is interminably long, the tension heightening between them with each surge upward. At least they’re alone, he thinks, as he steps closer to her, until his body is nearly flush with hers.

She leans back against him, pressing her ass against his pelvis. He counters her move, places his hands at the gentle swell of her hips. A chime signals their arrival on his floor, and she steps away, but his hand finds its way to rest at the small of her back to lead her to his door.

Her eyes are shining with anticipation and recklessness, and he thinks how she looks like a different person from that stern, downtrodden politician he’d met a few months earlier.

Whether it’s the freedom of forced retirement or some kind of military fetish that has her slipping her hand into his back pocket to squeeze his ass, he’s not sure, and he sure as hell doesn’t care at the moment; it’s all he can do to finally ease the key into the lock and grant them both entrance.

“Coffee?” he offers as they walk past the kitchen, giving them both one last chance to avert where this seems to be heading.

She shakes her head firmly and looks around the living room, taking in the handful of framed photographs on the windowsill, the shelves and piles of books that he’s still working on organizing. “No, thank you.”

“That book is around here somewhere--”

“Later,” she says with a smirk, coming up to place her hands against his chest and stop him from pacing. “Where’s--”

“Bedroom’s straight back,” he says. “Look, Laura--may I call you Laura?”

“Gods, I hope so,” she says seriously, trailing her hands down to his belt buckle. “We’re both off duty...Bill.”

Somehow the loss of his command (and her role in it) stings a little less with her fingers toying at his fly, untucking his shirt.

“This is crazy,” he says, even as he admits to himself that he’d had thoughts of her doing exactly this within moments of first placing her in the bookstore.

“It is crazy, perhaps,” she says, not meeting his eyes as her fingers’ efforts become more purposeful than merely exploratory. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t. . .”

(true?)

“. . . a fine idea,” she finishes after successfully unbuttoning his pants.

He reaches out and cups the side of her face, his fingers tipping her head up so eyes meet his. “Come on, then.”

He leads her back to the bedroom, utilitarian with its generic black and grey bachelor bedding set, and he pulls back the heavy curtains to allow more light into the dark room. There are no buildings this tall facing the windows along his side of the building, and he wants to see her drenched in sunbeams.

When he turns around, she’s untying the fabric belt at her waist and slipping out of her shoes. He follows her lead and kicks off his own loafers, then goes to her and places his arms at her shoulders, effectively halting her movements. “Hey. I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

“Then maybe you better start,” she replies, and then her lips are against his, his tongue stroking hers, the tension between them heightened even more with each caress, withdrawal, repeat.

Her fingers twine in his hair, using the leverage to pull his lips and body closer to her own. It’s electric, this surge of surprising feeling and sensuality and unmitigated want. Soon he’s fully hard and her hands have made their way down from the nape of his neck to free his cock from its material confines. He groans when her palm strokes against his length, so soft and yet demanding.

His head spins, and he realizes, hazily, that it might be time to relocate to the bed, to finally divest her of her flowing dress and see what’s beneath.

She’s already done some of the work for him, and a gentle tug to the tie at the waist loosens the dress enough that he’s able to gently slide it down off her shoulders to pool at her feet.

* * *

Her dress falls easily from her slim frame--too easily, perhaps, though he doesn’t seem to notice, distracted as he is by her bared skin and busy hands.

He moves to unfasten her bra, and even though she aches to let him do it, to feel her stiff-peaked nipples brush against the cotton knit of his sweater, she steps back and eases down onto the bed.

This is dangerous--she is letting him get too close--but at the moment, this anticipation is headier than anything she’s felt in a long time, and she can’t bring herself to care that it might be a mistake.

Ever the dutiful soldier, he picks her dress up for her and drapes it over the back of a chair before joining her at the edge of the bed.

“Gods, you’re--” He gestures generally along the length of her body, apparently unable to complete his thought.

“Here?” she supplies for him, laughing a little. She knows that’s not what he was trying to say. “Who would have thought?" She’s not going to say something trite like I don’t usually do this kind of thing--she doesn’t even know him, yet she suspects he doesn’t either. But she’ll acknowledge that they’ve bypassed a few formalities in getting to his bed.

“I think we’re doing things out of order,” he says, mirroring her thoughts. He sits down next to her and clasps his hand over her bare knee, giving it a light squeeze. His fingers trail along the inside of her right leg, from her thigh down to her calf, before reaching for the hem of his sweater to pull it over his head.

“Time is in short supply, sometimes, even among the retired,” she says cryptically. “I don’t need to be wined and dined, Bill. This is fine.”

“I think we can do better than fine,” he says, finally having gotten his pants off and turning to her. He runs his hand along the side of her arm, over her shoulder, down to caress the tops of her breasts. She wriggles backward and his hand trails lower, down her sternum and over her belly to the waistband of her panties. He stops there, and his touch has awakened something inside her, sent her arousal soaring, and suddenly she’s crazed with a need to push past his tentativeness and get him to really frak her. It’s what she came here for, after all.

Not that she’d left her house that morning intending to cruise the bookstore as if it was a singles bar. But she’s having such a good day. Good enough that she has the energy to shift herself over his lap and straddle him, wrapping her arms around his neck and allowing her heated sex to brush pleasantly against his tented shorts. “Yes,” she whispers into his ear. It’s the answer to a multitude of unasked questions: do you want this? do you trust me? do I know you?

She suckles on his earlobe, places kisses along the side of his neck. He lets her explore him this way for a few moments, then growls before turning his face to capture her lips with his.

This is what she came here for...to surrender, to submit, not to her illness or the sadness of the last few months (years), but to the passion that they raise in each other. She pushes back, with her tongue, lips, teeth nibbling and pulling at his full bottom lip. His tongue parries with hers, his hands slide down her flanks, cupping her ass and pulling her even closer to him.

The heat of his body against hers sparks something deep within her--melts her heart, relaxes her limbs. Her body knows what it wants; it’s come alive, it’s at ease, for him. It’s why she’s here.

This time, when he tries to unfasten her bra, she doesn’t stop him.

He has a long scar bisecting his chest, she notices through her haze. Who is he to judge?

Not like her frakking oncologist, the one she found who was willing to operate but openly disdained her decision to refuse diloxan treatment.

Bill doesn’t say anything when the cups fall away from her breasts, nor when he traces the long scar that runs from her underarm, along the underside of her breast, then up to her left nipple.

He fondles the scarred breast tenderly while his mouth goes to work on the right one. It’s amazing, the soft suction of his mouth against the tightened nub, and she’s glad she didn’t insist on wearing her bra; she’d all but forgotten how much pleasure a non-clinical touch could bring.

His dick is rock hard, and though it feels wonderful as she grinds against it, it’s the thought of it deep inside her that brings the rush of moisture that will make that possible. “Gods, Bill,” she pants, clutching at his shoulders as she writhes against him. He’s still suckling her breast, teasing the nipple with his teeth and then soothing it with his lips and tongue. “I want you inside me,” she says, rubbing harder against him. Her arousal is deliciously unbearable, the nerve endings in her nipples and clit producing alternating shockwaves of pleasure.

His mouth eventually travels up to find her lips once more, and his fingers slide through her unruly tresses as he lavishes her with deep, sensual kisses. She runs her hands down his side to the waistband of his shorts to remind him that fabric barriers remain between them.

“Patience,” he mutters against her mouth, though he does reluctantly withdraw his hands from her hair so that he can shift her off of him and take off his shorts. Laura takes the opportunity to remove her lace panties and then pushes him gently back onto the bed.

“Very nice,” she comments as she inspects his cock, running a fingertip from root to tip before leaning in to do the same with her tongue. A strangled noise comes from the back of Bill’s throat as his eyes close and he leans back while Laura takes him fully in her mouth.

He’s thick, thicker than she can remember ever having before. The thought of him filling her completely, her body stretching to accept him, sends a shiver of anticipation down her spine, and she applies more pressure with her mouth and hand.

Within minutes he’s tapping at her shoulder, pleading for her to stop before she sends him over the edge. “Gods, Laura.” She tugs gently at his balls before releasing him from her mouth, and he lets out a relieved groan.

She takes a moment to regroup, finding herself slightly dizzy when she stands from her crouched position--whether from lack of oxygen while giving head, the rush of the whole unexpected situation, or her illness, she’s not sure. Bill’s settled back into the center of the bed, looking at her with an unabashed desire that she never could have imagined coming from him when they’d first met (fought) at the decommissioning.

Their initial clash, she can appreciate now, was the flip side of this effect they seem to have on one another, an amplification of feeling that’s a lot more fun in the bedroom than the ward room. Of course, the change in context helps, too. He’s looking at her hungrily, but waiting for direction, for Laura to take the lead. She can’t imagine the Commander acting this way with his crew (or with unwelcome bureaucratic visitors, for that matter), but Bill’s going to let her dictate how they do this. And for all she wanted to submit to him, let him make her forget, she’s finding this whole experience surprisingly fun in its own right, and she’s happy to climb aboard and have her way with him.

Her hip pops when she swings a leg over to straddle him this time--she hasn’t exactly been keeping up with her yoga regimen--and she giggles. “Been a while,” she admits softly.

He doesn’t say anything to that, just reaches up to touch her breasts, tease her nipples until they’re flushed a deep purple-red. He’s not making her forget, exactly, but he’s giving her pleasure that she hadn’t thought possible-- unselfconscious, immersive. Laura arches into his touch and slides her slick cunt along his cock.

She’s unbelievably wet, more so with each stroke of her clit against the hot, smooth skin of his dick. When she finally takes him in hand to guide him in, it’s all sweet relief as his thick girth fills her and pushes against the spots that had been aching for touch since before her panties even came off.

“Thank you,” she finds herself saying without thinking. He laughs and grasps her waist as he pushes his hips up, filling her even more completely. Laura leans down closer to him, embarrassed.

“You feel so frakking good,” he rumbles against her ear. She squeals when he follows his declaration with a sharp bite to her earlobe, then a sloppy kiss to the side of her neck.

“Yes,” she agrees, shifting against him so that her nipples brush against his chest with each thrust. She sets an even tempo, not too fast. She wants to draw out these sensations as long as possible. Each stroke feels amazing, even more so when his hands move from her waist down to cup and knead her ass.

They’re good together, better than she and Richard ever were. She pushes the thought of her ex-lover out of her mind and sits up straighter, pushing her hands against Bill’s thick, muscular chest for leverage. The change in angle feels good; Bill’s finger slipping between their bodies for her clit to rub against feels even better.

“Oh, gods,” she moans, the tension rising. “Yes, there, gods Bill, don’t stop that.”

“Come on, Laura,” he encourages her. “I wanna feel you come.”

At his words, her pussy clenches and quivers around his cock and she moves faster against him, his fingertip at her clit sending waves of tightening pleasure through her body. “Yes,” she cries, rolling her hips so the tip of his cock hits the spot that will push her over the edge. He pumps his hips harder to meet her thrusts, and when he reaches his free hand up to pinch her nipple, she comes hard, her whole body contracting around him again and again.

As she drifts down from her dreamy, unreal state, her mind is clear of everything except the feeling of this man, solid beneath her and still hard inside her. She collapses on top of him, needing a moment to collect herself.

She realizes as she slowly comes back to the present that, oh yes, his dick is certainly still there and hard, throbbing pleasantly in her heat. And he’s stroking her back with long trails of his fingertips and making soothing sounds. Laura lifts her head and realizes for the first time that her cheeks are slightly damp with a few escaped tears.

“Wow,” she says softly. “Hmmm.”

There are no more words for the catharsis that’s just taken place, so she rolls off him and nudges at him to get on top. His cock glistens in the light, coated in her juices, beckoning to Laura in a way that she can’t help but reach out and give him a few pumps. She brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks on them, tasting her own pleasure.

* * *

Bill’s pretty satisfied that he was able to satisfy her before coming himself-- it had taken all of his restraint, and even some running through mnemonics for his crew’s names in his mind to distract himself, a diversionary trick he hadn’t felt the need to use in years. (Never with Carolanne, never with the girls Saul bought and paid for on shore leaves.) But when she strokes him and then licks her fingers, he nearly comes all over her belly as he’s maneuvering to get on top of her.

Her eyes meet his, and there’s permission there, and gratitude, and his heart aches a little at the thought of whatever brought her to this point-- scarred, unemployed, and getting frakked by a near-stranger in the middle of the day.

But he doesn’t pity her for it, for those are all things he can relate to. He’s lived with his own scar for a long time, the result of a bullet wound received in a bar fight while he was in the merchant fleet, and he appreciates that she’d reacted to it with mild interest (rather than avoidance or, worse, revulsion). Laura’s scar is an angry new pink, a testament to a more recent invasion. There’s no question as to desire on either of their parts, he realizes; she’s soft and pliant beneath him, and her legs part eagerly and her pussy accepts him easily when he finally stops ruminating on their respective scars and how they came to be here, together.

She wraps her legs high around his waist, urging him on, arching into each thrust. Part of him wants to slow down, to take his time and build up to it again, but she has other ideas, and so do his hips. The angle allows for a deep penetration, and she cries out with pleasure each time he bottoms out against her.

He sees her focusing on his lips as he fraks her, her own pink lips parted and panting, and he’s seized by a need to claim her mouth as he’s claiming her body. He leans closer, enough to capture her lips and invade her mouth with a tongue that mirrors each thrust. She loves it-- humming her approval, accepting his tongue, seeking it out with her own. His hand winds in her hair, holding her face close to his, heightening their connection even more. Her hands grip his biceps tightly, desperately--he can feel her hands there as he kisses her deeply, and he thinks how he can’t remember the last time a woman really wanted to touch him, feel as much of him as possible. But somehow, improbably, Laura does.

She’s beautiful, writhing beneath him, and in this moment as his hips piston back and forth against her, in and out, he’s relieved that he’s spent the past few months of retirement getting into shape rather than drinking himself into oblivion with Saul and Ellen. He’s also glad that he happened to have emptied a few rounds from the chamber earlier that morning. Otherwise this might have been long over already.

“Gods, you’re relentless,” she mutters against his lips, as if answering his idle thought. “You knew--you know what I needed--”

Her musings are cut short by her quick pants and eventual cry of release as a second orgasm shudders through her body, surrounding him.

He slows his movements, lets her ride out the little death. “That’s amazing,” he says, reverently. “You’re a frakking goddess.”

Her eyes are closed and she just hums in agreement. He continues to work against her, and when she opens them, her light green meeting his blue, it’s enough to send him over the edge--points of glowing light grow from behind his eyes to blur his vision and something snaps deep within, unleashing his release and sending his flood of passion inside her as she softly encourages him.

A few moments pass, both of them breathing erratically and he rolls off her, deeply satisfied. How had something as crass as a quick frak with this woman he barely knows come to feel...

so much like lovemaking?

He doesn’t challenge the thought, nor does he further explore it. All he wants to do, honestly, is take a nap with her beside him.

But she’s moving around already, leaning over the edge of the bed, apparently in search of something. “Did you need something?”

“Oh my,” Laura says, holding up the small bottle of lubricant she’s found in his nightstand drawer. Superslick, the label proclaims. She looks from the lube over to him and smiles guiltily. “I was just looking for some tissues.”

“Humph. A likely story,” he says, though he reaches over to his side of the bed and snags the box off the low table there. He offers her the box and takes the lube from her. “Always good to be prepared, you know.”

“No judgment,” she says, waving the tissue in surrender before discreetly reaching down to wipe away their commingled fluids. She pushes herself up to a sitting position and he realizes for the first time how prominent her ribs are-- he could easily count each one. Still, the line of her spine is elegant, enticing. He wants to lick it up and down, to kiss her neck, to grasp her hips to his and take her from behind--

Easy, old man, his head warns his improbably stirring cock.

“I should go,” she interrupts his internal debate.

Well, that wasn’t acceptable. He looked at the clock; it was just past 1300. “Are you hungry? I can make us some lunch.”

She looks down the hallway toward the front door first, then to the door to his en suite bathroom. “Let me clean up, and get back to you about that.”

He nods as she gathers up her underwear and dress and goes into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. He half-expects to hear the water of the shower running, and thinks how that might give him enough time for a nap, but when that doesn’t happen, he lumbers off the bed, ignoring the creaking of his joints, and pulls his jeans on, zipping the fly but leaving the top button undone when he remembers how she’d struggled with it. He doesn’t bother with a shirt.

The fridge has slim pickings, but he’s started heating up a container of leftover pasta and is slicing an apple and pear when she enters the kitchen, wearing his brown fuzzy robe. He smiles. “Looks good on you.”

“This look is a good one for you, as well.” She sidles up beside him and runs her hands over his bare arms appreciatively, rakes her nails lightly down his back. He shivers, remembering the feel of her hands on him, encouraging him with each thrust--

His knife slips and nicks his thumb. Laura raises an eyebrow at him, and he smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. A little distracted, I guess.”

Wordlessly, she tears a paper towel off from the holder and takes the injured hand in hers. She dabs up the spot of blood that had formed, then raises his hand to her mouth to place a chaste kiss there. “You’ll live,” she pronounces solemnly.

“Pasta with vegetables okay?” he asks, wanting to please her, to feed her. “I made it last night, it wasn’t half bad.”

She nods, then reaches over to snag a pear slice from the pile of fruit in front of him. “I thought I was going to leave.”

“I kinda thought you were, too,” he admitted. “But I’m glad you’re not.”

“Yet,” she clarified. “I think...I’m not done with you yet.”

He leans in, places a deep kiss to her lips. She’s sticky-sweet, tasting of the pear she’d just eaten. It’s delicious. “Good,” he growls. “I’m not done with you, either.”

The sides of the robe part beneath his hands, and he cups each breast lightly, enjoying the feeling of their firm fullness, the soft, warm skin and the thud of her heart just beneath. Her eyes are closed in pleasure.

“Laura,” he asks tentatively, “what happened--”

One eye cracks open, looks down at his hands on her tits. “Lumpectomy,” she says, the dullness of her voice closing the topic to further discussion.

He hadn’t wanted to assume... “Beautiful,” he replies, tracing his tongue along the scar from the underside of her breast up to the nipple.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “I haven’t--with anyone--since.”

“Thank you,” he says, straightening up and pulling her robe closed again. There’s too much material, and the sash refuses to stay very tight against her narrow waist. “For trusting me.”

“I do,” she says, her voice tinged with surprise.

“Then let’s eat,” he says, pulling out silverware to set the counter for them to eat side-by-side, “so that I can get you back into my rack and ravish you some more.”

She eats a decent portion of the pasta, he notes with pleasure. They don’t speak much (will they ever? do they even need to?). Once he’s stacked their plates in the sink they feed each other fruit slices until they’re gone, exchanging knowing glances with one another in acknowledgment that they both need this recovery time but will be back where they started before long.

“It’s starting to rain,” she comments as she walks over to the window.

“It is,” he says, standing behind her and pulling her close against him. No sunbeams for the next go-round, but it seems that might be for the best. “Good thing you decided to stay.”

“For a little while,” she agrees, shifting her bottom against him.

* * *

This is getting ridiculous, but she still doesn't care. The gruff commander has proved himself an enthralling lover, a passable cook, and surprisingly pleasant company. She can hardly believe they've achieved this absurd domesticity after a single frak.

This doesn't feel like real life. This is some parallel existence, someone else's easy camaraderie and sexual compatibility.

"Just love someone," her mother had pleaded as she lay dying, concerned that her daughter would end up alone after her passing. "You've been so good to me, Laura, but you don't have anyone to take care of you."

She'd been sleeping with Richard even back then, and her mother had been right: she didn't have anyone to take care of her. And she'd been okay with that, for years.

But things are different now. She's been given these chances--an end to her relationship with Richard, a path toward remission, a random run-in with this gentle and alluring near-stranger. Her mother's parting words had first started stalking her as she huddled in the bathroom, deciding whether to stay or go, and they ring again in her ears as she turns to face Bill. This parallel existence is pretty appealing. "How about that book, hmm?"

He grins, and she thinks how he’d looked so unhappy when she’d first met him. What a contrast it is to now, all white teeth and good humor. It almost gives her hope that she can get there, too.

She follows him into the living room and lowers herself onto the well-worn brown leather couch. It warms to her body and she feels instantly at ease with her legs tucked up beneath her.

He pulls a book from the shelf and joins her on the couch, sitting next to her but not touching. She wants to be touching him. So she shifts over to lean against his shoulder.

Bill’s voice works well for narrating the mystery-- he doesn’t change the pitch very much to distinguish between male and female characters, but she begins to pick up on the nuances of his rumbles and growly flourishes as opposed to his clear Caprican diction as appropriate for each character. The story’s a good one, but he’s read less than thirty pages by the time she realizes that a nap is happening, no matter how engaging Prima’s plotting. Bill’s warmth, the comfort of the couch, and that voice lull her onto the cusp of a contented sleep.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, closing the book and stroking her hair. “You rest now.”

She hums and snuggles closer against him. Part of her wonders if this is the best way to use their limited time, if she shouldn’t just have him again and then get the frak out, but her muscles sing with relief as his hand sooths the length of her arm, the expanse of her back.

Her dreams are full of images of a lush green planet and a blanket of stars overhead.

* * *

Laura’s weight against him is a welcome burden, sleep-heavy and warm. It’s a surprise to him that she’s let her guard down this much, to curl up into his side and snore softly, but he’s grateful for it.

He’d wanted her, not the first time they’d met when she was all demanding and dour, but as soon as he’d seen her this morning in the bookshop. Now that he’d had her, he couldn’t help but look forward to the second time.

Would there be a third? A fourth? Or was this a one-time deal?

Better not to speculate, he decides as he lets himself drift off as well.

He dreams of her soft velvet heat surrounding his cock. He dreams of her moving over him, against him, circling her hips and clenching her inner muscles around him.

When he comes to, shirtless on his couch with Dark Day face-down beside him, he realizes there’s a reason for his dream. Laura is kneeling in front of him and has freed his engorged dick from his jeans’ fly. Her mouth is wrapped around him, her tongue swirling and stroking.

“That’s a hell of a way to wake up,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep.

She responds by humming a little and looking up at him, slowing but not stopping her movements. Sleep-tangled curls bounce on her shoulders, falling across her face. He reaches out to push her hair back so he can better see her as she works his cock with her mouth and hand.

He’s sliding closer and closer to the edge. His mind hasn’t had a chance to catch up to his body yet, but the tightening in his balls brings him back to full consciousness.

“Oh, damn,” he gasps. “Frak. Laura.” His hand is at her shoulder, but he’s not sure whether he means to push her away or hold her there. The robe has slipped away, gathered loosely around her arms, and he’s seized by the need to see her beneath him, fully bare, once more. “Bedroom,” he groans. “Please.”

She looks up at him, eyes wide--are you sure?--and releases him at his insistent nod. She pushes herself back from his knees and stands, adjusting the robe awkwardly.

His pants are already down past his hips so he kicks them off rather than bother with the effort of tucking himself back in. “Come on,” he says, grasping the material of the front of the robe and tugging her along toward the bedroom.

The robe makes its way to the floor by their shared efforts and he nudges her onto the bed. “So did you have a nice nap?” she asks innocently, batting her lashes at him.

“The best,” he says, clambering over her so they’re pressed together from toe to chest. “I was having this wonderful dream--”

“Mm-hmm?” Her lips are at his neck, her inquiry humming at his ear.

“--and then I woke up, and reality was even better.”

“Good,” she whispers.

* * *

His cock is between her legs, and he grinds gently against her hips. The sensation spreads a warmth through her limbs, though she suspects his body against hers might have something to do with that, too.

(What would it be like, to fall asleep with him, here in this bed? To wake up with his arms around her?)

She pushes the thought away as her hands run through his hair, pulling his face closer to hers.

“More,” she purrs. A long leg winds around his and she tries to tilt her hips to allow him to enter her.

“Wait,” he grunts, lowering himself beside her. He gently rolls her away from him, onto her side, and curls himself around her with his lips at her shoulder and his hand between her legs.

Laura leans her head back against his and lets him explore her body, learn its responses. It’s as much for her benefit as his--it’s been so long since someone made the effort. Soon her sex is slick and swollen, the varying pressure of his hand and fingers deliciously building up her arousal so much more than his cock alone might have achieved. One finger circles her clit, flicks it back and forth, while another finger slides closer to her opening. She moans softly and rolls her hips against his hand, seeking more and more feeling.

She’s so wet. When she reaches behind her to grasp his penis and tuck it firmly between her thighs, it slides easily against her flesh, quickly coated in her juices.

“Bill, I want you,” she breathes. She arches against him, feels his arousal throb at her words. Having his cock behind her like this is exciting, thrilling--it would just take a little slip of her hips and he’d be sheathed inside her.

“How do you want me?” he growls back, and she nearly comes right then. She whimpers and rolls away from his body, onto her stomach, and looks at him over her shoulder.

“Frak,” he sighs, “you are going to kill me, woman.” He eases a leg over her body, followed by the rest of him, his weight distributed on knees and elbows on either side of her, pinning her down. It’s so much contact, her nerve endings are singing and he’s not even touching her pussy right now.

She wriggles beneath him, seeking the pressure of his hard cock. It’s there, pressed against her ass. “Do it, Bill.”

He pushes himself up a little and encourages her to do the same, which gives him room to move his hand under her chest and fondle her breasts: the right one, then the left. She groans as he pinches her nipples lightly, and reaches back to line him up. A slight flex of his hips and the head of his cock is enveloped in her heat--but that’s as far as he goes.

”Do it.”

That’s all the instruction he needs (finally) and his free arm slides down from her breasts to under her stomach, lifting her up a little higher.

It’s such a different sensation from last time, when they were face-to-face, and she nearly wants to cry at how full she feels. He grasps her hips, pulling her closer with each thrust. “Gods,” she moans.

“Let go, Laura.” His hand has slipped from underneath her body to her hip and is now toying with the swollen bud of her clit. Her nipples brush against the sheets each time his hips bump her body forward. It’s a lot-- but she can take more.

Let go.

Her body aches to be filled in a way that it hasn’t for a long time. And it’s not just the act, it’s him who she wants to do it for her. A frictionless slide against that most resistant body part, stretching and pushing and finally accepting. It's all because of that frakking bottle of lube that she can't get the idea out of her head...

“You want to make me let go? Lose control?”

“Yeah,” he groans, giving her ass a little slap.

Laura reaches back to still him, then pushes forward to disengage their bodies. “Then--” she says, turning around and kneeling to face him. She traces her thumbs along the outside of his well-defined abdominal muscles, then wraps her arms around his waist and pulls his body back in contact with her own. His cock is still standing at full attention, and it only takes a small shift to slide it between her legs, against her clit. She’s on the edge, she’s playing with fire, but she wants to see how far this can go. “You’re gonna have to frak my ass.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, sliding his hand between his cock and her slick pussy, coating his fingers in her arousal. His fingers slip into her hot channel, then withdraw, and slide further back along her cleft, further and closer to where she wants him--

“Yesssss,” she moans as his finger gently pushes against the tight ring of muscle, finds the small opening there. His cock is still pushing against her clit, and they rock gently against one another, his finger moving infinitesimally deeper at an excruciating pace. “Gods, yes.”

“Turn around,” he murmurs against her ear. He strokes her once, twice, a third time before slowly withdrawing his finger completely.

“Yes, sir,” she says with a smile, arranging herself before him as he reaches over her to grab the lube from the nightstand.

She looks down at the grey sheets and takes a deep breath. She really wants to be looking over her shoulder at him, but she’s a little embarrassed that she’s demanded this of him, regardless of how positively he’s reacting to her request. Her forehead falls to the mattress just as she hears the pop of the lube opening.

“I can help with that, you know,” she offers.

“I got it.” The sound of slick flesh against flesh, his hand on his cock she presumes, confirms this.

She spreads her legs wide in order to drop her hips a little lower. She’s quivering in anticipation, and finally she does look back at him. “Please.”

He’s so beautiful in that moment, his golden skin pressed up against her lighter tones, his eyes hooded with desire. She nods at him encouragingly and the movement jolts him out of his stupor.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he says as his cock slips up against her ass. It’s already sensitized from his fingers, and she pushes against him insistently.

“You won’t,” she says, unsure where exactly her confidence comes from. She’d felt how big he was during their first go-round, but she’s so ready for this, and she’s certain that she can trust him with her body, that he’s attuned to her responses. She gives him an encouraging smile before turning her head around again, looking up at the headboard and taking a deep relaxing breath as she awaits his intrusion.

The lube and the foreplay have done their jobs, and it only takes a few quick moments until he’s fully seated. Laura’s forehead drops down to the mattress again; her whole body is on edge, her clit and pussy aching for touch. “Gods, Bill, that’s so good.”

He’s still, his fingers playing at her hips but his cock not yet moving, giving her time to adjust. He laughs, a rough chuckle full of mirth that she can feel through the connection of their bodies. “It is good.” His hand reaches up her body to caress her right breast and squeezes gently, his fingers zeroing in on her nipple. The feeling inflames her desire and she bucks against him, needing him to start moving.

Bill groans as he starts moving in and out. “Gods, you’re so tight.” His strokes become less tentative and more rhythmic; she pushes against him with each one to feel him, deeper and deeper inside.

“I wanted this so much,” she confesses. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he grunts back, his hands fiercely possessive against her hips. “Come on, Laura. Tell me what you need.”

She reaches back to find his right hand and thrusts it between her legs, to her quivering clit and pussy. Her moans let him know when he’s found the perfect spot, his index finger making tight circles against her swollen nub. “Oh, gods,” she cries as two fingers slide inside her pussy, making her feel so unbelievably full. “Harder, Bill, harder.”

He’s quick to comply, thrusting into her with greater force. Each thrust sends a shockwave of pleasure through her muscles, but she remains on the edge, not wanting it to end. Finally she gently pushes his hand away from her cunt and beckons for him to lean closer over her. Her cheek settles on the mattress and she whimpers as his balls slap against her oversensitized sex.

“More,” she demands, though her voice has taken on a tone more dreamy than commanding. “So good, Bill. So frakking good.”

His strokes have become shorter, more erratic, and she smiles as her body cooperates with her intentions for once--a violent spasm racks through her, ripping from her lower body outward to her fingertips and toes, and it’s all pleasure, a total release of tensions and fears and an embracing of this moment and this man.

Bill keeps filling her ass again and again as she’s coming, stroking her with those talented fingers, and she’s grateful because it just magnifies the sensations and makes the orgasm that much sweeter. Once her shudders have subsided, he places one hand at her hip and the other on her shoulder for leverage, and it’s just a few more forceful thrusts against her boneless body that send him over the edge with a deep, satisfied groan and a sharp flex of his hips.

His withdrawal is far more painful in its loss than his gentle entry had been, and Laura briefly mourns the full sensation that had continued to feel so good even after she came. He flops onto his back beside her and she rolls over, too, and they both look up at the ceiling rather than at each other.

They lay there, shoulder-to-shoulder, sweaty and breathless. She should get up and start moving--he should get cleaned up, they both should--but she allows herself this. A few more minutes to bask in the physical sensations they’ve just elicited from one another.

He’s so warm beside her, olive-skinned and toned and vital. He’s made her feel that way too, his life force bleeding over into hers as they frakked.

As if he could frak her into remission, she reprimands herself.

He mistakes her resigned sigh for one of exhaustion. “You okay? Need to rest for a bit?”

She can’t handle the hopeful lilt to his voice. “I’d like that,” she admits slowly, “but I should probably just get cleaned up and head home.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath--in, out. It fascinates her how long it takes to do this one exchange of air, how much volume his lungs must hold. “Bill,” she says, warmly.

His eyes open. “Yeah?”

“I meant what I said--this was good. Really, really good.” She props herself up on her elbow and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “I just have to go, because--”

(because why?)

“--you know, life,” she finishes with a vague gesture toward the window and the rain-soaked world beyond.

“I see,” he says, and she’s not sure that he does. She’s not sure that she does.

Just love someone, Laura.

“Shower with me?” she asks.

* * *

The shower, granite-lined with a waterfall-style fixture and large enough for two, is both cleansing and soothing. The day’s activities have required more endurance than he’s had to prove for quite some time, not to mention used entirely different muscles.

She’s quiet and subdued--contemplative, perhaps. He doesn’t much feel like talking, either. Somehow they’ve said all there is to say.

He apologizes for the overly masculine scent of his only shampoo, but she just smiles and pours some into his hand. “Do you mind?” she asks.

As if he would. “Of course not,” he responds, and begins working the shampoo through her drenched locks. A hint of sandalwood fills the steamy stall. “You have incredibly beautiful hair, you know.”

“Mmm,” is her noncommittal response. “So do you. I loved running my hands through it.”

Loved?

He gently nudges her body under the spray, tilting her head back to rinse out the suds. “What else did you like?” he asks in a low voice.

Her eyes are closed, either deep in thought or to avoid getting soap in them, but she takes a moment to consider. “Sucking your cock,” she says. “Feeling you, so deep and hard.” She stands up straighter and steps aside to let him take a turn under the water. She pushes her hair back and squeezes the water out in a move he can only view as reminiscent of her working of his cock.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms. “And you know that I loved--”

“Yeah.” He does, she’d made sure of it. Gods, she’d been so vocal. Harder. More. Bill.

“Amazing,” she says. “Your cock and fingers, everywhere, feeling every part of me.” She takes the soap from the dish on the bench and begins washing her arms, breasts, navel and below. She’s intent on her task and he indulges in the erotic sight for a few moments before gently taking the soap from her.

“Let me do your back?”

Laura giggles and turns around obediently. “All right.”

He wants to pull her lithe, slippery body flush against his own and hold her tight under the warm spray, to feel her heartbeat under his palm as one arm slips between her breasts and the other wraps around her waist. But she’s leaving soon, and for all her dirty talk, he senses a standoffishness returning that she’d managed to shed for just a while.

Her shoulders are relaxed, pliant under his gently massaging hands. He can’t help himself; he leans in closer, nearly resting his chin on her shoulder, and whispers into her ear. “You are so beautiful.”

She hums and relaxes against him, turning her head into the crook of his neck to murmur her own confession. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s made me feel that way.” She turns to face him and takes the soap to begin washing the smooth, nearly hairless planes of his chest, the solid muscles of his belly. “It’s been a good day, Bill.”

He’d put it at a little better than good, but he tries not to be offended, and finds it impossible to dwell on the notion as her soapy hands slide through the thatch of hair below his navel and begin stroking his cock. He sighs in contentment, unable to harden in response after their day’s activities but enjoying the return of her touch nonetheless. Once his cock is clean, she works up some more suds and applies them gently to his balls, her fingertips massaging lightly before she slips her palm beneath to cup him.

“Almost done,” she says, and her soapy fingers slip past his balls to his perineum, applying a slight pressure that elicits a soft moan.

“You’re trying to get us dirty again,” he accuses, taking the soap from her hand and returning it to the tray and then removing her other hand from his balls.

“Hmm. Don't tempt me,” she says, and steps carefully out of the shower.

He gives himself a quick rinse and turns off the taps. The heat is gone, and it reminds him that soon she will be, too.

* * *

She dresses quickly, almost sloppily, by herself in his bathroom after Bill comes back with her clothes and a comb. She’ll be home in her robe with her hair in a ponytail none too soon, and no one will take note of the middle-aged woman hailing a cab on a busy city street. She’s vastly overstayed--it was supposed to be a quick frak, how was she to know he would be so wonderfully warm and soft and hard at the same time?-- but at the same time she’s afraid that if she doesn’t leave now, she never will.

The shower had been a bit of a wake-up call, a reminder of reality that returned as she scrubbed the sex off her skin.

Still, she has few regrets--she would’ve changed neither the man nor the acts in which they indulged. Bill--Commander Adama, she reminds herself, needing to regain that distance between the stiff military man she’d first met and this caring, wonderful lover she’d come to know in the past few hours--had accepted her as she came to him, scars and all. She couldn’t help but feel that a different, happier person had emerged from the sarcastic woman she’d been earlier that morning in the bookstore. She’s gloriously sore; strained muscles and bruised skin are a cherished reminder that will last beyond this day.

Thank goodness she’d caught him looking.

But gratitude shouldn’t be her focus right now. Right now she needed to find her shoes, and her purse, and get out, lest they start frakking again. The man had the libido of a twenty-five-year-old. Not that Laura knew anything about that.

She exits the bathroom and surveys the bedroom, from the rumpled bedsheets to the wide glass windows framing a still-grey dusk. It’s gotten darker since she was last in the room, and the soft light of the bedside lamp helps her locate her shoes, one near the door and the other half-hidden under the bed. Her purse must be in the living room, or perhaps the kitchen, she thinks as she slides her feet into the comfortable black patent flats.

Bill’s obviously been in here and left, already; the clothes he’d been wearing earlier are either put away or on him, and she can hear a low crooning coming from the other side of the bedroom wall.

Laura feels a pang in her chest that has nothing to do with her illness.

Steeling herself with her best politician’s smile, she pushes past the bedroom door and into the open living area. “Well,” she says to get his attention, not looking at him as she glances around for her small bag, “I’ll be going now.”

“I’d love for you to stay for dinner. Or I could take you out, if you’d like,” he offers.

Laura bites her lip, wondering what to say to that. Apparently her silence is enough, and he holds up his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. Go.” He walks from behind the kitchen island to face her, not coming close enough to touch, but close enough that, under the recessed lighting, she can see the little specks of gold in those deep blue eyes of his. “But can I see you again soon?”

She finally notices her purse on the floor, propped up against the leg of the coffee table. Mentally she runs through her schedule: far from the days of interworld travel and high-level meetings, it’s a whole lot of nothing interspersed with a fair amount of Delphi Radiology Institute.

“I like to go to the Riverwalk and sit at the fountain,” she says impulsively. “Around lunchtime.” And it’s true, she does like it, she just doesn’t actually do it anymore now that she no longer works across the street and she routinely lacks the energy to navigate the throngs of people on market day. But maybe she will again. She moves closer to him and takes his hand in both of hers. “Thank you for a wonderful day, Bill.”

“Let me get your number,” he says, giving her hands a squeeze.

She smiles, then withdraws herself from his magnetic pull and bends down to pick up her bag. “If it’s meant to be, you’ll find me.”

She can’t look him in the eye as she says it.

Her hand is reaching for the doorknob when she sees his shadow jump across the pale wall. “Wait!”

“Hmm?” she says, trying not to ruin this lovely day with her impatience at being held up making her escape. She should have left more unceremoniously.

“The book,” he says, picking it up off the couch and folding it closed. He smooths the binding a little, and she’s inordinately fond of the little thrill she feels at finding out in that moment that he’s as much a bibliophile as she.

She accepts his offering, a little reluctantly, but it was a good novel; she’d like to finish it. “It’s not going to be the same without you reading it,” she admits.

He grins and holds out his hands in a gesture of unwittingly one-sided possibilities. “If it’s meant to be...”

Laura leans in and kisses him: just a quick peck, but it seems like the right move in this moment. “Goodbye, Bill.” She clasps the book to her chest and smiles over her shoulder at him as she steps out of this haven and back into the real world.

Is this it? she wonders. Is this how I’m going to spend the rest of my days?

It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, she thinks.

* * *

Read more: Part 2 of 2

Fic: Heart on the Line (Raydor/Hobbs)

2013-07-28T21:14:04Z

Title: Heart on the Line
Rating: T
Word count: 2500
Pairing: Raydor♥Hobbs
Summary: When Sharon gets hurt in the line of duty, Andrea faces her past...and her future.
A/N: Written for defyingnormalcy’s birthday. Thanks for all the great prompts, hon. :) I hope you have a wonderful day. Thanks to newnumbertwo for her beta.

Andrea looked doubtfully at the bunch of daisies she held in her shaking hand and sighed as the elevator surged upward. She hadn’t been at UCLA Medical Center since she’d come to visit her ex in the maternity ward three years earlier.

Regina had looked so serene, a blissful expression on her face that was totally foreign to Andrea. Seeing the way she held baby Max in her arms had just served to validate their breakup. Regina had wanted to start a family, Andrea hadn’t. Regina loved that baby more than she ever could have loved Andrea.

She had feared that she’d be lonely after Regina left, but then Sharon Raydor had waltzed into the Major Crimes murder room and brought a discipline with her the unit had been lacking. Andrea had at first viewed the Captain just as a law-and-order ally in an otherwise undisciplined camp. Okay, that and a great set of legs, too. Then on the day when Andrea got shot in the arm, Raydor had earned some notoriety of her own for her brilliant bean-bag marksmanship, a criminal defense attorney went to jail, and a friendship was born. That friendship blossomed into a relationship after Sharon was assigned to head Major Crimes, and now, even with Andrea’s hectic schedule and Sharon’s responsibility for her foster son, they had been dating for nearly a year.

It hadn’t always been easy, especially once they got to the point where it was hard to keep the relationship under wraps while at work. But they’d gotten through that (the culture in the murder room really had come a long way since Brenda Leigh Johnson had first arrived, she had to admit--even Provenza had been supportive, though he quipped to Andrea that she had questionable taste). They’d gotten through the DA’s reassignment of the Stroh case to Rios once the DA found out about the conflict (one of several that the obnoxious neophyte DDA constantly liked to bring up). And Andrea had become genuinely fond of the young man who shared Sharon’s home and demanded her attentions. The kid had such a tough road, it was impossible to harbor any of the resentment or jealousy she’d felt when her ex had first expressed her desire to parent a child.

But this...could she be strong enough to handle it?

The elevator stopped and Andrea took a deep breath, steeling herself to face the hallway of recovery rooms.

It’s just a concussion and some cracked ribs, she reminded herself, trying to push the fear aside. She’s going to be fine. You need to be strong.

“I can’t,” Andrea muttered under her breath. Getting too close to someone meant getting hurt when they left. Whether they chose to, like Regina-- or not.

She’d had lovers leave. She’d seen police officers killed in the line of duty.

What she hadn’t experienced before getting the call from Flynn a few hours earlier was the connection between the two.

The nauseous feeling in her stomach returned as she walked down the depressing taupe fluorescent-lighted hall and thought back to that fateful call.

”Andrea, it’s Flynn. Look...the Captain’s been hurt. Crime scene wasn’t properly secured, shots were fired.”

“No, no, please..”

“She wasn’t hit, Andrea, but she took a hell of a thumping when the officer took her down for cover. She’s in surgery at UCLA Med Center. I thought you should know.”

The nurses hadn’t wanted to tell her anything. She’d gotten more information about Sharon’s condition after explaining that she was an Assistant District Attorney involved with the case than she did by identifying herself as Sharon’s friend. She tried working for a few hours, knowing Sharon was still in surgery. Thoughts of her lover, shot and bleeding, her green eyes lifeless and glassy, dominated her thoughts, and it was impossible to concentrate on her cases. Thank goodness she didn’t have any court appearances to get through. Finally she gave up any pretense of work, which was how she’d ended up here.

At last she came to room 2112. The door was open, and she looked in, waiting at the doorway.

Sharon was asleep: her eyes closed, her head bandaged, an IV attached at the crook of her elbow.

Rusty looked up from the chair in the corner of the room, from Andrea to Sharon, and got up. “Hey, Andrea. I’m, uh, gonna go get something to eat.” He gave Andrea an awkward nod as he walked past her and into the hallway. He looked back after a moment and saw that Andrea still hadn’t entered the room. “She’ll be awake soon, Andrea, and she’ll want to see you.”

She smiled. Rusty seemed fine, and he cared about Sharon as much as she did. Maybe things would be all right. “Thanks, Rusty.”

Andrea steeled herself and walked into the room, pulling the door nearly closed behind her. She approached the side of the bed, trying to focus more on the strong steady beeping of the heart monitor instead of the sight of her lover, unconscious and bruised.

As she got closer and leaned over Sharon, she saw no sign of Sharon’s thick chestnut tresses beneath the bandages covering her crown. “Oh, baby,” she whispered, setting the stupid daisies down on the bedside table. “They shaved your head.”

She was sure Sharon would be just as beautiful as ever, even without her magnificent coif. But it would be a long-term reminder of what could have happened.

What could have happened... What a euphemism. Andrea had been a prosecutor for over twenty years. She knew exactly what kind of things could happen-- even to high-ranking police officers.

Especially to them. Sharon was no desk jockey. She still went out to crime scenes despite her “promotion.”

Why had she gotten called in, anyway? Andrea tried to remember if Sharon had said anything before they’d parted the previous evening after a quiet dinner at their favorite Italian place. They’d lingered over mint sorbet and chocolate gelato, trading spoonfuls of each, exchanging playful glances before Sharon had regretfully pushed her bowl away and announced that she needed to get home and make sure Rusty had finished his homework before it got too much later. They’d exchanged some brief, sweet kisses in the parking lot as they said goodbye and headed off to their respective homes. Sharon hadn’t said anything about an open investigation...

Andrea pulled Rusty’s chair closer to the bedside and settled in, reaching out to cover Sharon’s hand with her own. She’d just have to wait for Sharon to wake up to get the whole story.

The bottom of her stomach dropped out again as she allowed herself to finally catalogue Sharon’s delicate features. Deep purple-gold bruises surrounded both of her eyes; even the eyelids were discolored. There was a tiny speck of blood at the corner of her mouth, just below her bottom lip.

Am I strong enough for this? To be here for her? Andrea wondered, taking in the scrapes on Sharon’s palms and inner forearms.

When Andrea had been shot, she was single. Her fellow DDAs were sympathetic and a little impressed; her brother out in Orange County took the news in stride and offered to take her to the gun range once her arm got better to work on her self-defense. It was just a glancing blow to the side of her upper arm, not even through-and-through. But she’d been alone; no one had been scared for her once she got bandaged up and the psychic trauma of having been assaulted set in.

Not like she was scared for Sharon now.

“Why couldn’t I have fallen for a nice safe schoolteacher?” Andrea said out loud. Her ex was an artist who worked mostly in blown glass; she could spend hours a day within the relative safety of her fireproofed studio. She’d never had much interest in Andrea’s work, barely understood what exactly it was that she did. Sharon was entirely different.

I understand her work, like she understands mine. It was a huge part of why their relationship worked. There was a physical attraction, but also a mutual respect, a professional courtesy that had served as the basis for so much more.

I want there to be more, Andrea admitted to herself. More than quiet dinners together and occasional sleep-overs when Rusty was invited to a friend’s. I want to be here for her, now.

Wake up, Sharon. Andrea pulled the chair even closer then leaned back, watching the rise and fall of Sharon’s chest.

Within a few minutes, Sharon’s eyes fluttered open. “An-die?” she croaked, and Andrea sprung to her feet, hovering over Sharon.

“I’m here, love,” she said, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Sharon moved to sit up, then whimpered and brought her hand up to her chest. “Hurts.”

“I know, sweet. You’re going to be okay.” Andrea placed her hand at Sharon’s shoulder and stroked it tenderly, figuring it to be the safest place to touch her in light of her injuries. “I’m here. You just rest.”

“M’kay.” Sharon’s eyes drifted closed again.

Andrea looked to the door, hoping that a doctor would soon be making an appearance so that she could let him or her know that Sharon had briefly wakened, and also so that she could find out what the fuck was going on.

It wasn’t a white lab coat that she saw first coming cautiously through the door, however; it was a white floppy sun-hat, clasped against Lieutenant Provenza’s chest. If he was surprised at seeing her there, he didn’t show it. Flynn followed behind him, his brow crinkled in concern. Flynn was holding a small arrangement of balloons, a silver mylar “It’s a Boy!” most prominent among them.

Andrea had another flashback to the last time she’d been in this hospital; she’d bought Regina the same one.

“Only one they had in the shop,” Flynn said defensively when he noticed her staring at it. “More appropriate for the Captain now than the ‘It’s a Girl’ balloon Provenza brought me after I got knifed.”

Provenza rolled his eyes. “How’s the Captain doing?” he asked in low tones.

Andrea shook her head. “I don’t know much at all. She seems to be pretty heavily sedated. From what I understand, they had to drill into her skull to relieve the pressure from the swelling.”

“Hell of a thing, to get taken down by an SIS goon,” Flynn said. “Better that than a bullet, for sure, but possibly more painful.”

“Where’s the kid?” Provenza asked her. “I know Buzz dropped him off here a couple of hours ago.”

“Rusty went to get something to eat. Seemed like he’d been here for quite a while,” she answered. “So you were both there when it happened?”

The two lieutenants exchanged a glance, and Flynn proceeded to explain. “We decided to make a move, take the suspect in the Barnes murder into custody. Asshole took off for his grandmother’s house, took grandma and his six-year-old cousin hostage. Taylor called in SIS while the Captain was trying to negotiate, things got a little heated when the perp realized he was surrounded. Shots were fired, and when it was all over, the perp was dead, granny and kiddie were fine, and the Captain was unconscious on the ground with a very apologetic Officer Abrams on top of her.”

“Wow.” Andrea sighed. “Close call.”

“Too close,” came a weak voice from the bed. “Where...Rusty?”

“I’m here, Sharon.” Rusty came into the room, holding a tall soft drink cup and wearing a concerned expression. “We’re all here.”

“Most of us, anyway,” Provenza added. “I made Sykes, Sanchez, and Tao stick around for the FID investigation.”

Sharon smiled wanly. “That’s important.”

“That’s my girl,” Andrea said softly. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Some. Don’t wanna...think...right now.”

“Fair enough,” Flynn said. “You got taken down by one of our own, Captain, but it was all for a good cause.”

“Told Taylor...didn’t need SIS messing things up for us...trigger-happy idiots...”

“At least Abrams has quick reflexes,” Provenza intoned.

“Must be impressive. The guy is apparently big enough to have broken her ribs and given her a concussion,” Andrea said. Big enough to have done more damage than that.

“Big guy,” Sharon agreed.

“Well, Captain, it looks like you’re in good hands here.” Provenza looked at Andrea, giving her a slight nod of support and...approval?...before turning to Rusty and giving him a rare smile. “Flynn and I need to get back to the station, wrap things up.”

“Tell the team...good job,” Sharon wheezed.

“Will do.” Provenza turned to leave. Flynn stepped closer to Rusty, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. “Take care, kid.”

Sharon’s eyes were closed again by the time the two lieutenants exited the room. Rusty offered Andrea the sole chair in the room, gesturing toward it. “You want to sit?”

She smiled at his thoughtfulness and shook her head. “Nah. I’ve got too much nervous energy to sit. You go ahead and take the chair.”

Rusty shrugged and took a book out of his knapsack before easing down into the chair. A few minutes passed, attended only by the occasional rustling of pages and the strong, even beat of Sharon’s heart on the monitor.

“Andrea?” Rusty’s timid voice broke the impasse. “What’s going to happen? While Sharon recovers?”

She gave a parting caress to Sharon’s forearm and walked over to be closer to Rusty. She leaned against the painted cinderblock wall and held his gaze. The uncertainty and fear in his eyes tore at her heart.

What would Sharon tell him? She was so much better with kids than Andrea...

Buck up, Hobbs. Was she or wasn’t she in this relationship for the long haul?

“I think,” she began, “that Sharon will be discharged in a few days. And in the meantime, I will stay with you at Sharon’s house so that you don’t have to get placed somewhere else. And when she comes home, I will stay there and help out until she’s feeling better.”

Sharon might have something to say about this plan, but from her stilted speech and head injury, Andrea figured that decision-making might be best left to her for the imminent future.

Rusty still hadn’t said anything. “That sound all right to you, Rusty?”

He tilted his head. “Would you be able to drive me to school in the mornings? So that I don’t have to get dropped off in a patrol car?”

Teenagers. “Yeah, Rusty. Of course I’ll drive you.”

Rusty flashed her a grateful smile, and returned his attention to The Scarlet Letter. Andrea found herself looking from Sharon’s supine form, to the top of Rusty’s slightly bent head, his sandy hair drooping into his eyes, and up to the corner ceiling of the room, where a mylar balloon mocked her.

It’s a Boy!

Andrea laughed.

Fic: Tauron Transitions

2013-07-08T02:13:05Z

Title: Tauron Transitions
Rating: K+
Word count: 4800
Summary: The Roslin-Adamas adjust to life on Tauron.
A/N: A multitude of thanks to nixmom for the beta and the inspiration.

Previous story: Farewell Freeze
Next story: Tauron Surprise

Banner by scifishipper, click on it for the index to this series.

"Ready for your last day of school, Superintendent?” Bill leaned over Laura’s shoulder and grinned at her in the mirror before sweeping her hair aside and kissing her neck.

“Mmmm.” She leaned into him, closing her eyes for a moment. She turned her head to meet his mouth with her own for a brief kiss, then returned to applying her makeup. “I’ll be so glad to have this first year finally under my belt and not feel like such a novice.” A swipe of lipstick passed over her lips, which she pursed thoughtfully. “A few of the real old-timers are retiring from the administration. It should make things easier, next year.” Although she’d be making an appearance at the district retirement party later that day, she felt nothing but relief that the old guard who had balked at accepting a Caprican as their boss were finally moving on.

“You’ve done great, Laura.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a squeeze. “Not just at your job, but with everything--I know it hasn’t been easy.”

She dusted some translucent powder across her cheeks, forehead, and chin. “I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since we left Caprica,” she admitted, putting the powder away in the drawer. “So many changes...but the kids seem to be happy, at least.”

As if on cue, Sephie dragged Phin into the bathroom, with Cyrus toddling far behind them, trying and failing to keep up. Sephie was wearing underpants and nothing else, while the boys were both fully dressed. “Mama! I need!”

Bill and Laura exchanged a glance, and by tacit agreement, Bill took the lead. “You need what, muffin?”

“Phin took my shirt! I wanted to wear it to Lar-Lar’s.”

“Did not,” muttered Phin, plucking at his yellow t-shirt. “Dis is my shirt.”

“I think you both have that one,” Laura said, crouching down to inspect Phineus’s shirt, emblazoned with the logo of the Tauron Bulls. “We got these when we went to the match against Hades Vice, right?”

Bill nodded. “I should have written their initials on the tag.”

Sephie’s tantrums had prompted what might be deemed an excess of labeling, but it helped keep the peace. Laura reached beneath Phin’s dark shoulder-length curls--a trip to the barber was probably in order--and inspected the tag. It had in fact been marked with an indelible P. “Sephie, this shirt is Phin’s. Let’s go pick out something else to wear, okay?”

Sephie pouted, her lower lip sticking out comically. “I want Bulls shirt!”

“Persephone Jane.” Laura leaned down and picked up her daughter. It was getting harder and harder to do; at least Cyrus was still small enough to carry around easily. “Come on, honey.” Laura rolled her eyes at Bill, who chuckled and followed the girls out of the bathroom, leading the boys into the kitchen. He could hear Sephie’s whining from down the hall.

Bill sat each of the boys at the child-sized table in the corner of the kitchen and poured them each some juice before going about making them toast. As the toast was browning, he poured coffee for himself and Laura. “Laura,” he called, looking at the clock on the microwave. “You’re going to be late.”

Laura finally emerged from the kids’ room with a beaming Sephie in tow. The girl was wearing a bright red shirt that clashed loudly with her strawberry-blond mop, her little denim skirt held up by the rainbow suspenders she loved so much. Bright yellow jelly sandals completed the ensemble. “It’s the last day,” Laura said, plunking Sephie at the table between Phin and Cyrus. “I can be late if I want.”

“Save that attitude for when school’s not in session, Doc,” Bill said.

Laura smiled at the thought. “Can’t wait to have more time to spend with you guys.” She sipped her coffee, the hot liquid burning a caffeinated trail down her throat. “What are you all up to today? The twins have Pyramid tonight, right?” Calling it “pyramid” was a stretch, as the three-year-olds tended to run around and into each other more than anything, and frequently demanded that they each have their own ball on the court, negating much of the purpose of the game.

“I love practice!” Phin said to Sephie. She wrinkled her nose and accepted the toast Bill handed her on a napkin.

“They do,” Bill said, “at five, so if you want to come there after work--”

Laura’s face showed her disappointment. “I’d love to, but I have the stupid retirement party.”

“Stupid re-ty-ment,” echoed Sephie.

Bill shrugged. “Go to the party, remind them that you never let ‘em see you sweat.”

“I’ll come to the next one,” she said. “Okay, Phinny?”

Phin nodded vigorously, while Cy babbled next to him. Laura noticed that his little fists were glistening with a mixture of butter and toast crumbs. “Oh, Cyrus.” She wet a cloth and leaned down to clean him up. “Toast is for eating, not for smashing.”

“Smash, then eat,” Sephie suggested, then demonstrated by placing two buttered halves of bread facing each other and pounding it violently against the table with her palm. Phin gave his toast a far more timid press.

“This is why you guys don’t get jelly,” Bill said.

“I really am late,” Laura said, throwing the cloth into the sink. She rinsed off her hands, took one last slug of coffee, then leaned over to give Bill a quick kiss. “Don’t let them get into too much trouble at Larry and Sam’s today.”

Bill looked at her in feigned innocence. “What, you think we teach them how to play Triad or something?”

“Full colors!” shouted Sephie. “I win!” She threw her smashed toast into the air in celebration, then grabbed Cyrus’s discarded crust from in front of him and stuffed it in her mouth.

Laura exhaled slowly, her stern visage finally slipping into a giggle. “Right. Be good, kids.” She bent down and gave them each a quick kiss, intercepting the twins’ grubby hands before they could wipe them down on her pressed trousers. Cyrus got picked up and given a squeeze and a pat to his padded bottom before she handed him off to Bill. “He needs a change, dear. Full colors.”

“Love you,” Bill told her. “We’ll see you tonight.”

“No Triad!” she called over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

Phin looked up at Bill, his green eyes wide. “We’ll play Go Fish, Daddy,” he offered.

* * *

Laura swirled the white wine in her glass, trying not to let her boredom show too much as Birdie Poulis droned on about her garden. “Nothing too decorative or flowering,” she was saying, “that wouldn’t do at all, but my herbs and vegetables are doing just great--the garden gets bigger every year, and now that I’m retired, I can stay on top of picking so I can share with the neighbors, they just love having fresh cucumbers--”

Laura nodded politely and let her gaze drift over the room. The wood-paneled bar and restaurant was modest; she really hadn’t minded signing off on the funding for the party. Attending it, however, was another matter. She resisted the urge to pull out her phone to check the time and for messages from Bill, who would occasionally text her photos of the kids as they played.

“Come on Birdie, Dr. Roslin is Caprican. She doesn’t have any interest in hearing about your garden,” David Simos said with a sneer as he sidled up to the women. “Don’t think they even allow gardens in Caprica City, just steel and glass oppressing the natural landscape.”

“It’s true I’ve never kept one myself, ” Laura admitted, “but yours sounds lovely, Birdie.” Except for the whole no-flowers part. What the frak was the Taurons’ problem with flowers and pretty things? Lords knew this brown, arid planet could use a little color and beauty. “Though admittedly, Mr. Simos, there is a difference in general aesthetics between most of the Colonies, wouldn’t you agree?” She shot him a smile she hoped didn’t completely convey the frak you see was feeling. “Now if you would excuse me, I have yet to give my regards to our guests of honor.”

She let her grin fall into a frustrated smirk as she tried to remind herself that he wasn’t set to retire for a few more years yet. Maintaining the peace with the bitter long-term Assistant Superintendent was in her best interest, she repeated to herself until her ire receded. She looked around for a friendly face, but unfortunately, Birdie’s had been the most kindly of the lot.

The past year had gone by quickly, but she still found herself questioning whether they’d made the right choice in moving here. Despite her years of research, training, and responsibility for implementing progressive educational ideals across the Colonies, she found the practice on the ground here much more difficult than she’d expected. The tough Tauron people had always seemed so benign, back home: Bill’s no-nonsense but accepting extended family, the tattoo parlor owner in Little Tauron who’d gotten to know them so well over the years. But the people here were suspicious, untrusting-- not only of her own Caprican roots, but of her husband’s family’s alleged, now aged, Ha’la’tha connections. She supposed two civil wars in thirty years and an eight-hundred-year legacy of unwanted foreign intervention could do that to a planet.

“Glad to have made it through another school year, Dr. Roslin?” intoned a voice behind her. Laura spun around, flustered. Randolph Krell was the principal of one of the high schools in the district, and presented the opposite problem as so much of the other faculty in that he was almost too friendly. Laura cringed inwardly at the memory of his repeated efforts to take her out for dinner or coffee when she’d first started, to “bring her up to speed,” his efforts not ceasing even after she’d point-blank told him she had a husband and young kids at home. Some men...

“Hello, Randolph,” she said with a strained smile. “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

His posture indicated surprise, but his face remained impassive. “What for?”

“Your school’s graduation rate. Highest in the district for the fourth year in a row, leading the way for the entire district to have graduated a higher percentage of those who matriculated as freshmen than in any year in its history.”

He smirked and smoothed the front of his blazer in a self-congratulatory gesture. “Well -- the district’s policies this year were very effective.” An obsequious nod confirmed Laura’s suspicion: he was brown-nosing. He looked down at her nearly empty glass and began to ask, “Can I get you a--”

Laura’s phone buzzed in her blazer pocket, saving her from the awkward encounter when she looked down at the display and saw that it was from their neighbor Deirdre, whose son was on the twins’ pyramid team and a frequent victim of Sephie’s exuberant style of play. “Pardon me, please, I really have to take this.”

Randolph shrugged, turning his attention to some young primary school teachers huddled around the punch bowl. Laura headed for a quiet corner and answered the phone. “Hi Deirdre, what’s up?”

“Hi, Laura.” The sounds of children playing could be heard in the background. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” she said truthfully as she left the room for a quieter corridor. “Is everything okay? Is someone hurt?”

“Yeah, everyone’s fine,” Deirdre began, and Laura’s initial fear that one of her own children might be injured was replaced by a suspicion that perhaps Sephie had injured one of the other kids...again. “It’s just--”

“I can come out there right away, just tell me what’s going on.”

“Um, Laura, did you see the shirt Sephie’s wearing today?”

Laura tried to remember, but all she could see in her mind’s eye was the contentious yellow Tauron Bulls t-shirt that had sparked the brief bathroom battle all those hours ago. “I helped her dress this morning. It might have been a red shirt. Why?”

“I take it you don’t read Old Tauron?”

The back of Laura’s neck prickled, unsure at what Deirdre was implying with the question and hating that not knowing almost as much as having to concede that she didn’t, in fact, know Old Tauron. “No, I don’t.”

“Does Bill?”

“Not much, I think. Why?”

“It’s Sephie’s shirt...it says ‘Gautrau in Training’ on it. In Old Tauron.”

Laura tried again to envision the offensive t-shirt before responding. All she could see now were those ridiculous rainbow suspenders that Laura had long since wanted to hide to keep Sephie from wearing them with everything.

“Is Bill there?”

Deirdre hesitated. “Yeah...I just thought I’d better call you. I kind of figured that Bill knew what it said and maybe you didn’t.”

She’d assumed that Bill condoned it. Interesting. “I appreciate it, Deirdre. If you don’t mind, please feel free to enlighten Bill. And maybe try to get Sephie to turn her shirt inside out, if you can convince her.”

The other woman laughed. “I don’t think anyone’s making Sephie do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Laura sighed. Her most strong-willed child was both a joy and a trial, sometimes. “Thanks again. I’ll see you at Thursday’s practice?”

“Of course. Bye.”

Laura disconnected and looked dumbly at the phone in her hand. She considered calling Bill, but ultimately placed the phone back in her pocket and returned to the party to give the retirees her best so that she could head out.

She needed to have a talk with Sam Adama. Theios Sam-Sam had some explaining to do.

* * *

Sam answered the door, shirtless as was his wont. He must have been working out; a sheen of sweat glistened on his tanned and tattooed chest.

It was a bit much to see her children’s great-uncle this way, but she supposed it boded well for Bill’s appearance later in life.

“Hey, Laura,” he greeted her. “You here to pick up Cy?” He moved aside to let her in.

“No, I actually didn’t even know that Bill had left him here,” she said. Sure enough, Larry sat on the deep leather couch, bouncing the toddler on his lap. Both wore happy smiles of mutual amusement.

“Hi there,” Larry said, looking up at Laura. “Look who’s here, Cy.”

Cyrus’ four-toothed smile widened and he reached toward Laura.

“Larry didn’t want to give up his buddy when Bill took the twins to pyramid,” Sam said before taking a long drink of water from a tall glass. “I said we’d be happy to hang onto this guy for a little while longer.”

Laura leaned over to let Cyrus grasp his fist around two of her fingers. “Hi, buddy,” she said, giving his forehead a kiss. “If you don’t mind entertaining him a little bit longer, Larry, I’d like to speak to Sam for a few minutes.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Larry replied. “Won’t it, Cy?”

“Lar-Lar,” Cyrus agreed, locking his knees and standing tall on Larry’s lap.

“Sam-- do you mind?” Laura asked, gesturing toward the glass doors leading out to the patio.

He gave her an easy smile. “Of course not. Let me just go put my shirt back on.”

“Show-off,” Larry called after him. He turned on the couch to face Laura. “How are you doing? Today was the last day of school, right?”

“It was, thank the gods,” Laura said. “Larry, you don’t by chance speak Old Tauron, do you?”

“I learned a couple of food words at the restaurants we used to go to in Little Tauron,” he said, “but nah, I don’t speak or read it.”

“Ah.” Laura pulled out her phone; the twins’ practice should have ended by now. “Me either.” She patted Cyrus’ chubby cheek and went outside to wait for Sam.

The small outdoor space was ringed by red-leafed trees and shorter green ferns. Laura took a moment to savor the quiet, breathing deeply and reminding herself that the shirt wasn’t that big of a deal. She was annoyed, but Sam and Larry were family-- pretty much the only family they had on this planet. Sending Sephie to pyramid practice in an obnoxiously pro-Ha’la’tha shirt reflected badly on her, but she would at least hear Sam out.

The movement of the sliding door alerted her to his presence. He’d donned a white v-neck t-shirt that set off the deep blue of his many tattoos.

Sam sat down across from her. “Having the kids around has been such a joy to us,” he remarked. “Larry always wanted for us to have children, but I got out of the game too late for that.”

She smiled at the thought of a younger Sam and Larry toting around their own dark-haired children. “Well, they adore both of you.”

He leaned back in the wrought-iron chair and looked at her with his familiar piercing blue gaze. “So what brings you here, Laura?”

“I got a call from a concerned parent this afternoon,” she said, templing her fingers. “She thought I might be interested to know that Sephie was wearing a rather provocative t-shirt for a three-year-old.”

His face remained inscrutable, so she continued. “Gautrau in Training? Really, Sam?”

“Yes.”

“Yes? That’s it?” Laura leaned forward. “Sam, do you know how it looks for me-- a Caprican still trying to be accepted by my colleagues-- to be sending my kid to pyramid practice in a shirt that makes a political statement?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Sam.” Was he being deliberately obtuse, exercising an old man’s prerogative? “I’m sure that you are well aware of where my sympathies lie where recent history is concerned. But I don’t think you appreciate how tough it is to encourage a conciliatory, though accurate, curriculum in the schools.”

“Laura. We won. After all those years Joe and I spent living on Caprica, the Ha’la’tha our only family, sending back everything I earned to the Resistance? Both of us risking everything to send those godsdamned robots to Tauron?” He absently rubbed the small Tauron mark of manhood just below his right wrist. “And now to finally be back home, after years in exile? With a new generation of my blood living here, too? I want to celebrate that.” His gaze turned distant, toward the horizon. “I only wish Yusef were here with us.”

“I understand. But you should have given us a heads up about the shirt, instead of just sending it home with Sephie to be translated by a concerned neighbor.” She narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t made any other additions to the twins’ wardrobes, have you? Just that one shirt?”

“Just the one,” he said, raising his hands defensively. She noticed how he still bent his left hand to be less conspicuous, even after all these years. “Just for Sephie.”

“They’re starting to pick up on things like that, you know,” she said. “Why just her?”

He shook his head thoughtfully. “From the time she was a baby...I can’t quite explain it. I just knew.”

Laura suspected she knew what he was getting at, but she asked anyway. “Knew what.”

He smiled, proud but wary. “Girl’s got stones. She reminds me of someone I used to know...”

“And?”

“Well, she became Guatrau.”

Laura closed her eyes against the onslaught of implications, most of them violent, that comparison elicited. Though the image of Sephie in a Tauron-style gangster hat nearly brought her to giggles. “Lovely.”

“Look, Laura. I’m not saying Sephie’s going to become a hitwoman--even if she does have it in her blood...”

“Sam.” Laura reached across the table and laid her hand over his. “She is three.”

“And always faithful to the soil. Doesn’t matter that she’s three.”

“My gods, this family.”

“You chose it.”

“Yes, I did. And I love it. I just don’t think we should be using the kids to broadcast that history. Sephie doesn’t know anything about the Ha’la’tha. And I know that she will--” (Sam and Tsattie would see to that, Laura had no doubt, and maybe she was being overly optimistic about the content of the stories they’d already told her) “--but for now, I think we don’t need to be inviting controversy.” The Adamas’ side may have won the last uprising, but there were plenty of people on Tauron who had been among the losers-- paramilitary groups like the Heraclitus and the groups that had emerged from it--who resented that the current elected government had origins in decades of trans-world organized crime.

Sam silently considered her request, then nodded curtly. “You’re the expert.”

Laura smiled. “I am. But I’m also her mother. And she’s hard enough to rein in without you filling her head with ideas of being some gun-slinging, dagger-wielding assassin.”

The door slid open again before Sam could respond, and Bill stepped over the threshold, holding Sephie on his hip with Phin at his side. Larry and Cyrus weren’t far behind. Bill was obviously pleased to see her. “Hey, hey, look who’s here!”

“Mama!” Phin ran up to Laura and she pushed her chair back so that he could scramble up into her lap.

“Hi, sweetheart. How was practice?”

Phineus grinned. “Good! I ran fast.”

“Phin scored goals,” Sephie said, adding, “I ran over Aidan.”

Well, at least it hadn’t been Deirdre’s son Demetrius again.

Bill set her down on her feet, and she walked over to Sam, her little heels dragging with fatigue. Sam offered his right fist to Sephie in congratulations. She formed a fist of her own and smacked her knuckles against Sam’s before they both withdrew their hands, fingers extended to emulate an explosion.

“What brings you here?” Bill asked Laura, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“Sephie’s shirt,” she said.

Bill looked at the red t-shirt with white lettering. “What about it?”

So Deirdre hadn’t told him. Laura looked at Sam. “Care to translate?”

He coughed. “Uh, it was a gift from me. It says ‘Gautrau in Training.’”

“In Old Tauron,” Laura added helpfully. “Too bad neither of us can read it. Deirdre called me from practice to let me know.”

Bill frowned at his uncle. “That’s kind of a loaded thing to put on a kid’s t-shirt.”

Laura cut in. “And that’s why the shirt will stay here. Bill, do you have extra clothes for the kids?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll go grab something for her. I just did some laundry this afternoon,” Larry said before handing Cyrus over to Bill and disappearing back into the house.

“So we get to keep it?” Sam asked.

Laura looked to Bill and nodded. “At least now we know not to send her to Pyramid in it. Or, gods forbid, school.” The twins would be starting preschool in the fall. Not for the first time, it occurred to her how glad she’d be to have the twins spending slightly less time under the influence of their uncles.

“I don’t wan’ go to schooool,” Sephie whined into Sam’s leg.

He grinned and looked at Bill, then Laura. “Now she’s reminding me of someone else.” A shadow of loss passed between uncle and nephew.

Larry returned to the patio, holding a tank top. “Sephie, girlfriend, let’s take off that dirty shirt and put this pretty purple one on.”

Sephie looked from Larry to Sam, and when the latter nodded encouragingly, she accepted the suggestion and began tugging the red shirt over her head. “Okay!”

“Would you all like to stay for dinner?” Larry asked Laura and Bill. “I’ve got some chicken I was going to grill.”

Bill looked to Laura for direction, then spoke for them both. “Thanks so much, Lar, but we’ve got to get these guys home.” Cyrus had his head against Bill’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed as he struggled against sleep.

Sam took the red shirt from Larry and waved it at Laura in defeat. “Thanks for letting us keep this here, mom.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Sam,” she said, her tone cool but her eyes warm. She caught Bill’s curious look and mouthed, later.

* * *

Back home, the kids ate a quick dinner of noodles before being subjected to their bath-and-bed routine. The twins were exhausted from pyramid, and went to sleep with minimal resistance under Bill’s supervision while Laura rocked Cyrus with a bottle of milk. It was only two-thirds gone when his mouth went slack and he began to snore softly.

Laura traced his hairline, the barely-there brows smattered across ridged bone. He looked more distinctly like Bill than either Sephie or Phin; his cheeks were fuller, his nose a little wider, his blue eyes crinkled when he smiled. She set the bottle on the side table and kissed both of those soft cheeks before gathering him close to transfer him to his crib.

He stretched out once he hit the mattress and babbled briefly while Laura held her breath, then he curled up on his stomach. Laura could see the even-measured rise and fall of his back, his pink bow mouth open and his cheek squished up against the mattress. Tiptoeing to the door, Laura listened for a few more moments before flipping the switch and finding Bill waiting just outside in the hallway.

“He’s so easy,” Laura whispered, pulling the door not quite closed behind her. It still astounded her how much easier-going Cyrus was about pretty much everything, compared to the twins. Particularly bedtime.

“Hmm.” Bill wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her to the comfy couch in the living room. “We caught a break with him, for sure.”

Laura eased down into the plush leather, while Bill picked up a couple handfuls of toys and put them in the chest before joining her. He held out an arm, and she leaned against his side so that he could drape it over her shoulders. “S’nice.”

“Want to tell me about your conversation with my uncle?”

“Ehh.” She did, but at the same time, she didn’t want to think about some of the things he’d said. So she deflected. “What’s up with him always being shirtless?”

Bill chuckled, his laughter vibrating against her cheek where it was nestled to his chest. “Force of habit, I guess.”

“Anyway. I figured out pretty quickly that he must have given Sephie the shirt at some point, so I went over there to explain to him why that put me in an awkward position.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch it when he first sent it home, honey.”

“Why would you? You don’t read Old Tauron any better than I do. Sam, on the other hand - “

“How did he try to justify it?”

Laura frowned. “Basically he thinks Sephie takes after him. And your grandmother.”

He considered that for a moment. “He’s probably right. Good thing there’s not much demand for enforcers these days.”

“For now,” she said. “But Bill, she’s only three. Who knows if the peace will last? Maybe the current government will be ousted and we’ll find ourselves back in the middle of a resistance movement. Maybe the Cylons come back, and protection comes at a price. And maybe she decides to follow in her uncle’s footsteps instead of her father’s.” She didn’t say her next thought aloud, but she looked into Bill’s eyes, and knew he could see the question in hers: Did we do the right thing by moving here?

He kissed her brow and rubbed her arm soothingly. “That’s a lot of if’s, sweetheart. And we will deal with them, and my uncle if need be when the time comes. But for now, I love that our kids are growing up with the culture and understanding of their roots that I never had,” he said. “They will know who they are and where they come from.”

“And they won’t be discriminated against for being Tauron like they would have been on Caprica.”

“As for how long the peace will last...” He leaned back and pulled her more against his chest, then moved her hand to his bad knee. “Bad things happen all across the Colonies, Laura. We just have to keep them safe as long as we can, raise them to take care of themselves.”

She hummed, thinking of Joseph and Sam and how despite all of the odds stacked against them, one of them had yet to return to the soil. “And each other.”

Next story: Tauron Surprise

Remix fic - Delphi's Scribe

2013-05-07T21:41:21Z

Title: Delphi's Scribe (the Other Times, Remembered Remix)
Characters: Bill Adama, Laura Roslin, Zak Adama, Lee Adama, Kara Thrace
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: M
Word count: ~7000
Summary: The book tells Bill its secrets, even as Laura refuses to tell him hers.
Original story: The Book of Pythia by miabicicletta
A/N: So many thanks to nixmom, who was an invaluable source of support and beta skillery, and to miabici for creating such an amazing original AU.

Here at bsg_remix or just click the oracle

Fic: Benevolent Tyrant

2013-05-03T12:19:16Z

Title: Benevolent Tyrant
Rating: K
Word count: 500
A/N: Written in response to lls_mutant's Inspiration Day prompt, "what if the election fraud had never been reported?"

The atmosphere of Colonia was slightly green, as if to complement the lush vegetation that covered the surface of the planet, interrupted only by ribbonlike rivers feeding into freshwater seas. The sky was at its most majestic at sunrise, all swirling dark blue-greens gradually lightening, reminding her of their time in space and transition back to land.

Laura liked to sit out on the balcony with Bill and watch the small city beneath them come to life in the early morning hours, as the staff brought them coffee (real coffee, she could still hardly believe, even after all this time) and the nascent newspaper, which had just graduated from a tabloid to a true sectioned bifold.

But this morning, Laura had preparations to oversee. First step was getting her husband to send his long-unused dress grays down to the launderer in the basement of the Presidential manse. She bent down to wake him up with a kiss. “Time to get up, Admiral.”

Bill yawned and smacked his lips sleepily. “Hmm? I’m up, I’m up.”

“It’s Election Day, do you have any idea how packed my schedule is today?” She ran her hand along his chest, her thumb trailing along the scar that reminded them both of a trying time and a now-distant threat. She looked over at the balcony window longingly. “They’re going to start showing up soon.”

The settlers had seized upon Election Day as an annual holiday celebrating Laura’s first election, under the logic that every day on Colonia was Colonial Day and thus they needed a new civic holiday. While not everyone had been pleased at Baltar’s defeat and the subsequent passing over of “New Caprica,” any disappointment was allayed a month later, when the Fleet stumbled upon this far preferable planet. It wasn’t Earth, but neither was Laura a dying leader anymore. Recon showed the planet well-suited for settlement, and the entire Fleet--including Bill--made the move to the surface within six months of its discovery.

After six years of uncontested elections and unparalleled prosperity, the people had not only built her this impressive residence, but had elaborated on her title--and Bill’s, too. She gave him a hand to help pull him out of bed, and he shrugged on his robe before they walked over to the balcony window together, his arm over her shoulders.

“They’re earlier every year,” he commented. There were already two dozen supporters or so camped out on the square directly below, the most fervent among them holding up a large hand-painted banner that Laura recognized from celebrations past.

”WE ♥ OUR PRESIDENT-FOR-LIFE AND HER COLONIAL CONSORT!”

“You ever think about how they would feel if they knew that I actually lost that first election?” She let her head come to rest upon his shoulder as they looked out at the assembling crowd.

“No. I think they’d be grateful, though.”

“I never meant to start a monarchy.”

“Autocracy. They haven’t crowned you yet.”

Laura laughed; a little rueful, but lacking regrets. “Maybe next year.”

Love Is...

2013-04-24T04:16:28Z

Title: Love Is
Pairing: A/R
Word count: 300
A/N: Dug up this drabble thanks to leakypaintpen's discussion question about unfinished fics.

Bill nearly trips over the shoes she’d left carelessly strewn by the hatch. Laura sits on the couch, bare legs tucked under her as she watches him catch himself.

He unfastens the top button of his tunic and nods at her with a wordless smile as he walks to the cart to pour them each a drink.

She needs one as much as he does. She’s hunched over slightly, unconsciously flexing her feet, massaging an arch while she reads.

Handing her a glass, he lowers himself onto the couch next to her and takes a long draught. He sighs, relaxing into the soft leather. She doesn’t say anything, just keeps worrying her fingers against her soles as she reads.

“Give me your feet,” he orders. She can’t help but laugh; she’s heard him use that tone with his officers before, the ones he’s close to, right before dispensing some gentle Adama logic. Give me your eyes.

Finally she tears herself away from the stack of files. “Really?” she asks, doubtful. She tries to think back to the last time someone did this for her. A flurry of former lovers flits through her mind; not a single one stands out.

He nods, and she can see the sincerity in his expression.

Who is she to resist? It’s been a long day in unforgiving footwear. Grinning, she shifts her legs across his lap.

A moan escapes her lips as strong fingers make contact with weary muscle and brittle bone.

As she lets her mind wander, a realization strikes.

A host of constraints and concerns may keep them from saying those words out loud to each other, but he’s showing her, now. Love is a really good foot massage, she decides amid contented, involuntary hums.

And she loves him for it.

Happy birthday, dear newnumbertwo!

2013-03-23T19:03:46Z

Title: Long May You Run
Word count: 1350
Rating: T
A/N: Since we all know how much I love newnumbertwo's Ikeaverse (*hugs Ikeaverse*), I could hardly help but write in it for her birthday. Thanks in advance for letting me borrow Coach Laura and Assistant Coach Bill, and have a wonderful birthday weekend! :D
A/N2: Title and cutline are Neil Young's, not mine

Laura stretched leisurely, her head in Bill’s lap as she read the paper. “This is wonderful. I can’t remember the last Saturday we had free.”

He stroked her hair and sipped his coffee. “I know, Coach. I had no idea what I was in for when you decided we would take on the cross country team.”

She sat up and grinned. “And now we have a state champ to show for it.” Sam Anders had won the state meet the previous weekend, and the team had placed third overall with strong runs by Zak, Felix, Karl, and even Billy to back up Sam’s blazing final high school race. All that was left in their season was an awards banquet that Kara was organizing for sometime the following week. Laura’d wanted to have it sooner, but the team manager pleaded that she needed time to organize the photos she’d taken over the course of the season into a slideshow.

Bill set his coffee on the laminate-lacquered side table and gathered her into his arms. “That’s not the only thing. We both got into pretty great shape trying to keep up with the kids.” He slid his hand under the hem of her silk pajama pants to cup the back of her smooth calf and lightly squeeze the muscle. He hadn’t seen the inside of a boxing ring since he’d started seeing Laura three months earlier, but he had no complaints; between the five jogs a week and about an equal number of enthusiastic sexual encounters, he was feeling more energized than he had in years.

“Mmm. You were in pretty fine shape to begin with, Commander.” She rubbed his biceps appreciatively.

He chuckled. “Once we both got outfitted with new sneakers, my knees protested less, at least.”

“I’ll be glad for the break, I think.” She tipped her face up to his to place a kiss to his lips. “You see, there’s this wonderful man with whom I’d rather be getting sweaty in ways that don’t involve lagging woefully behind five high school runners.” They’d once been able to keep up with Billy, but the precocious senior had dropped fifteen minutes from his 5K time over the course of the season and was eventually able to hang with the back of the pack, far ahead of his huffing coaches.

“Speaking of that--” he started, but was interrupted by the sound of the buzzer.

“What the--” Laura jumped off his lap and went to the intercom box next to her front door. “Yes?”

”Ms. Roslin, there’s a delivery for you down here. Can I send him up?”

“Just one minute.” Laura released the button and turned to Bill. “I’m not expecting anything. Do you know what this is about?”

“I might,” he admitted, rising from the couch. He looked her up and down. “Go get dressed or put on a robe, I’ll take care of the delivery.”

She looked down at the flimsy camisole she wore, braless and sleep-rumpled. “Right.” She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, then reached for the intercom. “Send it on up, Alex. Thanks.”

”Will do, Ms. R,” came the doorman’s response.

When Laura emerged from her bedroom five minutes later, there was no sign of a delivery person-- just Bill, and a brown cardboard box that could easily fit both of them together, standing on its end in the foyer.

“Bill, what is that,” she asked warily.

A hint of color rose on his craggy olive-toned cheeks. “A gift for my favorite coach.”

She looked behind him to inspect the box so she could make out the bold lettering on the side. “Life Fitness...home treadmill? Are you kidding me?”

Bill’s face fell. “You don’t like it.”

“I just need to get used to the idea,” she said, biting her bottom lip. Bill had never been reluctant in making grand gestures. “What possessed you to buy a treadmill for my condo without telling me?”

“I thought that between the season ending and daylight savings time, you might want to be able to run at home, stay in shape until next season.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “A nice enough idea, I suppose. But where are we supposed to put it? This is a serious piece of equipment, Bill. And my place is already a little cramped.” A not-so-subtle dig at the fact that Bill’s things had joined the semi-organized clutter strewn around her condo, particularly in the bedroom. Although he had his own apartment a few miles away that was likewise increasingly filled with her stuff, Bill spent more nights than not at Laura’s.

“The living room?” he ventured. “You hardly ever use that room anyway...”

“Bill, we were just having a wonderful lazy Saturday in that room. It’s our sanctuary.”

“No, your bedroom is our sanctuary,” he corrected with a smirk. “How about the laundry room?”

She shook her head. “Too small.”

He could tell that she was becoming agitated, not the response that he’d hoped for. Time to roll the hard six. “Maybe it’s time to look for a bigger place.”

“Excuse me?”

Bill gently led her back to the couch, away from the offending equipment. “It was always my intention, after my retirement, to rent for a short time, and then buy a place once I figured out where I wanted to live.”

Her green eyes fixed on his blue ones, and she nodded.

“I’ve never felt at home so much as I do when I’m here, with you,” he began. “But it’s not just this space. It’s you.”

“I feel that way, too,” she said softly. It had only been a couple of months, but he already felt utterly indispensable to her. She’d been so lonely when he first showed up in his U-Haul, and now she had a lover, partner, assistant-- and maybe a cohabitant.

“I’d like to start looking for a place to buy, Laura. But I can’t imagine moving somewhere without you.”

The way he said it made it seem so natural, so simple. Their lives had already collided, and the treadmill was just a very large reason for them to consider that it might be time to streamline things going forward.

She reached for his hand. “Of course I’ll move in with you.” It wasn’t too soon; she’d told him she loved him after their first month together, despite never having made such an admission before, and her feelings had only grown stronger. But then, he’d said the same after just a week. Her voice turned dreamy as she imagined what their shared home might look like. “At the edge of the district, north of here, there are these wooded lots, a couple of acres apiece. Sometimes when I’m feeling cramped in here, I think about how nice it would be to have a cabin with a wraparound porch, a stream running through the backyard, and no neighbors in sight.”

His thumb stroked back and forth over the back of her hand as she spoke. “Build a place of our own?”

She smiled, and his heart nearly stopped. “Yeah.”

“With space for a treadmill.”

“We can put it in the hobby room, with your model ships.”

“Hmm.” It never would have occurred to him to build rather than buy a preexisting house, but he had to admit that the idea appealed. New house, new furnishings-- a new start to their life together, unburdened and unafflicted by their respective pasts. “I want to keep your bed, though.”

Laura grinned knowingly. “You love my bed.”

“For its occupant, I’ve explained plenty of times before.” But also for its superior support and memory-foam pillowtop. His side of her bed was more comfortable than any rack he’d ever had. “Speaking of which...”

She squealed in delight as he swept her up and carried her toward the topic of their discussion. “Gonna seal the deal, sir?”

“Always and forever,” he promised.

Laura giggled as he lay her down and began exploring her body, removing her clothing. “I’d say this is a fortuitous start to the off-season.”