I wrote this story in my mind two months ago, in a very low moment when I couldn't do much else. Thank you to Bill and Laura for getting me writing again after so many tough weeks. They keep giving me so much!

'Come in.'

The hatch is slightly ajar, but he has knocked just the same. Just the sound of her voice has his heart beating faster already. Bill takes one deep breath, rolls his shoulders. Then he pushes the hatch further open and takes one step into her office.

Laura is standing next to the window, looking outside. She is wearing a pair of cotton pants and a plain white shirt. He does not recognize either of them. She must have had Tory get some casual clothes for her and put away her presidential outfits. Both garments have seen better days; something that, Bill finds, only enhances further the elegant profile of the woman wearing them. Her glasses on her desk, next to a stack of papers, look like the last forgotten piece of an abandoned armor. Her hair is unrulier than ever before, perfect grooming no longer being a requirement of her job. To be fair, Laura was never vain; she always managed to look composed with what seemingly were just a few touches. Natural, practical, focused on the task at hand. Still, this casual attire somehow lends her a new soundness; there is a quieter quality to her that makes her all the more compelling.

Bill swallows.

Laura doesn't seem uncomfortable; in a way, she seems more real than ever before now that she has shed her presidential skin. As he takes her in, he has to wonder if this woman before him is the real Laura, rather than the president he has gotten to know over the past year. Not that Laura was ever insincere; and she was past pretending with him. However, this woman here somehow looks like someone he is yet to be acquainted with. The thought is upsetting, so he pushes it aside.

She does not even blink as he takes a second step, and a third. Of course, he made himself announced, she expected him, and now she knows he is there. She remains absent, in no hurry to put an end to whatever she is contemplating, with either her eyes or her mind. He comes closer slowly, stopping a couple of steps short of her personal space, the limits of which seem blurred today. Bill can't tell if it is narrower or wider than the former president's used to be. Laura may have new boundaries now, and there are as many reasons for these to be looser than before, as there could be for them to be stricter. If, already a few times, he (respectfully, but undeniably) crossed the line that proper admirals must observe toward their commanders-in-chief, now he finds himself afraid that a closer approach on his part may be unwelcome.

Laura sighs.

'New Caprica', she finally says, her whisper the vocalization of a snort.

With that, she seems to come alive. She turns to him, smiles, gestures towards the chair.

'Take a seat. Do you want a drink? This may be the last time I can offer you stuff from the President's cabinet, so I strongly advise you take advantage of it.'

Her tone is strangely light; her jade eyes hold mischief as Bill meets them, but also a hint of regret if he can still read her.

'Surprise me.' He plays along.

She walks over to the cabinet on the opposite corner. Bill sees her back leaning forward, waves of auburn hair sliding across her shoulder as she tilts her head to the side; he hears the bubbling sound of the liquid that she pours in two twin tumblers.

She comes back, hands him his drink. She takes a sip from her own and lays it down on the auxiliary table, then sits down on the leather chair next to his.

Maybe personal space is not as much of a problem as he had feared.

'Good stuff', he appreciates, twirling the liquid inside the glass.

'I don't even know what it is. The label was already gone when I discovered the bottle. But it's pretty delicious.'

He takes another sip, then places his tumbler next to hers on the table. He clears his throat.

'So you're settling on the planet.'

He hopes to sound casual; just saying these words aloud makes his gut clench.

'Hmm. I want to make myself useful.'

There are so many things he could say about this. That she doesn't need to make herself useful because someone like her always is. That he had hoped she wouldn't leave him behind so easily. That she doesn't need to go away if she doesn't want to. But it is probably too soon for such an offer, and he doesn't want to push. He wants her to be free to decide.

'I'll keep watch up here. See to it that you're all safe.'

Laura nods.

'I was wondering if… maybe you could keep some of my stuff with you, in your quarters. I don't think I'll have much storage space down there, and there are a few items I know I won't be using in the foreseeable future. I know you can store it all away in the ship's warehouse but… I'd rather you kept it.'

'Of course. I'll be happy to. I got plenty of space.'

She gives him a wistful smile.

'It's not like I own a lot. It's mostly clothes, a couple of files, a few pictures, stuff like that.'

He can already imagine Laura's scent, safely tucked away along with her belongings, suddenly invading his nostrils as he opens a drawer, alone in his quarters at the end of the day. Catching him off-guard. He can already feel the longing, the ache. It will be both a blessing and a curse.

'The books?'

She shakes her head.

'I'd like to take the books with me. Let me know if that's okay. Dark day, and the others… They're yours after all.'

'No, they're not. You know that. And I'll be glad to know they're keeping you company.'

Laura smiles, lowers her eyes.

'I'm glad I can do this for you. And happy you trust me with this.'

Her hand lands on his knee, squeezes it affectionately.

'Always', she whispers.

She pulls it back.

Silence envelops them. Again, Laura's gaze gets lost through the window, among the stars. From his chair he can't see where she is looking but he doubts she is really seeing anything. Her hands are clasped together, her knuckles tight and white. She is sitting up, torso straight and shoulders stiff, as if she couldn't bring herself to just lean back and relax. Her distress is so obvious he can feel it in his bones.

'How are you, Laura?'

His low rumble brings her back from her reverie. She gives him a distracted smile as she reflects. It is almost as if considering her own feelings were an effort, some unwelcome afterthought. She shrugs.

'I… don't know, really. You know, I was supposed to be the president until the day I died. Now I'm no longer the president and I'm no longer dying.'

Bill's face falls. The past few weeks have changed the game, their hopes, their expectations. Their immediate future is radically different from anything they may have expected just one minute before this planet showed up in the screens of Galactica's CIC. But if this is new for everyone, for Laura it is a whole paradigm shift. He can only try to comprehend how confusing this must be, how lost she must feel, no matter how graceful and self-possessed she looks. She needs to find a new framework, a new purpose. She needs to ground herself again.

He is not sure how he can help.

'I'm sorry', he manages.

She chuckles.

'For saving my life, or for ending my presidency?'

Her words come out sharp like a knife, but there is mirth in her eyes. It sinks in with him, how he is responsible for both the realities that afflict her. He approved her miracle cure; he twisted her arm about the election. For better or for worse, he is the one to blame for her struggles.

'Both, I guess.'

She pats his forearm, comforting him.

'It's alright, Bill. Really, it is. I mean, it's not nice to lose, but I'd be fine if I could somehow trust he'll work in the best interest of humanity. If I didn't know him to be a traitor.'

His eyelids narrow as he studies her. She is still that sure. A sudden memory of Baltar with that tall blonde woman as she was high on chamalla and in the throes of death did not sound like the most reliable source of insight, but maybe he has miscalculated this. It wouldn't be the first time he trusts her on a vision, and so far, she was right at every turn. Still, he didn't stop her because he didn't believe in her: he stopped her because stealing an election is wrong. He didn't even need to ponder where he stood on the matter of her sudden memory, vision, epiphany… Whatever the frak she would call it.

'I just… after all I did, it's hard to see it end up like this. All for nothing.'

Bill frowns. He won't let her go there. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, seeking her face and her attention.

'That's not true. You brought us here. You kept us alive, gave us hope, and a purpose. The outcome of this election does not invalidate all you did, Laura.'

'No', she concedes, and looks away. 'No, it doesn't. My attempt to steal it does.'

He startles. He likes to think he knows Laura well now; he should have anticipated this. Because he knows she will pretend, and put on a fa?ade, and she won't ask, and won't complain. It was on him to realize her distress, her sorrow. He underestimated how hard she would be beating herself up for the very same thing she had tried to do. He should have known better, should have checked on her sooner.

He wanted to give her space, he told himself, and that was not a lie. But he had also been unsure of how to confront her. Maybe she resented him, maybe she could not forgive him. Also, her presidency, even her cancer, were like a glass wall that kept them apart, but also safe in their places, in their roles. They could even allow themselves to share some intimacy because they knew it wouldn't go further. It just couldn't be. Now, that shield has been blown up to pieces. He knew he couldn't make any excuses for his visit; it would be just him checking on her, and he is a cautious man.

So he waited.

He waited, and now he sees it. He made her admit her defeat, then left her alone. He left her to figure it all out on her own in one of her weakest moments. He didn't mean it like that, but that was the result, nonetheless.

Maybe the Admiral did the right thing, but her friend failed her. He failed her, this woman he cares for beyond words.

She doesn't even seem mad with him.

After a few moments, Laura looks up, plunges in his gaze.

'What do you think of me, Bill? I mean now. What do you see when you look at me?'

It is a shock to see her jaw set, her eyes defying him. She is steeling herself up for his answer, for whatever he will say, or won't say; for whatever comes next somehow confirming how disappointed he is in her. That this is why he bid her time before coming to see her; that he has just been delaying the inevitable.

That there are only ruins in the place where their trust used to be.

He knows she will detect a lie with the precision of a brand new dradis; she will have none of it if he tries to sugar-coat the truth.

He meets her eyes intently.

'I think- I think you were making a mistake. You had every reason to, but it was still a mistake. I know that you weren't moved by power hunger. You were making a personal sacrifice. Giving up your ideals for the greater good. Doing it despite yourself. It takes guts, even if it was wrong. And- I think that we'd be better off if you were the president, but we'd be worse off if you stole your way into the job.'

He pauses. There is something more he needs to say. He owes it to her, and to himself.

'And I couldn't let you make such a sacrifice. I'm your friend, Laura. I care about you. I won't let you sell your soul, no matter what you try to buy with it or what you think it will accomplish. I won't let you harm yourself like that, become someone you're not, a worse version of yourself. I need you to be you. I… I can't lose you.'

His voice is low, unwavering. Laura is hanging on his every word. Her eyes glisten; a tight knot slides down her throat as she swallows. For all her determination not to look away, there is just one word for how she looks: fragile. And this fragility, Bill realizes, does not stem from her electoral defeat. Certainly not from being cured, either. It is something personal, intimate. It is something that runs deeper than the direst circumstances she may have found herself thrown in or out of.

He leans over, stares into those green pools of hers, those pupils so shaky behind a layer of moist. His accent is warm and earnest.

'It's been an honor to serve you, Madam President. And it's been an honor to be your partner and your friend, Laura. I couldn't have hoped for anyone better.'

She bites her lip.

'Bill…' she chokes out, and it is little more than just an exhalation, as if she were using her last breath to utter his name.

He wraps her hands in his, strokes them with his thumbs. Their eyes never break contact. She looks up to the ceiling as two tears break past the barrier of her lashes and land on her cheeks, dense and silent like the first raindrops of a summer storm in Caprica. His heart aches; it pains him to see her broken, overcome with grief, not even bothering that he sees it all, unable to conceal her relief now that she knows that she has lost it all, but not him.

A few moments slide by; Laura's ragged breath fills the air with the soft sounds of everything unsaid. Bill gives her time to pull herself together, or to let go of it all; whichever she needs. After a while, he rises from his chair slowly. The leather creaks, free of the weight of his bulk.

'Got a confession to make.' He solemnly declares.

Laura looks up with an arched brow. He pulls her up and she obliges, rising from her chair. She stays standing before him, her whole stance a question mark, unsure that she should be concerned or amused.

'I had an agenda.'

'An agenda...' She probes.

'Yeah. I… I figured that, if you were no longer the president, maybe I could get a chance to… do this again.'

He leans closer, letting her anticipate his next move. Her pupils darken but also seem brighter in contrast with the faint flush that spreads on her cheeks. Her fingers stretch in the cocoon of his palms; Bill holds his breath, fearing she will squirm out of his grasp. The moment passes. Then he feels the gentle squeeze of her hands, knowing and inviting, adjusting their position inside his as she brings her body a little closer to him. Her lips twitch upward, and her eyes twinkle in all shades of green between two rows of lashes that bat just so, and all these subtle gestures have him shuddering with need, harder than he ever did when he was just young, cocky Husker. It's Laura; with her, everything is new.

He is new.

He fights the urge to kiss her hungrily; this may be what he wants but it is not what he means. His lips brush across hers, soft and caring as they were the first time; signaling that there is no difference in his feelings between before and after, then and now.

She responds gently, quiet joy tugging at the corners of her lips. She already did respond that first time, the memory breaks through the fog clouding his mind; she pursed her lips just a tiny fraction, he felt their pressure on his own, felt them come meet him halfway. Caught by surprise, her reaction had been one of acceptance, but maybe also just an echo, a faint mirror of his actions in a moment she had nothing left to give.

She is responding now; focused and playful, pliant and resolute, warm and refreshing. She is responding, and she is participating, parting his lips with the tip of her tongue, parting her own to take him in. Her hum vibrates inside his mouth, sends a bolt down his spine that makes him groan, and he could swear she just smiled. And he was such a fool to have doubts these past few days, because Laura is right there with him. Her hands slide out of his palms and up his chest and lay resting there, right over his heartbeat; his now free arms wrap around her waist. And this is so clearly not just friendship, and more than passion, and her mouth tastes like a promise, heady and intoxicating, and his whole body is throbbing, and she shivers under his touch.

She looks into his eyes through wet lashes as they part. Her cheeks look like a racetrack of tears, her lower lip is captured between her teeth. She sniffs.

She is smiling.

Laura cuddles into him with a shaky breath. Bill gathers her tight in his arms, kisses her temple, rocks them softly. He breathes in her scent. This is not her perfume anymore; this is her own, distinct fragrance, and it sends a flutter to his stomach.

'I'll miss you.' He confesses. And then, playful: 'See, I too get my punishment for stopping you.'

'Hmm', comes her quiet acknowledgment.

A moment later, she stiffens and pulls back a little, seeking his gaze. There is a small frown between her brows as if she were considering something, realizing she may have made a mistake by taking something for granted.

'You'll visit, right?'

He brushes a stray lock of hair off her face.

'As often as I can.'

Laura smiles one of those smiles of hers that light up his entire life, and he wonders how he will survive a single day without her. He already knew he felt deeply about her. Now, she is holding his heart in her hands. Frak if he knows how that annoying schoolteacher got under his skin like this, but he wants her nowhere else now. This smart, strong, brave, private woman just let her walls down for him. She just let him see her vulnerable, trusted him to catch her, and he is grateful for everything it means. All is well between them even if they will soon be apart. This is all he needs to know to be at peace right here and now.

She is cradling his face between her palms, pulling gently to make him meet her eyes.

'How exactly did I earn you, Bill Adama?'

He pretends to reflect.

'Being a handful, probably.'

Her pupils widen, glare at him in mock anger. Before he knows it, she pinches his ribs. Bill jumps.

'See what I mean?'

A giggle bubbles up from somewhere deep down her belly.

He watches her, amused, mesmerized, as a warm flood rises through his system.

It's the joy of making her laugh.