Àâòîð Òåìà: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä  (Ïðî÷èòàíî 15635 ðàç)

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Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« : 12:09 – 09.08.07 »
À òóò ìîæíî ÷óòêà ïîòðûíäåòü ïðî ôèêè è ôèêóøêè, è ïðî÷óþ ëàáóäó, åñëè çàõî÷åòñÿ.  :P

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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #1 : 13:05 – 09.08.07 »
Î, îáîæàþ ïîòðûíäåòü, èíîãäà áûâàåò, êàê íà÷íó òðûíäåòü... è òðûíäþ è òðûíäþ. Íåñåòñÿ ìîÿ òðûíäÿ ÷åðåç âðåìÿ è ïðîñòðàíñòâî, ÷åðåç ïîëÿ, ÷åðåç ëåñà, ÷åðåç ãîðû è áóåðàêè. Ìîé âîñïàëåííûé ìîçã êðè÷èò: "îñòàíîâèòå åå, êòî-íèáóäü! Çàòêíèòå åé ïàñòü, ñâÿæèòå ðóêè". À åãî íèêòî íå ñëûøèò. È òðûíäÿ, ñøèáàÿ âñå è âñÿ, íåñåòñÿ äàëüøå...
Íà ñàìîì äåëå ÿ õîòåëà ñêàçàòü ñïàñèáî: Ìà, åùå ðàç, îãðîìíûé òåáå ñåíêñ çà âûëîæåííûå ôèêè è çà ïîìîùü â "îáçûâàíèè" òåì (1\1 - ñàìà áû òî÷íî íå äîïåðëà ;)). Òðó, :-* â îáå ùå÷êè, çà ôàíèçäàò. À\Ð øèïïåðêè, ñïàñèáî Âàì çà òî, ÷òî Âû áûëè, ÅÑÒÜ è áó :-* :-* :-* :-*
Ïî-ìîåìó, ìíå âñå-òàêè ïîðà çàòêíóòüñÿ :-[

"Life is a bitch, and then you die"
                                   Laura Roslin
"Â êîíöå êîíöîâ, ñðåäè êîíöîâ, íàéäåò êîíåö Ìóð, íàêîíåö!"                    
                                   Ïèôèÿ

Îôôëàéí Light/thgil

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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #2 : 13:12 – 09.08.07 »
ñëóøàéòå, à ÿ ïðî 1\1 äî ñèõ ïîð íå äîïèðàþ. ó âñåõ íàïèñàíî, à ê ÷åìó - ôèã çíàåò... îáúÿñíèë áû êòî... ;)
Ãäå-òî ãëóáîêî âíóòðè ÿ áåëûé è ïóøèñòûé.
À ñíàðóæè - çåëåíûé è ñêîëüçêèé! :P

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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #3 : 18:39 – 09.08.07 »
ÿ òàê ïîíèìàþ, ÷òî 1\1 - ýòî ÷àñòü ïåðâàÿ, îíà æå åäèíñòâåííàÿ, îíà æå ââåäåíèå-àïîôèãåé-àïîêàëèïñèñ)))

ãðàæäàíå, åùå âîçíèêëà îãðîìíàÿ ïðîñüáà àêà ðàöèîíàëüíîå ïðåäëîæåíèå - ïîñòèòå ññûëêè íà ôàíôèêè, à òî ÿ òóò êîðÿ÷óñü - ïûòàþñü àäðåñ æûæûøíûé âñïîìíèòü
« Ïîñëåäíåå ðåäàêòèðîâàíèå: 19:05 – 09.08.07 îò Shistik »
Ïîëèòèêà ïàðòèè:


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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #4 : 19:19 – 23.11.08 »
ðåàíèìèðóåì òåìêó, òåì áîëåå, îíî ñòîèò òîãî

âýðè ãóä ôèê â ñòèëå ðîìàíòè÷åñêèõ ñîïëåé íà óäèâëåíèå áåç õýïïè ýíäà, õîòÿ...
ïî÷èòàòü âåñüìà ñòîèò
íà ôîíå îñòàëüíîãî ìóñîðà, êîèì Èíñòèíêò âåñüìà áîãàò, ýòî îäíî èç íåìíîãèõ, ÷òî ÷èòàåòñÿ íó ïî÷òè âçàõëåá
êàïèòàëüíàÿ ÀÞøêà

The Nurse Who Loved Me by PearlWing
Summary: Flyboy pilot, Bill Adama, lands himself in a hospital and ends up falling in love with his intelligent, young nurse who is saving up money to attend college. Her name just so happens to be Laura Roslin.
Categories: Romance Characters: None
Genres: Alternate Universe
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 9 Completed: Yes Word count: 22418 Read: 3630 Published: Jun 01, 2006 Updated: Jul 04, 2006

http://mujaji.net/adamaroslin/viewstory.php?action=printable&textsize=0&sid=348&chapter=all

íàïèñàíà äàâíåíüêî, íî ÿ, ê ïðèìåðó, íàðâàëàñü òîëüêî ñåãîäíÿ
÷åìó îòíîñèòåëüíî ðàäà
íåïëîõîé ïðèêâåë
Ïîëèòèêà ïàðòèè:


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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #5 : 19:48 – 23.11.08 »
Øèñòèê, ó ìåíÿ ïèøåò - òîëüêî äëÿ çàðåãèñòðèðîâàííûõ :-\ òàê ÷òî óïñ. áåëûé ëèñò. ìîæåò òû ñþäà ïåðåêîïèðóåøü?
Fere libenter homines id quod volunt credunt. Julius Caesar, De Bello Gallico 3.18 /Ëþäè îáû÷íî îõîòíåå âåðÿò òîìó, âî ÷òî îíè æåëàþò âåðèòü/

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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #6 : 20:05 – 23.11.08 »
Ó ìíó ññûëêà òîæ íå îòêðûëàñü, íî ÿ ïîðûëàñü íà èíñòèíêòå...

~The Nurse Who Loved Me~


Chapter 1: All Dressed in White

The sterile smell permeated through his nostrils: prickling, burning, strident, too clean. Warm light rested on his forehead, lighting the insides of his eyelids to a dull pink. What did he last remember? Where was he? He didn’t open his eyes. It had happened so fast; now, he couldn’t make out the fine details, stuck in the haze and blur of his battered memories. But, he could recall the sound, the screech and the tear, the burn of the atmospheric entrance, the sensation of metal colliding with earth. He had drifted too close to the deft line, the barrier between space and gravitational pull: the perigee. He had, and a few of his pilots had, and they were sucked inward, spiraling like water down a drain, systems crashed, Cylon-battered.

The muffled, panicked voices of his pilots over the Comm. still relayed in his mind, ringing in his ears like a distant sensation. The ace pilot wouldn’t open his eyes, the sun was too bright over his eyelids; he could tell it was natural light spilling over him. Methodical, light, mechanical beeping echoed around him, one machine heard at first, and then a wave of many beeping machines, the sounds of bustling action around him, the wheeling of metal carts and sharp, definite footsteps. That medicinal smell stung in his nose. But he wouldn’t open his eyes, swaying in and out of oblivion, falling and awakening from sleep. There was perpetual darkness, but for the soft sheen of his eyelids, his jumbled recollections playing out in his involuntary reverie. Chaos and confusion, isolation and silence…until he finally opened his eyes…

The light was bright. The light was warm. It took his eyes a few moments to focus. The pain hit him first, when he tried to sit up, sharp and searing pain, his abdomen aching beneath the starch-white sheets of his makeshift bed, before he finally gave up and lay back down. William Adama, twenty five years old, illustrious ace pilot, was one of the hundred men crammed into this “hospital”, which was no more than a spare high-school gymnasium. Supplies were limited. It was four years into the war. Doctors and nurses tended to his companions at either side of him: Crossover and Sodapop, who, from what Bill could see, were in relatively good condition. The doctors and nurses dissipated from the bed at his left where Crossover sat, propped up, reading an issue of Caprica Life, with which, he was plainly bored. Turning his blonde head nonchalantly, he glanced to his Captain with a lopsided smile,

“How are ya doin’ Husker?” He croaked amiably.

Bill chuckled, wincing slightly from the pain that followed, clutching his bandaged ribs, “Just woke up. I feel like hell, what about you?”

“Eh,” Crossover shrugged, “a bit of internal bleeding. But, otherwise, I feel damn good.”

Adama grinned, wide and dashing, cobalt eyes bright and good-humored, “Take it easy, Pete, you’ll need your strength when we get out of here, back in the cockpit…”

“I suggest the same to you Cap’n.”

“We can’t go around frakking nurses…” Adama winked.

Crossover laughed heartily in his bed, setting down the magazine, the laughter causing him a bit of pain, “Yeah, well I think I can handle the temporary celibacy. You, on the other hand,” He cringed quietly, still smiling, “You frak a woman wherever you go, they can’t resist you, them broads…”

Bill chuckled proudly, shrugging animatedly, “What can I say Pete? I’m a doll magnet.”

Pete smiled, pointing up a finger agreeably, “That you are Cap’n, that you are.” He let out an amicable huff of air, “You’re an inspiration to us other sorry sods.”

Bill gave his head a bemused shake, running a hand (with minor discomfort) through his thick, obsidian hair, scouting out the gymnasium that was poorly masquerading as a hospital. Checking out girls, that was Bill Adama’s famed talent (other than piloting his viper). He was just about a damned god to “the guys” for his ability to not only enchant any woman he wanted, but charming them into his bed, as well. The place was filled with nurses, but Gods, Bill could hardly pick one out from the others. They were a mob, a white mob.

“What are the pickings like?” Bill asked casually, glancing to Crossover from his peripheral view, still trying to eye the crowds of white-uniformed women for one girl that stood out.

Crossover snorted disappointedly, “Not the greatest,” He began to peer about, “I’ve only been awake for only a few hours but there doesn’t seem to be a really amaz-…”

Pete stopped short, catching the Captain’s attention, as he abandoned his search, knitting his brows together as he eyed Crossover’s back, his eyes transfixed in one direction, “What, Pete?”

The other pilot seemed like a Toaster, monotonous and expressionless, “Dear Gods, r-redhead at nine o’clock…”

“I thought you said there were slim pickings…”

“Well, I-I’m wrong most of the time anyway, Cap’n.” He stuttered, sighing deeply, “Jeez, look at her…”

Bill could almost hear the gurgle of drool in the young man’s hasty voice. Quickly, he tried to peer around Crossover’s hunched over body.

“Gods dammit, Lieutenant, move your frakking head.”

Crossover responded quickly, giving him a clear view, his eyes still glued. The captain’s cobalt eyes trailed over the young nurse that Pete had so observantly picked out. Dear Gods, the little frak-up was right. Bill Adama, notorious flyboy, actually felt his heart flutter at the sight of this girl, this nurse, who clutched a clipboard beneath the crook of her arm, walking, ever so methodically on those familiar, starch-white, high-heeled shoes. Long, sinful legs emerged from a white uniform that was just tight enough, just small enough, to make sweat beads form on Adama’s brow. Her hair was like dark, shadow fire, slightly curled waves of burgundy wine that fell innocently about her shoulders. This girl was girlish enough, innocent enough, to make her naughty, absolutely delicious in a young man’s eyes. He watched her closely, those shady eyes of hers, shrouding olive irises, set in an evenly pale face with features so distinctive, so lovely, a face that Adama could not stereotype nor compare. Unaware of her allure, she was ever so enticing; he watched how she moved, elegant, composed.

Swallowing, Bill grinned. Slim pickings my ass.

Crossover looked back to him, a lusty sheen in his hazel eyes as he smirked, “What I tell ya?”

Bill nodded agreeably, brandishing an impish grin, “Do you see those legs?” He let out a low whistle.

“That hair?” Pete added appreciatively.

Bill nodded, keeping an eye on her, “I have to hand it to you Pete, you picked out a fine one…”

“Damn straight. I picked out the best one.” Crossover laughed, letting out a quick breath as he looked back to her, gently slipping a pair of glasses on her nose. He grinned deviously; looking back to his Captain with a boyish twinkle in his eyes, “And glasses too. Rawr.”

Adama sniggered, watching her with a craving glint in those azure hurricanes of his, the sheen fading as he looked back to Crossover, “You picked her Pete. You want her?” Gods, Bill hoped he would decline.

“Are you kidding?” Crossover laughed, “I’d give anything to frak that. But I don’t have a chance. Damn Bill, girls like that don’t go for guys like me.”

Bill grinned, letting out a hoarse laugh, hurting his bandaged abdomen in the process, “Sometimes, you have to roll the hard six, Pete.”

“Now, what the hell does that mean?”

“Sometimes you gotta take a chance…”

“Bah,” Crossover swiped his hand in the air, waving him off, “Easy for you to say…”

Pete looked back to the redheaded goddess quickly, “I’ll whistle at her though.” He sneered playfully, “Right when she walks by, I’m gonna give her a big whistle.”

“Whistlin’ don’t mean anything if you don’t have the balls to follow through.”

Crossover ignored him and went back to staring, for a few minutes he was silent, before he quickly turned back to Bill (who envied his freedom of torso movement), “Gods, Bill, she’s coming this way! What if she’s your nurse? Jeez, some guys get all the luck…”

Bill’s eyes shot open, wide, peering as she came closer. A part of him hoped she wasn’t, for he knew that at such close proximity, he would never be able to relax, but another part of him (the part that was much more persistent) prayed to the Lords that she was his nurse.

Please, please let her be my nurse…

“I bet even you can’t land that girl.” Crossover jabbed with a quirky smile.

“Yeah?” Bill retorted competitively, “Betcha I can, and I will. If she turns out to me my nurse, I’ll show you how it’s done. I’ll play out the ol’ Adama finesse.”

“Hah.” Pete leaned back in his bed, “Adama finesse. Go ahead, Bill, show me how it’s done…’cause here she comes…”

Sure enough, their gorgeous nurse rounded the bend of Crossover’s bed and came between the two. Gods, she was even better looking close up. Bill was composed; cool and collected as she turned to face him, cracking a small smile as he watched Crossover practically drool over his sheets, making some rather obscene gestures behind her back. She loomed over Adama, eyeing the clipboard, and boy, was he getting a great look at her…

“Mr. Adama?” A melodic voice asked, and he tore his attention away, her eyes flitting downward as she removed the clipboard from her view, and her glasses from her nose.

“That’s the name.” He responded, in that husky voice of his, a voice that usually made young women go weak at the knees, letting them fall into his trap and eventually, his embrace. But this one, strangely, seemed virtually unaffected. Bill’s eyes shone torridly. Was that a stern gaze she just cast him? Was that his little admonishment? She set down the clipboard, attending to some apparatus beside his head, not giving him a second glance.

“You know my name, miss, don’t you think I should know yours?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary Mr. Adama.” She responded tersely.

Bill could hear Crossover’s small snickers. His nurse, a burly homemaker, moved to his side and loaded up a syringe. Thank the Gods, that little bastard was going to be sedated soon. If for once, the “Adama Finesse” failed, he would rather no one see.

“Why not?” Adama pressed innocently, a rustic smile on his face, tilting his handsome head on its side.

Those ivy eyes of hers didn’t even bother to look at him as she scribbled something or another on her clipboard, “We don’t need to be on a first name basis, Captain. That’s why.”

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t like me.” Adama smirked.

“No, I just don’t particularly like you.” She breathed quietly, still scrawling something on that damned clipboard.

“I bet I can guess your name…”

She arched a brow, still not glancing up at him, “If that will amuse you, Mr. Adama, by all means…”

“Alright then.” He began confidently, tapping a finger to his chin animatedly, “Is your name…Lucinda?”

Finally, he got her to glimpse at him, “Lucinda?”

“Ok, not Lucinda. How about Ginger?” He suggested, referring to her hair, to which, she looked up fully, with a sardonic smile.

“Funny.” She muttered, gently shaking out her hair before looking back to her board.

“Mary?”

“Do I look like a Mary?” She huffed politely.

“A little.” Bill responded.

“Well,” She paused, “Wrong again.”

“Give me the first letter.” Bill suggested with a swaggering smile.

The nurse set her clipboard back in the crook of her arm, gracing him with a small, sarcastic smile, “This all very amusing Captain, but-…” She took a few steps back, colliding with one of the precariously perched trays atop a cart, sending it and its contents clattering to the ground. She leapt up with a small, shocked jump.

Bill craned his neck. Gods. She’s gonna have to bend down to get all that. Lords, this is not the time to get hard…

Crossover craned his neck, thinking the same thing, without reservation. But before the nameless nurse could even make a bend, Pete’s older nurse bustled about his bed, setting a hand on the redhead’s arm, smiling matronly, “Oh Laura, hon, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have left my cart there…you could have fallen you poor dear. Let me clean this up.”

She protested, “But I…”

“No, no, dear. You go back to attending to Mr. Adama.” She nudged the girl, grinning wide, “He’s a very famous pilot you know…”

The little nymph smiled demurely at her, a glimmer of pearly teeth flashed before they quickly disappeared. Bill shifted in his bed as Pete’s nurse set the tools back on the tray and wheeled it away, keeping his eyes on his luscious nurse, who’s name he now learned, was Laura. She thanked Crossover’s nurse graciously as she wheeled the cart away, leaving her now-sedated patient slumbering in his bed. Bill’s eyes wouldn’t leave his burgundy-haired nurse, who had gone back to fiddling with some machine or another aside his head.

“Laura, hmm?” Bill cooed.

She gave him a fleeting look before returning to her work, “That’s right.”

“Laura, what?”

Laura sighed, turning to him abruptly with small, graceful smile, “Captain Adama, this really is quite inappropriate…”

Gods, she has a pretty smile. I wish I could see it fully unfurled.

Bill tilted his head boyishly, a rendition of rebellion echoing in his gravelly, baritone voice as he spoke, confident grin still in place, “I’m just asking your last name, Nurse Laura, there’s no harm in that, is there?”

She lifted a lovely brow, a stern expression on her face as the flyboy lay expectantly in his bed, unable to drop that marvelous grin and that immodest sheen in his dark cerulean eyes, as he silently chastised himself for wanting to stroke those legs of hers.

“Roslin.” She responded frankly, “Laura Roslin.”

“Roslin?” He twisted his smooth face, “What kind of name is Roslin?”

Laura frowned crossly, “What kind of name is Adama?” She retorted.

“It’s native Caprican.”

“Well, Roslin, if you must know Captain, is Geminese…”

“Geminese?” Adama scoffed, “You don’t have an accent, you don’t even look Geminese.”

“My father was Geminese; my mother was Caprican.” She answered succinctly, “Are you finished with your questioning, Captain?”

“No, not quite Laura. I’ve just begun actually,” Adama responded playfully, “You absolutely fascinate me.”

“Really? Well, I find you hardly tolerable…”

“Hardly tolerable? Don’t you think that’s just a bit harsh?”

“No not all.” Laura said nonchalantly, “Perhaps not harsh enough. You are absolutely insufferable.”

“Insufferable? How old are you anyway?”

She looked to him darkly, before going back to her work, not bothering to respond to him. Bill smiled, this was getting harder than he anticipated, but Gods, this girl was getting him hot, “C’mon, just tell me how old you are. It’s gonna save you a lot of grief down the road, because I’ll keep pestering you. Just give a dying guy some satisfaction and tell me how old you are, Nursie Roslin.”

“You’re not dying,” She huffed, “You’ve got two broken ribs.”

“That’s not close enough?”

Bill grinned. Did she just crack a smile?

“Come on,” Adama pressed, “Just tell me how old you are…”

“Too young for you.”

“Oh really? I’m only twenty-five.” Bill stated indignantly, “But then again, you do look a little young to be a fully certified nurse…”

“That’s because I’m not.” She smiled, “I’m only eighteen. There’s no way I could be a fully certified nurse…”

Bill’s eyes widened.

Eighteen? What the frak? How is she allowed to be my nurse? Thank the Gods she is…but damn, what if she accidentally kills me?

“If you’re only eighteen, then how the hell are you allowed to be my nurse?”

“The government is issuing a dire need for nurses and I signed up. We don’t need training, we just need instruction…”

“Well, aren’t you a little patriot…”

“No.” Laura smiled softly, “I’m just doing this for the money. I’m saving for college.”

“College?” Adama gave an amused grin, “Why the hell do you want to go to college?”

“To get educated.”

Bill scoffed, at which; she scowled.

“Believe it or not, Mr. Adama, some girls don’t want to settle down and pump out kids immediately after high school…”

Bill sighed heavily, not wanting to be scolded further, “Well, what are you going there for? Out of curiosity…”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I want to be a teacher.”

Adama grinned, “Why, teaching?”

“Why not teaching?” She knitted her brows.

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“Well it’s kinda funny.” Bill smiled.

“How so?”

“A girl just gets out of school, and then she immediately wants to go back in and end up going there for the rest of her life…” Bill murmured, “When I was in school, all I wanted to do was get out, and stay out.”

“That’s why you’re in the military.” Laura hummed, “And why you’re lying in a bed with two broken ribs…”

“Well,” Bill grinned, “if I wasn’t in the military, and I didn’t break two ribs, I would’ve never gotten the chance to meet you, now would I?”

He felt himself glow. She allowed him a small sincere smile, and a full view of those emerald, shady eyes, injecting him with the syringe. Bill kept his grin, though sheepishly and drowsily, it was beginning to wilt. The medicine was taking its toll, and she began to round his bed, off again.

“See you tommorrow.” He called out drearily.

“I’m sure you will, Mr. Adama.”

“You can call me Bill, y’know!” He shouted after her as she began to leave. And before he drifted asleep, he saw her whip her head back, a full, pretty smile, red hair wrapping around her face, calling out, dashing his hopes and bringing them forward,

“I know Captain,” She called back, “I’d just rather not!”

And that was last William Adama heard before he drifted back into sleep, a smile tiredly fading from his face as it relaxed.

He couldn’t wait for tomorrow, even if Laura did absolutely abhor him.

One thing for sure, he definitely liked her.


Chapter 2: Lovely and Unbearble

“I can’t believe he is actually here!” One nurse squealed.

“Oh, he is so incredibly handsome…” Another dreamily sighed.

“His voice is so sexy, I’d frak his voice box alone!” One added lustily, causing all the petty nurses gathered in the school’s locker room to burst out in incessant giggles.

Laura was on the outside of the social circle, plucking out her belongings from one of the lockers, rolling her eyes at each girlish snort from the clique of witless wonders, socializing after their day was done and the new shift of night nurses were on call. Laura could hardly stand the lot of them, their immature little squeals and their perpetual gossip, their conversations about trivial things like their hair or their shoes or some other cosmetic while the Colonies were suffering under the yoke of war. Laura had mournfully noted that most of these girls were a few years older than her, and she had discovered that she, an academic and studious girl, had virtually nothing in common with these girls other than that they shared the same standard uniform.

William Adama. William Adama. Why he is such a topic? How are they so shallow? He’s a good-looking guy, okay, a very good-looking guy but he’s not a god! He’s arrogant, pompous, audacious, conceited…strangely endearing and charming but otherwise…

“Who’s got him?” One of the nurses questioned zealously.

Laura stiffened, her back to the young women as she picked out the last of her personal belongings, stuffing them quickly into her bag. Thankfully, she doubted that the other nurses had any interest in including her in the conversation. But, she was the one who had Adama, and right now, he was the only thing on their one-tracked minds. Quietly, she began to edge toward the door.

Maybe if I can just slip out…

“She does!” One of the nurses exclaimed. Laura cringed, only inches from the door, a few short centimeters away from freedom.

“Hey Linda!”

Laura turned about, a faux smile politely in place, “Laura.” She corrected.

“Right.” One nurse stormed up to her and grasped onto her arm, trudging with her back into the little circle before letting her go, in the midst of the lion’s den. The little nurse turned on her heel, shaking her short black hair before she crossed her arms before her chest, “Tell us what he’s like.”

“William Adama?” Laura asked innocently, wanting desperately to leave.

“No, your frakking father,” The nurse huffed sarcastically, to the agreeing eye-rolls of her camaraderie, “ Of course, William Adama…”

Laura took a single breath before a blonde interjected, “I met him once!” She exclaimed smugly, causing the others (save Laura) to gasp excitedly and twitter, “Tell us what happened!”

The blonde primped herself up with a haughty grin, greedily taking in their obvious jealousy, “Well we met at Delphi, it was raining and I ran into him. He let me under his umbrella…” She swayed sheepishly.

Many of the girls unleashed a sigh.

“He asked me if I wanted to get dry, and I recognized him immediately of course, so I said yes…”

“And?” The girls leaned forward.

“I asked him whose apartment…” She giggled.

“You didn’t!”

“I did. And then he said he’d give me a rain check, and he kissed me on the cheek when we got under a promenade, and then he left…” The blonde nurse giggled.

Laura stifled a laugh, getting a word in, “But, it was raining…”

The blonde shook her hair angrily, “So?”

Laura took a deep breath, smirking guiltily. Gods, these girls are dense. “Well, he said he’d give you a rain check, and it was raining…” Laura lifted her eyebrows suggestively, trying to let the clueless girl figure it out on her own.

Gods, he dumped you! Blatant, harsh rejection! Gods, you’re stupid.

The blonde stared at her blankly, vacantly, her crystalline cerulean eyes devoid of any glimmer of thought-provoking, logical intelligence. She shrugged, “So?”

The other young women were too wrapped up in their fantasies of Bill Adama to even bother themselves with informing the young nurse of Adama’s obvious refusal of her. Because, truthfully, if any of them ever stumbled upon the famous playboy, they would have reacted the same way, dumb and star-struck. Laura shook her head at the scene, partially amused, partially ashamed of what womanhood had become. Gently, she tried to exit the scene, swiftly duck out the conversation while the girls were daydreaming, with giddy glints of stardust lingering in their glazed eyes. But, as soon as Laura moved out of the circle, her arm was caught and she was dragged back in.

“Linda.”

“Laura.”

“Right, Laura…” The nurse who caught her arm rolled her eyes, “You didn’t answer our question…”

I would have if I hadn’t been interrupted. Gods, I could be home now…

The rest of the nurses broke out of their cogitations to nod their heads eagerly. Laura was trapped, and Gods, all she wanted was to zip out of this little powder-puff hell and back home, to change out of her too-tight uniform, and curl snugly on her couch with her book. She damned the day the Gods gave her Bill Adama to attend to.

Of all men, I had to get Bill Adama…Thank you Lords, did I mention I hate you all?

Looking to the pretty, little faces of all the nurses, Laura repositioned her bag on her shoulder, “What’s Adama like?” She repeated softly.

They nodded fervently.

Laura smirked darkly, “Overbearing, self-centered, dull and stereotypical…and I don’t know how all of you can stand around here talking about a celebrity when there is war racking the Colonies and there’s civil unrest in Sagittaron…”

They all stared at her blankly.

And she happily took that as her cue to leave, snide whispers following her out the door.

“What a priss.”

“She’s just bitter because our William won’t frak her.”

“What a prude…”

“What’s civil unrest?”

Laura Roslin was not like those nurses, and for that, she was thankful.

I don’t hate you Lords. I really don’t. I thank you. I thank you for not making me one of them…


~~~*~~~


It was the next morning. He could tell by the warmth of the light, thick, oozing, and newborn. It drifted on his face, making him pop out a small smile. The pain of his injury had been reduced; he could now be propped up in his bed. Bill Adama had rather grudgingly discovered that his nurse for the night hours was no Laura Roslin. She was a far cry from that girl he had met yesterday. It really was too bad that Miss Roslin was not his nighttime nurse, that would probably amplify his chances at her. Unfortunately, his advances had not gone as well as he expected yesterday.

But, he wasn’t giving up; this girl wasn’t going to be “the one that got away”. Cocky Bill Adama was always up for a challenge, especially for a lass like her. He sat upward, leaning against the metallic headboard of his bed, clutching the issue of Caprican Life that Crossover had abandoned the day before. His companion was still asleep, snoring actually, his mouth slightly agape. If Adama had not been confined to his bed, he probably would have given into his urge to stuff a sock or some other disgusting article of clothing into his open jowls. It was always funny to see their expressions when they woke up…

He chuckled a bit, glancing back to the magazine. He hated these magazines, even in the midst of war; they came up with the most mundane articles imaginable. But there was absolutely nothing to do… Bill had forgotten how much he hated hospitals, and having a hospital in the middle of a high-school gymnasium was even worse. They were both establishments that he was bored with and utterly abhorred.

Funny, how they were both places that Laura Roslin was choosing to work in.

Laura Roslin…

Bill smirked; he liked hospitals just a little bit more than he had in the last minute. Gods, she was the only good thing about the place. And as much as he didn’t like to admit it, he, illustrious womanizer, was actually anxious about seeing her again, antsy really. Gods, he wanted to see her again. Right then, as if the Gods had magically answered his pleas, he heard the clicking of those lovely heels. He went back to staring at the magazine, not reading, not paying attention, acting most nonchalant as Laura Roslin, pretty as ever, rounded the bend of Crossover’s bed, clutching that clipboard of hers against her bosom, staring at him critically.

“The magazine’s upside down, Mr. Adama.” She commented coolly.

Quickly, he flipped the magazine over, “I know.” He responded quickly, glancing up at that lovely face with sharp, blue eyes, a suave, rough voice shielding his absolute mortification, “New technique.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, Nursie Roslin,” He chanted, “When you’re in the cockpit and you do a couple barrel rolls, it comes in handy to be able to read things upside down…”
“Oh I see…” She responded brusquely, lifting an eyebrow.

Gods, I love it when she does that…

“So, how are you this fine morning?” He chirped.

“Quite alright, and you?” She responded with an obligatory timbre.

“Excellent.”

“Excellent?”

“It’s always a pleasure to see you Laura.” Bill smiled handsomely.

Laura gave him a small smile, responding aloofly, “You’ve known me for one day Mr. Adama. I doubt it’s that wonderful.”

“Well, I look forward to waking up many mornings to see you.”

Laura cast him a dark look, “Your incessant flirting will do you no good Captain.” She scribbled something on her clipboard, inspecting a few of the monitors.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Roslin.” Adama gasped innocently, “My incessant flirting will probably get me somewhere…”

“Not with me.”

“Oh, so…” Adama let a glint play through his eyes, “You’re not interested in men, are you?”

This time he had pushed her buttons, and he smiled gleefully as she let out an exasperated huff of air, turning to him sharply, “Just because a woman doesn’t find interest in you, Mr. Adama, does not mean she is homosexual.”

“She just has bad taste…”

Laura ignored him and turned back to her work, her eyes gleaming ardently.

Gods, she’s sexy when she’s angry

Bill let a few moments pass, drinking her in, unperturbedly and unabashed. Bill Adama was never known to be tentative. He whistled a small tune, looking back to the magazine, clearly getting on her nerves, as he flipped the pages casually, catching small glimpses of his dazzling nurse with flitting, keen, cobalt eyes.

“So…” He began languidly, “Does it become tedious?”

“What?” She huffed, still not bearing to look at him, her eyebrows crossed as she inspected one of the monitors.

“Dying your hair over and over again.”

Laura cast him a brisk glance, “I do not dye my hair.” She stated irately.

Adama rose his eyebrows tactfully, “Well, no offense, but I’ve never seen a natural redhead with that shade of hair before…”

“Well, I’m an oddity of nature.”

“I bet you’re a blonde beneath that hair of yours…” Adama chuckled, provoking her purposely.

She straightened her posture and crossed her arms before her chest, “I am not a blonde.”

“Yeah, okay, right.” Adama playfully sang, looking back to his magazine, as if he were disinterested.

“No, I’m serious.”

“Okay…”

“I’ll prove it to you.” Laura bristled.

Bill set down the magazine, crossing his arms as he rose his own eyebrows in mock skepticism, “And how exactly are you going to do that?” Adama smiled dashingly, egging her on, hoping she would fall for his little maneuver.

And she did. She walked right into it. Laura ducked her head right below his eyes, “Look,” her muffled voice stated, “my roots are completely untainted.”

“Well, you proved me wrong Laura!” Adama laughed, taking in a whiff of sweet-smelling hair, closing his eyes and letting his tongue slide over his lips, “And, your hair smells fantastic.”

Quickly, realizing his little deception, she brought her head up, glaring at him austerely, burgundy tresses falling messily back in place with the sudden movement of her head. She straightened her posture and pursed her lips, bringing her arms across her chest, stretching the fabric just so over her bosom to make Adama’s breath quicken. And meanwhile, to her dissatisfaction, he sustained that pompous and princely smile on his face, tilting his head to its side.

“You are…” She began, biting her lower lip (much to Adama’s sudden arousal), trying to find the right words.

“I am?”

Laura clenched her teeth, “Unbearable.”

Bill grinned, “Well, it was worth it, Miss Roslin. Hopefully that smell with last me the rest of my lifetime…”

“Which, hopefully, won’t be long…”

“Are you threatening me?” Adama exclaimed, bemused, “Because killing a man will not look good on your teacher’s resume.”
Laura turned back to her work, her shoulders tense, her beautiful green eyes still smoldering, “Your wit absolutely astounds me, Mr. Adama.” She commented sarcastically, “I feel ever-so humbled in the presence of your intriguing, one-tracked mind…”

Bill smirked, watching her as she leant over the desk that separated his bed from Crossover’s, examining the panels, writing on that clipboard, her figure curved sinuously, with her bottom provocatively jutting out, tight against that nurse’s uniform, those beautifully elegant legs, so damned long and shapely, supporting her on the teetering of alabaster heels. Bill could hardly contain himself from not tapping that beautiful ass with his hand, and Gods, was she doing this on purpose? Gods, this girl was a goddess, tempting him, titillating him in the most agonizing way possible, making him about reading to burst (in more than one way) and cry out for her.

Lords, I’ve never been this crazy for a girl. And dammit, she’s the one I can’t have!

Bill Adama swallowed heavily as she erected her posture, wanting desperately to push her back down in that sensuous position, that she was not even aware was so maddening, provocative, so damn enthralling and alluring, making Bill Adama want to completely succumb.

Just then, a metallic clang of a wheeling cart stopped nearby, and Laura turned about, smiling that glamorous smile of hers as she greeted Crossover’s nurse who was veering the breakfast cart about the premises, dropping off meals to all the patients who were up and running. Laura slipped off a tray, exchanging a few words with the genial, affable woman before she took off again, leaving Laura standing there with Bill’s breakfast in hand.

He set aside his magazine; he was famished, and he was hungry (but not only for food). And he smiled apologetically, boyishly, charming as she slid the trait before him with an apathetic glare.

“Look, I’m sorry.” He began, “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“You certainly could have. But all’s done and forgiven, Captain. I’ve decided not to dwell on your pubescent and juvenile antics.” She spoke coldly, but Adama wouldn’t allow himself to “get the hint” and he smiled broadly, taking a fork in hand.

“Well good then.”

Just then, his smile dropped as he glanced down to the “food” in front of him. Honestly, it looked like one of the most inedible meals he had ever seen, and it fully substantiated his theory that even military slop was more appetizing than hospital gourmet. He scowled; letting out a low, disgusted moan, sliding his fork through (what he assumed) was supposed to be eggs. And Laura turned to him with a surprisingly jovial smile,

“What?”

“Look at this stuff.” He groaned.

Laura craned her neck over the tray before shrugging indifferently, “It doesn’t look that bad.”

Adama let out a low, despairing chuckle, “In places like these, if your injuries don’t kill you, the food surely will…”

“Oh, come on,” Laura sighed, taking his fork from his hand and dipping it into the “egg”, “It can’t be that bad. You’re overreacting.” She rolled her eyes casually as she stuck the fork into her mouth. Bill cringed at the sight of it.

For a moment, she had no expression. And then, a sudden wave of pale green seemed to wash over her face as her eyes widened, and she quietly gagged, trying not to heave. The pilot scrunched up his nose as he watched her resist the urge to vomit, gently pushing his tray away from his lap with two fingers.

“I prove my point.” He stated softly, watching as she gave up on trying to swallow and spit the “egg” out on the ground with a grotesque scowl and immediate shudder.

“Ugh.” She uttered, trembling slightly, closing her eyes tight, “That is…that is absolutely inhumane…”

“Didn’t I warn you?”

Laura’s eyes snapped open, “You don’t have to rub it in…”

Bill held up his hands, “Hey, it’s not my fault you didn’t trust me.”

She snatched his tray and placed her heel on the pedal of one of the metallic waste-bins, the lid popping open quickly as she quickly scooped and scraped all of that horrid breakfast away. And then, Laura swiftly set the tray at the end of the bed, and seized her clipboard.

“Where the hell are you going? That was my food!” Bill exclaimed, watching as she hastily prepared to leave him.

And mellifluously, she held her finger to her lips and glanced about warily, “Shut up. Do you want me to get you real food or not, Bill?”

She’s calling me Bill. She called me Bill.

Bill let on a broad smile, “Naughty little nurse aren’t you?”

She rolled her eyes and ignored it, “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

And just like that, she spirited away, the sound of her heels melding into the others that flurried and hummed about the gymnasium, as soon as she went out of sight. Bill had to shake his head and smile, wide and soft. That girl was a gem. Even after her toyed with her mercilessly, she was still willing to get him actual food.

Gods, that girl was getting better and better.


Chapter 3: Academia

“You like hamburgers…”

Bill watched with a rather odd fascination as Laura eagerly dug her teeth into the fast-food commodity, watching as she smiled with a quiet satisfaction. She sat by his bed, returning exactly twenty minutes after she said she would, having surreptitiously slid him a wrapped-up hamburger of his own. They shared the packaged fries and a single, chocolate milkshake, which was perhaps sweeter for Bill than for Laura, having the knowledge that she set her lips on the same red and white, stripped straw that perkily jutted up from the thick liquid. Bill, eternally grateful, had finished off his hamburger quickly, and now watched as his nurse greedily feasted on the greasy sandwich. He was mesmerized by it actually, as she avariciously finished it off, licking the tips of her fingers with a small grin, titillating him.

Laura nodded her head, taking a sip of the milkshake, “I love them.” She smiled.

“I’ve never known a girl that liked fast-food that much…”

She shrugged, smirking critically, “They all preferred salads…”

Bill scrunched his lips, “Well…yeah.”

“And I bet they were all stick-thin…”

He shook his head, raising his eyebrows nonchalantly, “You’re stereotyping, Miss Roslin.” He reminded her coyly.

Laura pursed her lips, “They were…weren’t they? All too skinny, ordering salads made of 75 percent water, with zero nutrients to speak of…”

“Why are you griping?” Bill asked, pointing to her waist, “You’re skinny.”

“I prefer the term: slender.”

“What the hell’s the difference?” Bill made a face.

“I’ll tell you what the difference is, Mr. Adama. The difference is that skinny women are skin and bones, slender women do have body fat.” Laura stated candidly, gently crumpling the trash of their meal, stuffing it into the paper bag she had brought it in.

Bill nodded, surrendering the argument, watching her closely as she slid back her chair, plopping the trash into the wastebasket, “Do you always eat fast food?”

“Most of the time.” She responded, rising from her seat, burgundy hair falling over the edges of her face as she glanced to him, “I can’t cook.” She smiled, a full smile, a sincere smile that would have caused Bill to physically melt if he weren’t closely restraining his true emotions and reactions.

“Don’t you have to watch your figure?” Bill asked casually, crushing the empty foil on his bedspread into a small ball.

“Sure, but it’s worth it.”

Bill watched her as she picked up that clipboard again, writing down whatever she wrote down as she inspected those monitors. She looked strangely jovial, casual, actually very happy, not like he had seen her before, frigid and virtually emotionless, with a lingering sadness in those eyes of hers, even when she smiled. But today, right now, twenty minutes later, Laura Roslin actually appeared quite personable and amicable. Bill wasn’t worried that she might slip something in his drink. She was a lovely thing though, even if sometimes he was fearful that she might try to poison him. Laura was much more pleasurable when she was fed.

“I probably shouldn’t say this, seeing as you already have a massive ego,” She began lightheartedly, turning to him, “But most of the nurses are absolutely smitten with you, Captain.”

Not calling me Bill, anymore?

Bill smirked, “I know.”

She rose an eyebrow, her smile starting to fade, “You know?”

Bill put up a finger, gingerly reaching behind his pillow, his hand reemerging with a stack of multicolored memos and notes, releasing them down on the bedspread heedlessly, “Phone numbers.” He commented, “About fifty of them.”

She couldn’t help gasping, her milky face washed over with a bemused grin, reaching out to one of the papers and inspecting the note, trying desperately not to laugh. Bill watched as she read, a smile forever on his chin as her eyes widened. Some of the girls had not been discreet in their letters of affection. Laura tilted her head, setting the note back in place with an amused little sigh, “So, are you going to call any of them? Once the war is over?”

Adama shook his head, “Nope.”

“Well, that’s a bit harsh.” She said bluntly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Why?” He laughed.

“You’re leading these girls on!” Laura snickered, a twinkling little giggle that Bill’s dashing smile widened at hearing. Gods, she was beautiful, and Bill could almost feel his façade dropping for her, for the sake of her. She had the ability to make him melt like no other girl had. At that moment, he would have committed himself to anything for just a promise of her laughter again.

“Well, I can’t help it…” Bill continued.

Laura pursed her lips, olive eyes shining blithely, “Can’t help what?”

“Can’t help if I’m still holding out for a specific girl’s number…”

Her smile dropped faintly; her pale face flushed with a fleeting crimson shade. Or had it just been his imagination? Because no sooner had the blush appeared, it vanished, and her face twisted into that admonishing glare, her pale green eyes scalding with a tired frustration. Laura dropped her arms to her side, letting out a deep sigh as Bill naturally gathered up all the notes and stuffed them back into the apron of his pillow. She was exasperated with his efforts, and he could tell. But Bill was persistent, and he wouldn’t give up; it was obvious that he held contrivance in his words, sincere and charming, quick-witted and bold. He was so close he could taste the cracking of her shell, and she had to break sometime, he had fractured it just now with the song of her giggle and the view of her dazzling smile. Everyone had a limit, a boundary, a threshold, just waiting to be crossed. She was his greatest challenge yet, but curiously, it wasn’t about just frakking her anymore…there was something else he needed, he wanted to give her, to receive…he just didn’t know what. Laura was an enigma.

Bill stared at her apathetically as she plaintively sighed, giving him a fatigued glance, “Captain…”

“I like Bill better, Nursie Roslin.” Bill cut in.

She didn’t say anything for a few moments, rather taking in a few methodical breaths through her nostrils, finally crossing her arms across her chest before she spoke, “I’ll make you a proposition…”

Bill raised his eyebrows suggestively, and she ignored him.

“I will call you ‘Bill’ if you promise to never call me ‘Nursie Roslin’ again.”

He took a few moments to contemplate, “Ah…I’ll have to think about it.”

“Why?”

Bill have her a wide smile, “Because I thoroughly enjoy calling you ‘Nursie Roslin’.”

She glared at him, slitting her eyes as she shook her hair, “You know, Mr. Adama, for being a twenty-five year old man, and eight years my senior, you are exceedingly sophomoric…”

“I take pride in it.” Bill retorted calmly, “And you know, Nursie Roslin, for being a eighteen year old girl, you have an exemplary vocabulary…” He smiled amusingly.

“Like I said before Captain, I am an oddity of nature…”

“Well if you’re an oddity of nature, I’d like to see what a monstrosity looks like…”

He was pissing her off, and he had to smile. She was lovely was she was flustered. Laura planted her feet in the ground and took in a deep breath, looking toward the ceiling with a fuming irritation, before she finally gathered herself and looked back to him, “Have you ever even considered our age difference?”

Bill scoffed, “What age difference?”

“Consider this: when I was eight, you were sixteen, when I was ten, you were eighteen…” Laura huffed, “That’s the age difference.”

“But you’re an adult now…” Bill added.

She stared at him sharply, “I can tolerate you, Mr. Adama; I might even actually like you. But please, just give up.”

Bill grinned. Not a chance. He raised his eyebrows, prodding her with his nonchalant tone, “You like me?”

“Sort of.”

“Well that’s better than nothing.” Bill shrugged, “At least I’m not insufferable anymore…”

“Oh, no, you’re still insufferable…you’re just less so than before.” Laura rebuked.

The Captain smirked to himself. Leaning back on the metallic headboard, he picked up a random magazine and flipped through its pages with a self-gratifying smile. He had to be getting somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her get back to scrawling notes on her clipboard, feeling a comfortable sort of calm linger in the air.

“Laura?”

“What?”

Bill took in a deep breath, “I accept that proposition of yours…”

He could see her smile, “I knew you would.”

A few timid footsteps approached the foot of his bed, and Bill looked up from his magazine to see a tall, scrawny kid with dark, combed hair, fidgeting about, with timorous mahogany eyes hidden behind a pair of spectacles. He was boyish and academic, with a polished, scholarly appearance and a cobalt bow tie, pens tucked into the single pocket at the right side of his chest. He gulped heavily, and stared nervously from Bill, who looked straight at him, to Laura’s back as she inspected the monitors. He was obviously intimidated, and by the looks of him, he was probably intimidated by a squirrel. Bill raised an eyebrow at the stranger who fretfully took a taunt breath and looked to Laura.

“L-Laura?” He stammered, his voice smooth and polite.

Bill lowered his eyebrows. Who the hell is this guy?

Laura turned about at the sound of his voice, and to Bill’s surprise, she beamed and set down her clipboard, “Bernard!” She exclaimed sweetly, “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.”

“Umm…L-Laura, we’re running a little late. I waited out front for you but…” Bernard fidgeted and clamored for a steady voice, but was clearly failing as he looked at Bill, staring at him gravely with those daunting, dark cerulean eyes. Laura glanced to Bill, casting him a dark glare, before looking back to Bernard, who smiled uneasily, “I’ll be right out Bernard, just wait out front.”

Bernard smiled uneasily and nodded his head, quickly scuttling away and across the gymnasium. Bill looked to Laura with a raised brow, “Bernard? Who the hell is that?”

She rolled her eyes at his sudden, abrasive tone, “He happens to be the guy I’m seeing, Bill.”

“Bernard?” His eyes widened, “You’re seeing Bernard?” Bill swallowed, how the hell did a guy like Bernard get a girl like her? It seemed at that moment, everything he once knew was hitting the fan. That kid was easily the most dweebish kid he’d seen since high school, and yet, he was Laura’s significant other. How the hell did that make any sense?

She has got to be kidding me…

“Yes, Bernard.” She said defensively, setting her clipboard in the crook of her arm.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Well…well…” Bill stammered excitedly, motioning rapidly with his hands, to which, Laura shifted her weight and pursed her lips, “I mean…come one Laura! That guy?”

“Yes.” Laura snapped, “He happens to be a very sweet guy.”

“Oh yeah,” Bill said sardonically, “With a guy like that, I bet you’re really living on the edge.”

Laura slit her eyes, “We happen to have very much in common.”

“The most you two have in common is that you have two arms and two legs.”

“We both are going to same college, we both want to be teachers, and we both enjoy reading for pleasure.” Laura recited.

“I like reading.” Bill stated adeptly.

Laura cast him a sarcastic glare, “Caprican Kink does not count as reading material, Bill.”

“No, seriously. I have an extensive collection.”

She crossed her arms, casting him a surprisingly coy smile, eyes glittering over as she shifted her weight severely to the side, raising one of those shapely eyebrows, “Oh really?”

Bill nodded, “Yes, Miss Roslin. Really.”

“Prove. It.”

Bill scowled, “How the hell am I going to prove it?”

“That’s your problem.” Laura smirked, beginning to round his bed.

He erected his posture, and craned his neck after her, “Alright, alright. I have, uh, Nihilism, The Sagittaron Exploits, Dark Day…”

“You have Dark Day?” Laura shifted her position, resting both hands at the end of his bed, smiling quietly, clearly impressed with his apparent wealth of academic volumes.

Bill smiled, “Yes, I do. It’s a very good book.”

“My, my Captain, I’m impressed.” Laura chimed sweetly, “Who knew that Bill Adama, famous Viper pilot, actually enjoys to read…”

“Well you know now.” Bill stated, picking up his magazine, “I’d get going, you don’t want to make Bernard late. The little bastard might have an aneurysm.”

He heard it, sudden and restrained, a small little giggle and he looked up from his magazine to see that pretty, little goddess smiling at him.

“You know, Bill…”

“What?” He responded apathetically, glancing back to the magazine.

“After the war is over, I want to see it.”

Bill eyes widened, as he set down the magazine, smirking devilishly, “See what?”

She rolled her eyes, as he assumed she would, “You’re collection, Captain. I might have to borrow that book from you…”

“I’ll give it to you.” Bill muttered, “Never lend books.”

“Alright. I’ll hold you to it.”

“I’m counting on it.”

And with that, he looked back to his magazine, wincing slightly as heard her heels echo, the reverberations in his ears growing fainter as she left. Adama could hardly set his eyes on the words, he couldn’t concentrate, and he couldn’t focus on a single word and drink it in. He huffed out a breath of air; he had made a complete fool of himself just now, carrying on, letting his “cool” attitude drift away for a fit of madness, a sequence of jealousy. Bill couldn’t help it; he was jealous. He was insanely jealous. And it only drove his craving for her further. Could he get no rest from her effect, the sweet little virus that had infected him ever since he first saw her?

The Captain seriously doubted there was any cure for him now.

The first and last thing he thought of was always the same, always the same name, diffusing his façade, heightening his nerves:

Laura.

Gods, I hope I never have to leave this hospital bed.
Ëþäè – ñóùåñòâà ýìîöèîíàëüíûå, ïîäâåðæåííûå ïðåäóáåæäåíèÿì è ïîäòàëêèâàåìûå ãîðäîñòüþ è òùåñëàâèåì.

Îôôëàéí Amanda

  • Ñòàðøèé ÄÐÄ
  • ****
  • Çäåñü ñ: 11:37 – 09.05.08
  • Ñîîáùåíèé: 740
Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #7 : 20:07 – 23.11.08 »
Chapter 4: Flowers and Weeds


“So, did you have a nice night with Bernard?

Laura turned to him, clipboard pressed against her chest, glaring at him crossly, like he expected, as he folded his arms over his chest. Bill wasn’t above interrogation, especially not with her. The Captain had admitted it to himself, that he was jealous, actually very jealous, of that nerdish boyfriend of hers. Honestly, what did Bernard have that he didn’t? Bill eyes scalded with a smoldering envy, an emotion that rarely came to haunt the famous Captain Adama. It should have been a humbling experience; instead, it infuriated him. He was the one who was insufferable? Bill knitted his dark eyebrows. Laura was the “insufferable” one. The girl was driving him to the brink of insanity!

But maybe, that’s just what made him so crazy about her, other than her obvious other attributes.

Laura pursed her lips, switching them to the side, “We had a very nice time.”

“Did he take you somewhere exciting?” Bill exclaimed mockingly, “Oh boy, a spelling bee!”

Laura huffed, setting down her clipboard sternly, placing her hands on her slender waist, her fingers rapping against the white uniform, “You are absolutely puerile. What have you got against him, anyway?”

Bill stared at her blankly, and she stared, just as fiercely, right back at him. With a deep, hot breath, he looked away, silently fuming as he clenched his jaw. Laura stared at him expectantly, her imposing virescent eyes locked on him, “The question wasn’t rhetorical, Bill.”

The Captain grumbled and mumbled beneath his breath, picking up the same magazine that he had been occupying himself with for days now, “Nothing. I don’t have anything against him.” His husky voice tapered off into a low growl, his eyes skimming darkly over an article that he had already read, and bored himself with.

Laura didn’t buy it. And she took the opportunity to press further, keeping those hands on her waist. If Bill were not furious at her and her little boy-toy, he would have been completely hot for her in that angry position.

Laura lifted her chin indignantly, “Seriously, Bill. I want to know why you despise him so much…”

“It’ll piss you off.” Bill mumbled angrily.

“Indulge me.”

The words rolled fluidly from her mouth, goading Bill on. He lowered his eyebrows, setting the magazine down in his lap, “He doesn’t deserve you.” He seethed.

Laura rose her eyebrows, taken aback, “Excuse me?”

“He’s a frakking drip.”

“He happens to be a very sweet guy. And one that my parents surely would’ve approved of.”

Bill’s eyes sparked curiously. Would’ve? Quickly, he let the thought evanesce behind his current, jealous rage.

“Please, tell me what makes him so great…” Bill coaxed covetously, “I want to know.”

“He’s the complete opposite of you.” Laura retorted acridly.

“C’mon now, you don’t mean that.”

“Captain Adama,” Laura began professionally, “I…” She stopped abruptly, inhaling deep, sighing out a gentle breath of air as she diverted her eyes from him.

He raised his eyebrows, observing her as she tried to quell her frustration with him. Bill smiled, “You?”

Turning those lovely olive eyes to him, Laura sighed petulantly, “You are aggravating.”

“I’m sorry.” Bill playfully apologized, “But, it’s not my fault that Bernard is undeserving of you…”

Placing her hands on her hips, she huffed out a breath of air, rolling her eyes delicately, a small smile quickly flashed and then was gone, “Please, Mr. Adama, enlighten me. Please, tell me who’s more deserving than Bernard?” She quipped, arching an eyebrow, “You?”

“Me?”

“You’re acting awfully jealous, Bill.” She chirped.

Indeed, he was. But the old Adama ego wouldn’t allow him to let her get anymore of a whiff of his envy than she already had. The lovely little goddess had already caused him to sink lower than he had before. The celebrity still coveted that famous little chip of arrogance that wouldn’t allow him to admit such a thing to her, especially since it was Bernard he was jealous of. Maybe the kid wanted to go to college with her, maybe he wanted to become a teacher, just like her, but could he give her what Bill could? Bill watched that lovely shroud of hair fall over her profile; he gazed at her pale, gleaming legs slipping out of that uniform. If he had Laura Roslin…what wouldn’t he do to please her? If he had Laura Roslin…

But he didn’t. And it seemed like he never would. She was untouchable; she was unattainable for a guy like him. Adama had been wrong. He couldn’t get any girl he wanted. The only girl he wanted, he couldn’t have.

Life was cruel sometimes.

Adama swallowed hard, watching as she smiled that delicate, butterfly grin that made him foolishly melt. But he wouldn’t let her see it; he couldn’t let her see it. He coughed roughly; shaking his head, sweat tactfully forming on his olive-skinned brow, “No.” He lied nonchalantly, “I’m definitely not jealous. Why the frak would I be jealous of Bernard? I used to make guys like that shit in their pants in high school…” Adama’s husky voice tapered off uneasily.

“Alright.” She responded coolly.

“So you believe me?”

Tilting her head to the side, her eyes effulged curiously, “Shouldn’t I?”

Bill watched her, their eyes meeting silently, lingering on their irises, burning bright, azure and chartreuse, sea meeting meadow. They both were unwittingly smiling, small smiles that were hardly smiles at all, little hints of their mutual affection. Because as much as Laura tried to deny it, she felt herself charmed by him, she felt him pull her into his web. He was handsome and he was valiant, he was masculine and he was intelligent, witty even. And despite his libidinous comments, she knew somehow that there was something more to him. Laura wouldn’t give in; she couldn’t give in. She couldn’t. There was something about him…something about Bill Adama that entranced her…he was a mystery, and oh, how she wanted to solve him!

But he wasn’t her type. She couldn’t be with him, a celebrity: arrogant and self-righteous.

Laura watched him for a moment, crossing her arms over her chest, “Do you want to go out?”

“When and where sweetie?” Adama responded flirtatiously.

She rolled her eyes, “Outside. Your doctor said it would be good for you to get some exercise and some fresh air…”

“Who the hell is my doctor anyway?”

“Dr. Corinth.”

“What kind of name is Corinth?”

Laura laughed vexingly, “You know for a man whose name is Adama, you have a nasty habit of making fun of other people’s surnames…”

“Your last name I was interested in.” Bill stated, “Corinth is an odd name, and should be made fun of.”

She rolled her eyes. Bill raised his eyebrows, “Why haven’t I seen him?”

“He has other patients to attend to. Your injuries are taken care of; you only need mending. There’s nothing that I can’t do to attend to your condition.”

“Damn straight.” Bill spouted.

Laura cast him a dark gaze.

Gently, she rolled back his sheets, not allowing herself to eye him, as he lay in a hospital dress. Bill swung his legs over the side of the bed effortlessly, she clutched onto his arm, helping him up as he grasped onto his bandaged torso. His bare feet touched the gym floor, and he stood next to her, a few inches taller, a more imposing figure than she had expected, much more muscular than she had imagined.

Adama grinned a dashing smile, running a hand through his ebony hair, his fingers itching to brush her empyreal tresses as he looked down to her, that lovely face that timidly and icily stared back. Her fingers were still wrapped around his arm.

“You are incredibly pretty…” Bill mused gently, his gravelly voice working its magic on her for a moment before she waved it away, clear in her eyes.

“And you are incredibly persistent…” Laura rebuked, disregarding his magnetism, and his lure.

“It’s what I’m best known for.” The Captain uttered, “I’m as stubborn as bull.”

Laura began to lead him around the hospital bed, shaking her head of burgundy hair as she did, smiling impishly, “So am I, Bill, so am I…”


*~~*~~*


The gilded sunlight warmed his bones, a calming zephyr crossed over his face, prickling his nerves and heightening his relaxation. They had stepped out onto the lawn, the school’s well-groomed grounds, where a few other nurses and their patients roamed, both parties taking in the convalescence that the fresh air brought them. The sounds of the war above their heads, the constant sirens, the perpetual fear seemed to cease on this field, where blades of uncut grass gently greeted Bill Adama’s bare feet. Laura slipped off her heeled shoes, taking them between two fingers, setting her bare feet on the lawn with him. They smiled, her arm was interlaced with his, and they began a stroll, a bit of exercise, a bit of paradise, the only Elysium that Adama would experience for a long time after he got out of the hospital.

And the date for his release was steadily approaching.

Chrome walls would greet him, and the whizzing of the tubes, the frantic voices over the Comm., the uncertainty, the zenith of victory, and the nadir of failure, of impending death. There was a distinct possibility that he would die. It was highly probable that he wouldn’t make it out of this war, and it was always present in the back of his mind. He had learned to appreciate these moments, despite the melancholy and dread that they brought him. Bill had to enjoy them, especially now, when he was with her. Because after he left, there was a chance that he would never see her again. It was ever-present in the back of his mind. Bill caught sight of her out of his peripheral vision; Laura’s hair was bright in the bask of the sun, vivid, lovely, her eyes shady and ripe, their green maelstrom’s giving him a sense of lovely vertigo.

“Why teaching?” He asked suddenly, continuing their stroll along the grounds.

“I think we already had this discussion.”

“We did. But you never actually answered me.” Bill said smoothly, “Why teaching?”

Laura paused; he glanced to her as she lowered her head, taking a moment before she looked up again, “Both my parents were teachers…”

“A family honor kind of thing?”

“I suppose.” She sighed deftly.

“I bet they are proud.” Bill suggested thoughtlessly.

Laura didn’t respond for a few moments, and he looked to her, she, so emotionless and unruffled, “I don’t know.” She said softly, “They’re, uh, both dead.”

Dead? Shit, Bill. You shouldn’t have said that. Say something. Say something!

He swallowed uneasily, “I’m-I’m sorry.”

Laura shook her head, “Don’t be.” She said icily, “It’s my problem.”

Bill stared at her, catching a glimpse of the Laura Roslin that lay hidden beneath that headstrong shell. She was a sad creature, with those eyes, eyes of a fallen angel, eyes of a tragedy. But, she held strong, she held steadfast. And he could hear in that inert voice of hers some suppressed fervency, a chained emotion. Bill watched her with a fascination as she swallowed. Intelligent, beautiful, and partially empty, he wondered…he wondered if all she needed was for someone to hold her…

Bill would do it if she asked, and not because she had awoken his libido, but because…

The Captain swallowed his thoughts, as she bravely continued, her head forward, skin lighted by the sun, “My father and my sisters were…in an accident a few years ago, and my mother passed away last year from cancer…” Her voice was unwavering, he felt her methodical steps next to his, she then turned to look at him, an uneasy smile creeping over her lips, “What about you, Bill? Why did you become a fighter pilot? Your parents in the military?”

He was slightly taken aback by her resiliency, her sudden turn to him. Bill choked back the lump in his throat, “No, no. My, uh, my father is a lawyer and my mother is a housewife. I…I became a pilot just because I really couldn’t do anything else…” He chuckled clumsily.

Her whole family…

“Ah.” Laura hummed, nodding her head.

Bill massaged his lips together, “What would you do if you weren’t gonna teach?”

She let out a sigh, smiling gently, looking to him out of the corner of her eye, “I don’t know. But, when I was younger, I…” She laughed mellifluously, as if the idea she were about to present was utterly preposterous, “I, uh, dreamt of becoming a novelist…”

“A writer?”

Laura nodded, staring off, laughing self-deprecatingly, “Pretty foolish, huh?”

Bill shrugged, “Not really.”

She gave him an appreciative glance, a soft breeze billowing her hair gently about her face. In spite of it all, she was smiling, demure and shy, ironic and guarded, but smiling all the same. They walked along the grounds, and they said hardly anything for a few minutes, both taking in the serenity of the place, the isolation from the repercussions of war, the affect of the constant fear. Despite what the optimists preached, the war was affecting everyone’s daily life. Every step, every move made was one that had a soft underbelly of fear. Unfortunately for Laura, Bill realized, the war wasn’t the only tragedy that beleaguered her in her every step, every nightfall and daybreak. She seemed so disconnected, this beautiful nurse, this valiant young woman. They passed beneath the gentle bough of a tree, entering into its shaded haven and Bill stopped in his tracks.

Laura glanced over her shoulder, “What?”

He motioned to the inviting trunk, giving a surprisingly timid smile, “Can we sit?”

“You’re supposed to be getting some exercise…” Laura smirked.

“Hey, if no one is around, we both can get some exercise underneath this tree…” Bill grinned, completely unfazed by the fact that he was standing in front of this incredibly beautiful girl in a hospital dress.

She put a hand to her hip and rolled her eyes, but she did not scold him, she merely gave an annoyed (but flattered) smile, brushing past his shoulder and taking his arm, assisting him as he gingerly lowered himself to sit against the dark, gnarled bark. Easily, she set herself down next to him, crossing her ankles, wiggling her bare toes as she rested against the trunk, relishing the cool of the shade. Bill smiled, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she let out a low sigh, and looked up to the intertwining, svelte branches, garnished with thousands of emerald leaves.

“You should be in a magazine,” Bill commented, “That’s what you should be doing.”

She let out a sardonic chuckle, “Right.”

Bill smirked wickedly, “Yeah. Picture it. One of those nature spreads, a swim-suit advertisement, with you under a waterfall and-“

Laura laughed and leaned forward, giving him a playful slap on his shoulder, “When are you going to grow up? Seriously, you’re a grown man! And here you are, sexually harassing a young girl…”
Bill’s raised his eyebrows, “Sexually harassing?”

She pursed her lips at his mock innocence, “A swimsuit advertisement under a waterfall? Posing a provocative pose in swimwear all too small?”

Bill widened his eyes, “You said it.” He quickly said, “What I was implying was simply artistic expression…” He chuckled mischievously as she scoffed.

“You are impossible.”

“Impossibly charming…”

Laura rolled those eyes of hers and leaned back restfully. She sat beside him, her close proximity driving his nerves mad. No, he didn’t want to throw her down on the grass and frak her to death. No. Despite the fact that he constantly thought of having sex with her, all he wanted now was to wrap his arm around her slender frame and bring her close, have her head rest against his shoulder, a single form beneath this shielding tree, burgundy and obsidian hair meshing with the wind. Such volition would bring him pure elation, if only it could be done, if only the Adama swagger decided to prowl once again. But it wouldn’t. With her, he couldn’t help but feel a certain, hidden timidity, a vulnerability that he never felt before, a bittersweet sensation whenever he happened to look at her.

The thought never crossed his mind that he was irrevocably and unequivocally in love with Laura Roslin. Which, he was.

“Are your parents approving of you being in the military?” Laura asked suddenly.

Bill let out an apprehensive smile, “No, not at all.” He admitted, “When I…when I announced to them that I was going in, they….uh…my mother, she burst out in tears and my father…”

He stopped for a few moments, “Lets just say that he’ll never forgive me for it, for putting him and especially my mother through all the…the constant worry…”

Bill swallowed and Laura nodded her head sympathetically, “It must be hard.” She mused gently.

He inhaled deeply, “Not nearly as hard as losing them…I have nothing to complain about, you…”

Laura cut him off, “You’ve dealt with as much death as I have…”

“What are you talking about?”

She stared off into the distance, not daring to look at him as he gazed at her stoic profile, “Bill, you have to go through every day with constant death. Men you’ve befriended, men who you’ve played cards with and drank with, they…they disappear the next day…They become like family, don’t they? It must hurt you everyday. My family is dead, there is no more risk for me…but for you…”

Bill stared at her, his eyebrows rising sadly, a lump coagulating in his throat as he watched her, watched her stare off on her tangent, hearing the hidden pain in the timbres of her euphonious voice, “You’re still standing.” He choked out.

She turned to him, her eyes meeting his, “So are you.”

They stared, they gazed, sharing this melancholy moment. He couldn’t believe her; he was in awe. There was so much she saw, so little that he noticed. Laura gave him a small smile, and he returned one softly. Were they edging closer? Bill was so lost the haze that suddenly eclipsed him, she was his beacon: so lovely, so inspiring, a timid muse. Looking to the swaying blades of grass, he plucked out a wayward dandelion, handing it to her.

“Here.” He murmured gruffly, “A flower.”

Two slender fingers plucked the dandelion from his fingers. Laura grinned as she eyed it, her virescent eyes glimmering, “Bill, this is a weed.”

The Captain shrugged nonchalantly, his cobalt eyes sparking with a nascent emotion as he acted on impulse and gently stroked an unruly burgundy strand from her face, to which, she beamed bashfully and looked to the ground, “Someday,” He whispered amicably, “I’ll buy you real flowers…”

He loved her. And there was no denying it.

One day, he’d buy her flowers, one day; he’d buy her the most beautiful bouquet. One day…he’d give her a flower instead of a weed.







Chapter Five: Three Tips


Waking up, the light of the sun shone brightly through the gymnasium windows, resting on his forehead and making him squint. He raised his calloused hand to massage his brow, shaking off that newly awoken fatigue as he let out a low grunt. The Captain lifted himself into an upright position, and let out a heavy sigh. There was an odd amount of serenity in the gym. It was relatively quiet, quieter than usual. Several men were missing from their beds, and Bill glanced over to see that Crossover’s bed was neatly and eerily made; there was no trace of him.

Maybe they let him out…

Bill’s disposition was optimistic today; he couldn’t bear to think of anything negative. In fact, he found that he couldn’t, despite the gloom that constantly echoed in this manmade hospital. Crossover’s impediment wasn’t serious; it was most likely that he was released late that night, long after Laura had put Bill to bed with a gentle dose of lulling serum. Usually she was only around for the day rounds; Bill usually had a different nurse during the night. But fortunately for him, his nurse had fallen ill and Laura graciously volunteered to take her shift. For what reason, Bill couldn’t quite make out. She said it was for the extra money; Bill had the hope, however, that maybe there had been a different motive.

Whatever the case, he had something to look forward to. Tonight she would take the shift again, and he would have the opportunity to bask in her glow both in the musty light of the gymnasium in the morning and the dim haze of the gymnasium during the night. Glancing about, he could see no trace of her. It was early, earlier than he usually awoke. The breakfast cart hadn’t even begun to roll about yet.

He looked to his bedside table, noticing the already read stack of magazines haphazardly thrown together and the ever-present notes of admiration that he was receiving from every young nurse in the perimeter. It was annoying really. There was one note, however, that caught his attention. It was gently folded on top of the multicolored stack. It wasn’t in the usual shade of pink or purple and it wasn’t adorned with lipstick imprints or pen-drawn hearts, or ornamental (often, fluffy) cursive writing. It was plain, stark white, and picked it up with two fingers, bringing it to his chest as he opened it casually, lowering his eyebrows as he inspected what was written inside.

There was a phone number and it was signed: N.R..

“N.R.?” Bill muttered, turning the note over, “What the hell?”

Giving up, and honestly, finding no real interest, he shrugged and crumpled up the paper, stuffing it behind his pillow.

“Whatever.” He uttered, huffing out a breath of air, watching with disinterested eyes as a few nurses, quite attractive, swaggered past his bed, giving him a few winks and flips of their hair. Bill’s expression was stony. If he weren’t already completely infatuated, he probably would have taken the opportunity to get his ass out of this bed and get himself some frak-time with some ladies in uniform. Surprisingly, Bill’s interest wasn’t really sparked by them and he let them waltz by, offering them nothing but a small, greeting smile.

Plucking a magazine off his bedside table, he paged through it nonchalantly, trying to occupy himself. The minutes seemed like hours. And he tried, desperately, to immerse himself in an article he had previous looked over: “10 Ways to Identify Bread Mold”.

It didn’t quite hold his interest.

Honestly, there’s a war going on and they can’t find anything better to write about other than bread mold?

Some people were still trying to deny the fact that this war was even going on. It must be getting impossible for them to ignore. Every day a few bombs penetrated Caprica City. The explosions could be heard inside the gym, and often, the eruptions caused the foundations to tremble and the glass of the windows to flux. It was getting hard to ignore that humanity, and Caprica, in particular, was gripped in a struggle that would only end in the annihilation of either humanity or the Cylons that humanity constructed. It wasn’t a pleasant subject, but it did have the right to take precedent over bread mold.

“M-M-Mr. Ad-dama?” A shaky voice sounded over his magazine. And Bill knew, without looking over the horizon of his reading, whose voice it was. Setting down his magazine, Bill saw him in perfect vision: Laura’s little boyfriend, bespectacled and bowtie clad, shaking like a leaf with a few flowers clutched in his hand. The boy swallowed uneasily, and tugged at his collar.

“How’re you doin’ Bernard?” Bill offered apathetically, coldly even, looking back to his magazine.

“Um, f-fine, Mr. Adam-ma.”

“Do you always stutter?”

“No. J-just when I’m n-n-nervous.” Bernard struggled helplessly.

“Why are you nervous?” Bill chuckled hoarsely.

“W-well…um, I don’t know s-sir.”

“Sir?” Those azure eyes glanced up from the magazine, glinting with amusement. This kid really was a hoot, a pathetic hoot, but a hoot all the same. Bill shook his head with a bemused grin, “What is that I can do for you Bernard?” He asked innocuously.

Bernard’s mahogany eyes flitted about behind the lenses of his glasses, “W-where’s Laura?” His hand holding the flowers began to quiver. Bill felt his nerves prickle; if he could get out of this gods forsaken bed, he’d be able to get Laura flowers…

“She’s not here yet.” Bill said, “You’re early.”

“Oh…w-well I guess I’ll just…” Bernard motioned to leave.

“No, no Bernard.” Adama quipped, “Stay here. I’d like to have a chat with you anyway.”

Bernard looked to him, shuddering a bit, obviously scared to death, “Oh, well that’s v-very nice sir but I really…”

The kid obviously wanted to get as far from Bill as possible. But Adama wouldn’t let him. Setting his magazine over his knees, Bill pointed to a chair positioned beside his bed and stopped the kid with a defined and commanding stare. “Sit.” He ordered.

Bernard swallowed tautly and nodded his neatly combed head, shuffling quickly over to the seat and plopping himself down, his head downcast. The perky flowers in his hand began to shake with his uneasy, panicky grip, causing Bill to grin with amusement. The poor kid, if he had yelped, “Boo”, the boy probably would’ve suffered a heart attack and died of fright. Bernard, Adama hypothesized, would probably kick the bucket in his old age, a grandkid or some noisome neighborly rascal would probably pop out from behind a bush and cause old Bernard to keel over.

The youngster would probably shit in his pants in a Viper cockpit. The thought of it made Bill smirk.

“Listen Bernard,” Bill began coolly, “I know that you’re Laura’s boyfriend and all, but…doesn’t a girl like that make you nervous?”

Bernard widened his eyes, nodding his head zealously, “I-is it that obv-vious?”

“Yep.” Bill quipped.

“C-could you um…” Bernard began, his voice faltering, thinking better, “N-nevermind.”

“No, no. Go ahead.” Bill chirped, “I’m you’re pal, Bernard. What’s eatin’ at you?”

This should be fun…

“W-well sir,” Bernard stuttered, “ I’ve n-never really been that good with girls…and, I was w-wondering, if you could maybe g-give me s-some pointers…”

“Pointers?” Bill arched a brow, “How long have you two been going out, anyway?”

“N-not too long, sir, and I r-really don’t want to f-f-frak things up with her, sir.”
His “frak” was obviously very forced, a tool to make him appear as if he contained a semblance of tough masculinity in his svelte, scholarly body.

“Sure, why not?” Bill laughed. He was going to get more enjoyment out of this than Bernard would ever know. “The first thing to re…”

Bill couldn’t believe it. The kid pulled out a notepad and a pen.

“You’re going to take notes?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“First thing, Bernard. Cut with the polite shit. Girls like Laura like to be treated as if they're individuals, like they're independent, equal and all that. So, first thing, forget being a gentleman and let her pay the tab. Don’t open doors for her, don’t pull out a chair for her…nothing.” Bill stated matter-of-factly, secretly relishing in this little subterfuge. Sabotage was sweet.

“Are y-you sure, s-sir?” Bernard asked meekly, glancing over the rims of his glasses.

Bill scowled, “Are you going to trust in me or not, Bernie?”

“Yes sir.”

“Second. Don’t take her to any of those scholarly places…”

“But she…” Bernard protested.

“Listen kid, I am the master. Trust me, take her somewhere raunchy…like a strip club or something…”

“A s-strip club?”

“You never been to one have you?”

Bernard shook his head.

Bill smirked, “Trust me. Go there, pay attention to all the other girls, let Laura vie for your attention, make her feel like you can’t be tied down, that you have other options and priorities. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

And now for the grand finale…This kid doesn’t have a chance…

“Third, and most important. If you wanna bag her…”

“Bag her?” Bernard grew all flustered and lowered his voice, leaning in cautiously,“Y-you mean h-h-have s-sex with her?”

“Yeah.” Bill stated, “If you wanna frak her…wait, you do wanna frak her, right?”

Bernard nodded his head, “Sure. B-but I’ve n-never…”
“Stop right there, Bernie. I don’t need to hear about you’re past experiences. Got it?”

“Yes sir. I do. I’m sorry sir.”

Bill shrugged, “Alright, if you wanna frak her. You need to be determined and you can’t be timid. Don’t take no for an answer, Bernie. Persistence is the charm; you’ll eventually break her down. And no flowers.” Bill snatched the bouquet from his hand, “It’s an urban myth that girls like flowers.”

“Wow.” Bernard murmured, “Thank you s-sir.” He let out a wide and gawky grin, offering out his hand, which Bill promptly took without guilt and shook. Laura’s little boyfriend rose from his seat and beamed.

“Go get her.” Bill chanted jubilantly.

“Our n-next date is tonight. Gee, Mr. Adama; thanks a lot.” Bernard sang, quickly and awkwardly striding away from his bed and down the gymnasium with a new confidence that Bill was sorry was going to be crushed (but not really). Bill chuckled to himself with a self-gratifying smirk, picking up the magazine again and reading over the bread mold article.

Sure, it was cruel to sabotage Bernard and Laura's little relationship, but something had to be done.

Unfortunately, love makes you do crazy things.





Chapter 6: Effloresce


Bill dozed off; he had dozed off a mere twenty minutes after Bernard left. He missed breakfast, and the tumultuous rumbling in his stomach woke him from his boredom-induced slumber. He groaned, sitting up gingerly, only to have a foil-wrapped hamburger hit him in the chest. The Captain already knew who the thrower was, and he merely smiled, lifting the fast-food commodity in his hand,

“Thanks.” Glancing over, he saw her, pretty and dressed all in white, digging into her sandwich, smiling amidst her munching. Unwrapping the foil, he eagerly stuffed the hamburger in his mouth, relishing in the greasy taste and the sensation of “real food”. The Gods knew; Bill got slop in the service. A hamburger was like a blessing. He finished it quickly, sating his hunger temporarily, and he let out a gracious moan.

“You’re a frakking saint.” He hummed affectionately, closing his eyes contently as he balled the foil and cast it aside.

“Frakking saint.” Laura pondered with an amused grin, “It seems like an oxymoron.”

Bill chuckled, glancing over to her, catching her soft face in the glow of the sunlight, “If sainthood means celibacy…I feel bad for those bastards…”

“I thought you might say something like that.”

She let out a soft laugh, every moment of which, Bill cherished. He watched as she threw away the wrapper of her sandwich, gently wiping her hands against one another, still chewing the remnants of her lunch in small and delicate movements of her mouth. Watching her eat was fascinating. And Bill felt like a complete idiot for thinking so. She cast him a small smile as she recorded –like she always did – the figures and statistics on those machines and monitors beside his bed.

Laura turned to him, her empyreal hair glinting in the bask of the misty sunlight. She smiled wide, “How do you feel?”

Bill moved his torso back and forth, feeling –much to his surprise – very little pain. Granted, there was still some lingering discomfort, but otherwise, he felt better than he had through his entire stay in this makeshift hospital of theirs. He grinned, his laugh mixed with elation and astonishment, “Great, actually. Excellent.”

In his newfound freedom, Bill began to sway back and forth, enjoying his healed abdomen. Laura sighed heavily, smiling with amusement as she watched him, giddy and astounded, bobbing in his bed, bringing her clipboard to her chest.

“Good.” She breathed lightheartedly, “Just in time for your release…”

Bill’s smile immediately evanesced, “My what?” He stopped moving.

“Your release.” Laura responded candidly, smiling softly, “You can’t stay here forever, Bill. And tomorrow you’ll be a free man again; you can get back in the cockpit and back into the war…” There was something plaintive in her delicate smile, as she looked away from his devastated eyes, not restraining his poignant switch of emotion.

“Tomorrow?” Bill exclaimed, “You have to be kidding…”

“Nope.”

“What the hell? I’m not even fully healed yet…”

Laura tilted her head, her warm expression drooping, “Apparently, you’ve healed enough for your superior officers.”

“They ordered for this?”

“They need you.” Laura said quietly, “You’re their best pilot, Bill, what do you expect? They can’t afford to have you out of rotation any longer.”

Bill scowled darkly, glancing down to the sheets, hearing her shift her weight. He knew this day would come, but he hadn’t expected so soon. He hadn’t expected her to be so nonchalant about it; he hadn’t anticipated his own resistance, his blatant outrage against the decision. The cockpit was his sanctuary; it was his temple, and yet he found himself completely distraught at the thought of heading back into the warfront.

He cleared his throat, his eyes flashing accusingly, “You don’t care?”

Bill swallowed tautly, watching as she stood there with her arms crossed protectively over her chest, her profile sharply diverting his piercing gaze. There was a heartrending expression beginning to melt that stoic face of hers. Her eyebrows lifted tenderly, and her pale green eyes screamed of melancholic rebellion. Among those burgundy tendrils that poured over her shoulders, small strands fell adroitly in small fans over certain features of her profile, until much of her was shrouded from the Captain’s probing eyes.

This was affecting her as much as it was affecting him.

“I do care.” Laura murmured, and she didn’t dare say anything else, her voice falling softly back into the air from which it was spawned. She feigned an illusory smile, looking to him with a quiet sadness that she wasn’t about to admit.

Bill returned the hesitant grin, swallowing guiltily, as he let out an uncomfortable, gruff chuckle, “I didn’t expect to care so much…”

“Neither did I.” Laura responded, sinking back down into the chair beside his bed with a heavy sigh. Enigmatic cogitations passed through her irises as she avoided contact with his eyes, ignoring his silent – but thriving – entreaty to her.

Bill would have to speak for both of them.

The Captain unleashed a deep breath and reached out to wrap his hand around hers, paying no attention to her surprised flinch.

The softness of her skin against his calloused hands warmed him to the core. He glanced down at their interlaced hands, fitting so seamlessly together, resting on the mattress. Laura fingers twitched, and almost instinctively, he immersed her hand in the warm embrace of his fingers. And eventually, she relaxed, her hand melding into his, augmenting their awareness of one another in this one act of mutual affection.

Bill stared ahead, with only her delicate fingers intermingling with his as an affirmation of her presence.

Laura cleared her throat softly, and he looked to her, resting his eyes on that lovely face that was so familiar and yet so cryptic, she spoke mellifluously, trying to lighten the mood, “Don’t die on me Bill. Too many people have died on me already…”

Bill’s lips twitched into a small smile, “I won’t.” Laura cast him a gracious smile, before moving her hand out of his, returning her arm to her lap. Bill let her go, and shifted to his bedside table, wrapping his grip around the stems of Bernard’s bouquet, which he had so tactlessly snatched from his hand that morning.

He held them out for her with an optimistic but melancholy grin, “Here. I’m pretty damn sure that these aren’t weeds.”

Laura cast him a grateful gaze, smiling warmly as she received the bouquet. Her eyes traveled over the blooms momentarily, thoughtfully, her fingers caressing the petals hesitantly. The tips of her slender digits danced from each bloom in thoughtless rumination. She submerged her nose in the flowing flowers, her face floating amongst the blooms, a pale face framed by vivid blossoms of violet and saffron. She took in the scent, her shady eyes closing softly; dark lashes melding together amongst the small garden held in her hand; a small smile floated along the flowers, her smile, wide and free.

It was the single most beautiful thing Bill had ever seen. He half expected to witness butterflies flutter away from their shelter in the bouquet, evoked from her mild purr of satisfaction or the opening of her pale green eyes, fitting so perfectly in the scene of the gathered flowers.

She looked up, with an innocent expression and a recovering, loving grin, “These are Bernard’s, aren’t they?”

Bill laughed uneasily, “How did you know?”

“He always gets me the same bouquet…”

“I told you the guy was predictable!”

She hummed softly, lifting her face out of the flowers, “You did.” And her voice abated, dwindling into the silence for a few tentative moments, “Thank you for the flowers, Bill.” She purred quietly, “Even if you did steal them…”

Adama nodded his head, and gave her a small grin, “Anytime, Laura, anytime…”

She set them down in her lap, shaking the dark red tendrils from her face, “So Bernard stopped by, I’m assuming…”

He grimaced, “Yep.”

“What did he say?”

Bill’s eyes lighted, smirking teasingly, “I hear you two kids have got a date tonight…”

“Actually, I had to cancel on him.”

Bill grinned, his smile perhaps too elated, “Why?”

“I have a previous engagement.” She responded curtly.

“With who?” Bill rustled in his bed.

“You.” Laura responded with a grin.

“Me?” Bill smiled devilishly.

“Honestly, you have a short memory.” She said, plucking a flower and tossing it at his face, “I have to take the night shift, remember? How could I possibly tend to you and go out with Bernard at the same time? Common sense, Bill.”

Bill - having dodged the petal-filled projectile - smiled, “Well excuse me…”

Laura picked off another blossom from the bouquet and hurled it at his face, hitting him promptly in the nose. He flinched jumpily and Laura let out a soft giggle, as Bill rummaged for the bloom and threw it right back at her.

“You have a quirky sense of humor.” Bill smiled, dodging another flying flower.

Laura grinned, temporarily dazing him with her gleaming smile, “I’ve been told that…”

“Remind me never to get you flowers again.” Adama chuckled, evading another soaring blossom.

“No.” Laura laughed, “I like them. And look…” She plucked a flower from the bouquet and reached over across the bed, tucking the bloom behind Bill’s ear, “They make everything pretty, even you.”

Adama smiled, his grin almost stupefied, having caught her fragrance, having had her so close to him, her fingers gliding across his ear tenderly, her silken hair brushing against his unshaven face. She leaned back and gave an approving nod, pursing her lips as she stared at the Captain, who looked utterly ridiculous with a bright flower decorating the side of his face. But Bill didn’t care, even if he looked like a pansy, he was too caught up in her jovial smile, beholding her icy shell as it completely melted before his eyes, leaving her even more beautiful and captivating than she was before.

And there was a moment of silence without anything but their staring, and soft smiles, that were drenched with a looming sadness. This was their last day, and their last night. Behind the blanketed façade of society was war and in war, men were dying, every day. And there was a possibility; there was an terror-evoking chance that they would never see one another again after tomorrow…

After Bill’s release, he might never see Laura again for the rest of his life, as long as that would be once he was back in the service…

Hurling flowers, right now, seemed to numb the melancholy and make everything easier to bear…


Ëþäè – ñóùåñòâà ýìîöèîíàëüíûå, ïîäâåðæåííûå ïðåäóáåæäåíèÿì è ïîäòàëêèâàåìûå ãîðäîñòüþ è òùåñëàâèåì.

Îôôëàéí Amanda

  • Ñòàðøèé ÄÐÄ
  • ****
  • Çäåñü ñ: 11:37 – 09.05.08
  • Ñîîáùåíèé: 740
Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #8 : 20:09 – 23.11.08 »
Chapter 7: Say ‘Hello’ to the Rug’s Topography

There she sat, beside his bed, their conversation hushed amidst the slumbering patients; the single lamp beside his bed was the only beacon in the entire gymnasium. Laura came – late – and performed her duties, monitoring him, slipping him a half of a sandwich to make up for his grotesque dinner. She had come, and she did her job, but she didn’t leave; she stayed hours after she should have and she sat with him, her face partially shrouded by the licking umbrage. They spoke of many things, the Captain and his nurse; their conversation evolved from lighthearted banter to somber reminisces to serious discussion concerning war and its politics. They agreed and they disagreed, they debated and they embellished, but both parties were enthralled in each other, and that became heart-breakingly obvious.

As the hours ticked by, so the happiness seemed to dwindle with them, until they were left with only the impending daybreak and the remorse that came with it.

It was midnight, and Laura sat at Bill’s beside, her hands gathered in her lap.

Bill’s cobalt eyes were somber and still, looking to her and those olive eyes that stared so resolutely back at him, “Why were you late tonight?” He asked casually, his gravelly voice drenched in a barren dejection. It echoed in the timbres of both their voices, masked unsuccessfully by their casual tones.

Laura swallowed heavily, looking to her lap, her voice soft and hollow, “Surgery. Dr. Corinth needed extra assistance with one of the patients…he was…” She took a breath, “not doing well…”

“Was…” Bill was having trouble finding his own words, his face lighted amongst the nocturnal umbrage that laid siege on the gym, “Was it one of my men?” He looked to her, face downtrodden, eyes burning with the plea for her to shake her lovely head ‘no’. But alas, she glanced to him with those green eyes, and he knew…it was one of his pilots…

“Who?” He whispered passionately, his teeth clenching slightly in wild and desperate sadness.

She swallowed, her chin crinkling slightly as her face melted into a compassionate expression, “It was…” She paused, meeting his eyes, trying to suppress the insanity that might surface, “Pete, he…”

“No.”

“He was having complications, his organs…” Laura stopped short, watching as Bill’s head dropped, shaking his head mournfully, his shoulders tensing Dark, muffled sounds, he whispered, and Laura could only stare, her eyebrows lifted tenderly with a sorrowful bend of her lips.

“I’m …sorry.” She whispered uncomfortably, eyes shifting to the mattress as she slid her hand across his, hesitant and fragile, “I know he was…your friend. We…did everything we could, Bill.”

It sounded so practiced. It sounded so forced. And she hated herself for it. She diverted her gaze from him as he continued to shake his head, as if trying to shake the reality of Crossover’s death from his mind.

“He,” Bill started to choke out, gruffly, “He was a good man…”

“They all are…” She murmured in response.

Bill’s calloused hands upturned to grasp her smaller hand in his, but he didn’t look at her, still caught in his grief, staring at the sheets. His thoughts came in jumbles. The culpability of Crossover’s death hit him in the heart. Every one of his pilots meant something to him, every one of them was like family, like his own kin. Crossover…he had been with him since the beginning. Bill could still recall their nugget-days, when they were both young high school graduates with no ambition but to get a good living out of the service, for a roof over their heads and a decent pay.

Pete…

“It’s my fault.” He croaked softly, searing a hole into his sheets with his incisive cobalt stare.

Laura shook her head, but Bill stopped her from saying anything in his defense, looking to her with a despondent but firm gaze, stopping her movement instantly.

“It’s my fault.” He reassured her.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Laura sternly spoke up, “If what happened to Pete is anyone’s fault, blame it on someone who deserves it. Blame it on the Cylons.”

“Toasters.” Bill corrected with a crestfallen smirk.

“Toasters.”

There were a few moments of silence, if only for Pete’s sake. And they both, as if pulled by the same marionette strings, looked to their hands in their laps. They swallowed. They looked away, blinking away any emotion in the safe sanction of the shadow. Laura bowed her head, plucking off that ridiculous nurse’s cap from her head and casting it aside with a heavy sigh. Bill stared at it, the small folded fabric drifting into the shadow. He twiddled his thumbs languorously, and glanced to her, a pale profile partially hidden by the night, the lamp casting eerie shadows on her face.

“Laura…” He murmured, catching her attention as she turned to look at him. He smirked blithely, “Got a smoke?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling, “No. I don’t smoke.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t found a purpose to.”

Bill smiled playfully, trying to wash away the gloom that was drenching them, “How about to look sexy?”

Laura’s smile dropped, “Getting cancer is not sexy, Bill. I suggest you kick the habit.” She swallowed deep and looked away, back into nothingness. And Bill’s smirk dropped, instantly remembering what she had told him about her mother. Gods, he could be so painfully stupid sometimes…

“I’m sorry.” Bill apologized sincerely, “I didn’t mean to…”

She turned and gave him a painful smile, lifting her fingers to stop his lips. Laura shook her head, fingertips tenderly resting the Captain’s mouth, “No. You don’t have to apologize.” Her lips twitched slightly as her smile dropped.

Bill felt her fingertips on his lips, their softness awakening his nerves. His heart started to beat faster, staring at those eyes that stared back, just as intimidating, just as steadfast, and just as headstrong. Here they were, sitting in the dark, mulling over the sadness that had overcome them, finding common ground. Finding that they touched each other like they were their deities, like they were their blood, that they were each other’s twin, their perfect opposite: a beautiful and heartfelt passive aggressive romance.

His hand came to remove her fingers from his mouth; he held them close in his hand, cradling them as she closed her eyes in either surrender or rebellion. Bill couldn’t tell. But did it matter?

“I’m gonna miss you, you cold little bookworm…” Bill whispered with a sad laugh.

She grinned, opening her eyes languidly, “I’m going to miss you too, you insufferable jerk…”

Laura let out a crestfallen laugh, a ball forming in her throat, tears beginning to gather in the edges of her eyes. Bill could see the glassy rim, the gem-like twinkle that reflected and refracted the ochre light of the single lamp, and he couldn’t say that he wasn’t gathering moisture in his own eyes. He could cry. He would cry for her, she, who had tears as beautiful as dew drops, as precious as ambrosia, an eternal water that could be shed for sheer joy or utter dejection. Staring at each other, it couldn’t be told, whether they were happy or sad.

Perhaps joviality and gloom were the same now.

Bill’s fingers released her hand, and moved to slide up her cheek, waltzing along that pale skin that he had so longed to touch, that he so loved. He moved in his bed, drawn in by her eyes, hypnotized by such an innocent siren stare, cupping her face with his hesitant and aching hands, watching as that lovely smile spread across her lips, like a gift. Diffidently, Bill’s mind lapsed over as he acted on volition alone. Her eyes mesmerized him as they nodded with her head, permitting him, wanting him with a lovely innocence.

And he leaned in, and she leaned in, and their lips met.

As if a spark burst between their lips as they met, timid and hesitant, they gave into their chained emotions. In the embrace of the dark, they met, seemingly for the first and the last time. Laura’s hands snaked through his obsidian locks, pulling him closer to her, eyelashes fluttered, nails tracing through his follicles, exciting his nerves.

Each mouth was cavern, a cavern that opened up for the other, caves that met and melded in perfect methodical movement. His lips meeting hers, dancing with hers, massaging hers in emblazoned kisses. Bill’s eyes shut tight, seizing handfuls of her burgundy hair, feeling like silk against his war-hardened hands. He tasted her, he touched her; her mouth was like a rare spice, foreign and intoxicating; her perfume drowned him, wafting about their heads like a halo, speaking of things like youth, and peace, wisdom and love.

How could he have found this? How could he have found such a feeling? He felt the skin of her face as she let go of the kiss and fell to his shoulder. Bill held her close, pulling his legs over the edge of the bed, facing her as she clutched onto his back and rested her head at his side. Bill’s eyes were in a haze; he had lost sense of time, with only a gentle voice echoing in his ear, breathless and tempting,

“Come with me.”

And then next thing he knew, there they were, running down the darkened halls of the high school, down nocturnal promenades of lockers. He followed her, his hand in hers as she led him in a spirited run. Laura had discarded her shoes; they ran barefoot, she in a uniform, he in a hospital dress, young and infused with passion. She laughed like a song, flinging them in a dark office, shutting the door. The principal’s office, and here they were, here he was, propping her up on a ledge, slamming her back into the bookshelves behind her as she met his lips with a sorrowful and passionate whimper, wrapping her legs about her waist, those legs of hers, holding him close.

He couldn’t get away even if he wanted to; his dryad had captured him in her tree, her perfect prison, pressed against her, as she leant down, kissing him like a flowing predator. The tips of her nails scraped against his scalp so perfectly, goose bumps rising on his neck as he dug his mouth in hers. Moisture against her cheek, he didn’t know, she didn’t know, whose tears were shed, caught up in their art form, their sculpting. In the dark of the office, the light of Caprica’s luminescent moon lit her peachy skin as his hands traveled up her thighs. He dug the pads of his fingers into the soft flesh, hearing her breath quicken, hearing his pulse pounding in his ears as he gently goaded the uniform to her waist.

Breath. Air.

Anticipation. Savoring.

The buttons at the front of her uniform loosened with each of his fumbling plucks, revealing her, unwrapping her. And by Laura’s smile, which floated along his sweaty forehead, Bill could tell that she wanted to be unfastened. Bill’s teeth dug into his lower lip, his eyes treasuring the sight of her skin as the buttons revealed the ending slope of elegant neck, and then her collarbone, beaded softly with her nectar-like perspiration. Her nails hung onto his shoulders as she let out a deep breath, another button undone. And the source of much of Bill’s temptations was revealed to him: two breasts adorned by dark lace, soft hills of skin spilling out of the lingerie. And Bill felt as if much more sweat began to form on his forehead.

And then, he began to laugh, letting out a hoarse chuckle, plucking at the lace, fingers brushing against her. Bill glanced up to Laura, who looked down at him with a credulous smile.

“Lace?” Bill chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

Laura laughed, gracing him with a full-toothed grin, her hands flowing through his hair; “I’ve been wearing lingerie often…”

“I’ll be damned.” Bill mused with a smile, plucking at the silk again, glancing down at her chest, adding a few more sweat beads to his body, before glancing back up at her, chuckling, “Why?”

Laura smirked, an impish smirk that Bill thought only he could muster to charm. She shook her head lethargically, dark burgundy strands tumbling out of her control, “I’ll tell you one thing, Bill, I haven’t been wearing them for Bernard…”

Bill’s eyes glinted as his smile dropped, and hers did to, not to solemn and grave faces but expressions that were caught, portraits that were emotionless and yet so fervent, the flames of their awoken libido dancing through their eyes. And in a swift movement, Bill, so easily, picked her up, thighs beneath his hands and he held her in his arms, lowering her onto the carpet, letting her lay, hair sprawled about her face like a nimbus. So beautiful; she was so beautiful, and Bill loved her, unclothing the rest of her with tremulous and eager fingers. And she would let out a sigh, a sigh fit for goddesses. It made his senses heighten, as if she were some forbidden substance, that his Laura was contraband.

Bill undressed her, lovingly, as she lay there, complacent, her back on the rug, smiling tenderly. The Captain relished in her sight until she lay there nude, so perfect to him it was as if she were Aphrodite herself, a sculpture of beauty so wonderful that he was convinced that the Gods constructed her with the hands of artists. Laura watched him, carefully, as he slipped off the hospital dress, letting out the slightest giggle at how eager he was, at how easily and quickly he undressed himself.

He was a sight to behold, to Laura, Bill Adama was god, and so handsome, so rough, and so strong that she feared and hoped his muscular torso would crush her. A pilot, so perfect, in his dashing and crooked smile, as he laid his hands by her head and looked over her with affectionate, cobalt eyes, labored and delighted. His breath was quick; her breath was quick, a scent of mingling drifted through the air as they stared at one another.

Where they actually going to go through with this?

This little moment of hesitation.

This little moment of anticipation and affirmation.

And then a thought struck Laura, hard and swift, and her smile washed away, her eyes widening beneath his smiling face. His body seemed to hover over her; he wasn’t touching her at all. Bill was waiting for her. Laura’s lips began to tremble, reality lashing out at her jumbled emotions, her raging hormones, reality severing her for a moment from her Captain, the only man, beside her father, that she was sure that she loved.

“What’s wrong?” Bill asked, knitting his dark eyebrows together, beginning to edge to her side.

“Bill…” She whispered, frightened, bringing her hands to her mouth, her irises quavering as she looked to him, “I…I…”

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Bill smiled knowingly.

She shook her head.

“Laura…” He sighed huskily, grinning affectionately still.

“Oh my Gods,” She sat up quickly, not paying attention to the fine male specimen sitting, nonchalant and nude, at her side, a arm resting over his propped knee, “Bill. What if I get pregnant?” Laura’s eyes widened.

He smiled, eyes twinkling amidst the dark, “You won’t get pregnant.”

Laura shot a look at him, “Well unless you are infertile Mr. Adama…” She looked down, eyes lingering too long on the very clearly hard…She tore her eyes away, swallowing deeply, “I could end up being homeless or a drug addict or…”

Bill chuckled, laying a hand on her bare shoulder, turning her attention to his softened face, “Laura. You are going to have to decide what you want to do. Because,” He glanced down, before looking back up to her with uneasy laugh, “I don’t think I can take it much longer…”

“You’re a man of very strong will, Bill…”

“Thank you.” He whimpered, tearing his eyes away from her nudity, away from her enchanting eyes and that fiery hair, cascading about her shoulders and back gracefully.

Laura smiled, and looked to the carpet; she glanced to the discarded clothes.

Mind, rationale…go away. Just for tonight. Laura’s eyes effulged, I want him. I need him. I love him. And this is my last chance. Who else do I want in the world for this moment?

Looking to him, Laura cleared her throat and he looked to her expectantly, face shadowed with the darkness. Her teeth trailed along her lower lip as she grabbed his neck, and pulled him down, tumbling to the rug.

Deep.

Hazy.

Their bodies entwined, and Bill, his lips to her chest, felt the pressure build at his lower back, the throb, the want; the need as her hands caressed his back in fierce delicacy. At her will, at her breath, at her gasp; Bill found his way into her, between her thighs, inside her. Letting out a low growl, Bill lifted his head from her grasp, she gasped, a beautiful breath that sizzled the sweat on his face. Her chin lifted, her back arched instinctively, the nurse’s breath heavy and heated and loving as she clutched Bill to her, like a lifeline, like lifeblood, like he was her liberator. And in many ways, he was.

Beckon.

Bill dug his face in her hair, moaning into her ear as the pleasure soared, digging his head in that red ocean that he so adored. Handfuls of hair, he moved his lips along her skin, along anywhere he could manage as they pulsed, as he moved, back and forth, metronome. Bill’s lips swayed across her brow, his moan suppressed, his Miserere for ‘Laura’ as he could go no further into her. Laura’s mouth moved silently in quiet moans, breaking his heart, building his heart as she clutched onto his path.

Awaken.

She called out his name, as they continued, fervent, faster. Bill groaned into her, feeling his love beneath his fingertips. It was love’s poetry, their poetry. Fingers soaring along face, lips gliding along sweaty surfaces, toes curling in the ecstasy of it all. There was pleasure in the pain. Waves sweeping over bodies, unfurling nerves, hearts beating fast, blood pumping, tumbling and rolling, meeting the rug’s topography.

Bombs fell from outside, they could here the calamity of the rumble, the cacophony that erupted around their paradise, their union, their last night. The explosions lit the office, ochre gleaming along the moist surfaces of their bodies. Fear was gone from them.

And when their rites had fallen, when the bombs erupted, and they rested, limbs entwined like a single entity. The Captain rested beside his exhausted nurse, who fell so simply into his arms, who he clutched close, catching her fragrance, feeling her taste lingering in his mouth. The bombs went off outside; the foundations were quivering, the death knells, the sirens roared over the chaos. Laura slept, against him, her breath methodical, her eyes shut so peacefully, so serene, hair as red and vivid as the most delectable apple.

Bill was awake, holding her close, arms wrapped about her, lips against her ear. With the calamity of the outside, Adama spoke three words to her, his slumbering nymph, three words that he had never uttered to a single woman but for his mother.

Voice soft, gruff and gravelly, a finger stroking a strand of hair, Bill whispered, murmuring to her, “I love you…”

And by the twitch of Laura’s lips and the crack of a small smile, she gave it back.

War. Funny, how, in war, Bill Adama and Laura Roslin found love. Funny, how such a catastrophe, could bring two souls together. Funny, how war could evoke such ecstasy.

Funny.

But not really.





Chapter 8: Bend and Break

A chanting echoed in his consciousness, a single voice called out to him…

“Bill…”

It was calm, mellifluous, hesitant and mild, a short little whisper that he was sure was coming from his nurse. Groggy and resistant, Bill, feeling his nerves awaken at the thick feel of a carpet beneath his bare flesh, turned over and let out a rebellious groan. Gods, he wanted to sleep. He had gotten maybe only a few hours…the chaos outside was enough to lose a night. After six years of serving in the military, Bill thought that by now he would be able to get a decent night’s shut eye, especially with the calamity outside, but no, he had to be a pansy who couldn’t sleep without complete silence and dark.

Just his luck.

“Bill…Bill…” Soft hands hesitantly pushed his back, and he let out a resistant moan and settled back into a semi-slumbering state.

“Bill…wake up…” Laura ‘s tentative voice echoed, as she gently nudged him.

“No…Idonwanna…” Bill grumbled hoarsely,

“Bill!” Laura pleaded, “Please wake up.”

“No…”

“Gods dammit, Bill! Wake up!” The flick of a pen hit his back, and he moaned with discomfort, fumbling for the pen and flinging it blindly in the direction it came.

He heard her huff, that little frustrated sigh, that cross blow of air, that made him fully aware that she was probably standing there with a hand attached to her hip, shaking her burgundy hair and pursing her lips in vexation. Bill smiled, trying to imagine that she was standing there naked; it almost acted as an incentive to open his eyes. But Gods, he needed sleep, and his abdomen was sore, and he could still smell the fragrance of her sweat and he never wanted to leave this carpet. Even though (his heart sank) he eventually would have to get up.

Today was his release…

“You stupid bastard.” She grumbled, her footsteps sending gentle reverberations through the floor beneath the carpet. Laura was heading to the bookshelf…Bill smiled.

That wonderful, wonderful rug…

And, he, groggy and dazed, only groaned angrily when he felt a book slam into his side. It was a hard hit, right in the ribs, where Laura knew perfectly well was still tender. Clutching his side, he gingerly sat up, running his hand through his hair, shaking off his fatigue, “Gods, I’m up. I’m up.” He yawned, edging open his eyes to see her quickly buttoning up her uniform, “Why did you have to do that?”

“Because you are a stubborn little baby.” Laura responded curtly, stopping her buttoning only halfway up the stark white uniform, much to Bill’s pleasure, before she stooped to the ground and hurled Bill his hospital dress.

He caught it easily, but neglected to put in on as he stood, catching her attention. Bill smirked as he watched her stare, before she shook her head, chastising herself, and went back to buttoning up her uniform, much to Bill’s dismay. Covering up that body had to be a sin. She tried to make herself appear normal; she tried to comb out her unruly hair with her nails. It didn’t work. Her make-up was faded, and yes, she definitely looked as if she had been frakked all night long…and frakked good.

Plus, she was barefoot. Only the Gods knew where her shoes were now.

“So,” Bill said playfully, pulling his hospital dress over his head, popping his head through the neck hole, “how does it feel to be deflowered?”

Laura grinned, “How does it feel to be trapped in puberty for 15 years?” She rebuked fondly.

He laughed in response, swaggering over to her as she watched him with an admonishing smile, pulling her close as he curled his arm about her waist, “You know, I still don’t believe you were a virgin.”

“Believe it.”

He grinned a cocky smile, brushing his unshaven chin along her neck, and he could feel her smile, soft and loving. Her shoulder shifting upward lovingly as he nipped at her ear, “You acted like you were a pro.” Bill laughed lovingly, emerging from her hair to look back at her and her affectionate expression, cradling her waist in his hands, “I almost felt like I was the innocent little girl…”

“Instinct.” Laura cooed.

“Well that’s some instinct you’ve got there.”

“And I must say Mr. Adama, “ She teased coyly, “for a seasoned pro, you were amazingly gentle…timid even…”

She was trying to rile him up. But Bill didn’t react the way she had anticipated, and he pulled her to him as she let out a surprised giggle, planting a brief kiss on her lips.

“Only for you baby.” The Captain murmured playfully.

And Laura, in his arms, smiled demurely as she rested her gaze in the cool embrace of his azure eyes. His smile was hesitant and warm, calloused hands hugging her slender waist. The heat of her hands, resting against his chest, reassured him that she wasn’t some oneiric nymph, that she wasn’t some illusion conjured from his poetic heart. She was real, she was tangible, his Laura Roslin, the harbinger of his dreams.

“When I get back from the war,” He whispered lovingly, staring into those gleaming malachite eyes, “when I get back…” His voice dwindled.

Laura’s head tilted, and she grinned bashfully, delicate fingers brushing his thick, obsidian hair, “What?”

Bill grinned. Gods, I love her.

“When I get back from the war, “ He said, brushing a tendril of burgundy hair from her face, “I’m…I’m going to marry you…”

Laura’s head dropped, as if she were embarrassed, but then she recovered just as quickly, with that enigmatic glint in her somber eyes, a demure smile, shy and wistful as she brushed a lock of his hair, “No you won’t.” She whispered, still smiling that melancholy grin.

“What are you talking about?” Bill pushed gently, determined; he was serious. He wanted to marry her; he wanted her forever, “Of course I will…”

“Liar.” She spoke softly, still smiling, her hand dropping from his hair, brushing against his bucolic, unshaven chin. He looked devastated as he stared to her, smiling quiescently as she spoke, “You’ll forget about me, Bill Adama…we’ll forget about this by the end of the war…”

“Laura…” Bill whispered, “I love you. I’ll love you always…”

“Always,” She murmured back, “And never.”

Bill stared at her drearily, brushing her hair, a hand coming across her cheek, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“How do you know?” Bill pleaded quietly, gripping her hands tenderly, “Tell me, Miss Roslin, how could you know?”

Her viridian eyes quavered, “I don’t.” Laura admitted.

“See? Don’t be so pompous,” He smiled, “Give it a chance, Please, I’ll give it a chance if you do…” His brusque voice, usually so arrogant and urbane, advanced into unspoken desperation, soft, allowing, only for her, as he beseeched her for something that usually was given to him by a girl at default.

Love me.

Please. Love me.

Laura stared at him, the uneasy smile faded from her face, eyes so credulous and bright, staring up at him. She was thinking, she was pondering, he could see it in the iridescent glint of her eyes, so keen, so sharp, so stoic and yet so passionate, eyes of natural ambivalence. He kept her close; he savored her presence, the feel of her in his hands. For once, he faced the overwhelming prospect of losing her; he felt the loss, the pain, and the emptiness deep in that cavity in his heart that only she could fill.

I love you Laura. Love me.

Her upper lip twitched into a smile, and his eyes looked to her expectantly, fearing the worst, feeling the desolation sweep over him. And that was when the Gods gave him a reprieve.

“I think you have a deal Captain.” Laura whispered, “Write to me. I’ll write to you…”

Bill eyes lit up, like a child’s, like a young boy’s at his birthday party, staring upon all his gifts, wrapped up so beautifully, not knowing the treasures lying beneath, only aware that they were all he wanted. He grinned, and she grinned in return as he pulled her deeper into his arms, resting his face on the top her head, chin resting on that soft dark red hair that never tarnished.

“I never did get your number.” Bill said softly.

And she looked up, grinning, “Yes you did.”

His smile dropped, “No, I didn’t.”

Laura pulled away from him, grinning so knowingly, rolling her eyes as she looked to the ceiling, laughing to herself in spite of him.

“What the hell is so funny? I never got your damned number…”

“Yes you did.”

“No, Laura, I didn’t. I think I would have noticed.”

Laura started to laugh, harder.

“What the hell is so funny?”

She grinned, lustrous and wide, “Men really do get stupider as they grow older…”

Bill stood there, dumbfounded. He had absolutely no idea what the hell she was rambling on about.

Laura sauntered toward him, “Do you recall, Captain Adama, getting a number a few days ago?”

“I got a lot of numbers a few days ago…”

“A white one?” She quirked an eyebrow, “A white one signed ‘N.R.’?”

Bill’s eyes widened, “Nursie Roslin…” He murmured in sudden revelation, amidst her taunting giggles.

Gods, I am stupid.

Laura smiled, lifting her arms about his neck, “Gods, I love you Bill Adama. You always make me feel so smart…’ She purred teasingly.

“You always make me feel so stupid.” Bill smiled, his hands around her waist, “But it’s a fair trade off…”

“How do you feel to know I’ve tricked you?” She sang blithely, planting a kiss on his unshaven cheek.

Bill chuckled, raising his eyebrows, “Honestly, I feel like kicking myself in the balls.”

Laura giggled into his ear, towing his neck to her and into a laughter-filled kiss.


*~*~*


They arrived into the gymnasium much later than Laura had wanted. And it became painstakingly obvious, from their unorthodox entrance mostly, that they had spent the night together. Laura was ruffled, okay, more than ruffled, she looked like a maiden involved in an all-night fertility festival and Bill looked smug and proud, with his arm around her waist. Shoeless and beautifully flustered, Laura led Bill to his bed, attracting attention that previous to last night’s encounter, she would have been horrified to receive. The older nurses cast her glares of disapproval and the younger nurses, among which were those twiddling brats in the locker room, gave her gazes of envy and longing. Bill could tell that she didn’t notice any of them, his liberated Laura, who he hugged at his side, murmuring humorous things to evoke more of her laughter.

Sadness and joy, they were the same.

Bill’s sendoff was not how he expected. They stood outside the school, beneath the archways of the entrance, and for once in their time together, Bill was actually dressed in his suit, the same suit he came crashing down to Caprica in. A raptor waited for him and the rest of the ready pilots on the lawn, and he ignored their shouts to him, their jovial little jabs as he stood across from his nurse, his helmet tucked beneath his arm. He was the last to go.

Laura tried to smile, for once in their time together, dressed in civilian clothes, practical clothes with her hair pulled back uncouthly into an untidy ponytail, the ends of which, Bill’s fingers lovingly twirled as he stood across from her, smiling.

“Write to me.” Bill ordered fondly, grinning sadly.

“I will.” Laura smiled, “If you promise to write back…”

“I will.”

“Then I will.”

His lips curved into a sinuous smile, Bill’s chin now freshly shaven. And Laura breathed in deep, beneath the shade of the archways, tucked away from the sun. A smile was ever-present on her face, though he could see the bittersweet undertones etched in her features. He rested his hand along her cheek, and ran his thumb across her jaw-line in a swift and tender stroke, staring at her with latent oceanic eyes.

“If I don’t get blown into a bunch of tiny fragments, “ Bill laughed bitterly, “promise to meet me back here, right here, after the war is over…”

Laura chuckled, ducking her head with a saddened grin, distracted by the increasing number of calls from the other pilots, anxious to get back into the warfront, quick to go to their deaths or their glories, and Laura looked to them and embraced Bill tightly. He took in the embrace, his emotions overriding the calls of his peers; Bill clutched her tightly and buried a kiss on her forehead, his eyes gleaming with the realizations of where he was going, back to the hell, back to death.

She was the one to push him away, giving him a tearful and quick kiss before she ushered him away, off to the Raptor, whose impatient pilot had already fired up the engines. Bill ran across the lawn and to the jeers of his men, who were celebrating their return while their Captain, who had always been so gung-ho, mourned his return to the bloodshed.

Bill watched her, getting smaller and smaller, for as long as he could before he finally turned away.

And he had the feeling that Laura had stood there until the Raptor disappeared from sight.

And he was right.




Chapter 9: The Nurse Who Loved Me

Over the next few months, Bill and Laura wrote back and forth to one another. Amongst the chaos, amidst the horrors of war, Bill Adama, the serving CAG of the Galactica, found sanctuary in Laura’s ever-punctual letters and Laura Roslin, waiting patiently on the surface of Caprica, awaited every one of the Captain’s correspondences with bated breath. There was always the constant worry, the perpetual trepidation that they would lose what they had. But they held true.


*~*~*


Dear Bill,

I don’t know why you ask so much about my life down here. I mean, my little anecdotes must seem so dull compared to yours. As nerve-racking as your stories are, they are at least exciting. I’m still a nurse. Unfortunately. The pay isn’t nearly as good as I expected, it’ll take me some time to be able to afford school, what with the rent of my apartment, food, and all the little things. But otherwise, I’m doing fine, missing you terribly, but otherwise, pretty decent. I ended it with Bernard (of course). I could tell he suspected it had something to do with you, but I told him that I wasn’t ready for a relationship. We’re still friends. And really, we are. Bernard was actually pretty relieved that I broke up with him. He’s with a new girl now, Alice, and he seems far more comfortable with her than he ever was with me. I’m happy for him.

Bernard introduced me to the rest of his family, the Adars. I met his cousin Richard and his two stepsisters, Natalie and Hannah. They’re a very nice family, and they’ve taken very well to me…inviting me to events and holidays. It feels good to have those sorts of connections again…even if they aren’t really my flesh and blood and even though I feel like a leech attending every polite invitation they throw my way. But, despite that, I’ve been longing to see you again. It’s driving me insane. You’re still insufferable even when you’re so far away, but, in a much better way now than before.

Gods, I have so little to write other than how much I’m absolutely desolate without you. Interesting, huh? It doesn’t help that I’m thinking of you every time I see a carpet. Why don’t you blast the rest of those Toasters out of the sky already? It’s been too long. And it’s been too long since I had sex with you Bill, and if that’s not some sort of incentive to get you to kick it up a notch then I have no idea what I can do. Boring you with these letters must have you second-guessing whether you still love me or not. I’ve bored you out of love!

Gods, you’re probably asleep by now, Bill. I know, I am. But then again, it’s one in the morning and I’m only operating on three cups of coffee and a sappy movie on television. Come home soon Bill, or else I’m going to rip out my hair.

- - The Nurse Who Loves You


*~*~*


(A Few Letters Later…)



Dear Laura,

It’s been so frakking long since I’ve had some free time to write you back. I feel like an idiot, and I’m sorry. But, what can I say? A lot has happened. I’m sure you’ve already heard about our success the other day. We took out a whole frakking Basestar. It was amazing. They, as crazy as this sounds, do seem to be getting smarter. I know, they’re just machines…but you should see it out there Laura. They’re developing tactics; they’re attempting to use our own plans against us. It’s insane. We actually had a few centurions try to board the ship the other day. Don’t worry, they didn’t get in and everything seems to be in order. We held a short ceremony for Pete and the others last week, It’s been a few months since they died, but we haven’t had a lot of time. We’re taking every second of calm that we get. Some of this chaos is driving people crazy, we’ve already had to detain a few loons. And a few of the techies committed suicide already. Your letters are what keep me going. Though, the mail is so damn slow. Strike that, it’s not the letters that keep me going, it’s you. And I feel like such a pansy for writing it, but it’s true. I love you, and the promise of you after this hell is what I’m living for.

I landed myself in the hospital again. I got myself in an accident. The Toasters somehow got a bomb inside the Battlestar and they planted it on the deck, I got caught in the crossfire when it exploded, parts of a viper caught me in the face. I got wrecked up pretty bad. The doc says I’ll be fine, but the shrapnel’s gonna cause permanent scarring on my face. So I’ll look like a rougher guy when you see me next. Gods, it hurt, but hell, these scars will give me character.

When the war’s over, we’re gonna use my pay to get you into that damned school of yours. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get a decent job. The more I think about it, the more I’m really kinda getting used to the idea of settling down. The guys think I’ve gone nuts. But I told them about you, told them I’ve got a girl now. They seem to be getting used to idea of me laying down my party days too. We’ll get a place, we’ll settle down. Life’s gonna be good, Laura, you’ll see…after the war, after we get on our feet.

I miss you, I really do, and I hope you realize that when I come home I’m gonna have to make up for lost times. In other words, I’m gonna want to frak you, and frak you good. Haha, I’ll prepare to be scolded for that one. I’m gonna have to wait until we blast the rest of those frakking Toasters into space dust.

- - The Pilot Who Loves You


*~*~*


(Many Letters and One Year Later…)


Dear Bill,

You’ll never believe this, but I’m going to be attending the University next fall! Bernard’s family offered to pay full tuition. Of course, I declined politely but they insisted. I can’t even believe it. Apparently, Bernard coaxed them into it. I don’t know why they agreed, but money is no object for them it seems. They are an influential family. I never realized it before; I had only met Bernard’s parents once before.

I’m going to be attending with Bernard’s cousin, Richard. He’s aspiring to go into politics. And though I’m going there for an entirely different reason, it will be nice to know someone before hand. Bernard decided to go to Tauron’s university with Alice. He also decided against teaching, and wants to become a biologist with Alice. You were right; he is a bit wishy-washy. I’m so happy, Bill. It would only be better if you were down here with me.

I hear the war is dwindling down, the papers are buzzing about it. More people are coming out of their houses. Everything seems to be returning back to normal down here. I hope everything is progressing relatively smooth up there. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve just sat outside looking up at the sky. I miss you terribly; I can hardly stand it. Happy twenty-sixth birthday, by the way! I don’t know when this will eventually reach you, so consider it belated if this arrives a few days late, which (knowing the mail service) it probably will.

They finally held a service for Pete here. One year since his death, and they hold a funeral now. I suppose war has that adverse affect. There wasn’t a viewing. That would be grotesque after all, so they had to bury an empty casket. Pete’s parents approached me. They had no idea who I was, and it’s understandable that they would want to know what a strange girl was doing their son’s funeral. They seemed very collected, having had one year to mourn, though his mother was tearful. I couldn’t tell them I was a nurse who operated on him in his last hours, so I told them that I was your fiancée. I hope you don’t mind. They seemed rather taken aback. Your reputation for being a playboy exceeds you Bill. But, regardless, it was a beautiful service.

I’m sending a few pictures. And don’t get your hopes up Bill; they are very civil. It’s mostly some snapshots of the Adars and I at a family gathering on the beach. I still can’t believe they’re so inviting of me. They’ve become my surrogate family. Hopefully, someday I’ll be able to repay them for what they’ve done for me.

I miss you Bill, and I love you, and I hope you come home soon. I hope this damned war ends once and for all. It’s so surreal to think that I haven’t seen you for over a year, it’s so amazing that I’m celebrating your birthday. We should be spending it together. Hopefully, when you come home it won’t be so far off that we can still do something to redeem all this missed time.

- - The Nurse Who Loves You


*~*~*


Another year passed. The war was coming to an end. Laura went to attend to the university with Richard Adar, and Bill, up on the Galactica, was beginning to face the most terrifying moments of the entire war. The Cylons finally boarded the Battlestar, and though they were able to suppress the force, it left a mark on Bill and he became profoundly humble. It was the last week of the war. And over the last two months, the mail service had been less reliable than expected. Letters between the two lovers were lost, partial messages were received at either end. And by a cruel twist of fate, both Laura Roslin and Bill Adama assumed, foolishly, that they other had moved on from their youthful and heart-felt dalliance.

In earlier letters, they had agreed to meet at the high school where they met, as soon as the war was over, at the anniversary of Bill’s arrival there the first time they met. They had agreed, and they had planned to marry. But on that day, neither one went. And both parties were heartbroken, all due to misunderstanding and the negligence of Caprica’s mail service.

It had ended.

Laura eventually finished college, and soon after, obtained a teaching job at a private elementary school. In her early thirties, Laura received a prestigious award for her excellence in teaching, and at the ceremonial event, became reacquainted with her peer, Bernard’s cousin, Richard Adar. He, who had always been rather taken with her, invited her to assist him in his mayoral campaign. And Laura, who had always wanted to repay the Adars for their kindness to her, agreed.

Bill eventually married a woman named Caroline, and had two children with her. He continued to fly for the military. Though, through a bad run of luck, and the eventual end of his ill-fated marriage, was reduced to working as a mere peon on one of the barges in Caprica’s fleet.

Despite the fact that Richard Adar was married and was the father of two children, he became the catalyst that coaxed his and Laura’s friendship far further. And while he cleaned up Caprica City and portrayed himself as a “family man” of sorts, behind the scenes he indulged in Laura, who became his illicit mistress and would remain so for many years, despite the personal ramifications that would take their toll on her.

She heard very little of Bill Adama, and began to think of him less and less, until he moved to the back of her mind, his memory arising every so often. Laura still loved him, despite how stupid she felt for doing so.

And though she heard hardly anything of Adama, Bill, however, was not so fortunate, Due to Laura’s more public appearance, he occasionally saw her in the paper, next to Bernard’s cousin, who had become a pretentious beaurocrat. The first time he saw her in the newspaper, he had sputtered out his coffee. But as time passed, he expected to see her, each time, noticing involuntarily, how she had changed, how beautiful she still was, mentally kicking himself for still having those pictures that she had sent him when he was in the war.

Many years passed and Bill re-married to a woman named Anne. His fatherly skills left much to be desired, and he and Caroline hardly spoke, and in turn, he hardly spoke to his two sons: Lee and Zachary. Anne’s parents were well connected and they assisted Bill in getting back into the military at the rank of Major. In turn, Bill helped his peer, Saul Tigh, in returning to the force as a Captain.

Bill eventually became the Commander of his old ship, the Galactica, with Saul Tigh, now a Colonel, as his Executive Officer.

Elections began. Bill saw more of Laura in the papers than he wanted to, right at the side of that prick, Richard Adar, as he ran for the Presidency.

Adama voted for the other guy.

The Commander goaded both of his sons into the military. Zachary met his death in a flight accident, and Lee, Bill’s other son, severed all ties to his father. Lee had always taken his mother’s side.

Richard Adar was sworn in. And eventually, Laura became Secretary of Education for the government.

And when he saw the article in the Caprican Times, Bill only thought one thing, watching her smiling in that still photograph…

I’ll be damned…She’s made a good life for herself.

And he was happy for her.


*~*~*


This was the last time he was going to be down here for a while, and though he tried to enjoy his last day on the surface of Caprica, Commander Bill Adama found himself rather ambivalent to the idea. There were so many memories here, so many people, strangers and chaos that were only balanced by uneasy order. At one time, he was fond of this planet, this city, at one time he was adamant about returning, about taking his vacations from the cold bitterness of space to bask in the warm Caprican sunlight. But all that was left here for him were memories, the bad ones far outweighing the good. He didn’t have anything left for him here, and Gods, he knew it.

Zak was dead. Lee and Caroline hardly spoke to him. After the nasty divorce with Anne, she hadn’t spoken to him in years. His house was barren, the mementos few. He didn’t have anything left for him to stick around to enjoy. As much as he hated to admit it, he, driving in his car, thought of her too, his nurse, perhaps the only woman he could truly say he’d always love. In the months leading up to each divorce, he thought of her constantly, thinking of a life with her while drinking himself to a comatose state.

It was foolish. And he felt like such a damn bastard for thinking about her so constantly. It was useless.

Give it up old man. He had often chanted to himself. Just give it up.

A utopia with Laura had long passed.

His eyes to the road, he drove with a mind only half focused. Those deep cerulean eyes were lost in some form of absentminded reverie. Bill never could quite be sure whether it was some sort of lapse of insanity or whether it was just because he was getting old. He liked to think it was the latter. Retirement was only a year or two away. He’d miss the service. Maybe he’d move to Virgon, he heard the summers and winters were mild there, spring all year round.

Spring had always been his favorite season.

He had good memories in spring.

Languidly, he slowed, stopping at the appropriate sign. The road was nearly barren. It was early in the morning, the sun had only just peaked over the horizon, creating beautiful, opalescent hues across the puerperal sky, the amethyst streaks of night gently fading away with the herald of the rising star. Bill didn’t notice, but he lingered at that stop sign for more than he ought to. There he was, at the front campus of that high school, that high school where he had landed himself nearly thirty-six years ago. Gods, that was a long time ago.

I’ll never forget her. I’ll always love her…

Bill stepped on the gas, tearing his gaze away from the school.

I’ll never forget The Nurse Who Loved Me…


*~*~*


Adama had no idea that in two years time, war would strike again, that the armistice would be broken.

War had brought them together once, and it would bring them together once more.

Captain and Nurse.

Commander and Secretary.

Admiral and President.

And, by the will of the Gods, they would eventually find themselves falling in love with one another all over again.

That pilot and the nurse who loved him…


*~FIN~*


P.S.: äà ïðîñòÿò ìåíÿ ìîäåðàòîðû, ÷òî âñå íå îäíèì ïîñòîì :-\



Ëþäè – ñóùåñòâà ýìîöèîíàëüíûå, ïîäâåðæåííûå ïðåäóáåæäåíèÿì è ïîäòàëêèâàåìûå ãîðäîñòüþ è òùåñëàâèåì.

Îôôëàéí Hiver

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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #9 : 22:46 – 23.11.08 »
Ìíîãà áóêàôô ;D
Ñïàñèáî, áóäåò ÷åì çàíÿòü áëèæàéøóþ áåññîííóþ íî÷ü èëè òîñêëèâûé îäèíîêèé âå÷åðîê. :)
Everyone lies... but I want to believe.

Èç äâóõ çîë ÿ âñåãäà âûáèðàþ òî, êîòîðîãî ðàíüøå íå ïðîáîâàëà. 

Îôôëàéí Shistik

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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #10 : 00:28 – 24.11.08 »
ãûãûê øî æ âû òàì âñå òàêèå íåçàðåãåííûå)) êñòàòè, åñòü ëàçåéêà è áåç ðåãè â òàêèõ ôèãíÿõ ðûòüñÿ - ãëàâíîå îòêðûòü ôîðóì â äèçàéíå CSSZen
òîãäà ìîæíî ïî ññûëêàì íà ïå÷àòíûé âèä õîäèòü))
Ïîëèòèêà ïàðòèè:


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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #11 : 07:43 – 24.11.08 »
Îáèæàåøü, ÿ òàì äàâíî çàðåãèíà, íî îí ìåíÿ ïî òâîåé ññûëè âñå ðàâíî íå ïóñòèë. Çàòî, êîãäà ÿ çàøëà òàêñêçàòü "ñ òîðöà", òî âñå ïðåêðàñíî îòêðûëîñü ;D
Ëþäè – ñóùåñòâà ýìîöèîíàëüíûå, ïîäâåðæåííûå ïðåäóáåæäåíèÿì è ïîäòàëêèâàåìûå ãîðäîñòüþ è òùåñëàâèåì.

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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #12 : 11:39 – 24.11.08 »
Äà è ÿ òàì òîæå çàðåãèíà, íî òâîÿ ññûëêà áåëååò ïî ïðåæíåìó, òàê ÷òî õîðîøî, ÷òî  âûëîæèëè ñþäà -  ìîæåò íå òîëüêî ìû çàõîòèì îçíàêîìèòüñÿ)
« Ïîñëåäíåå ðåäàêòèðîâàíèå: 11:41 – 24.11.08 îò Umka »
Fere libenter homines id quod volunt credunt. Julius Caesar, De Bello Gallico 3.18 /Ëþäè îáû÷íî îõîòíåå âåðÿò òîìó, âî ÷òî îíè æåëàþò âåðèòü/

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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #13 : 04:58 – 25.11.08 »
êîðî÷å, ðàç òóò îôèöèàëüíàÿ ôëóäèëüíÿ, òî íå áóì çàìóñîðèâàòü âñå îñòàëüíîå è çàêèíåì ÝÒÎ ñþäà...

â îáùåì, äåëàòü áûëî íå÷åãî, äåëî áûëî ê âå÷åðó (òî÷íåå óæå ê óòðó) èëè ìÿ ïîíåñëî (êðàòêîå èçëîæåíèå ÷åïóõè ìîåé ëè÷íîé ïî ïðîñìîòðåííîé ïðîìêå):

Ëîðó îòïðàâëÿþò íà áàçîâûé êîðàáëü ñàéëîíîâ ïî êàêîé-òî âûäóìàííîé ïðè÷èíå, à íà ñàìîì äåëå èç-çà åå ñàéëîíñòâà.
Òåì âðåìåíåì íà ôëîòå Çàðåê îðãàíèçóåò ïåðåâîðîò, õâàòàþò Áèëëà îãðîìíîé òîëïîé âðûâàÿñü â åãî êàþòó è, ñïåëåíàâ ñïÿùåãî áðàâîãî àäìèðàëà, òàùóò åãî â øëþç äëÿ óñòðàøåíèÿ è âîñïèòàíèÿ. Ïî äîðîãå ëîâÿò Ëè, êîòîðîãî çà ðåøåòêó, à ïîòîì åãî ïûòàþòñÿ çàäóøèòü, ïîòîìó êàê èáî íåôèã ïàïêó òðÿïíè÷åñòâîì ïîçîðèòü!
Áèëë ñ ïîìîùüþ Òàÿ, Òèðîëà è Êàðû âûðûâàåòñÿ èç-çà ñòåíîê è èäåò ìñòèòü çà ñâîþ ìîëîäîñòü è ïîðóãàííóþ ÷åñòü îôèöåðà êîëîíèàëüíîãî ôëîòà. Ïî äîðîãå, ìåæäó äåëîì, âûòàñêèâàþò Ëè èç òàê ïîëþáèâøåìñÿ òîìó ðåøåòîê è ðàññòðåëèâàÿ âñåõ åùå øåâåëÿùèõñÿ ãîðäîé òîëïîé èäóò ïî íàïðàâëåíèþ íà ìîñòèê, ãäå óæå ñîáðàâ ïîä ñâîè çíàìåíà åùå íå õèëóþ ãîðñòêó ëþäåé è ñäåëàâ Ãàåòó çàñëàíöåì ê Çàðåêó (ïîáîëòàé ñ íèì, ó òÿ âñåãäà ñ ìóæèêàìè ãîâîðèòü õîðîøî ïîëó÷àëîñü) âîçâðàùàþò óïðàâëåíèå õîòÿ áû Ãàëàêòèêîé è ïðèáèâ âñåõ íå ñîãëàñíûõ, Áèëë è êîìàíäà ðåøàþò âåðíóòü ñâîåãî íåíàãëÿäíîãî ïðåçèäåíòà, çàòàùèâøåãî èõ íåâåñòü êóäà è ïðåäúÿâó äåëàþò ñàéëîíàì...
ÄèÀíà, âèäÿ êàêàÿ óæå èãðà ïîøëà, ïîñûëàåò âñå íàôèã (âêëþ÷àÿ Ëîðó) óáåãàåò íà ïðîïîâåäü ê Áàëòàðó.
Ëîðà, ïðåäîñòàâëåííàÿ ñàìà ñåáå íà ðàïòîðå ïðèëåòàåò îáðàòíî ê ñâîåìó íåíàãëÿäíîìó àäìèðàëü÷èêó, à âûøå óïîìÿíóòûé àäìèðàëü÷èê õâàòàåò òåëüöå âíîâü ïðèáûâøåå â îõàïêó è çàöåëîâûâàåò îò è äî....

âîòüüü...
« Ïîñëåäíåå ðåäàêòèðîâàíèå: 23:37 – 25.11.08 îò Twill »

Îôôëàéí Ceres

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    Çäåñü ñ: 04:25 – 10.04.08
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Re: Ãàëàêòè÷åñêèé ôëóä
« Îòâåò #14 : 05:10 – 25.11.08 »
êîðî÷å, ðàç òóò îôèöèàëüíàÿ ôëóäèëüíÿ, òî íå áóì çàìóñîðèâàòü âñå îñòàëüíîå è çàêèíåì ÝÒÎ ñþäà...
Òàê, ïî òðåáîâàíèÿì îáùåñòâåííîñòè â ëèöå àâòîðà.
È âñ¸ ðàâíî ÿ íå âåðþ, ÷òî ÄèÀííà â 409 ïóãàëà áû Ëîðó ñàéëîíñòâîì, áóäü îíî íà ñàìîì äåëå òàê (À òî ìàëü÷èê òîæå êðè÷àë "Âîëê"...). Ýòî ðàç. Ïÿòûé ñàéëîí, ýòî ñåé÷àñ ó ÄèÀííû íàèëó÷øàÿ ãàðàíòèÿ áåçîïàñíîñòè. Ïîòîìó ÷òî ÿäåðíûå áîåãîëîâêè ýòî õîðîøî, íî ëþäÿì îíà íóæíà èìåííî èç-çà ñâîåé èíôîðìèðîâàííîñòè. Òàê ÷òî òóò ÿ õî÷ó ïðè÷èíó, ïî êîòîðîé Òðîéêà ðåøèëà ñ ýòèì êîçûðåì ðàññòàòüñÿ. Ýòî äâà. Ãåéòó âðîäå Çàðåê íà ÷òî-òî ñïîäâèãíóë èëè ïîïûòàëñÿ ñïîäâèãíóòü, íî Ãåéòà ïîñëåäñòâèÿ ýòîãî íå îöåíèë... Íàäî ðàñêðûòü òåìó? Ýòî òðè. ß À/Ð øèïïåð íåèñïðàâèìûé. Ýòî ÷åòûðå. À âîîáùå, òóò íàäî äóìàòü, ýòî íå êî ìíå. Ïÿòü.
« Ïîñëåäíåå ðåäàêòèðîâàíèå: 12:23 – 25.11.08 îò Umka »
Âñ¸ íà÷í¸òñÿ, ìèð êà÷í¸òñÿ ïî-èíîìó
Ñíåã, ðàñòàÿâ, ïåðåêèíåòñÿ äîæä¸ì…
È çàêàò ïîãàñíåò ñíîâà,
È ðàññâåò ðîäèòñÿ íîâûé
Òàì, ãäå ñîëíöå óáåæèò çà îêî¸ì.
Íè÷åãî íå èñ÷åçàåò â ýòîì ñâåòå,
À íåìûñëèìîå ìû ïåðåæèâ¸ì…
Íàä ìîðÿìè äóåò âåòåð,
È ïîä óòðî çâ¸çäû ñâåòÿò
Òàì, ãäå ñîëíöå óáåæèò çà îêî¸ì