Work Text:
Bill Adama gives a crisp nod as the last of the assembled crowd makes their way from the hangar bay, feeling his tight smile begin to slip as he folds into a chair with a heavy sigh. The ceremony had lasted far longer than he’d wished – far longer than he’d hoped - though he had forced himself to play the expected role of the decorated leader, pacing circuits of the room to interact with both his crew and the various dignitaries. Now, in the muted silence, he fingers the sleek crimson ribbon that adorns his neck, feels the oppressive weight of the solid metal as it looms at his chest, and allows another long exhale to shudder from his body.
“Oh, come on,” an amused voice announces from his left. “It wasn’t as bad as all that.”
He blinks up at Laura Roslin as she approaches, mouth curved in a teasing smile as she takes a seat at his side. He’s felt her eyes on him all evening, even as he’s made a point of ignoring her, and it doesn’t surprise him in the least that she’s made the decision to linger in the wake of the formalities.
He grunts. “I hope you’re happy.”
“Do you know what, Admiral? I think I am.”
“Was it the morale-boost you were hoping for?”
“I’d say so – wouldn’t you?”
He shrugs a reluctant broad shoulder. “A successful mission, then.”
“Always the soldier.” She raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t a mission.”
“It was manufactured to suit an agenda.”
She snorts. “Hardly.”
“What would you call it?”
“Well, granted, I didn’t give you a lot of choice. But my only agenda was to provide you with some sort of absolution. Even if I think it’s wholly unnecessary.” She pauses when he fails to respond. “And I think the people needed it. Needed to see your long service recognised.”
He allows her words to fall into the stillness, feels the omnipresent tightening of guilt in his chest like a vice. “They think I’m something I’m not.”
“Of course they don’t.” She blows out a gentle breath. “They know exactly who you are. And so do I.”
“Bulldog thought he knew me too. And I threw him to the wolves.”
“You made an impossible call to try and preserve a mission. Orders that came from the top echelons of the military and that you had no choice but to obey.”
“Following orders isn’t the problem.” His tone is bitter, the taste of the words sour on his tongue. “But the fallout from those orders caused the deaths of billions of people. Those are the facts.”
“And you wouldn’t be human if that didn’t have an effect on you.” She ghosts a hand across his arm. “I’m not saying don’t ruminate on it. I’m just….”
“I’m responsible for all of it….”
“Stop.” She raises a palm. “We’re not going through this again.”
“This is a farce.” He all but tears the medal from his neck, tosses it onto the empty chair next to him. “You should’ve let me resign.”
“Not a chance. I’m not doing this without you.”
His head whips round at the dogged insistence in her tone. “You’d do just as well with Lee.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’d do just fine. But he’s not you.”
He blows out a ragged breath. “Laura….”
“I told you – if you insist on paying a penance then you have to carry on. Be the leader they know you are.”
Stand up there and let me pin a frakkin’ medal to your chest…. “If people knew the truth they’d be baying for my blood.”
“The truth isn’t an absolute. We both know that.”
“Spoken like a true politician.”
He can’t help the accusatory tone and she sighs again, crosses one slender leg over the other towards him and folds her hands in her lap. “You’re the leader we need. That’s as much truth as anyone in this fleet needs to know.”
“There’s no integrity in a leader who doesn’t face the consequences for his actions.”
“That’s self-indulgent crap. You’re no more single-handedly responsible for this war than any of us.”
“With respect, Madam President….”
She gives a firm shake of her head to cut him off, auburn tresses tumbling. “And your personal guilt over it is more than enough of a consequence.”
He flickers a glance towards her. “Is it?”
“As I understand it, Black Ops means strictly classified. If you wouldn’t reveal sensitive information about an equivalent mission to your subordinates or the general public, why would you for this one?”
“Because it caused all of this. I owe them that transparency because all of their lives have been shattered by it.”
“All you owe them is the best of your abilities as the Admiral of the fleet. And that’s what you give them. Every day.” She gestures around the empty room. “That’s what all this was about – acknowledging and celebrating your selfless service.”
“And I appreciate the sentiment. I’m just not sure it’s deserved.”
“Bill,” she commands after a beat, tone soft but resolute. “Look at me.”
He obeys, absorbs the sincerity written into every line of her elegant face, watches the ready compassion flood her deep emerald eyes.
“You’ve held onto this for three years. That’s long enough.”
“It’s my prerogative.” He frowns. “There’s no statute of limitations on something like this.”
“I know. Don’t think I’m being insensitive to it.”
“I know you’re not.”
“And I know that I can’t understand – not entirely.” She shifts towards him, empathetic eyes searching his. “But you need to let it go.”
“I will.” His sigh is weighty and dark. “In my own time.”
“Otherwise it’ll become a noose around your neck.”
He raises an eyebrow, gestures to the discarded medal. “Already have one of those.”
“Funny.” She hums a small laugh and he feels it begin to thaw the sharp ice that gnaws at his gut.
He smiles for a brief moment then sobers again. “I need to get this straight in my head, Laura.”
“I know you do.”
“And in my own way.”
She holds up her hand, silver bangle slipping further down her wrist. “I won’t interfere. But the blame needs to stop.”
“Can’t make any promises.”
“Hm,” she teases, pretends to consider. “Guess I might have to make it an order.”
“Not sure even the president has that kind of power.”
“Well, I do regularly get called a fascist, so….”
He grunts a chuckle as she shrugs, eyes shining as she stretches across him to retrieve the abandoned medal. He catches the faint fragrance of her perfume as she moves, and inhales as subtly as he can, lingering over the scent that’s so uniquely her it makes him ache. She stands, gestures for him to follow suit, and he feels his breath catch as she steps closer. She smiles as she stretches to loop the ribbon over his neck once more, fingers brushing the nape of his neck, and she smooths the satin across his lapels, adjusts the medallion so it sits flush against his chest.
“Better,” she remarks as she surveys her handiwork, surprising him when she remains close, small palms flat against his dress greys.
“Take your word for it,” he murmurs, trying to read her as she continues to smile at him, and he’s aware of the pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat.
Her smile broadens, dazzling him, and he’s floored when she tugs him towards her and touches her lips to his. It’s no more than a gentle brushing of her mouth, and she withdraws before he can react, though he has the presence of mind to catch her elbow to prevent her moving away completely. In a rush, he’s transported back to another, similar time – when she’d pressed a velvet box into his hand and he’d been unable to prevent himself from kissing her, overcome with the reality of her impending death, of his deepening and conflicted feelings.
He looks at her now, absorbs the warmth in her expression, and he strokes his fingers across her elbow, encouraging her closer as his hands slide to her hips. “Laura…”
“Sorry,” she laughs, light and silvery. “Spur of the moment thing.”
“You might have tried leading with that.”
Her laugh is intoxicating and she traces tiny circles across his chest. “You’d have stopped listening.”
“True.” He draws a breath, a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in a long time beginning to settle around his shoulders. “Thank you.”
She quirks an eyebrow, mirth sparkling across her eyes. “For kissing you?”
“For kicking my ass.”
She laughs again. “Always here for that.”
He grins, bends to slant his lips to hers again, groans as she unexpectedly opens her mouth, as he tastes her tongue for the first time. They kiss languidly, exploring each other’s mouths, slow heat building into a delicious intensity of sensation that has them both panting as they separate to breathe. He presses his forehead to hers, cups her face in large palms as she grips the front of his uniform.
“Well,” she murmurs, shivering as he strokes his thumbs across her cheeks. “That escalated quickly.”
“Yeah,” he grunts in assent. “Do you mind?”
“Are you kidding?”
He feels his smile broaden, brushes another brief kiss to her mouth before releasing her, gratified as she flushes a delightful rose and inhales a restorative breath. He watches as she recovers herself, wills his own pulse to slow even as he wrestles a strong instinct to pull her back in, to learn every inch of her. After a few moments they’re both more composed and she inclines her head towards the door, though her expression is reluctant.
“Think about what I said,” she tells him, as she begins to walk and he falls into step beside her. “About letting go.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know that. But the fleet needs you focussed on the present, Bill – not tying yourself in knots over the past.”
“Noted.”
She turns to face him, hand atop his chest once more. “And I’m here if you...If you need….”
“If I need my ass kicking some more?”
She smiles. “Something like that.”
“Thank you.” He draws her towards him again, grazes his mouth to her cheek, warmth seeping into his bones as she rubs his arm. “See you at oh-eight-thirty?”
She nods, takes a tiny step closer, slender fingers straightening the ribbon around his neck anew before she catches herself. “You’re first on my list.”
As you’re on mine. Always…. “I’ll see you then.”
She drops her hand to caress his, thumb brushing his knuckles, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from pulling her into him, from wrapping his arms around her back and crashing his mouth to hers. She seems to sense it and he hears her tiny gasp, tightens her grip on his fingers for a brief moment before withdrawing.
“Good night,” she almost purrs, and he bites back a growl.
“Madam President.”
He watches as she steps across the threshold and into the purview of her Marine guards, turning her head to flash him one last smile before beginning her steady stride away. He releases a pent-up breath and leans back against the bulkhead, mind tumbling backwards across their interaction. He’s grateful for her firm insistence on his self-forgiveness, the unwavering quiet of her support - and though the thought of releasing himself completely from his past actions is disquieting, he feels a definite lightness pervade his senses compared to recent times. Gods-dammit if she’s not a frakkin’ balm, he thinks with a fond smile, stepping from the hangar bay and turning to head for his quarters. In every sense of the word.
FIN