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misscamAgain, and Always
(or Five Last Times for Bill and Laura and One First)
by Camilla Sandman
Summary: She hums at the back of her throat and his heart seems to hum with it. Laura. Laura again, and always. [Adama/Roslin]
Rating: Teen. Some non-explicit naughtiness.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.
Author's Note: Spoilers up to Daybreak, with a few scenes of what might have happened next. If I was allowed to write it, anyway. Utter sap in parts. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyricalviolet for beta.
II
Laura exhales, her fingers still against his chest as the heat seems to rush to her face, almost burning his palm to her cheek. He just watches, his other hand steadying her back as her head tilts slightly backwards and her body shudders.
Yes, he thinks, and when she presses down and kisses him at the same time, it's his body that can't hold on to control anymore and she who watches him.
She falls asleep not long after, head on his shoulder and breasts still naked against his side. He covers both as best he can, stilling her hand across his chest when it shakes a little.
He has noticed. He knows what she's not telling him yet, what he'll refuse to see and can only acknowledge in the dark of night, like now.
She's getting worse, and the only worse from dying is dead. Every day is one day closer to the eventuality, and he knows, for all he tries not to.
The last time Bill sleeps with Laura, he wants it to never be morning.
II
He stands for the longest time just watching her, back in the bed he never wished to see her in again, monitors telling him her heart is still beating.
Collapsed. In his quarters, just as Galactica took a hole and Boomer took Hera. Laura has told him of her 'visions', and he wonders at the timing.
"You gave us all a scare," he tells her, touching her hand and feeling it still warm. She won't wake up yet, Doc Cottle has told him. When she does, he will be here. With a book. They still haven't read Sun Chase, and he knows she'll love it.
"I'll be back later," he says softly, as much to himself as her. He will be. She's not dying, there are too many books they haven't read together still left.
The last book Bill starts reading to Laura, he'll never finish.
II
"I'll be helping with the wounded," Laura tells him, and he nods slightly, wondering if he'll fear more for her there or in CIC with him. It doesn't really matter. Her decision, not his and that matters.
He just...
"I love you," he says, and she looks up at him.
He knows he doesn't say the words often, but he thinks he must be telling her every time he just looks at her. He must be, because she just smiles knowingly at the words.
"About right," she says softly, and her kiss is gentle. It is enough to feel light for a moment, as it's always been. They share burdens, but their moments shared can still be strangely weightless.
"I'll see you after," she says, touching his hand. He nods again, stepping away reluctantly and turning to head to CIC.
"Bill?"
He turns; she is smiling at him with so much love he can only watch and feel breathless.
"I will see you after," she says, her voice so strong with the will of her. "I love you."
The last time Laura tells Bill she loves him, it's not a goodbye.
II
"It's a planet," he says, and he marvels even as he says it. "It's habitable."
He watches Laura's face as she takes in his words, marvelling at the hope and joy that plays across it. It reminds him of finding Earth, the same glimmer in her eyes as then. (Before it all came to ashes, and they made a bed in it still.) This will be what Earth should have been, he thinks, and she presses a hand to his chest.
"How did Kara know?" she asks.
"I don't know," he confesses. She nods at that, as if it's the expected answer, and looks up at him with a faint smile.
He wants to embrace her, spin her around, laugh with her at the sheer absurdity of it all, but he can't. Not when she is leaning against him and he can feel the fatigue radiating from her as if it was a sun's burn.
Her lips are dry as he tilts his head and kisses her instead, as tenderly as he can. It's a kiss as much as it's breathing with her, willing strength and air into her. Hold on, he thinks. Just hold on a little longer.
"I want to see it," she whispers against his lips and he touches her cheek like a vow. She will.
The last time Bill kisses Laura, it's a promise.
II
The cough is getting worse.
One day, he does not get up with the sun, merely watches it filter in through the window and crawl across the floor. Laura would like it. Laura would love it. It would be just right to read in the mornings with, as they would have. He built the shelves for it. It doesn't seem to matter he has no books to put there.
It's what it would have been that matters. Their cabin. Laura's turned theirs, as it would have been.
There's even a spot for a garden. Roses or vegetables to grow there, or maybe both, practicality and romance in one.
The light really is heavenly, he thinks, and closes his eyes when it caresses his face, almost like she would have.
He does not open them again.
The last time Bill wakes without Laura, there is just one sleep left.
II
Laura is the last he gets to, after embracing parents (father a little awkwardly, because not even death changes certain things) and sisters and Zak and Starbuck and Kat and so many faces he's almost forgotten he lost. She is just standing behind the others, watching him as if she has all the time in the world.
Perhaps here, they have. (He hasn't believed in this, but he has believed in her. Maybe that's why he is here. Or maybe all come here regardless.)
He finally walks over to where she is waiting, stopping just shy of touching her and watching her face instead. Laura. He hasn't forgotten her face (never could), but seeing it again is like all new.
"Laura," he says, and his voice breaks a little.
"They had waited longer," she says as way of explanation, stepping up to him. The sunlight in her hair makes it warm as he touches it and he almost wants to bury his hands in it. She's well here. She's healthy. She's cancer-free. She's... Dead, and so is he, and he feels so alive with her here it almost hurts.
"I built the cabin," he says and she smiles at him delightedly. "I wish you could have seen it."
"I will have," she says softly, lifting a hand to his cheek. "After you've told me about it."
He will, he thinks. Books and garden and light, that light now shining in her eyes.
He kisses her then, hands in her hair and hers at his waist, pulling him closer. She hums at the back of her throat and his heart seems to hum with it. Laura. Laura again, and always.
The first time Bill sees Laura again, there is no last anymore.
II
FIN
(or Five Last Times for Bill and Laura and One First)
by Camilla Sandman
Summary: She hums at the back of her throat and his heart seems to hum with it. Laura. Laura again, and always. [Adama/Roslin]
Rating: Teen. Some non-explicit naughtiness.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.
Author's Note: Spoilers up to Daybreak, with a few scenes of what might have happened next. If I was allowed to write it, anyway. Utter sap in parts. Thanks to
lyricalviolet for beta.II
Laura exhales, her fingers still against his chest as the heat seems to rush to her face, almost burning his palm to her cheek. He just watches, his other hand steadying her back as her head tilts slightly backwards and her body shudders.
Yes, he thinks, and when she presses down and kisses him at the same time, it's his body that can't hold on to control anymore and she who watches him.
She falls asleep not long after, head on his shoulder and breasts still naked against his side. He covers both as best he can, stilling her hand across his chest when it shakes a little.
He has noticed. He knows what she's not telling him yet, what he'll refuse to see and can only acknowledge in the dark of night, like now.
She's getting worse, and the only worse from dying is dead. Every day is one day closer to the eventuality, and he knows, for all he tries not to.
The last time Bill sleeps with Laura, he wants it to never be morning.
II
He stands for the longest time just watching her, back in the bed he never wished to see her in again, monitors telling him her heart is still beating.
Collapsed. In his quarters, just as Galactica took a hole and Boomer took Hera. Laura has told him of her 'visions', and he wonders at the timing.
"You gave us all a scare," he tells her, touching her hand and feeling it still warm. She won't wake up yet, Doc Cottle has told him. When she does, he will be here. With a book. They still haven't read Sun Chase, and he knows she'll love it.
"I'll be back later," he says softly, as much to himself as her. He will be. She's not dying, there are too many books they haven't read together still left.
The last book Bill starts reading to Laura, he'll never finish.
II
"I'll be helping with the wounded," Laura tells him, and he nods slightly, wondering if he'll fear more for her there or in CIC with him. It doesn't really matter. Her decision, not his and that matters.
He just...
"I love you," he says, and she looks up at him.
He knows he doesn't say the words often, but he thinks he must be telling her every time he just looks at her. He must be, because she just smiles knowingly at the words.
"About right," she says softly, and her kiss is gentle. It is enough to feel light for a moment, as it's always been. They share burdens, but their moments shared can still be strangely weightless.
"I'll see you after," she says, touching his hand. He nods again, stepping away reluctantly and turning to head to CIC.
"Bill?"
He turns; she is smiling at him with so much love he can only watch and feel breathless.
"I will see you after," she says, her voice so strong with the will of her. "I love you."
The last time Laura tells Bill she loves him, it's not a goodbye.
II
"It's a planet," he says, and he marvels even as he says it. "It's habitable."
He watches Laura's face as she takes in his words, marvelling at the hope and joy that plays across it. It reminds him of finding Earth, the same glimmer in her eyes as then. (Before it all came to ashes, and they made a bed in it still.) This will be what Earth should have been, he thinks, and she presses a hand to his chest.
"How did Kara know?" she asks.
"I don't know," he confesses. She nods at that, as if it's the expected answer, and looks up at him with a faint smile.
He wants to embrace her, spin her around, laugh with her at the sheer absurdity of it all, but he can't. Not when she is leaning against him and he can feel the fatigue radiating from her as if it was a sun's burn.
Her lips are dry as he tilts his head and kisses her instead, as tenderly as he can. It's a kiss as much as it's breathing with her, willing strength and air into her. Hold on, he thinks. Just hold on a little longer.
"I want to see it," she whispers against his lips and he touches her cheek like a vow. She will.
The last time Bill kisses Laura, it's a promise.
II
The cough is getting worse.
One day, he does not get up with the sun, merely watches it filter in through the window and crawl across the floor. Laura would like it. Laura would love it. It would be just right to read in the mornings with, as they would have. He built the shelves for it. It doesn't seem to matter he has no books to put there.
It's what it would have been that matters. Their cabin. Laura's turned theirs, as it would have been.
There's even a spot for a garden. Roses or vegetables to grow there, or maybe both, practicality and romance in one.
The light really is heavenly, he thinks, and closes his eyes when it caresses his face, almost like she would have.
He does not open them again.
The last time Bill wakes without Laura, there is just one sleep left.
II
Laura is the last he gets to, after embracing parents (father a little awkwardly, because not even death changes certain things) and sisters and Zak and Starbuck and Kat and so many faces he's almost forgotten he lost. She is just standing behind the others, watching him as if she has all the time in the world.
Perhaps here, they have. (He hasn't believed in this, but he has believed in her. Maybe that's why he is here. Or maybe all come here regardless.)
He finally walks over to where she is waiting, stopping just shy of touching her and watching her face instead. Laura. He hasn't forgotten her face (never could), but seeing it again is like all new.
"Laura," he says, and his voice breaks a little.
"They had waited longer," she says as way of explanation, stepping up to him. The sunlight in her hair makes it warm as he touches it and he almost wants to bury his hands in it. She's well here. She's healthy. She's cancer-free. She's... Dead, and so is he, and he feels so alive with her here it almost hurts.
"I built the cabin," he says and she smiles at him delightedly. "I wish you could have seen it."
"I will have," she says softly, lifting a hand to his cheek. "After you've told me about it."
He will, he thinks. Books and garden and light, that light now shining in her eyes.
He kisses her then, hands in her hair and hers at his waist, pulling him closer. She hums at the back of her throat and his heart seems to hum with it. Laura. Laura again, and always.
The first time Bill sees Laura again, there is no last anymore.
II
FIN
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-04-01 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-01 11:25 pm (UTC)<3
:{
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Date: 2009-04-01 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-01 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-01 11:32 pm (UTC)(Total sap this was, I know.)
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Date: 2009-04-01 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-01 11:36 pm (UTC)The last book Bill starts reading to Laura, he'll never finish.
This really got to me, and I don't know why, it's just a beautiful thought/image.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-01 11:44 pm (UTC)I thought of what Bill said about Searider Falcon and not reading the end, so I just stole that image of having something unfinished so that it never ends.
And yeah, sorry about the wait - but on the bright side, I have also finished my 7000 word BSG crime fic by now. More to read in not too long, yay?
no subject
Date: 2009-04-01 11:56 pm (UTC)What a beautiful bit of writing. Thank you. It's making it a little easier to deal with what happened in the final episode.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 12:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 01:21 am (UTC)I'm so happy to be able to read new fics from you again.
Gator
no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 01:57 am (UTC)*goes back under denial-rock*
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Date: 2009-04-02 02:06 am (UTC)THE FACT THAT I ALMOST STARTED SOBBING AGAIN, YOU MEANIE PANTS! I suppose it's just...the idea of lasts, and the cognition, or the awareness of them. There's something so bittersweet about looking in on them and having this omniscient knowledge while at the same time, still rooting for them, because you want it to be different.
The last book Bill starts reading to Laura, he'll never finish.
This line hit me especially hard. It's funny, how much power symbols have in their relationship. More than anything else, it's...I think it's unfinished business, really, because in all other ways they knew her death was coming when it did, but to have something (unlike the journey) that they will never see through together.
TL;DR BECAUSE MIRI SUCKS AT BEING CONCISE: This was beautiful, and I got teary-eyed and a lump in my throat for the first time reading fic since the day-after-the-finale. *cling* ;_;
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Date: 2009-04-02 02:11 am (UTC)Fantastic job! You nearly made me bawl all over my desk.
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Date: 2009-04-02 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 02:25 am (UTC)I just love how you end each section and I adore the image of his hands in her hair (her hair!). And that they're together.
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Date: 2009-04-02 03:36 am (UTC)*sigh* again.
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Date: 2009-04-02 03:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 04:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 04:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 06:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 07:13 am (UTC)♥ Simply wonderful.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-02 07:39 am (UTC)