No Lighthouse is an Island
by ALC Punk!

All of a sudden, though, she doesn't really care what the political implications might be (later, she decides, she'll wonder if someone took images, if there's going to be rampant gossip in the columns. And poor Billy will be hounded to find out the details).

There are only a few times in the last 50-odd days that Laura Roslin has felt like an actual human being.

Right now, leaning against Commander William Adama, is one of them.

And she's not about to give that up.

They must have started out on opposite ends. Memory intrudes, though, and she remembers that they started out in the middle, with politicians on either side, animatedly speaking to them. She has no idea when they left.

She thinks she's the one who shifted closer first. But his hand threaded through hers when she wasn't paying attention, so she figures they're even.

Although just how that plays out, when her head is on his shoulder, she doesn't know. Maybe it's balanced, since their joined hands are resting on her thigh.

Perhaps she should simply blame the couch. It's comfortable, and they obviously both fell asleep without even noticing it. Damn, now she feels old. So's he, though, so that works out in the end. A slight smile touches her lips as a soft snore rumbles through his chest. She doesn't remember dreaming, and she's grateful for that. She's getting tired of her dreams.

Laura is reminded that he danced with her. It was so unexpected, the staid, unapproachably stiff William Adama had shifted on his feet and then danced with her. She'd smiled at everyone, projecting peace and serenity.

The interlude is interrupted by the appearance of Captain Apollo. He still looks rather elegant in his dress greys, although the way his mouth keeps opening and closing in surprise makes her want to chuckle.

"Uh, Madame President," he finally manages to get out.

"Shh. He's sleeping." Which, if she knows the man beside her, is something he doesn't do all that often. Although a small part of her is jealous that he can sleep without pain.

Captain Apollo nods jerkily. "Ma'am, the, ah, shuttles are here to return you to Colonial One and Galactica, respectively."

Now he's done it. The shoulder under her head stiffens, tension filling him. Almost at once, he shifts away from her and releases her hand. She lets him go, but not without a little regret. Sleeping next to someone had been almost peaceful. "Apollo."

"Sir. Your, uh, shuttles."

Before the poor boy can trip over his tongue more, Kara Thrace waltzes in, still wearing her dress like a sentence. "There you are, sir, Madame President. Lee, I thought you were going to bring them?" One hand is on her hip, the other clutching a half-empty glass.

"I was just getting to that, Kara."

Starbuck snorted, "And yet, I still had time to get propositioned by our new vice president once again while you dallied."

Laura feels a wince wanting to escape and throttles it back. She's pretty sure that in the long run, Dr. Baltar is simply the devil she knows. Although she doubts that he would destroy the last of his race, in the end. Something she would never trust Tom Zarek not to do.

Captain Apollo offers her a hand while Thrace abandons her drink and hauls Adama to his feet. "Really, Commander, you're getting old." There's affection in the pilot's tone as she teases. "Falling asleep at a reception?"

"Starbuck--"

"Kara." The good captain is trying to censure his junior officer. Laura has a feeling it will never work.

"Oh, come on Lee. Your dad's just old. Get over it. I have." A soft chuckle escapes Starbuck, and she steadies herself against the wall.

"Kara."

"Gentlemen." Laura feels again the odd kinship to this woman who is everything she is not. Loud, impetuous, living life without any care. "I believe we have shuttles to catch?"

"Indeed, Madame President."

They're all silent as they cross corridors and then grass, the dimmer lighting almost eerie. Laura expects to hear crickets chirping, animals rustling, as if this were Caprica or one of the other colonies. A real planet. Instead, all she can hear is the silence.

"Madame President." Kara Thrace is walking carefully next to her, cane almost unneeded.

"Lieutenant."

The shuttles are nearing when Thrace finally responds, her voice soft. "No one knows."

Laura shoots a glance at her, and blinks, assimilating the data. And then it hits her. The couch. "I--"

"Dualla came across you two, and let me know. No one has any clue." A shrug, "I figure the old man needs his sleep just as much as the next person."

"And me?"

"By default, Madame President." That cheeky grin flickers in the almost-moonlight.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"It's part of my job, sir."

"And Captain Apollo?"

The grin deepens to a smirk, "I wanted to see the look on Lee's face. He won't tell, either. Or I'll kick his ass from here back to Caprica."

And Laura doesn't doubt she would. The woman next to her values and respects William Adama, even idolizes him. It's something Laura can understand. As was the decision to shock young Lee. A smile touches her lips. "I'll hold you to that, Lieutenant."

They reach the docking ports a moment later, and Thrace steps back as Laura's entourage appears, babbling about letting her get left behind. Apologies and commentaries on how the night went. And she suddenly doesn't want to hear them. "Gentlemen. We'll discuss this in the morning."

As they bundle her into her shuttle, she glances back to find Kara Thrace teasing young Lee Adama again. William is standing nearby, watching them with an almost wistful look on his face.

Then he seems to feel her gaze, and stiffens, looking up to meet her eyes.

He nods, once.

And Laura turns back to her people, "Let's go home."

-f-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!