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New Caprica
26:00
Γενάρης (Genaris)- month one of occupation
The days were too long.
Each moment of their dragging existence was cold and bleak - all twenty eight hours of icy hell. The flattened area of settlement, once fields, soon smelt like an ancient bog where the thin covering of grass ripped and was trodden into the earth. New Caprica was a wasteland - frozen at the poles and molten through the equator - the land between fragmented amid shallow sea and low lying mud. It didn't matter how many layers, or the thickness of the Shocak wool, nothing could keep you warm for very long. This was endless, exhausting - more inhospitable even then the vacuum of space above the choked atmosphere.
There was little more than breathable air to recommend this place - something that Laura had known from the beginning. She felt, at least, that tonight may be the first time she could brave the flaking ice at dusk.
The colony had settled as best it could and Baltar, not wanting to burden himself, left the day to day functioning in the hands of the Admiral. This entailed monthly interviews with each new organisation and regular status reports. For the most part - those in question traveled the long distance to see him, but in the case of Laura Roslin, it was he who traveled the furthest.
He dressed for the occasion in his full uniform - hidden beneath layers of insulating material and masked - further still, with a billowing cloak. His definitive, regal atmosphere shrouded in a dark form traipsing across the barren surface toward a small tent on the outskirts of the colony.
It had been three weeks and five days since they'd last seen each other, and with each day made hours longer by the slow rotation of the planet - it seemed like months. (Though the Admiral would not impart how desperately he had looked forward to this night - especially not to her). These were the times that called a leader to be more than strong - it called for unyielding resilience to everything – including the heart.
She greeted him with a gentle smile as he slid off the hood and stepped carefully past her into the tent - his eyes lingering, in earnest briefness, on the warmth of her attention. Inside he found a small fire burning with the blackened frame of a cooking apparatus precariously balanced amongst the flames atop which sat a steaming object.
The Admiral's tired form sank into one of the few seats littered around the small space - she knelt down next to the fire and removed the pot from the frame. "Can I offer you some tea Admiral?"
"Thank you - yes." he watched as her hair fell around her face in the fire-light, it had grown since he had last seen her - deepened its colour to contrast against the bland landscape. She poured the hot liquid in a well practiced manner, handing him the cup before retreating to her own seat across from him. He took a moment to pause, and simply enjoy the gesture.
"You look well - " she said as he finished his drink and, now warmed, removed the extra layers of his attire.
"As do you, though I can't imagine how given this place."
"We manage." she brought her cup close, absorbing its warmth. Laura observed him carefully, "What about you?"
"There's a big empty ship up there you know - two actually, plenty of space..."
For the moment, Laura ignored the comment - its seemingly innocent phrasing re-new-ing the painful memories of her first night on New Caprica. "I have that progress report the President asked for, though it has been a slow start I'm afraid. Parents are still too nervous to let their children far from sight, and those that attend are mostly orphans that are unruly at the best of times."
Laura as teacher - something he had never actually seen, he was too used to her being President. As it turned out, so had she. "Admiral," she began, dismissing all idle talk, "there is already talk of a resistance to Baltar's government amongst the Workers. He has had these men out every day, whether there's rain or sweltering heat - working to build this settlement - which they did initially without fuss or noise, but now they're getting ill, their bodies just can't handle it. This place down here, it's barely habitable and if something isn't done soon - there's not going to be anyone left." Laura placed her drink on the ground beside her, "Bill, things are going to get bad - fast."
Bill thought carefully on his next words, "This, tragic as it may be, leaves us with a curious window of opportunity." He proceeded slowly, not wanting to offend her.
She never took her eyes off him for a moment, her instinct was to be repelled by the suggestion of manipulating human suffering but the president in her was listening very closely. "If I were to be completely honest with you -"
"You can always be honest with me."
Laura blushed slightly, "This has also occurred to me. I took the liberty of speaking, very discreetly, to a few people and I can say, with very near certainty, that we have the beginning of a resistance network incubating under Baltar's neglect."
"He has become a dangerous man Laura. Baltar has been president a week shy of a month and already he hesitates to let the Admiral meet with the ex-president in case they are plotting against him."
"For once - his fears may have a foundation."
Bill suppressed the urge to smile at her, "That they may."
One of those comfortable silences wove in-between the two commanders, neither wanting to quit each other's company yet both keenly aware of the time. Lingering passed the two hour allowance would not be wise, especially at times of political infancy.
Eventually Bill rose, signaling his intent to leave soon. He replaced the layers of clothing with her helping him through the final addition of the coat - Laura's hands moving along his back and around his waist where she shifted to face him - fastening the catch of the cloak. Bill fought to stay focused as the distraction of her soft touch permeated through his clothing. This gentle act of affection a reminder of what could have been in those first weeks before they had resigned themselves to their respective positions of power. He; the Admiral of the fleet and her, Leader of the Resistance and future President of the Colonies.
Her hands did not leave the surface of his jacket; instead her fine hands explored its varying textures. Through this, she did not look at him - her purpose was set on memorising how he felt beneath her. Bill allowed her to do so, his own mind taking in every visual feature it could until he could close his eyes and she smile back at him in perfect likeness.
As the final hour approached its end, Adama unwillingly separated himself and reached the tent door. He could feel the sharp cold through the synthetic exterior and hear the occasional sheet of rain soak into its surface.
"No, don't come out - stay here where it's warm." she nodded, lifting up the flap for him. A month seemed so far away, but it would pass - the hoarfrost would form – crack and splinter before assembling itself once again many a time before he returned. Though he swore, in hushed words to her, that he would return - and she would be here waiting.
With one more look, he ducked under and out into the cold.
From beneath his heavy hood, he begged the gods that Genaris pass quickly – this month having more than done its harm.
*~*
Author Notes:
"The curiosity of unaccounted time is little more than a deep, creeping silence awaiting inevitable disturbance..."
or basically; it's a really long wait until bsg comes back, so let us indulge in spoiler driven fanfic.