Work Text:
Title: Homecoming
Pairing: AR from C's POV
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue!
Rating: PG
Summary: A homecoming of the heart.
Notes: Not beta'd and I am really tired. Made for twilight_mash, I hope this fulfills your prompt!
Major Cottle had been the CMO of the Galactica for, actually, he didn't really want to think about for how long. Let's just say it had been awhile, a very long while, and leave it at that. Commander, now Admiral, Adama had been the CO for quite awhile too. Adama was as hard headed as an ox and as stubborn as mule when he got it in his head to do something. That said, Cottle was not surprised when Adama started asking questions about the President's health. Each and every time, the good Admiral was sent packing with an admonishment that Doctor/Patient privilege outranked Admiral. The last time however, before Cottle could tell him to get the Frak out of his Sickbay, Adama had interrupted saying, "I'm asking as a man, not as an Admiral." Cottle looked at him hard and seeing the passion and love Adama held in his eyes for Laura Roslin, Cottle acquiesced and said simply, "Soon, very very soon." Those eyes flashed with pain and grief but the face never made a move. Adama nodded and went back to his quarters.
Cottle had watched Roslin and Adama rip each other to shreds on numerous occasions but after Adama threw her in the brig, he got shot, she escaped, and he rescued her, Cottle figured that they were not only even but should wed, they certainly bickered like an old married couple. After Kobol, he had changed and so had she. He had softened to her and she had eliminated little pleasures from her life in favor of using her time productively. Cottle snorted. Productively my ass. The woman is dying and she only has eyes for the fleet, never mind finding a little happiness and pleasure for herself. Whenever Cottle mentioned Adama in Roslin's presence, her eyes gentled and he could see longing, regret, and grief there.
She was dying and there was pretty much nothing that Cottle could do. When he had confirmed her diagnosis, he had scoffed at the notion of Chamalla extract but had given it to her anyway. He understood completely her refusal to go on Diloxin. The side effects were terrible to see and the drug only worked some of the time. He had been about to leave her to get dressed when he had paused for a moment and seriously told her to consider prayer, it was then that her eyes teared up. You know when your doctor, a man as sarcastic, snarky, and irreverent as Doc Cottle, tells you to start praying, it's not a good sign. She had been dying then but now she was really dying.
Roslin had been moved to his Sickbay aboard the Galactica after
collapsing on Colonial One. Cottle felt Death hovering close by. Like most good doctors, Cottle had a sixth sense. He could tell when there was something still wrong with a patient, when a baby would be born, and when Death was waiting with the patience that only Death has. Death was here. Cottle could feel it. In the dark of Sickbay, Cottle whispered into the night, "Not yet. Leave her be for a few more days. He has to say goodbye." Cottle felt Death pause, as if considering his request. Death had listened to him before and sometimes, Death listened and sometimes he didn't. When it really mattered to the Doc, Death tended to listen. Cottle felt the pressure in his chest ease and he knew that Death had given Roslin a stay of execution. He swore that he had heard whispered in his head, "very well. two days." Cottle breathed a sigh of relief and whispered into the night, "Thank you." He looked down upon Roslin and saw that the pain lines in her face had eased slightly.
As if sensing that he was watching her, Roslin's eyes opened and focused on him. Her voice hoarse and shaking, "Death has honored your request and I will make good on it. Bring Bill here, please Jack." Cottle wasn't sure if she had heard him talking to Death or if it was the Chamalla talking, but she wanted to talk to Bill and the only thing he could think of was, "Finally!" He looked at her for a moment more, nodded and went to retrieve the Admiral of the fleet.
When Cottle returned with Bill Adama, he led the Admiral of the fleet to her bedside and then Cottle made himself scarce. He puttered a little ways away to make sure that nothing happened. Death may have said two days, but who listened to voices in their head anyway?
Bill Adama had waited for her to call to him for sometime. When Major Cottle had told him that the end would come very soon, Bill had despaired at talking to her privately again. She was constantly surrounded. When Cottle had come for him in his quarters, it was as if the Gods themselves had descended and given him something he deeply wanted and now he was standing at the foot of the bed. Her eyes were closed and she looked asleep. He watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. He felt his eyes well with tears and did nothing to stop them rolling down his face. It was at that moment that Laura opened her eyes. Her voice weak, she called to him and raised one of her hands slightly. He came around the bed and took her small, cold hand into his own large, warm one. "I've got you," he murmured. They talked quietly for sometime, both crying, both confessing their love for each other, both wishing with everything they had that there was more time. Her voice barely more than a breath of a whisper, "Hold me Bill."
A few hours later, Jack Cottle poked his head around the curtain to check up on them. He couldn't say that he was shocked by the sight but it did unnerve him a bit. Bill Adama was flat on his back with the President of the Twelve Colonies draped over him like a sprawled out and boneless cat. The look on both their faces spoke of utter contentment, of a homecoming. Cottle smiled, his heart eased even as it broke for them.