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As soon as the hatch closed behind Colonel Tigh, Laura buried her face in her hands again. The clock on Bill’s desk read almost 0400. She heard a dull thump just in front of her; lowered her fingertips as far as her cheekbones to find that Bill had placed a tumbler of water on the coffee table for her. Palms together, fingers against her lips, she looked up at him with dry, stinging eyes.
His gaze was as bloodshot as she knew hers must be. When she didn’t speak, he sat down stiffly next to her, his hands on his thighs.
She followed him with her eyes, waiting for him to break the silence instead. She knew she should say something to wrap up, to excuse herself - something that would give them both permission to put this excruciating day behind them. But her well of platitudes was utterly dry. There was a buzzing behind her eyebrows that threatened to become a headache, and a hollowness in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t eaten all day, and now the thought of food was nauseating.
If only she could simply close her eyes and wake up tucked into her own bed. She was far too exhausted to steel herself against the creeping horror and regret that swirled in her. She should never have set foot in Baltar’s cell, and now raw physical discomfort was the only thing standing between her and thoughts that --
She took a sip of the water. No more thinking.
Bill said, “The first time I interrogated a prisoner -”
She felt her eyes snap to him, wide with horror, as she shook her head to cut him off.
He changed his approach: “I never should’ve let you be part of that.”
She exhaled evenly. “It was my choice.”
He shook his head. “Even someone as tough as you shouldn’t attempt that without training.” He gave her a little smile that she was too tired to return. “You have to put aside your humanity. Make yourself a machine.”
“That’s what military training is, isn’t it?” she said ruefully. “Learning to be a weapon. A robot.”
They shared a long, level glance at that.
“I’ve put aside my humanity so much in the past two years that I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But this - this was different. This felt like sinking to the level of -”
She broke off and he cocked his head in a sidelong look that sized her up, right down to the lump in her throat. Her hands were trembling around her glass, and he took it from her, returning it to the table while she pressed her fingers to her forehead again.
After a moment, she heard him speak, barely audible: “I agree.”
Her eyes were brimming when she looked up at him, startled.
“It was the wrong call,” he said. “We should’ve guessed Baltar would respond the way he did. Now we know for sure." He sighed. "We make bad calls sometimes. We accept that, and we adapt.”
His voice was even, unemotional. These were the words of an experienced commander, and they reassured her, to a point. But at the end of the day, the bad call had been hers alone. She’d let him guide her through this little corner of Hell, but she’d opened the door. She’d exposed both of them - degraded both of them.
“You feel responsible for the people who follow your orders,” he observed. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her in particular, or commanders in general, but she covered her eyes and nodded as the tears spilled over.
"You make a call, and everyone suffers the consequences," he said. A little whimper escaped her as she nodded again, hiding her face.
"You lead people because you care about them - and because you're strong enough to do it. But when things go wrong, it's your fault."
She gasped, shoulders shaking. Of course he was right - he was only echoing her own thoughts. She tried to speak but couldn't catch her breath.
When he moved closer to her, the couch cushion depressed and leaned her into him. His arms slipped around her and he cradled her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair soothingly. She lacked the mental clarity to resist his touch. Her tears were streaming out in a flood and she was choking back sobs, trying to get control of herself.
He spoke with his lips against her hair. "Listen to me, Laura." She took a few gasping breaths, trying to focus on his voice. "The way you're feeling right now - that's human. That's how you know what you are."
The sobs that racked her body were beginning to slow. The fabric of his uniform jacket was wet against her cheek.
"These feelings - the guilt - it has to go somewhere. You have to let go of it, so that you can get up tomorrow and keep doing your job."
He was speaking just to soothe her - to give her something to hold onto. Sniffling, she closed her eyes and listened.
"This isn't going to break you. You know better now. You're going to stand up and walk away from this, a better leader."
His palm found its way to her cheek, and his thumb smoothed away a pool of tears.
"Get it out of your system," he said. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the last few tears spill over, exhaling a long, shuddering breath. She regretted letting him hold her like this. They had mostly avoided touching one another, since they'd ended their physical relationship - and that call, at least, had been the right one.
"Saul has seen me this way once or twice," he said, with a wry smile in his voice. She opened her eyes, a little stunned by the mental image. He added: "after I sent a lot of good men to die."
She understood what he meant, and pressed a hand to his chest. She was still a novice at this, compared to them. Bill had earned the grace with which he shouldered his command. Sometimes she felt she was flailing - improvising - barely staying afloat.
"More often, I just drowned my feelings in booze," he admitted, "but confiding in a friend is better - if you've got one."
She looked up at him and he kissed her forehead.
"I'm still your friend, Laura."
She pulled back at last, trying to muster an apologetic smile.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," she confessed. The words were out before she could stop them, but saying it felt good - reckless and cathartic.
"No one does," he said. "Sometimes all we have is trial and error."
He was still holding her, though she had pulled away, his hands resting softly on her arms. His touch was steadying, but the warmth of his skin burned through the fabric of her clothes. She felt small, and painfully aware of him - the way he watched her as she sniffled, and shook her head, and tried to find a way out of this vulnerable moment.
She'd been reckless from the start. The interrogation had been nothing more than an outlet for her emotion. Now she was unburdening herself to Bill, and letting herself flirt with the boundaries of their relationship. This day was past saving, and she needed to end it, but it was 0400 and her face was wet with tears and her usual defenses were in tatters.
Her hands were motionless in her lap, but even as she willed them to stay there, she leaned in and kissed him instead.
It was a gentle kiss, neither firm nor passionate. Her lips were trembling as they met his, and in the split second before he reacted, she expected him to pull away. But then his fingers were combing back into her hair, drawing her closer. They inhaled together, breathed each other in. Bill parted his lips just slightly, letting his tongue graze hers. Rather than deepening the kiss, they lingered, savoring the closeness that they’d tried too long to deny.
She needed him. She needed her anchor, and it had only ever been him.
When time creaked into motion again and they realized what they’d done, they rested their foreheads together. Then, finally, reluctantly, they pulled away. Laura’s hands had never moved from her lap, and now Bill’s joined them there, lacing his fingers into hers. When their eyes met at last, there was nothing to say.
They shared a wan smile and, Laura knew, an undeniable intimacy. She'd worked hard to keep them from getting too close - to protect them from the inevitable tragedy that would come with falling in love. But it seemed that the Gods had given them to one another, to walk this path of leadership together, after the end of the world. He'd been there for her time and again. She couldn't do it without him. Sighing, shaking her head in resignation, she leaned against his shoulder again.
He put a friendly arm around her. "Why don't you get some rack time?" he suggested. "I'll take the couch."
She looked up at him with wide eyes, but he was already taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. She followed, still a little dazed with emotion.
He coaxed her into the rack, made sure she was comfortable, and then sat on the edge of the mattress to return to the discussion at hand. An unearned and irresistible peace settled over her.
The earnestness with which he offered to make Baltar disappear - to kill for her, effectively - was oddly touching, although they both knew it was impossible. A trial had been the right call from the start, and she would always blame herself for thinking otherwise. Zarek had gotten in her head. Her biggest mistakes were always the result of trusting someone's advice over her own gut, and she wondered what it was going to take for her to finally learn her lesson.
"We give him his trial," she told Bill. At least she could set them on the right track now, however belatedly.
With the decision made, a heavy silence fell between them. After a moment, with eyes full of tenderness, he simply held out his hand, and she took it. He lifted her fingers to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.
"Goodnight, Laura."
"Goodnight, Bill."
They shared a smile before he slipped away to catch an hour's sleep on the couch. Laura switched off the lamp and closed her eyes. She would reckon with her anguish and her impulsiveness in the morning, but her last thought as she drifted off was of Bill, and the comfort of his nearness.