Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, nor the show, nor the poem. This time, however, I think the idea was mine.

Love's Coming

She had looked for his coming as warriors come,
With the clash of arms and the bugle's call;
But he came instead with a stealthy tread,
Which she did not hear at all.

It is silent as she wakes up, indicating that it must be the middle of the night. She is used to this by now. Sleep has been such a scarce commodity to her over the last years that she barely spares any thought to ever feeling rested again. After all, who needs rest when life is so short?

She knows a thing or two about the shortness of life, since her own mortality has become a constant companion. Knowing that you will die soon helps putting things in perspective. Sleep is overrated. Feeling the warmth of another body behind yours is not.

It has been a hard fight against her sense of duty, her conscious and in some way her selfishness before she gave in to her wishes. Did she want a man when all of this began? Did she want this man?

The answer would have been no, despite the spark that was there. Just before they made their 'relationship' a fact, she fancied that it had been a spark of attraction and desire, but neither of them is so shallow. Just after it happened, they both fancied it had been a spark of instant love, but they are both too old and too intelligent to believe in love for much longer than the final shudder of a good orgasm dies away. A spark of companionship, maybe?

If she could, she would shrug, but shrugging would wake him and this is the last thing she wants. Sleep is rare; if he's finding it, she won't deny it to him. Besides, his body behind her is warm and solid. Warmth is also a scarce commodity, just like a personal touch. The President-cum-Prophet-cum-Dying Leader is not a person people touch casually. For her, touch is always professional, always with some meaning and agenda behind it.

That's why she was so busy with her struggle about her own wishes that she didn't realize that he had already made that decision for both of them. When exactly, she doesn't know, but she was certainly blind when it happened.

On first sight, she had taken him for the conqueror-type. One of those men who came and bowled a woman over with their body, their smile, and the aura of sizzling danger around them. A hero from the first Cylon war, he had filled all these requirements. In fact, she found they were even stronger because of his age and the sense of power he carried with him. She had expected that once he put his mind to it, he'd turn on the charm and expect her fall into his arms in an instant. That she could have fought, that tactic never appealed to her.

He didn't take the conquering approach, or the prince charming one either. His style of attack was much more subtle, more effective in its longevity as well-giving her a book, letting her see into his mind, before he let her see a glimpse of his heart. He knew that being a woman of the mind, she could not resist this temptation. Thinking back on it, she realizes that the full blown smile she rightfully expected to be one of the meanest weapons in his arsenal, had been directed at her so late in their relationship that it didn't matter anymore. Not that it had lessened its effect. His smiling, when directed at her, is still a dangerous thing.

She loves danger.

She had thought how his armor would blaze in the sun,
As he rode like a prince to claim his bride:
In the sweet dim light of the falling night
She found him at her side.

It is still dark, she reckons, though the concept of light and dark has become blurry and meaningless to her. It might be space fatigue, or space madness, or simply getting used to it. Nevertheless, she doesn't open her eyes. Opening her eyes would force her to see reality and, for the moment, reality extends no further than the warmth and solidity of his body behind her own. Her own body, which isn't aching at the moment. Not yet. She expects this to change soon.

Pain has become such a constant companion, and in a few minutes she will probably start to assess which parts of her hurt and which do not, but right now, she is too busy reflecting on his seduction technique. And on the surprising smoothness of his skin.

By now, she knows every blemish, every scar on his body--has kissed and licked her way up and down his skin. She knows every mark in his face intimately and still as he lies behind her, she thinks his skin to be as smooth as an unadorned piece of armor plate. It is his armor of protection – against disappointment, against all odds and sometimes against death. His, hers...who knows how many others.

He is beautiful. To her at least and she knows where to look. Beauty is in the way his mind works, in the way their minds can come together and immerse themselves in topics others felt left out of. It was in the way he grinned when asking her to dance the first time, though back then she might have been too preoccupied with inwardly giggling at his attempts to move in rhythm. It is in the way they can tell each other a joke without ever delivering the punchline. That was probably it, the bait with which he finally lured her into his web. Making her laugh at the silliest jokes, letting her giggle and spurring her on.

There is also beauty in the way his hand held hers when she was near death-warm and solid and strong. She is repeating herself in her inner description, she realizes with a small laugh that causes her body to shake slightly, because she doesn't want to disturb him. He only pulls her tighter against him and in a moment of clarity she did not expect, she understands that this was the moment when their relationship turned into something far more dangerous than misplaced attraction.

But she loves danger, doesn't she?

She had dreamed how the gaze of his strange, bold eye
Would wake her heart to a sudden glow:
She found in his face the familiar grace
Of a friend she used to know.

As he moves slightly in his sleep, his leg slips between hers, and she sighs inaudibly. There is the pain again, a reminder that she is neither young nor healthy. It annoys him, she knows, when she starts cataloging what is wrong with her body. She finds plenty--things he refuses to see. He declares that he loves her, stifling any protest she might muster. If love is blind, he doesn't want to see, that's why he finds her beautiful. She has no problem with this kind of reasoning.

He breathes deeply against her neck, the rhythm hypnotic, almost a lullaby, but she doesn't want to sleep. She wants to feel what warms her – his body and his love, despite the pain that is creeping up in her bones, her tendons, her muscles, her very skin. Even the tips of her hair seem to hurt. Like an acid, the pain burns its way through her body and within moments she shakes with the force of it.

But before it can really take hold, he is there again. Unconsciously, one of his hands tightens on her stomach the other strokes her arm, and she smiles. This selfsame serene smile she had when he said that he loves her without even uttering a word. The same smile she had when his eyes widened behind his glasses as he realized what she didn't need to say in return. She just smiles.

Did she want this man when all this began? The epic journey of their people, following the sacred scrolls to a mythical planet. Want maybe, but not in the way he is with her now. There is too much closeness between them, too much familiarity, too much from which she had run most of her adult life. If twin souls truly exist, she has found it in him. Before the end of all things she would not have been ready, they might have passed each other somewhere, looked at each other and dismissed the thought. Dismissing the thought is what they did for a long time, immersed in duty, responsibility and perception. It was too dangerous to consider. The fleet would go mental, the press have a field day, his integrity and ability questioned. Hers as well.

But this was never the real problem. They were two intelligent people, with loyal and intelligent people at their disposal. It could have worked, had they wanted it. But though he might have been the man for a casual frak or two in another life, in this he was her partner from the beginning. Casual couldn't be the furthest from what their were. They were partners in life and death from the very beginning. Therein lay the danger.

She was afraid of this danger.

She had dreamed how his coming would stir her soul,
As the ocean is stirred by the wild storm's strife:
He brought her the balm of a heavenly calm,
And a peace which crowned her life.

In her youth, she fancied herself a princess who would one day meet her prince who would take her by storm. With a faint blush of embarrassment she even remembers the odd movie feature or two where she envisioned herself to be in the heroine's shoes. It didn't happen this way. Instead, he snaked through her defenses, lured her in with his deep, wise eyes, his words, and his gravelly, velvety...

"Laura, you should sleep. You need your rest."

"Sleep is overrated."

"But not after you spent an entire day on your knees, trying to plant this frakking flowerbed in the front yard."

"It is a gorgeous flowerbed."

"Yes, and you could barely move last night."

"You could have helped me..."

"I..."

"If you want to watch the sun dawn, you should at least open your eyes."

"Go back to sleep, Bill."

She keeps her eyes shut still and the smile that had crossed her face before widens. His body is warm and solid behind hers and as she stretches painfully to reach his hand with her mouth, it becomes clear to her that the when and the how doesn't matter either; it was coming anyway.

---

Poem: "Love's Coming" Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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