A/N Timeline: after NC, and her time in detention, before Baltar's trial
Setting:Colonial One, references to Galactica
Fairly fluffy

Working it Out

Laura wobbled a bit as she made her way through a set of Sun Salutations. She knew there would already be a few people in those chairs outside her cabin, but she would take the time to stretch her body, maybe add a little more strength to her muscles a little at a time. Her duties could fill up a twenty-four hour day, every day. That ocean of need wouldn't miss her teacup of minutes she kept for herself.

And there was the practicality that limber muscles now might mean less risk of being laid up with a sprained something-or-other later. It was just the responsible thing for an essential government official to do.

As she held positions, she could feel tightened thigh muscles start to warm and unwind, and thought of ribbons slowly uncurling from a tight spool. She broke position to do some excruciatingly slow squats, back straight and thighs level with the floor. Six was all she could manage today, but two days ago, she'd topped out at five. She grinned as she bit her bottom lip with the strain. She really was getting stronger.

She returned to the gentle stretching, working deliberately through the cat pose, feeling her back arch and dip, her hips rise. A few sitting stretches made her spine feel elongated and fluid, the vertebrae a little less jammed together. She tried to visualize her flesh as river water, flowing languidly over hard-rock bones.

Finishing in the child pose, she relished the last few seconds of bodywork. Today, she would sit straight, tall and centered at her work desk. She would glide down halls, aligned and smooth, muscles and joints as partners, not adversaries.

Tonight, she would stretch for him, arch and hold her back, dipping her core low and her hips rocking high into him.

She'd balance on her solid, grounded foot like a limber rooted willow tree while twining her other leg slow and steady around his waist.

She would hold herself over him, lowering slowly, slowly, the torment sweet and his, not the torment of her quaking hamstrings.

She would fold her loosened calves over his shoulders, hold her ankles crossed behind his head. She would open herself to him fully without worrying about morning-after aches.

She had told Bill Dr. Cottle wanted her, as a woman in her fifties, to work on her flexibility.

Tonight, Bill would feel her progress.

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A/N: Reviews, concrit, comments welcomed and appreciated.