""Just a plain pine box," I said. "Don't bother with bronze or silver handles. And don't scatter my ashes over the blue Pacific. I like the worms better. Did you know that worms are of both sexes and that any worm can love any other worm?"" Bill read, as Laura rested her head against his shoulder on the plane ride.

"We're nearing the end," she said quietly, reaching over to finger the last 40 pages.

"Yeah," he agreed, lowering the book to his lap. "Want me to hold off on it?"

"Maybe," she said. "This whole trip has been like something out of a dream." She turned to look out the window, a wistful look on her face.

He chuckled. "And then you'll get home, and all the news stations will call you in for interviews, and you'll be on all the magazines, and everyone will be asking for all of your time-"

"I'll still have time for you," she interjected. "And when you put it that way, maybe we should turn the plane around. That sounds dreadful."

Laura was the star of the moment. He knew, once she retired after Worlds, that endorsements would pile in. She already had dozens of offers, though they weren't supposed to discuss such things until they were no long an 'amateur' athlete but a 'professional.' A woman had even come up to her after her win, had offered to manage her once she went pro. She'd handed Laura her card before Richard had angrily told her off. Everyone wanted to speak to the pretty, vivacious, outgoing Ice Princess. "Outgoing," she'd said incredulously, pointing at the article as she showed it to Bill. "They don't know me at all."

"Yes, well, I wouldn't call you a Princess, either," he'd replied, earning a solid punch to the shoulder. "You put on a good face," he'd pointed out. "You do want them to think those things about you, don't you?"

"If it helps me succeed, yes," she'd said slowly. "I just never figured in how weird it would be to actually have to read all these articles that sound like they're about a totally different person."

"The price of fame, sweetheart," he'd explained, before setting the article aside for a long while.

"Richard's been very short with me recently," she confessed, squirming in her plane seat. "I'm not sure what I've done. I mean, I won the goddamned Olympics. Deborah said she thinks he's just stressed about all the publicity and all the attention on me."

Fat chance, Bill thought. Richard had been dreaming of the day Laura was a star. No, the man had cornered him the previous day, told him again to back off, and they had had a short, heated argument. He was alarmed and irritated to hear that he was taking it out on Laura, though. He hadn't expected that.

She continued to stare out the window, a far-away look on her face. Surprised, he reached over, tenderly placing his fingers on the bottom of her chin and turning her head. She gave him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes, before dropping her head to his shoulder again. "Continue, please?" she asked quietly, the wistfulness still in her voice.

It was dark when they finally got back to Colorado Springs. Bill hugged Laura goodbye as she and the Adars headed back to their vehicles, before throwing his luggage in the back of his truck and heading home himself, contemplating what to do. He still wanted to fire Richard. They couldn't sign any endorsement deals until after he himself went professional, and he loathed the idea of Richard getting any more of his money. Richard couldn't prevent him from using the rink, and Laura would be busy for the foreseeable future anyway. After the World Championships, they would both go pro, and then she could move in with him.

It all seemed so simple, except that he hadn't discussed any of it with Laura yet. And he knew that he could hardly explain it to her if he did fire Richard – not yet, at least. Richard and Deborah, as lacking in warmth as they were, were the closest thing to family Laura had left, and he had a hard time imagining depriving her of that. Despite her celebrity, her support base was shockingly small. Besides, he could always fire Richard right after Worlds, before he signed anything.

He went to bed still mulling it over, unable to come to a decision.

Laura was, in fact, ridiculously busy. He saw her at the rink, briefly, every day, but rarely outside of it for two weeks in a row. She managed to sneak out to have lunch with him a week and a half after they arrived, but then had to fly to New York City to appear on several talk shows. "Oh Gods, Bill, what am I going to say about myself?" she'd asked. "'Hi, I actually spend all of my free time reading violent crime novels, and I really like sushi.'"

"And sex with Bill Adama," he'd added in a low voice, and she'd swatted him playfully.

They hadn't had sex since returning from Japan, however, and while he couldn't begrudge her her fame – and was fairly busy himself with his own interviews and preparations – he was missing her pretty fiercely. She called him every night before she went to bed, and he'd read a page or two of their book before she was already asleep. They were still 20 or so pages from the end. He was wondering if they'd ever have time to finish the damned thing.

After the World Championships, Bill. Relax.

He didn't fire Richard. Their relationship on the ice was a little frostier than usual, Richard ordering him around a little more, but at the end of the day it was just work, and they were both good at their jobs. They didn't talk about Laura.

But finally, a week and a half before the World Championships, Laura called with some news. "I have Saturday evening off. I've missed you."

"I have an early morning practice, but I'm off at noon," he said.

"I'll be there at 12:30," she responded.

The flaw in lunch plans was that neither of them had ever had the time to learn something like cooking, so Bill hoped what he picked up from a local restaurant would suffice. He was just finished setting it out on his table when she knocked on his door.

"It's open!" he called, looking around to make sure that his apartment was clean. Bill had always been fastidious about a lot of things, but he did tend to leave books absolutely everywhere, and it had taken him a good half hour earlier to pick them all up and find spaces for them once his bookshelves had filled up.

He heard the door open and shut, the sound of feet padding down the hall, and then Laura appeared, barefoot and glowing from the late-February cold. He scooped her into his arms and kissed her soundly before she had a chance to say anything, earning a sweet giggle

He hugged her, then, pressing his chin to her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Missed you," he said, running a hand down her side.

"Me, too," she agreed. She settled comfortably into his arms, humming quietly. "This feels nice," she murmured.

"It does."

After several silent moments of finally being together after all the craziness, Bill pulled away and held out her seat for her. She surveyed the table, and then looked to him with a raised eyebrow. "Margaret's?"

"My favorite," he admitted, and Laura smiled at him.

"I picked up a couple new books in New York," she said as they began to eat. "We're almost done, after all."

"Did you bring them?"

"No," she said, nose crinkling. "I forgot. But I will next time."

He loved hearing phrases like next time from her. "So how was New York?" he asked, and grinned as she made a face in response.

She'd hated New York, and made him laugh several times as she went through all the things she hadn't gotten to do while she'd been too busy being a celebrity, and how thoroughly Richard had grated on her nerves. "I swear, suddenly it's like he's my watch dog. I'm so glad he wasn't home when I left today, or I honestly think he would have grounded me." She shook her head in incredulity, eyes wide. "I don't get it. He never treated me this way when I was a teenager, but now that I'm a grown adult, suddenly he has to be protective?"

Bill almost told her, then, that Richard's irritation had everything to do with his opinion of Bill, but he continued to keep his mouth shut. She had that wistful look in her eyes again, and he noticed she'd mostly just picked at her food. "Is something wrong?"

She looked up, and he watched the play of subtle emotions across her face as she decided to lie to him, his heart sagging somewhat. "No," she said, smiling softly. "I'm just tired."

There was a moment or two when he really wanted to call her out on it, to ask her what was really bothering her. It wasn't the first time she'd had that look on her face, the lost, uncertain panic in her eyes. It had started right after the Olympics, and he wasn't sure if that played into it or not. He didn't like seeing her so ruffled.

When Worlds is over, we'll have all the time we need to sort through these things. She's probably just overwhelmed.

If that was the case, then she needed her mind off skating. "Are you going to finish that?" he asked, indicating her mostly-full plate. She shook her head, giving him an apologetic look, but he smiled in return. He stood to gather her plate, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head as he did so. Laura grinned at him, and followed him to the kitchen with the rest of the dishes. They cleaned up efficiently in companionable silence, and then he led her to the front door. "Grab your coat."

Laura looked at him curiously. "Do you like musicals?" he asked, as he ran through the list of movies out right now in his head.

Her eyes widened, and then she grinned. "I've wanted to see that," she confessed, as he grasped her smaller hand in his and led her out the door.

"Liza Minelli is amazing," Laura gushed as they exited the theater, her arm wrapped around his. She then laughed as Bill attempted a poor version of Cabaret's title song, not really knowing most of the words. "What the hell is that?" she teased, burrowing into his warmth as they made their way to his truck.

"I can sing," he said defensively.

"Mmm-hmm," she responded, eyes twinkling.

He'd bought the largest tub of popcorn at the theater, hoping that maybe she would eat a little of that, which she had. He was happy to see that she'd finally relaxed, that whatever had been bothering her seemed to have disappeared once they'd sat in their seats. "I love movies," she'd confessed, smiling unabashedly. "We used to go to them whenever we could, the whole Roslin family. Richard and Deborah never want to go to the movies."

He'd put his arm around her during the film. It was hardly a 'date' movie, and parts of it had made him somewhat uncomfortable, but he was glad she'd liked it.

As he opened her door for her, he said, "did you ever read The Godfather?"

"Not yet," she said. "It's on my ever-growing list. The movie comes out in a couple weeks right?"

"We should go."

She smiled brightly at him as he slid into the driver's seat. "I'd like that."

Laura sat quietly, looking out the window again, as he started the engine and began the short drive home. He moved one hand from the wheels to find hers, squeezing it once and then holding on. She leaned in, dropping her head on his shoulder.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really. Popcorn," she said.

"Okay. Let me know later, and we can maybe order something."

His apartment was a little cold when they arrived. "Would you like some tea?" he asked, as she shucked her shoes off again and padded behind him bare-footed.

"Yes, please," she said, following him to the kitchen.

Her hair was a little bushy from the cold breeze, her curls lying around her face haphazardly. He chuckled once he set the kettle brewing, brushing them off her face and leaning in to kiss her. She met him happily, humming into his mouth and opening hers. With a sudden groan he took her invitation, sliding a strong arm around her waist to pull her tightly to him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

They kissed heatedly for several long moments. His arousal soared when she slipped her arms under his jacket to tug his shirt from his pants, sliding her hands up underneath to touch the bare skin of his back. His free hand moved into the softness of her auburn curls, holding her head in place as he traced the roof of her mouth with his tongue. She shivered against him.

He was surprised when her left hand lifted off his back to reach behind him, shutting the burner off. Her eyes were heavy with desire when she kissed her way wetly to his ear. "How about you warm me up, instead?" she murmured.

Bill didn't need further encouragement. Sliding his hands down her back, he anchored them under her thighs, lifting her easily off the ground to wrap her legs around his waist. Laura laughed in surprise, then kissed him again. He moved as quickly as he could this way, navigating through his medium-sized apartment before depositing her gently on his bed. She pulled her shirt up and over her head and slipped her jeans off quickly as he worked on his own clothing, his eyes devouring her as more and more skin was revealed.

Fuck she was gorgeous. It was no wonder the media was so interested in her. Tragic story, huge accomplishments, beautiful face…. He tossed his pants to the side and crawled in after her, and she hummed happily as he settled between her legs. Bill found her mouth again, sweetly tempting, as her head fell to his pillow and her arms entwined his neck.

She was intoxicating. He kissed down her throat, sucking hard on the exposed skin of her collarbone. She gasped, writhed under him, as he continued his assault. She breathed his name as he settled in front of her chest and began to happily suckle at her left nipple, his right hand playing with her other soft breast. She arched into him, her fingers tracing along his shoulders, arms, and ass. It felt like she was touching him everywhere. "Bill," she gasped, as he switched breasts, dropping his free hand to move along the swell of her stomach.

As his right hand dipped between her legs, she dropped them fully open. "Yeah, baby," he said, rising up on his forearm to watch her face as he began to thrust two fingers slowly into her, grinding the heel of his hand against her clit. She moaned throatily, her eyes fluttering closed.

When he added a third fingers, Laura's eyes flew open again, and she tugged under his arms. "I want you," she gasped, pulling him up level with her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he positioned himself in the cradle of her thighs. Without preamble, he thrust forward, and she cried out, her head pushing into the pillow. He kissed her harshly as he began to thrust, and she met him just as enthusiastically, her hips rising to meet his. When the kiss broke, he pushed her hair off her face, cradling her head in his hands as he thrust harder into her. Her eyes were glazed in pleasure, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. "So fucking beautiful," he said throatily.

"Oh, God, Bill," she said, hands scrambling for purchase in the bedcovers. "So close, I'm so fucking close…"

He was, too. He dropped an arm to her left leg, hiking it up higher, and she broke in front of him, head thrashing back and forth on the pillow as she released a high, keening cry. His rhythm faltered as he climaxed, hot and deep inside her. He held himself above her through his orgasm, as she continued to shudder below him, and then uncoordinatedly moved to her side, panting.

Bill opened his eyes to find Laura still on her back, eyes still closed, body shaking slightly. He reached over, gathering her to him, and she came willingly, her arm sliding around his waist, her head under his chin. He felt her breathing settle slowly, smelled himself on her skin, and felt the warm rush of everything he felt for her course through him at once. "I love you," he whispered, holding her close.

She tensed immediately, and he held back a sigh. He had half-expected this reaction, though he'd hoped against it. When was the last time she had heard those words? Did Deborah or Richard ever say them? He doubted it. How many other people in her life knew her well enough to even think to say them? "Hey," he said, running a soothing hand up and down her back. "It's okay. I'm not expecting you to say it back." He hoped he kept the hurt out of his voice. He never was a very good actor.

Slowly, she relaxed back into him, as he kissed her forehead, temple, cheeks. She giggled when he pressed one small kiss to her nose, and he smiled and pulled her back into the cradle of his arms. "As much as I am enjoying this," she said wryly, "I am currently on top of the wet spot, you know."

He chuckled, and pulled away so she could move off the bed. He reached over to his desk, grabbing his robe off the back of his chair and tossing it across the bed to her. "Why don't you go put that kettle on again, and I'll find my other comforter?"

She slipped her arms into the robe and tied it around her. It was much too large for her, but he loved her in it, and told her as much. She gave him a coy look as she sauntered out of the bedroom, and he shook his head as he pulled his other comforter from his closet, making quick work of the exchange. Need to remember to do this under the sheets next time, he thought with some embarrassment. He hated dry cleaning.

He threw on a pair of sweatpants and him Team USA jacket before heading out to the kitchen. The kettle was just whistling when he arrived, and she was taking out two mugs. He took his from her, selecting plain black tea and handing her his meager selection to choose from.

"You hungry yet?" he asked, and she nodded as she dipped a bag of mint tea into her steaming cup. "Is Chinese okay?" he asked, flipping through a drawer for the menu.

"Oh my God, yes," she said. "Richard never lets me get Chinese, not even on my birthday!"

With that in mind, and all too aware of how little she had eaten earlier, he ordered a huge amount of food before setting the phone down.

Tea in hand, they cuddled on his couch in the living room. She reached for the remote, but he stilled her hand. She looked at him curiously, as he took her tea from her and set it on the end table. "You want to tell me what's been up with you recently?" he asked quietly, stroking a hand through her hair.

Laura's eyes widened slightly, and then she turned her head away from him, shaking it. He was surprised to see that her eyes appeared wet. "No, I…" she shook her head again. He hated to see her looking so upset, and he gathered her close to him again, letting out a long breath.

"Okay," he said, trying to hold back his anger. "I just want to make it clear to you, Laura, that I'm here for you. Okay? I don't know what it is that has you so unsettled recently, and it's been worrying me. I don't like to see you upset."

"I know," she whispered, relaxing into him as she realized he wasn't going to push. "I'll tell you, I will," she said. "I just don't know how to say it now. Can we just be here, together, instead?"

Bill nodded, slowly. "Okay. Want to read?"

"Not just now," she said. "Isn't Sammy Davis Jr. supposed to appear on All In The Family tonight?"

Bill recalled vaguely that that was true, but it was only 7:00, and the show wasn't on for another hour. She flipped on the news for a bit, but immediately turned it off when Richard Nixon's face appeared. "I cannot stand this war," she said, her voice breathless in its anger. "It's ridiculous, and you know they're hiding so much from us."

He shrugged. "I don't really have an opinion either way," he confessed. "I've always admired anyone who was willing to give up their lives for the country. Maybe I'll join the army when I retire," he joked, but she turned to him immediately, horror on her face.

"Don't you joke about that," she said tremulously. "Do you know how many people have died over there? God, Bill, the thought of losing you…"

He shushed her, surprised at her visceral reaction, and hugged her quickly. "It's alright, Laura, I'm not going to Vietnam. They already called draft numbers for my year. I'm safe. Besides, I've always wanted to coach after I retire. I think I'd make a good one, and I like working with the younger kids there." She nodded against him, relaxing slowly.

"Just don't joke about that again, Bill. Please."

At 7:15 they trudged out into the cold to pick up their take-out, Laura's eyes lighting up at the smell as she balanced the containers on her lap in the truck. By the time they got home, they had about ten minutes until the show. He found some plates and napkins, and grabbed a fork and spoon for himself before they settled down onto the couch to eat.

By the end of the show, both were stuffed and laughing uproariously. Laura was waving her hand at him helplessly, clutching her stomach. "Oh God," she cried, "that kiss, sweet Jesus…"

Bill couldn't even get that much out. Between the overindulgence in Chinese food and that ridiculous kiss at the end of the show, he was laughing so hard he was worried he might vomit. He leaned back against the cushions, wondering if this was how Laura felt when she couldn't stop giggling at the big competitions.

Eventually, laughter subsided, and they gathered the leftovers and plates to bring to the kitchen. She packed away what was left and placed it in his fridge as he quickly washed the dishes. He saw her yawn, and chuckled. "It's not even 9 o'clock yet, you know."

"I've been going non-stop since I won the Olympics," Laura reminded him. "I haven't been this tired… maybe ever. This is my first day off in weeks."

Bill slipped his hand into hers as they exited the kitchen. Quietly, he led her to the bedroom, where he took off his USA Jacket and his sweatpants. She shucked the robe, and he handed her a t-shirt of his before they crawled under the covers. She slid over to him immediately, burrowing into his arms and resting her head on his chest. He felt her yawn against him again. He didn't feel terribly tired, but he was perfectly content to lie here with her in his arms until he did. "Why don't you tell me about your childhood?" she asked sleepily.

"My childhood?" he repeated. "What do you want to know?"

"Oh, anything," she said. "Why did you decide to skate? What did you do when you weren't skating? When did you get your first kiss?"

He chuckled, dropping one onto the top of her head. "Let's see. When I was 5 or so, dad took me to the rink for hockey lessons. He thought his young man should do something really tough, you know. But I was really bored during the first lesson, none of it seemed that exciting. When we were leaving, one of the novice skaters came out to practice by himself, and he did a double lutz in front of me. I remember watching wide-eyed as he leapt all the way into the air and spun around, like it was so easy. I turned to my dad, and I said, 'I want to do that.'"

Laura giggled tiredly. "So, not the 'tough' sport he was looking for."

"No," Bill said, smiling to himself. "He got over it eventually, though."

"And the other things you did?"

"Oh," he said, snorting. "Not much, really. I read. I ran around the neighborhood with other boys. Rode my bike. Teased Carolanne Pettigrew mercilessly."

"Carolanne Pettigrew?"

"Yep. She lived across the street and was such a little know-it-all, she drove me nuts."

"And was she your first kiss?"

He looked down at her, surprised. "How did you know that?"

Laura giggled again. "Just a guess."

She yawned again, settling closer against him. He felt ridiculously content here, with her in his arms. He could see his whole future with her in his head, easily, and not a single part of it scared him. He knew, though, that it would scare her, so he promised himself he would take it slow, wait at least a year to propose, let her get used to someone loving her. She deserved to have that again, to have a real family that she could lean on when she needed to. He wanted to give that to her. He wanted to give it to her so, so badly.

In a short time, her breathing evened out as she fell asleep. He lay awake for a while longer, listening to the soft sounds she made, happier than he could remember being.

Years later, the shock of the next day would continue to fill him with a cold, numb feeling. Decades later, he knew that feeling would never leave, no matter how he tried.

She left very early in the morning to go to the rink. He kissed her on her way out, she promised to call later, suggestion lacing her voice. Hours later, he was reading the newspaper when his phone rang.

"Hello?"

There was a long pause, and he was about to hang up when her voice, sounding strange, said, "hi."

Bill smiled happily, setting the newspaper aside. "Hey, baby."

There was a strange sound, again, on the other end of the line, some noise that sounded as though it came from her throat. A slow trickle of unease began to spread through him right before she said, "I'm sorry, Bill. This isn't going to work."

Her voice was dead, flat, like someone had replaced his Laura's beautiful voice with a vague facsimile. The dread settled deeply into his stomach, spreading out through his limbs. This doesn't make sense, it makes no sense at all, he thought, confused, certain that what it seemed was happening couldn't actually be happening. "What are you talking about?" She didn't speak right away, but he was certain, this time, that what he heard was a muffle sob. "Laura?" he asked, alarm beginning to take hold in him now. No, no, no, no…

"I'm sorry," she repeated, and he wanted to yell at her, to tell that I'm sorry wasn't what he needed to hear just then. Her voice was trembling now. "I can't do this. We're over."

Oh holy shit, this IS happening. "No," he said, quickly, hoping to cut her off, to talk some sense into her. "I don't know where this came from, Laura, but please don't shut me out, I lo-"

The line went dead. He stared at it in shock, realized he was shaking, too, before he got up, grabbing his coat and his truck keys. Something was horribly wrong, this didn't make any sense, she couldn't possibly mean it.

The drive to the Adar's house seemed longer than usual, but he was out of his truck in a flash once he got there, pounding hard on the door. He was breathing heavily when Richard opened it. He expected to see triumph in the other man's eyes, but Richard looked at him like he was a prize that tasted sour. "Where is she?" Bill asked, not caring how desperate his voice sounded.

"She's not here."

"Where is she?" Bill repeated, stepping up right next to him. They were both fit men, both athletes, but Bill was certain he outweighed Richard by at least 30 pounds.

"I don't know," Richard said calmly. "She moved out earlier. Didn't tell me where she was going."

The dread took hold again, stealing his ability to breathe. "You're fucking lying, you fucking asshole."

Richard stepped back, opened the door. "See for yourself, then, Adama."

And Bill did. He ran up to her room, had to pause to ward off an anxiety attack when he found her room devoid of her belongings. He ran to Richard's desk, the kitchen, the living room, but he saw no note, nothing that would indicate where Laura had gone. He saw her, again, in his head, the far-away look on her face, the distance she'd been putting between herself and everybody. But it still didn't make sense. Just that morning she had kissed him, had laughed with him, had moaned as he'd run his lips over her body in the night.

"The rink," he muttered to himself, as he turned to leave.

"I wouldn't go there if I were you," Richard said, leaning against the kitchen door. "You're not welcome there anymore."

Bill stared at him in shock. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said. "It's my rink, Richard, I pay to go there."

"You're money's been refunded. I fired you two hours ago. The security guards already know," Richard said, shrugging. "This hasn't been working, anyway."

"Fine," Bill said, pissed beyond measure. He could deal with Richard later. "Fuck you," he added, as he slammed the door behind him.

He waited until early the next morning before going to the rink, when he knew she would be there. The security guards at the Broadmoor had known him for 4 years now. Surely they wouldn't keep him out.

But they did, at the front of the hotel. He was in tears by then. He couldn't help it - not anymore. "I just need to know if Laura is here," he told them. "That's all. Tell her I'm here, that I need to speak with her, please."

Steve and Brian looked at each other uneasily. "I don't think Mr. Adar would like that," Steve said quietly.

"I don't fucking give a shit what Mr. Adar would like," Bill said. "He had something to do with this, I know he did, and I am not going down without a fight. Please."

The two looked at each other again, for just a moment, before Brian nudged Steve. "Okay, I'll go. I'll take the heat, if I have to."

"Your funeral," Steve said.

Bill waited, hope waiting dormant in his gut. Please please please please. But a few minutes later Brian came out, a sad look on his face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Adama, but she won't see you."

Bill felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head. He pushed past them immediately, forced his way through before they realized what he was doing, running as fast as he could to the rink. They followed, but he was an Olympic athlete, and he realized with some measure of triumph that he was going to get there before they could stop him.

She was there, in the mezzanine outside of the rink, a cup of coffee in her hands. Richard stood nearby, speaking in low tones. For someone who was usually so full of spirit, she looked unusually placid, like the fire had gone out of her. "Laura!" he yelled. She turned abruptly, her eyes wide, the cup slipping out of her grasp. She yelped, jumping back from the hot liquid as it splashed, and from where he was he could see she was shaking as looked back up to him. She looked terrified. "Laura!" he yelled again, before Steve and Brian finally caught up to him, Steve tackling him from behind.

"No," he yelled, struggling. "Laura, Laura, talk to me," he called, fighting back again them. He was horrified when she just continued to stare at him impassively, wide-eyed, and said nothing. Richard placed both his hands on her shoulders, standing coolly behind her. "Please, Laura," he begged. "I love you, don't do this, please."

"Goddammit, Adama, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Brian asked angrily. He and Steve continued to try to pull Bill back, but Bill was a man on a mission, and he wasn't making it easy on them.

Until the world went black.

He tried three more times to go to the rink, and was forcefully turned away each time. He called the Adars several times, and each time Deborah informed him that they still had no idea where Laura was staying. He called every hotel in Colorado Springs, with no results whatsoever. It was there that he hit a wall. Laura had never been very social, and he couldn't think of many people to call whom he thought she would be in contact with. He tried, though. He called Janet Lynn and Julie Holmes, neither of whom had heard from her. He called her choreographer, her music editor, and her costume designer, none of whom said anything. He called a few guys from the rink, but they all hung up as soon as they heard his voice.

A week after the night she had spent there, he curled up on the couch, multiple empty beer cans on his coffee table, and cried himself to sleep. He felt pathetic, and suddenly very old, and he never wanted to get off his couch ever again. Saul had called him several times, told him to 'forget that holier-than-thou bitch', and Bill had let him rant until they'd hung up. His father had told him to take his time, get over it, and move on.

Bill didn't want to move on. The woman he loved was somewhere within a 30 minute drive, and he had lost her without having a clue what he had done. He was supposed to go to the World Championships in two days, and she would be there, but his sadness was very quickly changing to anger. He'd given her every piece of him, had told her he loved her, and she'd walked away without even an explanation. All he kept thinking about was the look on her face as he'd dropped to his knees and begged her to take him back, that she hadn't even blinked. She'd just stood there, quiet as a mouse, and watched him get dragged out, and then knocked out, by those two thugs. That bitch. Saul was absolutely right, and still he couldn't get her out of his mind. Pieces of her flashed in front of his eyes every minute: her laugh, her touch, the exquisitely beautiful look on her face as she had climaxed.

He had no idea what to do with his life. He had planned his entire life around the idea of being with her. He never wanted to set foot in an ice rink again. How could he do that and not think of her? Coaching seemed like a forgotten dream. He just wanted to forget every moment he had had with her, forget there had ever been a woman named Laura Roslin in his life. A small part of him just wanted to die.

He woke up, his whole body aching and his head pounding, on his couch the next morning. The TV was still on, but he shut it off, dressing slowly, brushing his teeth and downing a few painkillers. Throwing on his coat, he walked the short distance to his favorite diner and ordered his favorite breakfast. It hardly tasted like anything to him at that moment, but he was trying to do the right thing and get over it, dammit.

He downed several glasses of water and took a few more painkillers when he got home before slowly tidying up his apartment, which was a mess from his lack of caring. When he found The Big Sleep, still 20 pages from the end, on his end table, he had to resist tearing the pages out. He ambled out to the living room, intent on finishing it without her. Serves her right.

He couldn't, though. He couldn't even open it. Her bookmarker was still there, the stupid one with purple flowers on it that he'd teased her about. After an hour of sitting listlessly, staring at the book, assaulted again with the memories they'd built up over the year, he picked it up and walked over to a full bookshelf. Pulling out a random title, he tossed it to the floor, before replacing it with Chandler's book.

Donning his coat again, he went for another walk, wandering aimlessly, not particularly caring if he got lost. He'd been here 4 years, but Colorado Springs was a pretty big place. And he wanted to be alone.

He didn't go to the World Championships. He searched around his apartment until he found a press reporter's number shoved between the pages of one of the many booklets he'd ended up with at the Olympics, and called her to announce his withdrawal, assuming that it would be, if not front-page news, at least close enough to garner attention. He figured USFSA had gotten the message when his phone started ringing frantically, so he disconnected his phone and lazed on his couch for several days.

Time seemed meaningless, and eventually he had to go to the store to get some more toiler paper. He was out of anything that could even vaguely be used for that purpose.

And there she was, on the front page of several weekly newspapers, her third World Championship medal around her neck, a big smile on her face. That wasn't what caught his attention. No, next to that picture was another one. Laura, walking with Ondrej Nepela, the Olympic champion, his arm around her waist. There was a whole article about them, and he realized with a sick feeling in his stomach that his own picture, in a little circle, was halfway down the article. He knew what it must say without even reading it.

He dropped the toilet paper on the ground, pulling out the other newspaper. All of them featured Laura on the cover, all of them featured her with Nepela – two different pictures, the other showing them eating together and laughing. Two others asking about Bill, in relation to those pictures. He realized his hands were shaking as he pushed all the papers he had pulled out into one big clump on the stand, barely even feeling guilty.

So that was it, then. Or something. It was all a jumbled mess in his head, but the only really clear thing was that Laura was clearly over him, if she had ever really wanted him to begin with. He left the toilet paper there, walking straight out. He wasn't getting her back. He was going to have to learn to live without her.

The nagging feeling in the back of his head solidified. What he had said to her didn't matter anymore, and he had no desire to coach in the near future. He needed something to set his head straight, and he needed a purpose again.

And he really always had admired men who were willing to die for their country.