Laura's ass deep in year-end reports and wishing she had told Richard where to shove it when he asked her to help with his campaign. Well, not really, but at times like these she misses teaching like it was air. Her personal assistant, she is still getting used to having a PA, Rosa drops a folder on the very last corner of her desk, and says, "That's the last of the budget overviews for you to review, just the Tauron and Virgon districts, and we're done."
"Oh good," Laura mutters, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes. "Then what?"
"Well, we need you need to consult with Peter Elliott's team about drafting a budget proposal for the coming year," Rosa starts ticking things off on her fingers. "Meesha wants to talk to you about the strike rumours. The BAPW is going to be releasing a report on possible bias in the cultural studies curriculum some time this week; you can guess what that's going to say, and we need to go over your comments to the press before they do. The president wants some face time, but he didn't say why, and it's probably not urgent. You have a meeting with the spokesperson of Concerned Parents for Equal Education on Tuesday, and we need to review their position on standardised testing." Rosa moves on to her other hand. "Your doctor's office called again, I booked a mammogram appointment for Wednesday at two thirty. Oh, and..."
By the time Rosa gets back to her right hand, Laura decides that there's no way any three people could have time for all that, takes a hardcopy of her schedule, and starts marking changes in a red ink.
Later, Laura realises that she should have just left that first ship when the Cylons attacked Colonial One. Only Captain Apollo's ingenuity, and a good deal of blind luck, saved both ships from destruction, and Gods knew it took that much longer to recover her reputation as something other than an irrational school teacher. She should feel good about saving the thirty odd people on that transport, no matter what the cost, but somehow it only made her next decision worse.
"Doctor, I need you to serve as my chief scientific consultant and analyst regarding the Cylons and their technology."
She tells Bill that she needs to stay for a least a few more hours of the Colonial Day celebrations to make a good show, which is pretty much double dog daring him to do the same. Dancing inevitably turns to drinking, and by the time they leave, she's holding his arm to steady herself, not quite smashed but definitely rather tipsy.
Bill escorts her not only to her shuttle, but onto the Colonial One and all the way to her bedroom door. Seeing him standing awkwardly there, she knows that if she invites him in for a drink he'll stay. At this moment, he'll to anything she asks of him. They stand that way for an age, chests almost touching, her hand still on his arm.
He almost starts to bend down towards her, but she lets go, says, "Goodnight, Commander," and turns away.
The moment she tells Bill to assassinate Admiral Cain, she wishes she hadn't. Not that it doesn't need to be done -- she is sure of that -- but because of the way he's looking at her. Strange, after all they've gone through together, she thought by now he would understand just how far she is willing to go. Every time she crosses another one of his lines, she gets this look, and every time she hopes she never has to see it again.