Chapter Text
When she manages to open her eyes, all Laura Roslin can see is blackness. She closes her eyes against the pounding in her head then forces them open again, blinking to try and clear the obsidian pitch, feeling panic beginning to flutter in her chest when it fails. She stretches her hands out, feeling nothing but air, then pats the ground where she’s sitting, fingertips lingering over a smooth, cold surface. She blinks again, nausea griping in her stomach as it roils with the fogginess at her temples, and she shivers as she registers a chilling breeze, goose bumps forming on arms that she abruptly realises aren’t covered. She runs a tentative hand across the rest of her body, discovering with a distressing spike in her pulse that she’s naked, and her mind is suddenly awake, terror slicing through her consciousness. What the hell is going on...?
At her side, she hears a low groan and she startles, drawing in a deep breath to try and settle the sickening thud of her her heart. “Is someone there?” she manages after a further moment listening to rapid breathing, drawing her knees to her chest in a defensive posture.
“Madam President?”
Relief pours through her at the familiar husk, though she’s concerned that he sounds as confused as she is. “Admiral?”
“It’s me.”
“I can’t see anything….Where are you?”
“Me neither….”
“Gods, I thought I’d gone blind.” She sucks in another breath, can’t force it any lower than her breastbone. “What happened?”
“Don’t remember.” Bill Adama clears his throat, and she realises he’s a lot closer than she originally thought. “Are you alright?”
“I think so.” She winces and rubs at her temples, then remembers he can’t see her. “My head’s killing me.”
“As in head injury?”
“Can’t feel any bleeding.”
“Good.” He grunts. “I think we might have been drugged.”
“What?”
“Madam President, can you stay where you are? I’m going to get up, try and do a sit-rep.”
“Alright,” she murmurs, and she feels the air move next to her as he stands, listens as he begins to pace in a systematic fashion, mapping out their surroundings. She gasps as he treads on her toes, drawing them in even closer towards her body.
“Sorry,” he apologises, sighing. “Can’t see a gods-damned thing.”
“It’s fine.”
She listens to him continue to move around, strides mixed with more hesitant steps and soft swears when he encounters barriers, until eventually he slows and she hears him inhale.
“Alright,” he says, tone resolute. “The room’s about four metres square. Walls to three sides, bars to the remaining one.”
“A cell?” she replies in question, though it’s more of a statement and she feels her voice tremble.
“Almost certainly.”
“Cylons?” She feels the fear as a clench in her gut and she wraps her arms tighter about her knees.
“It’s a reasonable presumption.”
The air she draws shudders into her lungs and she tries not to panic though her heart is thundering against her ribs. “Okay,” she makes herself breathe after a long moment, forcing a stability to her tone that’s at pointed odds with the anxiety threatening to rip her chest apart. “Okay. What’s the procedure, Admiral?”
His sigh is ponderous. “Standard military protocol for capture by enemy forces – state your name and rank. Say nothing more.”
“No attempts at negotiation?”
“Not at this stage. Whatever they ask us, we keep repeating names and ranks.” He pauses. “Or in your case, position.”
“And this works?”
“In that it stops us inadvertently giving away fleet-sensitive information. Gives your mind something to focus on.”
She reads the undertone even in the cloying darkness, voice constricting in her throat. “You’re talking about...torture.”
“In an extreme case.”
“Oh, gods.” The invocation slips out before she can prevent it and she almost thinks she feels him take a step back towards her.
“I won’t let that happen. And our people will already be formulating a rescue plan.”
He sounds so sure, bordering on defiant, and she lets the reassurance filter through her before allowing her eyes to close, willing equilibrium to her nervous system. She’s starting to shiver, the combination of cortisol with a frigid draught, the source of which she can’t identify, and the awareness of her naked body reasserts itself. “Bill.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m….” She falters, embarrassment creeping through her skin as she rubs at her arms once more. “I’m...not wearing any clothes.”
He grunts an acknowledgement. “Neither am I.”
“I mean, not any.”
His sigh is rough and she feels her breath hitch despite herself, despite the situation. “Same.”
She lets her head fall against the wall at her back, his admission causing her stomach to tighten. “What the hell is going on here?”
“It’s a crude attempt at manipulation, Laura. At humiliation.”
She gives a mirthless laugh, hugs her knees ever closer to her chest. “It’s working.”
“Don’t let it. Don’t let them have the satisfaction.”
A disembodied voice chuckles from all around them and Laura startles, feeling her heart rate accelerate once more. “Well, it’s a little too late for that, Admiral. Satisfaction is exactly what you’re both giving me and long may it continue.”
She suppresses a gasp as she registers the identity of their apparent captor, and she hears Bill swear beneath his breath. Oh gods, she thinks, panic flickering through her anew as her mind free-falls. We could really be in trouble here….
“I’m going to turn the lights on now,” the voice announces cheerily. “And, Admiral, I’d consider sitting down, if I were you. It’s a bit early in the day to be giving Madam President an eyeful of your frankly quite impressive manhood.”
She hears Bill shuffle, presumes he’s following the instruction, and then she’s blinded as a sterile white light saturates everything in the room. She buries her head in her arms against the assault on her senses, and blood pounds in her ears in time with the dull thudding in her head. After a few seconds she blinks into the comforting shadow of her skin, wondering if it’s safe to raise her face or if the intense glare of the light will pierce her eyes once more. She winces in anticipation of pain and turns her head towards where she thinks Bill is sitting, opening one eye though her face is still mostly obscured by her arms and hair. He’s maybe a metre away, his form a blur as she tries to focus, registers that he’s sitting in a similar position to her own – back to the wall, knees drawn to his chest – and she’s aware enough that she realises they’re both trying to minimise their exposure. She blinks again and his profile sharpens, and she watches as he turns his head towards her.
“Alright?” he murmurs, and all she can do is nod, her attention drawn by several sets of footsteps that march in sync towards them.
She straightens her head as John Cavil moves into her line of vision, flanked by the giant metallic forms of two armed Centurions, bladed fingers flexing as they halt in front of the cell. Laura swallows the dread that’s rising in a tidal wave through her throat.
“Ah, Admiral, Madam President,” Cavil opens brightly. “Welcome to my humble abode. Open your eyes fully so I know you can hear me and we’ll start the tour.”
She complies, forcing her eyes open and squinting against the brutal intensity of the artificial glow as she tries to focus on their captor.
“Very good.” Cavil nods his approval and takes a further step towards the bars that separate them. “As you’ve probably guessed, you’re aboard my Base Ship, and you’re my prisoners. There were no other survivors from your Raptor so it’s pointless even asking.”
We were on a Raptor….why don’t I remember? Laura looks sideways at Bill, whose brow is furrowed with both fury and confusion. “Did you drug us?” she asks, voice rough, and she ignores Bill’s grunt of warning from her side.
“Well, you’d hardly have come willingly, now, would you?” he replies with a short laugh. “The effects are temporary, Madam President. Your headaches and disorientation will fade in the next few hours and then you’ll begin to recover your memories.”
She lifts her head further, makes herself hold his gaze. “I want my clothes.”
Cavil chuckles. “Oh, I bet you do. Unfortunately you’re in no position to be making demands.”
Laura takes another breath to respond but Bill clears his throat in a clear message to stop her and she makes herself pause, pressing her lips together.
“I do believe your Admiral is trying to silence you. How regressive.” Cavil’s laugh is biting as he steps ever closer, the Centurions at his side, and Laura tries and fails to quell her sudden nausea. “Now, if you’re quite through with all this nonsense, I want to show you both your new surroundings.”
He begins to stride, running his hands along the metal bars. “As the Admiral quite astutely discovered with his finely-honed navigational skills, your cell is small but perfectly formed, with the environment completely controlled by yours truly. If you’d care to cast your eyes to your right, there’s a bucket and paper for your convenience – I know you humans are squeamish about that sort of thing but you’ll just have to make the best of it.”
Laura tries not to whimper as her brain catches up with his meaning, unable to prevent her eyes from tracking him, gaze landing on the small receptacle in question. Oh my gods...is this really happening…?
“You’re going to be in here for as long as you’re entertaining to me and after that I’ll kill you. So you’d better make sure you’re frakkin’ entertaining.” Cavil shrugs, grinning coldly as he turns on his heel to face them again. “Oh, and if you want to stand any chance of food or water or even blankets, you’d better be on your best behaviour and you’d better do exactly as I say. Understood?”
Laura feels her jaw tighten and she narrows her eyes, unwilling to affirm, and Bill is likewise stonily silent. Cavil clicks his tongue in amused disapproval. “I need to hear you say it, I’m afraid. Otherwise my friends here will make your visit the shortest in Cylon history.”
She flickers her gaze towards Bill as the Centurions’ weapons arm with a harrowing thud, and he jerks his chin in encouragement, though his cobalt eyes are hard with hatred.
“Now – do you understand, Madam President?”
She gives a terse nod. “Yes.”
“And you, Admiral?”
Bill’s baritone is controlled, though disdain rips through the single syllable. “Yes.”
“Excellent.” Cavil clasps his hands together in satisfaction. “Now, in the spirit of obedience – on your feet, Madam President.”
Laura blinks, sure she’s misheard then feeling dread unfurl in her stomach like a serpent as she watches the slow smile form in a menacing threat across his face. She sucks in a trembling breath and fights a powerful instinct to vomit onto the slick tiles beneath her body.
“She won’t be doing that,” Bill’s voice is low, threaded with defiance.
“Oh, but she will, my dear Admiral,” Cavil mocks, gesturing to either side of him. “In case you hadn’t noticed in your drug-addled state, my loyal servants still very much have their weapons ready and they won’t stand down until they’re told.”
Bill snorts a disdainful laugh. “You’d give up on your entertainment so quickly?”
“You’re a military man. Surely you know captivity is about breaking down your subjects in any way you like, usually under threat of death?”
“It’s alright, Bill,” Laura interrupts, tone barely above a whisper, beginning to uncurl her legs despite her mind’s protestations, willing away the shame that’s flickering across her skin. She glances towards him, registers the distress that flares in his expression before he drops his head to his knees to shield his eyes, and gratitude tumbles through her at his sensitivity. “It’s alright.”
“There, you see?” Cavil says triumphantly. “The president knows how to toe the line. Might have known she’d be the one with sense. Don’t keep me waiting, now.”
Legs beginning to shake, Laura pushes herself to standing, unsteady on her feet as a wave of dizziness threatens to engulf her. She has the presence of mind to bring one arm to cover her breasts, ensuring her nipples are covered and the other hand masks her mound, neat thatch of hair brushing her palm. She makes herself lift her chin in defiance, meets Cavil’s gaze as he begins to laugh.
“Did you really think that would cut it?” he jeers. “I need to see all of you, Madam President. Convince me I’m not wasting my time.”
Laura injects a levity to her words that she doesn’t feel. “Surely you’ve seen a naked woman before? Cylon or human, we’ve all got the same parts.”
“One of the great perks of leadership – as I’m sure you know, Madam President – is that you never have to explain your reasoning to anyone.” He takes a threatening step forwards and the Centurions follow suit. “Move your hands. Now.”
She holds his gaze, weighs the risk of disobedience for a moment, then sets her jaw and drops her arms to her sides, fixes a nonchalant expression to her features. She fights the rising embarrassment as Cavil’s eyes rake across her, reptilian eyes lingering on her breasts, the curves of her hips, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips.
“My god, but you’re even more stunning out of clothes than you are in them,” he groans in a lascivious drawl. “Wouldn’t you agree, Admiral?”
Laura tries not to react to the question, knowing that Bill’s eyes are still guarded without even having to check, fixing her stare at a point over Cavil’s shoulder as he continues to needle.
“Admiral, I asked you a question.”
Bill’s silence is stoic and uncooperative, and Laura feels a conflicting mixture of gratitude and trepidation about their captor’s potential reaction.
“For shame,” Cavil continues with an exaggerated shake of his head. “I think perhaps you need to stand up to appraise her in the way she deserves.”
Laura swallows, throat dry and tight, hears the grind of metal as the Centurions turn their weapons towards Bill, and she’s certain Cavil won’t hesitate if they refuse him. Bill is evidently thinking the same because she’s aware of him shifting to his feet, and she closes her eyes to afford him the limited privacy as he did, her.
Cavil gives an irritated growl. “I’m losing patience with the two of you already. Stop playing games, open your frakkin’ eyes – both of you – and turn to face each other.”
She feels her pulse quicken but obeys, raises her head and opens her eyes, to find Bill’s own fixed on hers. His gaze is unwavering from her face, their eyes locking in determination, and she wonders for a brief moment if he’s having to wrestle the temptation to appraise her body as she is with his. She feels heat flair in her cheeks, mortification flooding her as she watches a muscle twitch in his jaw.
She’s aware that her body is curvier out of clothes than in them – her generous breasts sag the tiniest fraction, her stomach softer when released from the compression of underwear, hips more rounded and full. Under normal circumstances she embraces it, enjoys the extra contours being cancer-free has afforded her; now under the weight of Cavil’s cold scrutiny she feels the discomfiting glare of humiliation and loathes herself for it.
To his credit, Bill’s cobalt gaze is neutral, riveted to her eyes, and she’s thoroughly grateful for his stoic kindness, his resolute stance that her face will be the only part of her body he observes on purpose.
“Interesting,” Cavil drawls, and she keeps her eyes Bill, trying to drown the Cylon out. “Flushed skin, slightly dilated pupils – there’s definitely sexual attraction there, Admiral, Madam President, conscious or not. This bodes extremely well for my work.”
At that, Laura turns back to face him, unable to keep the contempt from her tone. “Work?”
“Oh, yes, didn’t I mention that? As uncomfortable as this may be for you, I’m conducting extremely important work on behalf of my people. So try and feel honoured – your contribution is valued and appreciated.”
“We won’t be participating. We….”
“You already are, my dear Laura – may I call you that? Or is that a privilege strictly reserved for your cell-mate?”
She lifts her chin another fraction. “My name is Laura Judith Roslin. I was born on Caprica. I am the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. I….”
“I see you’ve been taking the Admiral’s advice regarding captive procedure.” Cavil barks a scathing laugh. “And yes, if you’re wondering – I can see and hear everything you do in here, and I’ll be checking in on you regularly.”
Laura flickers her gaze to Bill, sees him give the tiniest shake of his head, and she returns her attention to Cavil, clamping her jaw shut.
“You’ve both performed exactly as expected so far,” he tells them, almost conversationally, striding to the back of the room and returning with two bottles of water, which he slips through the bars. “Your reward. The first of many such luxuries, so long as you behave. And don’t look so concerned – I wouldn’t be so short-sighted as to poison it.”
Neither Bill nor Laura move, and the Cylon chuckles again. “Suit yourselves. I’ll leave you to it for a while now, if you don’t mind. And since I’m in a good mood I’ll dim the lights a little – see if that helps you to settle in. Enjoy the break from your responsibilities, and I’ll see you soon.”
With that, he turns on his heel and stalks away, the Centurions in his wake, and Laura retreats immediately to the rear wall, sinking to the floor and drawing her legs up, trying to shield her body once more, even as the lights begin to fade to a more forgiving twilight. She drops her head to her knees, startling at a cool sensation against her hand before realising Bill is handing her a water bottle, and she grips it, his fingers brushing hers before he withdraws.