The couple watched the ships blow apart in the distance. They’d gone to radio silence minutes ago, neither wanting to listen to the last desperate cries and curses. Hours ago, they'd been sure that nothing could be worse than a massive Cylon attack on all twelve worlds.
Then their only protection jumped away.
This was worse.
“Refresh my memory, Captain. Is this where we say ‘It’s been an honor and a privilege to serve with you, my friend,’ or is this more of a ‘Oh Gods, oh Gods, we’re all gonna die!’ moment?” Laura glanced over at Bill for a split second then turned back to the controls.
“Maybe neither. Help me shut all the systems down. I’m gonna keep dropping us out of the main lanes.”
“Sir, permission to cut Commander Tigh’s heart out if we meet in the Elysium Fields?”
“Denied. He did the right thing. My fault we’re on a boat with no FLT.”
Her sea-green gaze was cynical as her hands worked. “Typical command. Cut and run, frak those they leave behind.”
“Be bitter later, okay, Laura? We got three minutes of life support to load the shuttle.”
He noticed her fingers still stroked the hilt of her side dagger as she got up and moved towards the back of the ship. He didn’t add that those three minutes only mattered if the toasters didn’t blast them out of the black.
He would’ve liked to have spent his last seconds alive wrapped around his co-pilot and wife of twenty-five years, but as long as there was a chance the frakkers’ DRADIS was too cluttered with targets to notice a drifting dead-looking ship…He'd heard of a Firefly-class crew that had slipped past Reavers like this once. Maybe it'd work with Cylons. And if it didn't...well, at least it'd be faster than Reavers.
The warning light pulsed red in the darkened cabin. He patted the helm and whispered “Good girl” one last time, then made his way to the shuttle.
Silk drapes fell over boxes of supplies as he ducked his head and stepped through the shuttle hatch.
“First time I’ve ever been in here without Inara’s permission.” He looked around at the mix of bright and soothing colors.
Laura snorted as she stowed the last box. “Unless you count the times we slipped in here when she was dirt-side on a call.”
“Think she made it?”
Bill seated himself at the controls behind a red silk curtain.
“There’s a chance. Her client was some big muckity-muck with his own runabout shuttle on Cloud Nine. That floating bordello had a working FTL drive, I’ve no doubt.”
“Sir? Say we don’t get blasted out of the black, or you don’t crash us into the side of a mountain, or enter atmo too fast and burn us to a crisp? What then?” Laura’s elbow touched his as she squatted beside him in the tiny space.
The shuttle trembled as it detached from the side of the ship that had been their home for more years than either one wanted to think about. In another minute or two, the last boat under his command would be history. And Captain William Adama, resistance fighter of the Tauron Civil War, and his Sergeant and wife, Laura Roslin, wouldn’t even be footnotes.
When he saw the missile streaking towards Serenity he spared one hand to turn Laura’s face to his and kissed her deep and long. It would save them both from watching her shatter. And it very likely might be their last chance.
Blue and green greeted them when they opened their eyes, swirling below as they kept their eyes on their future.
“’What then’ is I’m gonna look for some place to land that’s not on fire or under a mushroom cloud.”
She leaned against him. “And after that?”
He smiled, the first time since they got word of the attack. “After that, we’re gonna find us a resistance to join.”
Her sigh sounded surprisingly happy. She lovingly stroked her hand over the long-barreled pistol strapped in her leg holster.
“Just like old times.”
He leveled out and began scanning the terrain below.
“I aim to misbehave on Caprica,” he pronounced in a solemn voice.
Laura snickered, eyes focused on the open fields below. “We get out of this alive, Sir, I’ll embroider that on a frakking tee-shirt.”