Title: Sometimes
Authors: selenay_x, dixgrl78
Rating: M
Pairing: Laura/Tory
Laura/Tory sometimes
Summary: Sometimes Tory wished she had known Laura before she was dead inside.

Disclaimer: "Battlestar Galactica," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Ron Moore, David Eick, SciFi, R&D TV, Sky TV, and USA Cable Entertainment LLC. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Battlestar Galactica," SciFi, or any representatives of the actors whose characters are involved.

Thanks to dixgrl78 for doubling as a beta

Sometimes Tory wished she had known Laura before she was dead inside. She couldn’t blame anyone but herself for that oversight because she had the chance. In fact she’d had numerous chances, but she’d made it patently obvious to the then President that she wasn’t there to be a friend, and Laura had retreated little by little as each overture she’d made had been rebuffed. Hindsight was ever 20/20 and she could now see that what had started with Billy’s death had continued with each decision, each event that led to humanity settling on New Caprica and Tory had been one of the main culprits in Laura’s retreat. Billy was the only family, the only thing Laura had left, and everyone had forgotten that behind the President was a lost and lonely woman.

Before the Cylons came to New Caprica, Tory considered Laura’s lifestyle too Hestian and avoided her as much as possible, as if the sheer normality of doing something she loved would somehow corrupt Tory. In her mind teaching was not something a former President should do.

So because of that prejudice, she lost the chance to get to know the pre-attack Laura. She missed seeing the woman who initiated a water fight with the children on a rare hot New Caprica day. Missed the woman who nursed Maya and Isis through the flu. Missed the woman who got high on New Caprica weed and would lay on the grass giggling at cloud formations. She missed seeing the ever increasing number of people turning up on Laura’s doorstep for advice, for a chat and a cup of tea, which she found out long too late, was one of Laura’s specialties, a blend of 6 different herbs and spices.

And then came the Cylons and life once again went to Hades.

The people wanting chats and advice became a horde of desperate people seeking reassurance and redemption for their choice. All clawing what they could of her strength from her.

Laura went from anonymous teacher to resistance symbol.

Detention and oppression became a way of life.

And when Tory found her way back to Laura’s side, that thought of wishing she’d found her way back before Laura was dead inside began to form. She sat, observing Laura taking notes, risking her life to record the atrocities, the collaborators, with a stern face and a ‘has to be done’ attitude and no emotion because there was none to show.

Then there was freedom, bought at too high a price.

And they were back to where they started, President and Aide. Only this time Tory wanted more than anything for Laura to notice her. Wanted a response from Laura, a laugh, a scolding, something, anything that showed she still felt. Tory acted like a child rebelling so her parent would spank her, knew supplying information to Tom Zarek about the collaborators would get a response. But even that garnered nothing. There was no reaction from Laura. It was almost as if all human emotion had been scoured from her.

And Tory wanted Laura back. Wanted the woman who’d offered her friendship back, knowing this time she would grab it with both hands. So she continued being in her face, continued making lame jokes about where to put the painting of Baltar and was rewarded with a smile. She marked it as a start, even though it was one that never reached her eyes.

But the smile gave her hope, kept her on track to win Laura back, her Laura, the one who made children laugh, who stared at clouds, who smiled with her eyes. But thatLaura was gone she thought when she found her at her desk, head down and a bottle of chamalla by her tea cup. There was emotion that night when Tory learned she was dying again. But not emotion from Laura, unless the wispy smile she made in response to Tory’s shock at being kissed by the President counted.

Now, sometimes, in her small cabin, in the dark of space, when Laura sent her soaring on the knife edge of pleasure and pain, Tory wished she could return the favour. That instead of Laura’s mouth meeting hers, or Laura’s fingers dancing teasingly over Tory’s body leaving her nerves screaming for more, that it could be her mouth worshipping Laura’s body.

But Laura never allowed Tory to touch her. Would give pleasure, never allowed the sensations to be reciprocated.

On rare occasions, she believed she caught a glimpse of the old Laura hidden deep inside her eyes when she sent Tory into her climax. Saw her pleasure reflected back.

But that was just a lie she told herself, because everyone needed to believe in something.