"Are you okay, Mrs. Adama?"
Laura Adama, née Roslin, turned her head at the sound of the familiar voice and smiled.
"Yes, dear, I'm fine."
The inquiring look in the younger woman's eyes didn't escape her, and she rested a hand on Hera's shoulder, knowing that she would not leave without more of an explanation.
She's got the stubbornness of her parents, and I'm glad of it.
"I'm thinking of him, that's all."
It was the simplest way to put it, and Hera's eyes told her that she understood. She offered a smile in return and Laura raised her head again, to the stars, where he had spent such a large part of his life.
Hera moved away again, she could hear her footsteps, and while Laura knew she could not remain standing for much longer – already she was leaning heavily on her cane, and her back hurt – she wanted to stick it out for just a few more minutes.
I miss you.
She knew she didn't have a right to say it, didn't even have a right to think it. They'd spent over twenty glorious years together, which was more than either of them had ever dared to hope for. They'd survived and found earth, they'd witnessed the birth of their – technically, his – grandchildren and they'd spent twenty-seven years together in what had been, to her, complete bliss.
They'd gotten married and, while the older generation still called her 'Madam President' – old habits died hard – she was always glad to hear one of the kids – Kids? Hera is going on thirty-five! – refer to her as Mrs. Adama. It wasn't as fancy a title, for sure, but she wore it with a pride that that other name, the one that had gained her a place, albeit little, in the history books, had never quite provided.
She smiled at nothing and no-one in particular, but she felt a familiar, prickling sensation behind her eyes and she knew that soon, she'd be crying.
Laura Adama, née Roslin, did not cry often, but today was the thirtieth anniversary of her, of their, arrival on earth, and while she knew she did not have a right to mourn the loss of her husband when so many others were lost…
Perhaps tonight, of all nights, she did have that right, after all.