She stumbled into his...well, in his less cynical moments he called it his office, as if such a word as office had any meaning at all anymore, half angry and half depressed at something, and being who she was, the anger half naturally converted itself into rage, and the depression half naturally converted itself into...well, into rage.
Usually.
However, when she began to strip, right in front of him, he determined – logically to the very end – that she had decided to unleash her anger through sex rather than fighting. Which was generally more pleasant for him, who rather liked getting laid more than getting hit.
Nevertheless, unlike some men, the tears struggling against her eyes was something of a turn-off for him, so he interrupted her before she could make much progress: "What are you doing?"
"That's an awful stupid question for a genius."
He smiles briefly. He stands awkwardly from his desk, bumping against it accidentally and nearly stumbling back into his chair, but he averts disaster barely and it's back to the talking. "I'm not entirely sure what opinion you have on me, though I suspect it's not quite as high as I might like. And the Gods know that my opinion of myself becomes very low at times, but at the present it is not so low as to be your comfort frak." He paused; that may not have been especially true. "Especially when I get the feeling I'm just substituting for someone else."
And so he had successfully, but totally unintentionally, converted her desire to frak him into the more predictable and much less fun desire to punch him. And the next words out of her mouth were, indeed, "You little frakker-"
But he deflected her with a quick comment - "The whole point of this was that I'm not, I believe." She pauses for a moment, if only to dissect his sentence, but it's the window he needs. "But your reaction indicates I'm probably correct. So it comes to, in my mind, three possibilities."
"You've figured out three possibilities already?"
"Maybe you forgot, but I am a genius. Now, then: first, new, bad news of your lover on Caprica, unlikely but not impossible. Second, your little boytoy Agathon finally told you he was tired of using you as a substitute for the Cylon down in the brig, extremely unlikely given that he is suffering from depression – well hidden depression, but rather severe – and that his self-esteem is even lower than mine. It would be a wonder if he could muster the will to contradict you on anything anymore."
"So you've got this all figured out, don't you?"
"Oh no. The third option has to do with the younger Adama. Unfortunately, there are several thousand different interactions you could have with Captain Apollo, as the President is so fond of calling him, that would lead to your present emotional state. Nevertheless, the severity-"
"You talk like an encyclopedia."
"If you're going to insult me, please do two things. Please do not interrupt me while I'm speaking, and please, please, come up with something original. I became exhausted of that one in sixth grade."
She smiles despite herself, which means he's winning.
"Nevertheless, as I was saying, the severity of your apparent emotions indicates that your discussion with Lee would have regarded something very important to you. So either he tried to take you off the duty roster or one of you tried to take your odd relationship to a more romantic and less friendly level."
"Great. Now you know everything. I'm going to go find someone who i is /i willing to frak me. Not something I have to go on an extensive search for, usually. Maybe Gaeta-"
"Unlikely. The Lieutenant is presently trying to understand where his attraction for Petty Officer Dualla fits into his homosexuality."
At that she laughs outright. "I'll find someone." She turns to leave.
But he speaks. "I'm sure you will."And she is about to leave again when he asks: "Out of curiosity, which one was it?" But she does not answer. She just leaves.
She left her jacket in his office.