Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to Ronald D. Moore and the Sci-Fi channel. Set during season three. This is a parody/humor piece.
Going Without
Admiral Adama scrounged through his cupboard, bleary-eyed, as he attempted to find the holy grail of mornings: coffee. Still in his bathrobe, he moved cereal boxes over, picked up jars of preserves, and even looked around the algae. He groaned in disgust at the fact that he was officially out of coffee. Meandering toward the shower, he wondered if everyone else had the same problem.
President Roslin sat slumped at her desk with her head in her hands. "What do you mean 'there's no more coffee?'" she interrogated her aide.
"Madame President, everyone everywhere is out of coffee. I'm sorry, but we couldn't get coffee if someone offered to buy votes with it," Tory informed her.
Roslin rolled her eyes. "Just tell me what my schedule is and I'll manage," she requested dryly.
"You have a meeting with the Quorum, a press conference to discuss the food situation, a meeting with Zarek, and a meeting with the admiral," Tory reminded. Then she glanced at the watch. "I'm sorry Madame President, but I forgot that Colonel Tigh wanted to talk to you first thing in the morning. He should be on his way."
"What!" the president snapped. "What the frak does he want? And why come to me instead of the admiral?"
Tory suddenly had the urge to dodge possible flying objects. "I'll see if he has arrived yet," she said, hurrying out of the room.
Much to Roslin's chagrin, a few minutes later Tigh entered her office. What was even more irritating was the fact that he seemed far more chipper than she felt. "Did you want something, Colonel?" she questioned.
As she stood, he placed his hands on her desk. "Ma'am I'm gonna be blunt on this one."
"When have you not been?" she countered.
He glared at her with his eye and continued. "I know you hoard things, so hand over the damned coffee before everyone in CIC kills each other!" he demanded.
Standing back, she crossed her arms and glared back over the top of her glasses. "Colonel, if I had coffee, don't you think I would have had a cup myself this morning?"
Taking a hard look at her, he stepped back. "Maybe you're right. The only one in worse shape than you'd be the admiral."
"And why are you so perky this morning?" she had to ask.
He started to leave, but turned back. "Unlike the rest of you caffeine addicts, I have a couple shots of whiskey in the morning. How else do you think I could stay sane these days?"
The colonel had left, not expecting Roslin to answer. She sighed heavily and shook her head, sitting back down at her desk for a moment, sorting through the information that she would be going over with the press. Fortunately by the time she met with them, she was able to feign civility. She continued to pretend that she was in a good mood for the quorum as well. However, Zarek was a different story.
"Mr. Zarek," she greeted curtly.
"Madame President," his response mirrored hers.
He walked casually through her office and took a seat. "Your idea of decorating is bland, Madame President. At least Baltar had some very interesting pictures."
She folded her hands at her desk. "My office is not catering to the imaginations of lewd-minded men. Now was there something specific you wanted, or did you just come here to critique the décor?" she probed. By her tone, he could tell that she was not in a joking mood.
"You don't look so good this morning; pretending to be a prophetess again?" he goaded. She glared at him sharply and he continued. "Alright, I'll make you a deal. I'll say yes to anything you want at the Quorum meetings for the next six months if you hand over any coffee you have to me."
Standing and crossing her arms, she walked over to him. "Mr. Zarek, I don't have any frakking coffee, so get out," she articulated, pointing toward the door. She sighed with relief when he had left. Pacing her office, she decided to go somewhere that she might not easily be bothered at.
In CIC on Galactica, no one noticed Roslin entering. Everyone was either starring off in frustration, holding his or her head in their hands, or pacing. Gaeta tapped his fingers on the railing angrily, glaring at the colonel. Tigh had made him stand away from his console when he caught the man playing Pong. Adama stood in the lower deck, his eyes narrowed at the view screen watching as some of the shuttles were doing test jumps.
Then the phone rang and Tigh picked it up. "Galactica," he paused and handed the phone to the admiral.
"Yes this is Galactica Actual," Adama began gruffly. Roslin watched as his head suddenly jerked over to a part of the screen. "No Lee, Starbuck is not over here right now! She's probably working with the pilots and doing her job, like you're supposed to be! This is not your personal hotline!" he hung up and Roslin tried not to giggle.
Adama had heard enough of a noise though to turn around. He spotted her and motioned for her to come down. "I think my meeting with you is later," he reminded.
"It is, but I wanted to come here for a while. I had to tell the press that everyone is out of coffee," she relayed.
"But what are you doing here?" he pursued, surprisingly not irritated at her.
"Those idiots from the press aren't smart enough to find me here, the Quorum is too busy to look for me, and Zarek wouldn't dare look for me here as long as you're here with me," she answered.
Adama smirked. "So you're hiding?"
She stepped closer to him so that no one else would hear what she was saying. "Everyone's been bothering me about coffee, thinking that I have some. I don't and I wish that they would all just leave me alone."
"Too bad you all just can't get used to whiskey in the morning," Tigh muttered.
At that moment, Cylons jumped into the view screen. Adama sounded the alert and sent word to the viper pilots. Starbuck's irritability had increased due to the lack of coffee, which meant that anyone within a five-foot radius of her cowered. Flying a viper herself, she began to lead them into the fight, narrowing her eyes at the Cylon ships in the viewscreen.
"This is what you get for making us run out of coffee, you frakking toasters!" Starbuck yelled as she fired her weapons.
The caffeine-deprived pilots took out four base ships and a resurrection ship. Too mortified to continue in the onslaught, the remaining Cylon ships hastily jumped away. In CIC, Tigh looked over at Adama. "If we'd known they could do that, we would've taken coffee away from them long before now," he commented.
"If only we had a decent substitute for coffee," Roslin mentioned.
The admiral looked over at the colonel. "Saul, it's all yours," he paused and faced Roslin. "I believe the president and I have a meeting."
She raised an eyebrow at the mischief she saw in the admiral's eyes, but said nothing as they walked toward his quarters. Once inside, he went to his small refrigerator and pulled out chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and soy milk. "Regular milk doesn't keep this long, so you'll have to put up with soy," he began.
"What are you doing?" she probed.
"Something I haven't done since I was in high school. Zack and Lee never got into it though," he stated. She watched with shock as he poured a small amount of milk in his mouth and then added chocolate syrup before swishing it around and swallowing.
Then she doubled over in laughter. "Bill, I think you've finally lost it this time. It seems to me that there should be an age limit on some things."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you calling me 'old' now?" he challenged.
"No, I'm just saying that a teenage stunt should stay a teenage stunt," she countered.
"That's because you've never done it before," he paused and handed the carton to her. "Try it once and I won't bother you again with 'teenage stunts,'" he proposed.
She rolled her eyes and did as he had suggested. Then they grinned wryly at each other. "I suppose that wasn't so bad. What's the whipped cream for though?" she asked.
He chuckled and picked up the can. "This is another teenage stunt," he remarked, putting his head back and squirting the whipped cream into his mouth.
"I guess what they say about men is true: sometimes they are still boys at heart," she goaded him.
He handed the can to her and this time she tried without protesting. However, she was not as adept at it as he was and missed a few times before hitting her mouth. "I think you need lessons on how to be a kid again yourself," he teased, wiping the whipped cream from her cheeks with his thumb and then licking his hand.
She handed the can back to him. "Alright, help me then," she requested, tilting her head back and opening her mouth like a bird as he complied. "Much more efficient," she later stated.
"But not as much fun as watching you get whipped cream all over your face," he added.
She looked at him incredulously and took the can. "My face, huh? Let's see what it looks like all over your face," she joked as she squirted him in the face with whipped cream.
He laughed heartily as she tried to mimic him and take some of it off with her fingers. Then a far more interesting idea crossed her mind and she leaned up to lick it off his face. She licked the corners of his mouth and then hesitated. He decided that it could not hurt and closed the distance between them in a sound kiss. She raked her fingers through his hair as he deepened the kiss and held her to him.
Tory had been looking for the president and had decided to visit the admiral's quarters. The door was unlocked and she entered, expecting to find the two of them in a long discussion in his living room. What she found was that they were sharing a long kiss in his kitchen, each with whipped cream on their faces. Roslin still held the can in one hand.
Fearing for her life over what could happen should she interrupt them, Tory dashed out of the room. When Roslin and Adama broke the heated kiss for air, they chuckled. "I suppose this is an adequate substitute for coffee, but I might just need more lessons in teenage behavior," she commented.
"I think Tory just left, so you've got time now," he pointed out, mischief in his eyes again.
Setting the can of whipped cream down on the counter, she kissed him again. "Care to play instructor then?" she prompted.
"If you can stand a lesson that could take a couple of hours," he replied. She giggled again and he kissed her passionately before locking his door.
(For those of you who don't know, Pong is sort of like an old version of paddle ball for the computer. Please excuse my funny bone. The idea just struck me as humorous, and therefore I had to write it).