They were sitting facing each other, across a desk, the President and the Commander, both bespectacled. The meeting had begun amicably enough-resource reports, updated head-counts, etc. Then, the argument started. If asked, why, later, neither one would be able to explain it-fuel reports shouldn't be that controversial. But they were arguing, heatedly.
Laura removed her glasses: She wanted to face her opponent directly. Not to be outdone by the woman, Bill followed suit. Both pairs of glasses lay on the desk, as their owners stared each other down. If asked, later, they would agree that was their first mistake.
Many weeks of tension and frustration had finally bubbled to the surface, and the intense eye-contact only made it worse. If asked, later, neither would know who moved first, but they'd both admit to it. Regardless, they both launched across the desk in a searing kiss.
Later, Bill would like to say that he'd taken her right there, and Laura would agree with the potential of such an encounter, but logic overruled passion. If they made a mess of their files, they'd just have to clean them up, and that was time that could be better spent.
Instead, Bill walked around the desk to meet her. Moments later, their suit and uniform lay scattered across the quarters, leading to his rack. The pairs of glasses, which had started it all, lay undisturbed on the desk, waiting for their owners to return to duty.
If asked, later, Bill would say he wanted her since she first walked down the ladder to Galactica, back before the worlds ended and he was meant to retire. Laura would deny she wanted him just as long. They'd both agree they made too much sense to stop; logic and passion ruled.