Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to Ronald D. Moore and the Sci-Fi channel. Set after the episode, "The Woman, King."

Good Intentions

Part 1/4: Best laid plans

President Roslin had just finished a meeting with the press, along with Tom Zarek regarding several issues for the colonists and their ability to get along with everyone from the various planets. She sank down in her chair and sighed, glad to finally be alone. However, after a few gulps of tea, she watched as Tory walked into her office.

"Madame President, the admiral wants to see you. I reminded him that you don't meet him for another fifteen minutes, but he insisted," the younger woman remarked.

Roslin noted her aide's irritation about the schedule interruption. Tory, one of these days I will teach you the necessary art of being flexible. "It's fine. Please send him in."

Admiral Adama entered as Tory left the room. Roslin watched as he sighed and walked slowly over to her desk. She stood and eyed him with concern as he spoke. "Madame President, I know our meeting isn't for another fifteen minutes, but I needed some time to relax," he explained cryptically.

She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Bill, frak the meeting. It wasn't that important today anyway. What's wrong?"

He let a ghost of a smile slip through at her concern. "It's really not a big deal. I'm just grumbling over a few things."

"Bad day?" she implored, inviting him to sit.

"I'll say," he stated gruffly.

His elbow rested against the armrest of the chair, his stare fixating on the desk. She had seen that look once before, the painfully defeated expression. The last time she had seen it, he had tried to resign and claimed to have instigated the Cylons' attack. "For Kobol's sake Bill, talk to me," she urged, seating herself in the chair next to his.

Finally he looked her in the eyes, removing his glasses. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I should be grateful that at least the Cylons left us alone today. We've got a few bad fuses that we've been trying to replace in our navigation system. Every time we try a new one though, we find some other problem. We're running out of fuses though. Two of the petty officers haven't been handling the algae well and they ended up making a mess on the upper deck of CIC."

"You were able to find someone to clean it up, right?" she inquired.

"Yes, but CIC still smells like a pond at the moment," he paused to finger his jaw and she noticed a purple bruise near his left ear. "There was a fight in the engineering sector too. I had to go and break it up myself. Too bad one of them wasn't looking at who had grabbed his wrist. They'll all be in the brig for a while. Coming back from the brig I ran into Zarek," he mentioned. She winced, remembering a discussion she had shared with the Sagittarian earlier that morning.

Adama noticed it. "Apparently you gave him the runaround on something and he took it upon himself to harass me about it. Seems that his people are tired of being quarantined. I tried to tell him that it has to be that way for the health of the other colonists. He tells me I'm being prejudiced and threatens to go to the press. If that man wasn't so damned popular, I'd recommend that you throw him out an airlock along with Baltar," the admiral expressed.

She rested her hand gently on his knee. "Bill, I'm so sorry about that. He came to me, demanding the same thing. I told him what you did, but he didn't feel like crossing me further. I had no idea that he would come after you. I'll speak to the Quorum about whom they are supposed to see for certain things."

He patted her hand and left his on top of hers. "After dealing with him, I stopped by here to gain some sanity," he relayed.

Giving him a sympathetic smile, she placed her other hand on top of his and squeezed it. Then she removed both hands and disappeared behind her desk. After digging around in a drawer for a while, she had found a crystal bottle with a label that did not match its contents, along with two small glasses.

"I think you could use a drink," she stated, pouring them each a little of the amber liquid.

He reached over and smiled slightly as he accepted the glass. "Thanks. It looks like the stuff from New Caprica. How did you get a bottle of that?" he asked.

"I have my ways," she answered with a smirk. Looking him directly in the eyes again, she realized something else. "Despite how bad your day's been, that's not what's really bothering you, is it?"

"Let it rest, Laura. There are some things I don't need to bother you with, and this is one of them," he told her frankly as he swirled the liquid around his glass and took a gulp.

She huffed and looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Whatever you're dealing with had better damn well take a back seat because it's not doing you any good to worry about it," she pointed out.

"You're probably right, but I can't see a way out of it at the moment," he remarked in that defeated tone.

Taking a gulp of her own drink, she thought for a moment. The she set her glass down on her desk, crossed her right knee over her left, draped her left arm over her lap, and let her chin rest on her right fist as the corresponding elbow balanced on her right knee. "I can accept that you're not gonna tell me what's bothering you this time, but I'm not gonna let you sit here and drown in your own puddle of self-pity. Neither one of us has that kind of time," she paused and sat up, resting her right hand on his knee again.

He watched her for she was not sure how long, as if trying to see if she was sincere. Then he sighed, took another drink, and nodded. "I'm glad I stopped by. You give me a good ass-kicking when I need it."

She chuckled softly. "Glad to be of service."

"I shouldn't have bothered you with my mess. Lords know you've got enough problems of your own," he commented.

Shaking her head, she smiled back at him. "I'm your friend. If we can't talk to each other, that leaves us both with basically the wall," she remarked.

A smirk appeared on his face. "Unless you've got an invisible friend like Baltar and that blonde Cylon."

She snorted. "I think we'd both be a in a lot of trouble if that happened."

He nodded and stood. "I should go. You probably have- frak, we have a meeting, don't we?"

Putting up her hands in a dismissive gesture she shook her head. "Neither one of us remembers what it was supposed to be about, so we can either try again later when one of us remembers, or wait until tomorrow," she suggested rationally before standing.

Folding his hands, he thought for a moment. "That's probably a good idea."

They walked to the door, each mulling over their own thoughts. He suddenly stopped and turned to face her. "Thank you," he conveyed quietly. He was not facing her directly and she could see his nervousness as he fiddled with his wedding ring.

Deciding to spare him any more awkwardness, she gently grasped his forearm so that he faced her. It was a gesture she had used before, but this time the intent was different. She grinned in a way that reminded him of New Caprica, of the fiery spirit he knew her to be capable of. Then she leaned forward and her lips brushed his briefly. Briefly had been her intent, but she stayed where she was for a moment longer.

When she pulled back, she fought against herself not to laugh at the bewildered expression on his face. "You're welcome," she whispered with a smile.

Tory's sudden presence seemed to draw him out of his perplexed state as the aide cleared her throat. He gave Roslin a warm smile and then he was gone. She ran a hand through her hair and went back to her desk. Later that afternoon, Commander Lee Adama stopped by to give the president an update on the Sagittarian situation.

After they had finished speaking about the quarantine matter, she stood. "Was there something else, Ma'am?" he asked.

She nodded. "The admiral stopped by here earlier. Apparently he'd had a particularly bad day. He was depressed about something else though. Do you have any idea what's been bothering your father?" she questioned.

The younger man was tempted to tell her that it was not really her problem, but he had noticed over the last couple of months how close the admiral and the president appeared to have become. "His sixtieth birthday is the day after tomorrow and he's feeling old."

Raising an eyebrow, she eyed him thoughtfully. "That I was unaware of, but even sixty isn't so old."

"He's worried that it will take several more years before we're all safe, and that the time will come when he's physically incapable of commanding Galactica, of protecting the people," Lee explained.

Roslin sighed and shook her head. "He's thinking too hard again. It sounds like he needs something to cheer him up and remind him that what happens now is where his mind needs to be."

"What would you suggest?" the commander probed.

She paced the distance between the back wall and her desk before her head suddenly shot up. "Why don't we give him a birthday party?"

Lee adamantly shook his head. "I don't think he'd approve."

That familiar mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. "Then we'll throw him a surprise party," she stated rationally.

"Ma'am, Laura, maybe we should just let him deal with it himself. He really isn't fond of his birthday," the younger man tried to point out.

She leaned on the desk with her fingers spread out and faced him. "Lee, I don't get many opportunities to do nice things for your father. Help me with this one thing, please?" she requested.

He realized that she was looking at him as a mother would look at a good son, a son that would do what she asked, even if it defied his own ideas. Sighing, he resigned himself. "Alright."