Distractions
Laura Roslin could not remember a Quorum session that had grated on her nerves more. The delegate from Aerilon and Lee Adama were at each other's necks regarding trading regulations and the din of the room only seemed to be growing by the minute. Her head was swarming with the voices that came at her from all sides. Tom Zarek's constant calls for attention were not helping the matter in the slightest. Soon the preliminal pounding of a too-familiar headache began.
Figuring that the issue was not going to be solved in the near future, she began to rub her temples to drown them out. For once she was just going to ignore them. Maybe not the soundest political choice, but for the cost of her sanity she decided it was worth it.
She began alphabetically listing the Caprican voting districts—a tactic that used to save her from the boredom of countless Education Board meetings during her tenure as a public servant.
Agimenia, Astarim, Barenia, Caprica City, Coremenon, Cyrilon…
She got caught up on the 'J' districts, knowing that there was at least one more, but she couldn't think of it. She ran a hand through her hair and tapped her pencil on her notepad as she racked her brain. Jimona! She finally remembered with a small gasp earning a small sidelong glance from Tom, sitting to her right. She decided she ought to pay attention for a few minutes, if only for a reference point.
It turns out a momentary truce had been struck between Lee and the Aerilon delegate. Unfortunately the fleet's constant need for one thing or another meant that the relative noise level of the room had not been altered in the slightest, merely the subject matter. Now it was an issue of inter-colonial affairs—the delegates from Sagittaron and Virgon the main proponents in the argument. Something about cultural discrimination this time. As heretical as it may be to say: when were the people going to realize that the colonies were no more? Eventually people were going to need to understand that they were all just looking to survive. Why argue over the traditions and cultures of worlds that are now long dead?
The constant feeling of traveling in circles with these issues made Laura feel like she was getting nowhere. There was no middle ground to be reached. The people wanted a Utopia and all she could give them was dim, dark space with only a glimmer of hope far off in the distance. They kept asking her to solve all of their problems like the solutions were something that she was willingly withholding from them. The frustrations of her position were unending and beginning to grate on her resolve. She sighed deeply as the delegates continued to argue. She reached up to rub the tension out of her neck when she was surprised by the feel of metal at her fingertips. She ran her fingers across the metallic beads and smiled as the memory from earlier that day rose unbidden to her mind. Figuring that one method of distraction was as good as the next she let her mind wander in that direction—one decidedly more pleasurable than naming districts…
************
"I don't want to get up," she mumbled into her pillow.
"Are we doing this again?" Bill asked from the head as he shaved.
"Yes?" she half-asked while she curled deeper into the covers of his rack.
"I wouldn't have pegged you as the staying-in-bed-all-day type, Roslin," he said in a jokingly harsh tone.
"Oh, no sir! Not me. It's this frakking metal floor you have here," she explained. "My pampered presidential feet are used to a plush carpet on the Colonial One," she teased with her best air-headed tone and batting her eyes.
"You've got to be kidding me!" he growled turning his head to glare at her. "Oh, Frak!" he shouted, cutting himself with his razor as he looked over at her. He quickly turned back to the mirror to try to stop the bleeding. Laura jumped out of bed and threw on the nearest clothes, making her way to the head within seconds.
"Here, let me," she said, reaching around from his back with a tissue for his neck.
"I thought your feet couldn't handle the cold floor," he said with a raised eyebrow at her reflection in the mirror.
"Oh they can't, Sir," she said in her mock-military tone. "I borrowed your slippers." He turned to look at her and couldn't help but smile at the picture he was faced with. Along with his seriously oversized slippers on her tiny feet, she was wearing a pair of her silkiest pajama pants, his button down uniform jacket and nothing else. She looked like a little girl dressing up in her father's clothes.
"Among other things," he muttered with a smile, turning back to his task.
"Let me," she said, moving herself in front of him.
"Should I trust you with a razor, Madame President?" he asked seriously. "Could be a Cylon plot…"
"If I'm a Cylon," she began in a seductive tone as she moved closer to him, "you're really frakked." She finished the thought in a whisper as the front of her borrowed jacket touched the soft cotton of his tanks. She inched closer to his face keeping her eyes on him the whole time. She grinned when his lost focus and slipped down to watch her lips approach his. Seconds later, their fervent kiss was cut short by a hysterical outburst. Laura was doubled over half-laughing half-spluttering.
"Forgot about the shaving cream?" he asked with a grin. "Some Cylon you make!"
"Excuse me!" she exclaimed, straightening immediately. "I would make a far better Cylon than you!"
"Is this a contest?" he asked trying to keep a straight face.
"Well, no," she began, trying to find a way out of the madness. "But the fact remains: I'm the one with the crazy visions, the miraculous cure, and lastly but certainly not least, my hair is too godsdamned perfect for me not to be a Cylon." Although this was all said in jest it was done in her best presidential tone. Adama burst out laughing. She looked at him questioningly, but as he doubled over she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There was shaving cream covering the bottom half of her face. Soon both of them were cramped together on the floor of the head, stomachs hurting from laughter.
"I should consider making all my press releases dressed like this. I'd certainly get a better reaction that way," she said giving him a sidelong glance.
"Nah, it would damage your credibility. Nobody likes a mismatched prophet." She playfully hit him on the arm.
"Come here," he said, beckoning her toward him. She obeyed and he wiped the shaving cream from her face.
"Thank you," she said sincerely. He responded with a wicked grin and a small kiss. "Bill!" She hit him again and reached for the nearest towel to wipe of her newly re-lathered mouth. She then pulled herself up to a standing position and held out a hand to him. "Come on, Bill. You're going to be late for work."
"And what about you?" he asked.
"I'm the President. They'll just have to wait," she said simply with a sly grin. He grabbed her hand and stood up. "Okay, let's get down to business." She smoothed out the shaving cream on her face with her hand and then rinsed it in the sink. She grabbed the razor and began to shave away the stubble. Bill was surprised with the sureness and efficiency of her strokes.
"Seems like you know your way around a straight razor, Laura," he said suggestively.
"You jealous?" she asked without taking her eyes away from the task at hand as she finished the last few strokes.
"You have no idea," he said in a husky tone. She looked up at his eyes and blushed at the intensity of them. She was stunned that the simple knowledge that she had shaved a man's face before had such an effect on him. The truth was her father had taught her how to do it as a little girl—not a lover. Richard would never have allowed her to get this close and none of her other relationships had included morning routines. It shocked her that Bill Adama had wheedled himself so deeply into her life and that they had reached this level of intimacy so quickly. In another life she never would have given him a second glance. He was just another military drone who was brash and crude and gun happy. Now though, she couldn't believe what she would have missed. She placed a hand on his cheek and ran her thumb over his lips.
"Gods, how I love you, Bill Adama," she whispered as she leaned in to kiss him. She wanted to convey to him how thankful she was to have him in her life this way. It quickly escalated, however, and soon enough they were both out of breath.
"I know," he responded. "And as much as I would like to continue this… I'm on direct orders from the president to get to work," he said with a smirk. "And I'm not one to disobey a direct order."
"Oh no, you would never dream of it. I must have just imagined that military coup a while back?"
"Must have," he said simply. "And I'll be needing this," he said, pulling his jacket from her shoulders leaving her standing in the head half-naked. She let out a small laugh.
"Chivalrous," she said indignantly as she walked over to where her pajama top had been discarded the night before and pulled it over her head.
"Til the end," he responded while he buttoned his jacket. Bill huffed, looking at himself in the mirror as he combed his hair. "Looks better on you," he said gesturing towards his coat. She let out a short bark of a laugh and grinned at him.
"I need to get down to CIC," he said. "Got some nuggets on a training run that are sure to frak something up… Don't you have a Quorum meeting to get to?"
"Oh Frak! I had forgotten all about it!" she exclaimed as she ran about the room looking for a suit to wear. Bill decided his presence wasn't immediately needed at the CIC and he would much rather watch Laura's frenzy to get ready.
Soon she was crawling around by his desk wearing stockings, her black skirt, and the pajama top that she had thrown on earlier. "Bill! If you are going to stick around the least you could do is help!" she huffed at him while continuing her search. He didn't move. "Godsdammit! Have you seen my bra?"
"You don't keep a spare here?" he asked. She had recently taken to invading his closet with a number of her clothes and personal items.
"I would," she said from behind his desk, "but sadly, I don't have any to spare."
"I think you threw it behind the couch," he suggested. Her head popped up from behind his desk, her hair comically tousled and her face red from searching. Bill couldn't help but laugh. She shot him daggers with her eyes as she walked over to the couch and reached behind it to find the missing garment. After retrieving it, she grabbed her blouse and jacket and walked to the head, closing the door behind her.
A few minutes later she reemerged looking astonishingly presidential as always—not a hair out of place. "Alright," she stated. "I'm ready to go. No thanks to you, I might add." He shrugged. "Now I just have to sit through the verbal assault that is the Quorum. Lovely."
"That's what you get with civilians," he said. She shot him a poisonous look. "Present company excluded, of course."
"Of course. Gods, it's actually painful to sit through, Bill. It seems like I can't get anything done these days without someone questioning my every move. More often than not it's your son doing the questioning," she said shooting him an accusatory look.
"Don't look at me. He gets his undaunted sense of righteousness from his mother," he said with his arms raised in surrender.
"I'm not so sure about that," she responded raising a questioning eyebrow. She sighed, her shoulders deflating a bit. "Remind me again why we can't just stay in bed all day?"
"Responsibilities," he said simply as he made his way to the door.
"Hmm, that's right. Maybe I should resign. Then I could at least sit around missing you in private instead of being put under a microscope by the delegates…"
"You miss me?" he asked, the astonishment apparent in his voice.
"Turns out you're more addictive than that plant on New Caprica," she said trying to shrug it off. He was silent for a second, shocked that he had such an impact on her. The newness of their relationship still left him in doubt at times. Fewer and fewer times, however, as time passed and they began to be more honest with each other about how they felt. He then had an idea.
"Well, since I can't actually be with you," he began as he reached into the neck of his jacket pulling out his dog tags, "you can wear these." He tossed them to her with a smile and turned to leave. She caught them and was motionless as he left the room. She finally put them over her head and tucked them safely into her blouse.
As she boarded her shuttle to Colonial One she touched the outline of the tags beneath her shirt and smiled. She was comforted by the little piece of him that she got to carry with her during whatever unpleasant duties she had to do while they were separated. They had spent so long apart that it felt like they shouldn't waste any more time.
************
Laura was jerked back to the present as the Gemenese delegate slammed her fist on the table. From what she could gather she hadn't missed anything of extreme importance. After a few more minutes she concluded that absolutely nothing had been resolved since she last checked in. Why did it always seem like it took an act of the Gods for anything to get done in the fleet?
Her frustration was growing and her hand unconsciously reached for the dog tags that were now dangling openly from her neck. She slowly ratcheted the tags back and forth on the beaded chain. Her hand immediately stilled once she realized what she was doing. Her eyebrows shot up and her face flushed as if she were caught in the act.
Realizing that she must have pulled them out unconsciously while she was daydreaming, she replaced them as surreptitiously as possible. She glanced around the table to see if anyone had noticed her compromising movements. Her heart began to slow her eyes made their way around the table. It seemed like no one had noticed anything unusual. Then her eyes met Lee Adama's.
He was staring at her with his mouth slightly open. The blush immediately returned as she looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Eventually Lee collected himself and returned his attention to the discussion at hand. Laura exhaled a breath that she hadn't been aware that she was holding. She didn't notice that the corners of Lee's mouth were upturned the slightest bit for the rest of the meeting almost as if he was holding in a laugh.
"If that's all," Laura said in her official tone nearly twenty minutes later, "I would like to take a vote on the matter and have it done with. All those in favor of Delegate Heaney's proposal? All those against? Alright, that settles the matter. I think you can discuss the details without me. Thank you." She stood and left the room retreating to her quarters for the remainder of the morning.
For the next half hour Laura could hear the session going on at the other end of the ship. There was nobody like politicians when it came to people who liked to hear their own voices. Laura wasn't even sure why they were arguing anymore. One would think that a vote would have settled the matter. So much for democracy. There is only so much compromise can achieve, and some people are just not willing to take no for an answer.
She was reading through some files when her hand again reached for the chain at her neck. She pulled it out and began playing with the tags as she rested her head in her other hand. There was nothing like the tedium of progress reports…
Laura was so engrossed in her reading that she failed to notice when a particular ex-pilot entered her office through the curtain that separated it from the rest of the ship. He watched her play with the dog tags, a small smile gracing his face.
"If you're considering a career change," he said, shocking her out of her stupor, "I hear the CAG position on Galactica is still open."
"Excuse me?" she asked, confused as to what he was getting at. He simple pointed to her chest. She looked down and noticed the tags again dangling outside her blouse. The blush rose, unbidden as she looked back at Lee.
"Oh, these aren't mine, Mr. Adama," she said.
"I hoped not," he said with a laugh. "You'd make a terrible viper pilot. Good afternoon, Madame President."
"Good afternoon, Captain Apollo," she responded, reverting back to her old nickname for him. He began to walk back to the door when he changed his mind and turned back to her. She waited for him to say something.
"Did you know I have never once seen him without those?" he asked solemnly, pointing to the chain hanging from her neck. She didn't respond, she couldn't. She just looked at him and watched his back as he walked to the door.
When he was gone her hand went back to the dog tags dangling from her neck, counting the minutes until she could be with the real thing.
The End
A/N: Thanks for reading. This is my first BSG story so any feedback would be great. I love these characters and thought they deserved a little bit of a break from all the awful things that keep happening to them, so this is what came to mind. I hope you liked it and as always, all reviews are appreciated!