Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to Ronald D. Moore and the Sci-Fi channel. This was inspired by miss mcGonagle's story, "Buttons."
Tailor Wanted
Bill Adama knew it was going to be one of those days the moment that he rolled out of bed. The only clean uniform top that he could find was the one with the mismatched button. That pest of a lawyer, Romo Lampkin, had 'borrowed' one of the buttons. His pants, seams looking more worn than ever as of late, hung looser than he would have liked because he could not find his belt. He checked under his bed, in drawers, in his closet, even under the couch. His belt had gone MIA.
Reports that he had been too busy to look over the day before still sat on his desk. On top was one from the president regarding a search for a tailor. The day did not go any better when his coffee arrived. Due to a malfunction in the mess hall, the coffee had become flavorless lukewarm dishwater. He sighed and dumped its contents down the sink before marching toward CIC. Roslin was already standing by the table with Tigh. Everyone in the room stared at the admiral with what he deduced as concern.
"Did I miss something?" Adama inquired.
Dee stepped forward. "With all due respect sir, we were about to send someone after you. Your shift started an hour ago."
"What? That's impossible. How could-" he suddenly remembered that he had not heard is alarm clock. Battery must be dead. "Why didn't someone just call me?"
"We wanted to give you time, sir, incase you weren't feeling well," Dee responded politely. It was obvious to him why the others had seemingly reported her as their spokesperson: he respected her opinion enough not to through her out an airlock for insubordination.
"I'm fine, thank you," Adama commented, walking down to Tigh and Roslin. The table contained a few drawers on the side opposite the viewscreen. Adama opened a few of them, finding only pencils and paper. "Saul, do we have any inquiries out in the fleet regarding batteries?"
"Problems with your alarm clock, Admiral?" Roslin teased quietly.
He glared at her, but it had not affect. He faced Tigh again. "Please put out the inquiries."
"Yes, Your Honor," Tigh answered, still teasing him about having been picked as a judge. The admiral wondered to himself how long he would be able to stand that joke before Tigh found himself needing a second eye patch.
Adama stared out at the DRADIS as if it was the enemy. Then he glared at the reports next to his elbow on the edge of the table as he read them. Roslin stood with one hand on the table, watching him with an amused smirk. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the rack this morning," she goaded him, moving closer.
He looked up at her and frowned. "There's only one side to a rack. It's against a wall."
"It seems you've forgotten our meeting, Admiral," she relayed.
"I'm sorry, Madame President. Things… aren't going well this morning," he grumbled. "Couldn't even find my belt this morning."
She stood close enough to him so that no one else heard their conversation. "Did you check your laundry?" He raised an eyebrow as he faced her, confirming her suspicions. "You probably left it on the pants you wore last."
"Figures. That's the one place I didn't look," he stated. "What did you want to discuss?"
"Aside from the usual civilian concerns, we need a tailor. Our clothes are all getting very shabby," she pointed out.
"We fix our own clothes. Sewing is a neglected skill everyone should learn," he argued.
He had turned while speaking to her and as he moved to read more reports, his elbow knocked some of them onto the floor. He bent down to pick them up. What he failed to notice was that his right pocket had caught on the handle of one of the drawers he had opened earlier.
As he stood quickly, the drawer handle snagged more of his pocket and pulled his worn pants down, revealing black military issue boxers. Holy frak, this is probably the most embarrassing thing that's happened in a good decade. What's worse is Laura's here too. High school wasn't even this bad, the admiral thought to himself.
Roslin covered her mouth, trying desperately not to laugh at the miffed, aggravated expression on Adama's face, along with the idiocy of what she had just witnessed. The crew was silent, not knowing whether to lighten the mood with humor, or pretend that they had not seen anything.
Adama pulled his pants back up, sighing heavily. "Does anyone have a frakking safety pin?" he requested.
The small shiny object appeared to his right. He took it to find Roslin smirking at him. "I told you we needed a tailor," she purred.
He quickly pinned his pants. "Saul, it's yours. The president and I have a meeting to conduct," he muttered.
His pace was quick, as he was trying to reach his quarters before another wardrobe incident. She almost jogged to keep up with him. He reached his quarters and rushed in, quickly shutting the door behind him. She was forced to stop in her tracks. Crossing her arms, she waited to see how long it would take him to recall that she had been behind him.
A few minutes later, the door opened. She entered to find him wearing sweatpants. "Sorry about that."
She dealt him a patient smile. "It's alright. I've had doors slammed in my face before." He gestured toward the couch.
"I'm glad we don't allow the press in CIC. I can see the headline: 'Admiral Can't Keep His Pants Up On Duty,'" he commented, lifting picture frames off his desk and moving his lamp.
Roslin laughed. "Yes, that would be the sort of dirt I could see them running away with. "She slipped her shoes off and took a seat. "As I was saying earlier, we ought to…" she trailed off, watching Adama on his hands and knees, looking for something under the couch. "Bill, what are you looking for?"
He put a hand on the couch and stood. "I need to find a needle. I have the thread to fix my pants, but I'm missing the needle. The 'incident' in CIC wouldn't have happened if I'd tightened the seams earlier. As it is, because of that drawer I have to sew part of the pocket too."
As he continued to scour the room, looking under desk files and moving books around, she rose and decided to help him, figuring that if she did not, the meeting would never get started. "Do you have a pin cushion?"
"A what?" he stopped to ask.
"Never mind," she paused and tried to think where else a man would end up keeping needles. Then it came to her. "Do you have a dart board?"
He raised an eyebrow and looked at her quizzically. "Laura, this isn't time for games. As soon as I find that needle, we can have our meeting and I won't have to keep you from the rest of your work. I know how busy you've been lately."
She huffed and yanked open one of his desk drawers. As she suspected, after moving aside a few old pictures and two decks of cards, she pulled out a small cork dart board. "Looking for these?" she asked him as he glanced in her direction, seeing the dart board with several needles protruding from the numbers.
He dealt her a half smile and shook his head, reaching for the board. "So far you've managed to find my belt as well as needles. If you moved onto Galactica, I'd never lose anything again," he teased her, heading back to the couch.
"Oh I'm sure the press would have a field day with that one: 'President Moves In With Admiral To Keep Track of His Drawers,'" she mentioned, joining him on the couch.
He chuckled at her double entente. "That would be better than: 'Judge Comes to Trial In Boxers. Courtroom Dresses Him Down For It' if I don't finish these." She laughed with him. Pants draped over his lap, he threaded a needle and began his repair work.
They continued their meeting, discussing civilian needs. As the discussion continued, Adama conveniently talked around the prospect of finding a tailor. Having fixed his pants, he laid them over the arm of the couch. Their discussion drew to a close and he watched as she pulled her feet up under her, seemingly reluctant to leave at the meeting's end.
"What other plans did you have for today, Madame President?" he probed.
She smiled warmly at him. "I did have a meeting with some of the Virgonese representatives, but that's not for a few more hours. Something on your mind?"
He took her hands in his and kissed the tops of them. "I think you and I are long overdue for a discussion about that night on New Caprica."
That mischievous grin that made him look a few years younger was back on his face. She moved closer, resting a hand on his chest. "Perhaps you're right. We do have some… unresolved issues," she whispered before kissing him soundly. His hands moved to her back and one of her hands fingered his buttons from the top going down. But the hand stopped at the mismatched button.
She moved back to look at him, giving him a saucy smile. "Now about that tailor…"
Fin……………………………
(A/N: For those of you who might not be familiar with the double entente, 'drawers' are also another word for pants).