Chapter 2 - Take me out to the ballgame
Colonial Fleet newscast
"…And we're only two days away from the first game of the Colonial Fleet Pyramid Competition, which kicks off with a match between the Galactica Gorgons and Colonial One Phoenix. Phoenix represents the smallest ship's complement in the ten team league and it is likely that only the presence of members of the Presidential security detail on the team allows them to compete at all.
"The Gorgons are odd-on favorites to win at this stage, but the patron of the Phoenix - President Laura Roslin - says not to count her team out yet. According to the President, the Phoenix - also commonly being called 'Roslin's Reds' - have been training with former Caprica Buccaneers star player Samuel T. Anders, and may surprise everyone on the night.
"In other Presidential news, there has still been no word from either the Roslin or Adama camps on the dinner shared by the two leaders on the Rising Star almost a week ago. Reports from other diners said the pair were enjoying what appeared to be a romantic rendezvous. One patron was quoted as saying: "they looked so sweet together…"
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Adama switched the wireless off with an irritated flick of his fingers and snorted: "Sweet!"
As if on cue, the phone rang.
"Adama."
"Sweet!! Sweet??" Laura said with mock-indignation, then laughed. "I've been called many things in the past, but I don't believe 'sweet' has ever been one of them."
"It's not one of the first words that comes to mind when I think of you," he said dryly, sitting back comfortably on the couch.
"Oh?" Dangerous tone. "And just what words would spring to mind, Admiral?"
He grinned.
"Well… Stubborn. Determined. Forceful. Obstinate." Pause. "And of course intelligent; charming; attractive." Pause. "With a lovely smile - like the one on your face at the moment."
There was silence for a moment, then: "And you know I'm smiling because…"
"Because I know you, Madame President. And you should smile more often."
"You're just trying to butter me up because you know my team is going to kick your team's butt."
"In your dreams, Roslin," he declared. "You may have snagged Mr Anders as a coach - by completely underhanded means, I might add, considering he's married to one of my pilots…" there was a snort of laughter at the other end of the line. "- but you're delusional if you think that Roslin's Reds have a hope in Hades of beating my boys and girls."
"Roslin's Reds," she growled. "I thought nicknames weren't usually bestowed until after competition started?"
"You're lucky, actually. I heard what one of the alternatives was."
"I don't think I want to know."
He waited. She would break down and ask. He knew she would. It was just a matter of…
"All right." Exasperated sigh. "Tell me: you know you want to."
"Would I do something like tha…?"
"Don't make me come over there and bust you back down to ensign, Adama," she growled.
"The President's Airlocks."
"The Pr…" she spluttered to a stop. "Was that Lieutenant Thrace's idea by any chance?" she continued in an ominous tone.
"I'm bound by an oath of silence to protect the identity of the originator," he said sententiously.
"I'll bet," he heard her mutter.
There were a few moments of comfortable silence, then she sighed.
"Well, I should probably get back to work and let you do the same."
"So we're still going to the game together, even though we'll be bitter rivals on the night?" he asked.
"If you can stand dating the enemy."
"I'll make an exception this time."
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"Questions?"
The press corps clambered over each other, shouting out questions.
"Tom - are President Roslin and Admiral Adama lovers?"
"Is it true the President is carrying his love child?"
"Are they planning on getting married?"
"Quiet!" Tom Zarak bellowed over the din. After a moment, the room fell silent.
"I see you don't have any questions about the actual briefing I just gave, so let's deal with this issue right now.
"It has always been Colonial Government Policy to respect the private lives of its leaders. Laura Roslin and William Adama are two unattached, consenting adults. If they choose to see each other - or any one else - it's their own business. They don't need the press or anybody else intruding upon their relationship."
"What about the people's right to know?" Playa interrupted.
Zarak brandished a piece of paper in the reporter's direction.
"President Baltar had a number of… liaisons… while he held the office," he said, looking directly at Playa. "I seem to remember a distinct lack of press coverage concerning those." The reporters were all looking at the paper, wondering…
"I have here a list of at least ten names… Women who can all be verified as having an intimate relationship with the former President. Perhaps you'd care to interview there women and do a retrospective?" He offered the paper to Playa, who declined to take it, and he hid a smirk. She knew he'd been Baltar's Vice President and didn't know whether Baltar would kiss and tell… So she wasn't sure if her name would be on the list. Unfortunately for her, Baltar was the type to boast about certain things… especially to his Vice President.
"What about the chain of command?" a young black reporter asked.
"That's a very good question, Joe. I haven't yet spoken to the lawyers on this, but if you think about it: in this situation, everyone in the Fleet is basically in the chain of command."
The reporter tried to interrupt, but Zarak bulldozed over the top of him.
"So when a person is elected President, should we require them to divorce their wife or husband? Should we require that a President who is single remain so with no possibility of companionship for the duration of their term? Neither of the solutions I mentioned is healthy for the person involved." He half-shrugged, and flashed them a charming smile. "And particularly undesirable, from where I'm sitting."
There were a few chuckles - his fondness for female company was well-known.
"The President and the Admiral are not sneaking around having clandestine meetings. They're trying to have what passes for a normal private life in this fleet. This administration understands that people may be curious, but we ask that you respect the privacy of their personal lives.
"Thank you."
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The raptor door swung open and Bill saw red: the red of a dress he hadn't seen since a certain memorable night on New Caprica. Laura stood in the doorway, her Pyramid team behind her. He cast an appreciative eye over her appearance as she walked down the wing, then offered her his hand to disembark. The amused glint in her eye, and the almost-smile hovering around her lips let him know his appreciation had not gone unnoticed.
"I see the color still suits you," he said in a low voice, as he led her from the hangar deck with a light touch on her back. "But your plan to distract the opposition by looking so lovely is not going to work."
She laughed, her eyes sparkling at the compliment.
"It's the only red clothing I own," she protested. "And if we're going to be 'Roslin's Reds', I may as well look the part."
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Colonial Fleet newscast
…"The atmosphere is electric here in the stadium tonight. I haven't seen people this excited since… well, since one of the games back on the home worlds. Of course, it looks very different to an old-time game. With new clothing being in such short supply in the fleet, the fans aren't decked out in their team colors like they would have been back then, but most supporters have tried to at least have an armband in the Gorgon's grey-and-blue, or red for the Phoenix.
"Speaking of red: the President arrived on the arm of Admiral Adama s short while ago, looking absolutely lovely in a casual red dress. And the looks the two were exchanging were definitely smoking… However, they separated shortly after their entrance, and are currently in their respective teams' staging area, lending moral support…"
muffled cheer
"That cheer you just head is for tonight's umpire - former Caprica Buccaneers guard Jack "Rally" Robinson, who has just entered the stadium and is waving to the crowd - and his former team mates, who are seated together in the stands.
"The President, Admiral and team captains are joining him in the center of the court for the credit toss"…
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Bill waited with the others as Laura stepped onto the small court-side podium.
"I know you're all itching for this game to begin," she said with a smile, "so I'll make this brief.
"This competition is more than just a sporting event; it shows we are taking back something that was lost with out worlds."
She looked around the faces in the audience, then her eyes met his.
"We need to more than simply survive - we need to live. We need sports and arts and literature; to have a drink with your friends; to go on dates." This brought a sprinkling of laughter from the audience. "To feel our lives have meaning." She paused, waiting for the cheers to die down.
"This competition wouldn't have been possible without the drive, determination, stubbornness and - sometimes - sheer pig-headedness of the former Caprica Buccaneers." More cheers, as she waved her hand toward the stands, in the direction of the surviving team mates. "So if you see them after the game, buy them a drink." Laughs from the audience and wide grins and a few thumbs-up from the people in question. "So without further ado, let the game begin."
As the audience applauded, she rejoined the group on-court for the toss.
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"Foul!!" Laura was on her feet, yelling at the umpire with the rest of the Phoenix supporters, as Helo laid out a defender. The break was awarded to the Reds, and the crowd subsided.
Bill looked at her, amused, as she sat back down.
"What?" she challenged.
"Oh, nothing," he said mildly, returning his attention to the game.
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In the end, the Gorgons won, but by much less of a margin than had been predicted by the bookmakers.
The after-game atmosphere in Joe's bar was festive, to put it mildly. The beat box was turned up loud, the lights low, and the patrons were celebrating - even the supporters of the losing team.
Laura had rung the bell hanging on the end of the bar as they'd entered the establishment, and announced that the first round was "on the Admiral", much to the crowd's delight.
Then, drinks in hand, they had retreated to a relatively quiet corner of the room, watching the antics of the younger party goers with amusement.
"Thirty years ago, that would have been me," he said to Laura, indicating Starbuck's wild victory dance. They sat close together on a bench seat, so they could hear each other over the din.
"Hard to imagine that," she replied, leaning closer to him.
"Viper pilots," he shrugged self-deprecatingly, taking a sip of his ale. "They tend to be a little…"
"All brawn and no brains? Insane risk-takers?"
"Something like that," he agreed.
"Sometime you'll have to tell me how you got your call-sign," she said, eyebrow raised with curiosity.
He mumbled something non-committal, the heat rising in his cheeks. He really didn't want to get into that - especially with her.
A smile hovered around her lips as she sensed his discomfort with the subject.
"So…" he cast about for a change of topic. "I didn't know you were a Pyramid fan."
She looked at him a moment, as if deciding whether to let him off the hook, then relented.
"Until New Caprica, I wasn't."
He must have looked puzzled, because she elaborated: "The resistance used to meet during Pyramid games - both on the court and in the stands. There weren't many places people were allowed to congregate: the marketplace - which was patrolled heavily; the school - which most members of the resistance had no business being near; and Pyramid games." She rested her elbow on the table and propped her chin up with her hand, looking reminiscent. "It was one of the only enjoyable things we did while the Cylons were there. Saul and Galen coached me in the finer points of appreciating the game." She smiled. "You should see Tory play - she's quite a demon on the court."
"Tory!"
She looked amused at his disbelief.
"Ye, Tory. If she hadn't dislocated her shoulder when that raptor crashed into us, she would have been playing tonight."
He stopped himself from shaking his head - trying to imagine the slender, immaculately-groomed Presidential aide playing against someone with the raw athletic power of Starbuck. The girl looked like a stiff wind would blow her away.
"Anyway, I'd never ever watched a broadcast, let alone been to a game, so I had to learn to enjoy it - or at least look like I was enjoying it."
She took a sip of her drink.
"We never got around to finishing that conversation on the good times on New Caprica, did we?" he observed, settling back on the bench and stretching his arm out along the back of it.
"No we didn't, Sir," she replied, half-turning to look back at him, her leg brushing against his.
He looked down at the leg, then let his eyes wander slowly back up her body to her face.
"I'm glad you managed to hang onto the dress," he said. "It really does suit you."
"Thank you," she whispered, her gaze holding his. His arm shifted from the back of the bench, to around her shoulders, drawing her closer. He could feel her breath against his face; feel the heat rising as they moved closer. Her eyes drifted closed as their lips touched and…
"Hey… why don't you two get a room!" someone yelled.
They broke apart, and Adama looked around for the perpetrator of the comment, ready to tear them a new one.
It had been Hot Dog, although it was clear he hadn't been directing the comment at his superiors, but at Starbuck and Anders, who were enthusiastically making out on the dance floor.
By the time he turned back to Laura, she was sipping her drink with a wry smile.
He raised his own glass to her, acknowledging the thought that lay behind that smile.
"This feels a little like that night," he said, continuing their conversation. "Relaxed atmosphere, party, drinks, dancing… All we need are some of your… uhm… 'herbal' cigarettes to complete the picture."
She looked at him a moment, then reached inside her bodice and pulled out a familiar looking stick. There was a wicked glint in her eye as she offered it to him.
"Last one left," she said.
He took it, slowly rolling it between his fingers.
"Tell me, Madam President, do you always walk around with your stash inside your shirt."
She laughed. "Well, if you had to deal with the Quorum on a regular basis…" They both chuckled.
"I was saving it, actually."
"For what?"
"For us," she said softly. "For a time when we could relax again; when we didn't have to worry about being the President and the Admiral, but could just be Laura and Bill."
He looked down at the cigarette, then back to her.
"I don't suppose you have a lighter in there?"
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