Billy walked into Laura Roslin's office and greeted her in his customary polite manner. He placed the usual pile of letters onto her desk before handing her a package wrapped in brown paper. "This arrived in the morning's post. It's marked 'personal.'"
She thanked him and turned the package over, checking the return address. It wasn't one she recognised. Pulling at the wrapping, she blinked with surprise – a book. Searider Falcon, she read. Flipping open the front cover, she found a folded note. Written in bold, clearly legible handwriting was the name William Adama. She smiled. No small talk from the Commander, she thought. Not even in correspondence.
Bill Adama looked at Saul. His XO held a clipboard with several requisitions for him to sign. Typically, they started their early morning meetings with shared coffee and a discussion of general ship business. This particular morning, however, Saul sat rigidly upright in the chair opposite him.
"You okay?" Bill asked.
"Me? Of course. Just had a bit of a big night," Saul admitted.
"You've had a few of those lately. We've got another four months until the Decommissioning. I need you to see things through with me."
"I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle."
"Heard from Ellen?" Bill asked casually. He could safely presume that if Saul was getting drunk and playing triad with the pilots, Ellen's lack of contact was most likely the root cause.
"Not lately. You know Ellen. She likes to make me suffer."
"Yeah," he agreed. He did know Ellen. Sometimes he regretted the fact.
"You made any decision yet?" Saul asked.
"Decision?"
"On what you're gonna do after they chuck us off this bucket."
"Not yet." He didn't want to admit he was avoiding thinking about it. The Fleet had made it clear when he had taken this commission that Galactica would be his last command. Working at Fleet Headquarters on Picon wasn't appealing. Neither was retirement.
Saul nodded and flipped over some pages. "We got two new requests from that woman."
Bill chuckled. Saul had been dealing directly with the Secretary of Education's office for two months now and he complained about the assignment at least once a week.
"I hope you're not being disrespectful."
"Aw, Bill, I'm the epitome of decorum. Don't worry. In fact, the lady lowered herself to call personally last night. Usually I only get the chance to speak to that frakkin' idiot of a Liaison Officer."
"She called? What did she want?"
"You, actually. I fobbed her off."
"Oh?" he concentrated on keeping his tone disinterested. "Do you know why she wanted to talk to me in particular?"
"Nah, she never gave me a straight answer on that one. Anyway, when you've got the stomach for it, you'll need to ring her office, I guess. Don't want to upset the woman at the top."
"No," he agreed, reining in carnal thoughts of Laura Roslin on top.
0.0.0
Bill Adama was absentmindedly slurping at a bowl of noodles while completing the day's log at his desk when the telephone interrupted him. He carefully lowered both his pen and chopsticks when Petty Officer Dualla announced the identity of his caller.
"Adama," he said after Dee had connected the call, glancing at the chronometer on his wall. It was 2200 hours in Caprica City: quite late for a business call. Was she still at her office, or was she calling from her home?
"Commander." Even through the crackling line of a Battlestar, he reacted unsteadily to the throaty tone of her voice.
"Madam Secretary," he answered. "What can I do for you?"
"You're a very hard man to get hold of, Commander." He bristled at her obvious assumption that he had been avoiding her calls. Obviously she was used to dealing with people who sat in an office all day pushing pens and paper around their desks.
"I did get your message, Madam Secretary. However, Galactica is still a working Battlestar. I have several responsibilities on board other than the museum refurbishment," he said defensively.
She hummed. He noticed she did that a lot. This hum was laced with sarcasm.
"Have you a pen handy?" she asked, changing the subject.
He frowned, automatically picked up his pen, and jotted down the date she recited in the margin of his log.
"That's the day I'll be visiting Galactica for an inspection of the progress thus far," she informed him.
It was a mere four days away.
"Mr Doral seems to think that guests' quarters could be available if my party were to stay overnight," she said.
Aaron Doral was the Liaison Officer Saul was continually locking horns with.
"Yes, I'm sure we can make some arrangements."
"Thank you, Commander. When I finalise the names of my colleagues who will also be visiting, I'll let Colonel Tigh know."
He remained silent. He never trusted himself not to be rude if forced to comment. He wondered how much of an entourage a Secretary of Education needed to traipse around his Battlestar. The prospect of entertaining a group of civil servants did not fill him with enthusiasm.
"I have a list of concerns. We can go over them together."
A list of concerns, she said. He wondered how long the list was.
"I'm sure you can think of a few things you would like to say to me personally as well," she said.
He rubbed his eyes. He shouldn't be talking to her after a shift. He was too tired to think clearly. The few personal things that sprung to mind had nothing to do with the Museum.
"Commander?"
"Yes," he finally agreed. "We'll be ready for your visit, Madam Secretary."
"I'm enjoying the book, by the way." The pitch of her voice changed. It took on an almost light-hearted and flirty quality.
"I'm pleased." He was. It was an irrational notion - wanting Laura Roslin to share his enjoyment in a book.
"Maybe we could discuss its themes and characterisation over dinner when I'm on Galactica. After all the shop-talk, of course."
"Yes, of course."
"Good night, Commander." Her voice seemed to take on an even throatier tone. It could be the line, he supposed – or his imagination.
"Good night."
Hanging up the phone, he stared the receiver. Had he just agreed to have dinner with her? He abandoned both his current dinner and logs and stalked off to the head. He needed a shower. Thinking about Laura Roslin, a cold one was definitely in order.
0.0.0
Even though Laura Roslin had studied the schematics of Galactica, she still wasn't prepared for the sheer magnitude of the Battlestar when she came aboard from her shuttle Raptor.
Everywhere she looked there seemed to be endless walkways leading to who knew where. Crew members, all seemingly intent and sure of their destinations, bustled past her and Billy as they followed Aaron Doral along one of the metal paths. When Adama had told her he was too busy to meet her personally, she had thought it was yet another case of him avoiding her, but now that she was experiencing the size of his ship firsthand, maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt.
A young man, with a stiff correct appearance, which she often expected from men in service, greeted them when they arrived at a hatch marked with the words 'Ward Room'. After their introductions, Lieutenant Gaeta escorted her through the hatch to a large room containing several tables and chairs, whiteboards, a projector screen, and a lectern - but no human occupants.
She took the proffered chair and did her best to remain outwardly calm. If Adama wished to play little games with her during this trip, that was fine. She'd been a politician for a long time and had tussled with many an opponent far more credentialed than Commander William Adama.
0.0.0
He was over twenty minutes late. Surely she would think he was keeping her waiting deliberately. He entered the Ward Room just ahead of Saul who trailed behind him unwillingly. Lieutenant Gaeta and Chief Specialist Tyrol were already in the room.
"Madam Secretary." He walked up to where she sat at one of the tables. "I apologise. I had a minor emergency."
"Only minor?" She gave him a sour look from over the top of her reading glasses. "Considering how long we've had to wait, I expected it to be major."
Silently he counted to ten. He glanced around the room. Other than two men, one sitting either side of her, she seemed to have no other companions with her.
"My assistant, Billy Keikeya," she introduced the young man sitting on her left side. Towering over him, the boy stood to shake his hand politely. "And your Liaison Officer."
"Doral, Aaron Doral," the short man wearing a gaudy print shirt with a bright green jacket sitting at her right finished her introduction. "I'm the Public Relations District Manager of the Civilian Division of the Fleet, based at Picon. I've been seconded over to the Secretary of Education's office for the duration of Galactica's refurbishment," the man rambled.
"Yes, we are much privileged to have Mr. Doral in temporary residence at my office," she drawled.
Bill quickly glanced back at the Liaison Officer to gauge the arrogant man's reaction but it seemed that her sarcasm had sailed over Doral's head. He concentrated on keeping his face stoic as he turned to introduce his senior crew.
"Colonel Saul Tigh, my Executive Officer. I believe you've spoken on the telephone. I presume the Lieutenant and Chief Specialist have made their introductions?"
"Yes, Commander, we've had sufficient time to become acquainted."
He ignored her dig and took his seat directly opposite her. She looked the quintessential business woman again today: a demure white blouse, a conservative dark blue blazer and pants.
As soon as he sat down, her assistant handed out an agenda. She was definitely all business.
0.0.0
Later that evening Laura Roslin found herself in William Adama quarters, and the Commander was full of surprises.
She was expecting a sterile working environment with a dining and sleeping area attached. Instead, she found a room filled with touches of hominess and an endearing assortment of clutter. His possessions spilled out of every possible nook and cranny - an eclectic collection of knick-knacks, antiques, photographs and books amongst classical paintings, lush warm colours, and a comfortable leather couch which she was presently resisting sinking into.
She silently slipped off her shoes and let her toes dig into the plush rug that lay beneath the impressive coffee table before her. He was at his desk in the corner making a call to CIC, checking on the crisis that caused his tardiness earlier.
She had toured Galactica after lunch. He had begged off joining her on the tour due to his 'minor emergency' which had apparently turned into a 'crisis' during the morning. She had been unsure whether or not he was being truthful or if it had just been an excuse to avoid her, until Petty Officer Dualla let it slip that one of the Viper pilots had 'botched' their landing and was in a critical condition in the ship's sickbay.
"Would you like a drink, Madam Secretary?" he asked, his voice suddenly behind her. She turned.
"Yes, thank you, Commander."
"Ambrosia?"
"Lovely."
He walked over and handed her a glass of the green liquid. Then, to her complete shock, he matter-of-factly picked up her shoes, walked over to the hatch door and placed them neatly to one side of it.
"Just in case," he murmured as he returned to take a seat at the other end of the couch.
She lost herself in a fit of giggles. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so much. She also couldn't stop. Every time she thought she had herself under control, she would glance over at his face that he was managing to keep so stony-featured, see the twinkle in his eyes, and start again.
0.0.0
William Adama thought Laura Roslin was beautiful from the first moment he met her. Now, sitting on his couch trying to control her breathing, and hiccupping in an effort to stem the giggles, she looked absolutely lovely. Her face was completely relaxed. She swept her hair haphazardly back from her face with her fingers in an absent-minded gesture which he doubted she knew was an incredible turn on.
At the Charity Ball, the slip of material that had barely covered her had been overtly provocative. Dressed conservatively, with minimal make up-he thought she was the sexiest thing he had ever seen in his life.